I can’t wait to be seventy-five
and single again.
Oh, to feel alive.

I’ll come home
without washing my face
and feel the space
on my right bedside.

Ill get a dog
watch time go by
and wait around to die.

I cant wait to be seventy-five
and single again
because its hard to
remember that you're alive
until half of you is dead.

For now I'm young,
and I've not found the one I'll wed,
and I do hold a good store of years before that,
but that's just the point I'm getting at:

As we're made aware of life by death
and of sorrow made aware by bliss
love isn't made without loneliness
for both lie balanced on our breath.

"Wasn't that swell?",
She chirped as we surfaced.
"What a well to slip into!
All dark and deep and new!",
Wet and cold and young we sat
In the dirt which we made into mud.
Never a smile I'd had nor will have
Could make such soda of my blood.

Yesterday though is overrated
Just like everything else that's old.
Even the summertime wisdom is cold.
Now either that wisdom has made me jaded,
Or I'm just upset that the past never faded.

Let the earth spin
While I lie awake.
I have morals (of tin)
Still, for only deaths sake.
God will save me tomorrow
But tonight I'm alive-
Daylights shame I nightly borrow
So to sin I shallow dive.
Nightly though showing more daring, go deeper,
Lightly I feel my soul growing cheaper.

In our fall we were wild and wise
And reason was worn to our childish eyes
But that season has quickly come to pass
And a bitter wind now shakes the grass.
I have a blanket to wrap you in
Let the sun sleep, and the world not spin
Place your heart now on my pillow
Wrapped in the roots of this weathered willow
Wonder up into its rustling leaves
And rest your head on times simpler than these.

Its hard to see the plot
in the foreground of this fighting-
we’d understand her movie better
if it had better lighting.

But her body language sang
to me of what it's all about-
she tried disguises desperately,
but Hollywood sold out.

So she was a princess
prior to the revolution-
the soldiers saw her bow her head
over its bitter resolution.

Young wide eyes eclipsed by trust
in fiction stacked beside her bed-
reality though was a dagger ******
into youth, and disappointment slowly bled.

And we all know there's no place now
for her in their election-
she draws the curtains to hide her face
from that tired old reflection.

It wasn't what the trailers promised,
but she's free now to be honest-
Free to dream she crossed the stream,
escaped without the toll;
it's far too late to twist her fate
before the credits roll.

My muse talked again, but of course not to me-
sitting still headphoned having just listened
to the entire Foxygen discography.
Something is never made from nothing
but some things are always never made-
I watch them pass by from my shut upstairs window
content with lukewarm lemonade.

Money will march to the beat of war drums,
passing through hard hands and chewing gum gums-
it takes what it makes, it gets what it gives
and progress is a prank found on fixed perspectives.
So if not for the cash, or to lend contribution,
why ever should I even step out my door?
Is it so my genes can offend evolution,
or just that my bedroom is such a bore?

Look at all those people going,
flowing down the street.
Like a river of corrosive mud,
they ***** whoever they meet.
So they never touch, never say hello-
just flow together down the hill
and collect at some new low.
Sleepy living in a ghost ship
sailing just above,
I'm leaning out my window-
dreaming about love.
This iridescent hull is hollow
save for you and I myself-
we remain a sticky dry,
and wallow on their bottom shelf.
I dreamt I jumped into this sea where
spotted splashing
someone saved me.
When I cried out loud enough
my tears would soak the sand
so reaching down to pull me out
I washed their ***** hands.

Every eye here is a whistle,
so keep your drugs locked up
and every seat contains a thistle
so you’ll have to sleep standing up.

Keep digging for bravery
between running from the hounds
always escaping slavery
and refraining from making sounds.

You'll soon find
that’s no way to live
the quarries here are all dug out-
So when you've got nothing left to give
and everything left to figure out
you have to pack up often
leave what you can’t keep
always take the long road
and always the most steep.

I really am just like you
except I tied myself to me
and roam around alone here
miserable and free.

What you need is what I need
but you’ll have to find me first.
I can keep you dry
and you can quench my thirst.

“Does one who has gone mad know he has gone mad?”
asks aloud the old man,

"If one does know, then surely I am not mad for I do not know;
If one does not know, then surely I am mad for I too do not know."

The man ponders naked, a bathrobe turbaned around his wet hair and sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor. He faces directly away from the wall mirror and trips his handsome head off his bitter tongue.

Putting his chin up he resigns his thoughts, declaring
"If a sane man knows that he is sane than I surely must know too."

On this howling nightmare night,
wake together into darkness,
voodoo puppets pinned to pillows-
voices cancel out vibrations,
silence loses way in rattle,
village loses way in war,
metropolis shatters in the window,
Nightmare, I'm awake once more.

Fields stretch, of paper white
And grey as day is losing light
Alone I rally muscles fight
So I be home before the night
Wind will chill me gill to gill
As ice will render muscles still
Sheltered not from cruel chill
So I will make my journey still
Long I jog, through howling clatter
Jaw wont move, unless to chatter
Hearing sweat drops frozen, shatter
Movement warms my sleepy matter
Locomotive losing speed
Juggernaut has lost the need
Lifeless muscles need to feed
Yet still i beg them, "forward heed!"
In the distance- lights are lit!
I call, but silenced in a fit
My throat is scratched by icy spit
As I collapse in snow,
that's it.

Here’s something to melt the snows
so you may bloom your compass rose-
Go far away without delay,
how dare you ever think to stay!
Just let me take some Kate to keep
in Michigan and weep
with joy as you grow
West without a doubt-
though I keep here, I'll figure out
just where to go-
maybe somewhere that doesn't snow!
If you can do it so can I,
So go! And I might also try!

Such a noble little poet,
who thinks the future is in your hands
when it's in your head; poetry is dead.
But age does bring wisdom (after the fall),
so what good is it screaming at the wall
with still some good numbers to call?
What good is it screaming at the wall
when my door is never locked?
Come to me instead,
and don't say I never knocked.

This room was dark and loud, everything glowing a soft yet piercing
shade of pink. The ceiling was abuzz with sinful distortion
of mind and body, the floor writhing and squirming in lustful torment,
and all in between was this dark ****** exchange of dreamy madness!
December screws those tightly into that packed basement, all but a few
puffs of cigarette smokers who huddle at the steps peaking over
and yakking, and though their bodies freeze, their eyes shift about
their edges, lingering fearful and sorrowful over the doorway as
it appears in some hellish biblical portrait depicting the absolute form
of lust and desire and jealous agony, sin and *** at its highest organic peak. Like hesitant lemmings, like grounded birds, like chickens
they dare never enter because they may never enter. Unwelcome
are the fearful and the human from that dark sinister ****** presence who came here for love and then found none,
but angelic girls in heavens twisted favor may come and go as they
please!  How angelic they were too- cold and alone, drunken and
undressed they open themselves up to heat of the floor and lose their
minds and manners to the pervasive rhythm pulsating like some heart
between the swirling psychedelic patterns that adorn the walls,
whatever a heart may be they shine, and the heart sways heavily
through the flames and the devilish young men, handsome!
Charming! Their smiles bring these girls to their knees again and
again they play them like harps and the girls are played such
a silky and shrouded lullaby in which they find brief silence
hidden between waves of fashioned euphoria,
silence comparable to the silence one finds sitting in the midst
of an elephant stampede while the whole earth trembles to the horizon,
and it is a silence found only when one is sure beyond all doubt that they are completely
alone.

One million and one tiny houses span this city
where one million unsatisfied lovers sleep.
Does Romeos childish grin see more
than these unlit brick roads reveal?
In darkness lovers die alone.
Oh Romeo,
          what did you find in her eyes tonight?

Shooting stars fell in a line and danced across my eyes in quick succession
though the sun outshone them all
and who ever worshiped the stars anyway?

Then like fireflies flew north before broke,
and from the south I saw the great Diamond City
reach out above a jungle of metal concrete plastic plastic with lights
Oh! lights

Pinprick window TV stream style smiles selling streets projecting the moon for
advertising space; the population rises

Factory stormclouds only irritate umbrella stand footsteps who pretend
to hate the rain
and outshines dim sunlight baptizing all in electric glory

Candleflame prisons of light that honk through haze through
rainy Monday 6:30AM’s
choke on each others breath until we have nothing left but CO2;
dandelions inherit the earth.

we want nothing to do
with nothing to do
grow up with me
and ill grow up with you.

my dear sweet childhood love
who loves me
left me
here.

by no fault of ours
it just
happened
one day

the fulcrum slipped
the world swayed
and slipped
away
from him

in opaque rage
and eyes wide open
and paranoid venom
and piercing humiliation
and hallucination

his ghost lingers
in thick cannabis fog
now
and i'm a buddhist, by god by god
god who
left me
here

.          Design is flawless of the diamond city,
an organic stone equation spattered messy
green according to plan
and yes then red and then white and dead,
but would a single cloud churn the heavenly blue abyss
had it sparked against the steel will of mankind?
          So maybe the stars do play us for puppets
on threads of gentle gravity,
          And maybe the mountains move us
more than we ever wished to move them anyways,
          And maybe Gods thorny love spat you out
at exactly where you're just about to be.
          But what were the chances that still recovering our vision from the blinding eyes on the day of judgement, we couldn't yet see
that we had already made it to paradise.
          What better world have I to explore than this one
where every traffic light signals the endless passing
of the rhythmic energy of living,
and every passing soul reveals yet another bridge to cross or street to follow
behind their wild eyes where America was never short of lands uncharted; In the Diamond City I spoke to the warrior ****** masks
and recognized the voices of the restless spirits of the west.
          Their feet pitter patter between
colossal walls of natural and carnivorous symmetry and ponder the pillars of ancient Greece so everything feels so modern, as if its own existence were somehow premature, and it was.
          Young, in their claw
towards a concrete cocoon they sleep past these cement giants
who channel rivers of breath through hands and hairs
and endless leaves and lungs that rustle around above them awake,
all of them oblivious
of the showering accomplishment of now.

A number of years ago when I was learning to drive
My dad would make me drive down to Ionia Michigan
because it could **** a full hour of driving practice
And because it was some other place to go.

Just recently I had to go back there and pay off a speeding ticket.
There are worse things than paying off a speeding ticket.

This town has gotten tired.
I walk by the city hall and eye the crumbling brick beside the road
and I think they must not be trying very hard to attract any visitors here.
But there I was-
suddenly insulted.

The city lights have gone out decades ago but they never died. They left their posts- abandoned. Now all that remains are the the dim and flickering street lamps that stand on sidewalks and bide their time watching or waiting for the final walls to crumble.

The city has a sleepy aura that one would feel seeing somebody's 70's childhood toy, like a jack in the box or a colorful plastic record player left outside. A lost innocence, and the smell of marijuana seeping from every upstairs window downtown or of a girl once beautiful who now waits alone and used to take off her clothes and reveal her tongue and love the universe as it appeared to love her.

I walk inside another second hand store and see nobody attending the counter. Stiff- funereal clothes and grey dresses. There is one rack of men's clothing, I accidentally take a whiff of the stale dusty air and it suddenly holds me from touching them. I quietly stare at my sobering realization that I am in the cities ashtray. They sell here what they can't burn but probably should, and every ten shirts in a row indicates one more rock in a row at one of the many churches of necessity and I decide to get out.
This place gives me the creeps.