It's the way those lights pull at me,
that's how I know I don't want to go back.

It's how gravity seems skewed
and I'm falling
into the endless doorway
that is Pretty Lights.

Talib Kweli sang my lullaby;
I finally fell asleep to Kanye lines.
And the bathroom floor shouldn't melt this way,
it needs to be more esoteric.

The first fight club was just Tyler and I
pounding on each other.

It used to be enough that when I came home angry
and knowing that my life wasn't toeing my five-year plan,
I could clean my condominium or detail my car.
Someday I'd be dead without a scar
and there would be a really nice condo and car.
Really, really nice,
until the dust settled
or the next owner.
Nothing is static.
Even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.
Since fight club, I can wiggle half the teeth in my jaw.

Maybe self-improvement isn't the answer.

Tyler never knew his father.

Maybe self-destruction is the answer.

Tyler and I still go to fight club, together.
Fight club is in the basement of a bar, now,
after the bar closes on Saturday night,
and every week you go
there's more guys there.

Tyler gets under the one light
in the middle of the black concrete basement
and he can see that light flickering
back out of the dark
in a hundred pairs of eyes.
First thing Tyler yells is,
"The first rule about fight club
is you don't talk about fight club.

"The second rule about fight club,"
Tyler yells,
"is you don't talk about fight club."

Me,
I knew my dad for about six years,
but I don't remember anything.
My dad,
he starts a new family
in a new town
about every six years.
This isn't so much a family
as it's like he sets up a franchise.

What you see at fight club
is a generation of men
raised by women.

...

You aren't alive anywhere like you are at fight club.
When its you and one other guy
under that one light
in the middle of all those watching.
Fight club isn't about winning or losing fights.
Fight club isn't about words.
You see a guy come to fight club for the first time,
and his *** is a loaf of white bread.
You see the same guy here six months later,
and he looks carved out of wood.
This guy trusts himself to handle anything.
There's grunting and noise at fight club
like at the gym,
but fight club isn't about looking good.
There's hysterical shouting in tongues
like at church,
and when you wake up Sunday afternoon
you feel saved.

I woke up drowning
in the sleek black ocean
of unfamiliar pavement.
The cries of worry,
sorrow and shame
bled together as one.
I was asked questions
in what seemed like strange tongues
and responded with foreign answers.
And then, suddenly,
the road swallowed me whole,
like a pill, with no water.

I woke up floating
in the bright ambience
of an unknown struggle.
Needles prodded,
strangers argued
and loved ones watched on.
Confusion set in,
'Did I do something wrong?'
they told me just to lie still.
And then, abruptly,
the morphine surged
and the night fell away.


I woke up relaxed,
the I.V. saw to that,
as did the OxyContin.
Five stitches,
one for each separate time
my body bounced against the blacktop.
A fractured skull,
splintered like a rotting stump
struck by the dullest hatchet.
A broken leg,
encompassed in a new kind of boot,
for once on the receiving end of support.

And now I'm confined to the shrunken world
I map out with each small, slow step.
It seems I'm to die of boredom
rather than in the middle of Round Lake Boulevard.

It drives me crazy that Atmosphere is bigger
in New York than Minnesota
and yet none of them give a flying make love
about the one and only Purple Yoda.
It's how they call it solo
instead of a ****** island
and how instead of three and ***** back
same cup is an automatic win.
It doesn't matter if I'm in a backwoods cabin
or if im stuck in the big city.
No, no matter where I'm at in this state
I'm always anxious and ******.
I haven't seen one genuine smile
or a single pretty sun dress
and though I didn't think it possible
I'm missing home amidst the stress.
But I think what I hated most
about this trip to this place
Is in the middle of a long ****** night
after being down all **** day
I stole my dads truck,
went east on Sunrise Highway,
almost ran it to E
but didn't stop anyway
then I finally saw the exit
and turned left on Carmans Avenue
went right at the first stoplight
and I still didn't find you.

Another burning body
cast by the candlelight
is a dancing soft reminder
of all the ghosts inside
There is a burning building
trapped out in the night
where the people on the top floors
would rather burn than fly
Your drowning all your sorrows
that you found in the unknown
seeing the somber path before you
carved into this game of thrones
Just another drowning soul
each of them lost at sea
and we give them our best wishes
instead of what they need

You'll call it fate,
I'll call it karma
You'll call it faith
in the armada

The blossoms of unconscious
found in the ambience of sleep
interrupted by explosions
and implosions of a dream
Like how nothing seems to make sense
without a bit of consistency
and how life just seems to roll on
giving us no time to breathe
You ask me all the questions
you've picked up through your life
and the only answers I can give
are the elements of surprise
We spend so much time on thinking
trying to make everything seem right
that we forget there are no answers
that can't be figured out with time

You'll call it fate,
I'll say your right
There's no point in wasting time
on another endless fight

So,
It's been a couple of weeks
and I'm starting to see:
there isn't much else
that you need from me.
It seems that for you
lust is simply enough,
you forgot about love
once you learned how to ****.
I'm surprised that your sweat
never came out in black,
that the heat never caused
ink to bleed off your back.

Now,
I've seen plenty of woman
use two men as a whole
I'm just not used to fulfilling
the physical role;
I've always been the one listening
on the phone late at night
wondering what your resting head
on my chest would feel like.
But now I'm the one
with my arms 'round your waist
who knows exactly how bitter
your lips always taste.

And,
it took me a while
to finally discover
that of these two halves
I was meant for the other.
Previous women all found
that I'm too thoughtful and kind,
that instead of stroking your ego
I'd rather pleasure you mind.
They say nice guys finish last,
it's the age old curse,
at least it made me feel good
knowing that you finished first.

So,
I'm calling it quits
while I've still got my head,
before I get used
to the scent of your bed,
because every time
that I've ever tried to talk
you tell me your busy
or you're out for a walk.
I just need to find someone
who wants to know me,
wants to dissect all my thoughts
and know why I breathe.


At least I know I can make you scream

She was as smooth as Tarantino dialogue.
And you could tell she was dangerous.
But she seemed more content to dagger me with words
than shoot me with the guns at her hips;
maybe that's why they were penned with a point
and drawn in a deep black ink.
I thought she wanted to tie me down
'cause that's what she wanted me to think.
She talked on how she'd change her ways
and how she could help me do the same;
she spoke of working towards a living
rather than dying like a slave.
She led me to my own room,
to sheets that once were bright and red
but had now faded to maroon rust
like the blood of those long dead.
She showed me every country in the world
without us leaving from my den.
She brought me every star in the night sky
without ever reaching up a hand.
She took me around the world
in much less than eighty days,
but she was gone when the morning came.
She took my money, drugs and faith.

There's no upside to dying
over trying to live this down
Our lucks been running dry
while we've waited this one out
The prince is told to wear
a jagged thorn-filled crown
While the king refuses to explain
what his life was all about

Is it too much to ask for
A pretty girl with a crooked face
Who's happy just to wake up
Just to have me every day
And maybe she doesn't believe
In the beauty that I see
But maybe that's the reason
She ever fell in love with me
Or am I bound to the loneliness
A man tied to a ball by chain
Left to drag the weight around
Forced to deal with all the pain
Pulling bones right out of sockets
Tearing muscles at their seams
Slowly slowing me down
Until I'm in the depths of dreams
Where just the thoughts of something warm
Are more soothing than the reach
Towards the always failing stars
Before they crash into the beach
And where things that don't exist
Have a shot at seeming real
And where things you'll never touch
Seem like something you can feel

Sometimes I think
we're upside down
because I can count
every single pound
of six point six
sextillion tons
of the worlds weight
one by one.

Though some of the time
it's in my hands
it's usually on my back
and hard to stand;
maybe that's why
my spine tends to hurt
and the reason my palms
get caked with dirt.

Spin a web meticulous
Wield long, woven silk
String by arching string
Until your home is filled

Now you wait for flies to land
They garner you a feast
Until the instinct overcomes
You build yourself a fleet

Now your lovely spawns are here
They imitate your moves
They soon outgrow the mothers web
In time they bring your doom

The sprouts begin to retaliate
They **** your body dry
The hatchlings start their own new webs
With hopes to catch a fly

This is the only time I get to myself
so of course I'm gonna write about myself
I guess this pen and paper is a form of self help

And I'll admit -
I feel less haunted

I've got a lot of **** to get off my chest
Like how I've always felt like I'm second best
To a world full of ******* idiots
who did a better job
of makin' life make sense

You see, I've got all these thoughts up in my head
and I don't think they'll ever stop until I'm dead
They tend to come on stronger while I'm in my bed
Hopin' to find some rest
In my knife-proof vest

Cause I've been stabbed in the back a few times
And my paths crossed a few thin white lines
(But I guess that's how it should be)

Cause I've had nights where I broke down and cried
After long hard days where I believed the lies
(Because she told me that she loved me)

And I used to love God
Then I used to hate God
Then I told God to his face
That he didn't exist
Then I found God
And oh, good God
I found that even with faith
life ain't perfect

So beneath our tongues we're slippin' secrets
And in our lungs we're holdin' deep hits
As we get lost in fleeting moments
we notice
we chose this

We are not for them

We've found bliss

“I can believe things that are true
and things that aren't true
and I can believe things
where nobody knows
if they're true or not. 

I can believe in Santa Claus
and the Easter Bunny
and the Beatles
and Marilyn Monroe
and Elvis
and Mister Ed.
Listen -
I believe that people are perfectable,
that knowledge is infinite,
that the world is run
by secret banking cartels
and is visited by aliens
on a regular basis,
nice ones
that look like wrinkled lemurs
and bad ones who mutilate cattle
and want our water and our women. 

I believe that the future *****
and I believe that the future rocks
and I believe that one day
White Buffalo Woman is going to come back
and kick everyone's ***.
I believe that all men
are just overgrown boys
with deep problems communicating
and that the decline
in good *** in America
is coincident
with the decline in drive-in movie theaters
from state to state. 

I believe that all politicians
are unprincipled crooks
and I still believe that they are better
than the alternative.
I believe that California
is going to sink into the sea
when the big one comes,
while Florida
is going to dissolve into madness
and alligators
and toxic waste. 

I believe that antibacterial soap
is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease
so that one day
we'll all be wiped out by the common cold
like martians in War of the Worlds. 

I believe that the greatest poets of the last century
were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis,
that jade is dried dragon *****,
and that thousands of years ago
in a former life
I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. 

I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars.
I believe that candy
really did taste better when I was a kid,
that it's aerodynamically impossible
for a bumble bee to fly,
that light is a wave and a particle,
that there's a cat in a box somewhere
who's alive and dead
at the same time
(although
if they don't ever open the box
to feed it
it'll eventually just be
two different kinds of dead),
and that there are stars in the universe
billions of years older
than the universe itself. 

I believe in a personal god
who cares about me
and worries
and oversees everything I do.
I believe in an impersonal god
who set the universe in motion
and went off to hang with her girlfriends
and doesn't even know
that I'm alive.
I believe in an empty and godless universe
of causal chaos,
background noise,
and sheer blind luck. 

I believe that anyone
who says *** is overrated
just hasn't done it properly.
I believe that anyone
who claims to know what's going on
will lie about the little things too. 

I believe in absolute honesty
and sensible social lies.
I believe in a woman's right to choose,
a baby's right to live,
that while all human life is sacred
there's nothing wrong with the death penalty
if you can trust the legal system
implicitly,
and that no one but a *****
would ever trust the legal system. 

I believe that life is a game,
that life is a cruel joke,
and that life is what happens
when you're alive
and that you might as well
lie back and enjoy it.”

She stopped,
out of breath.

My dad was not without love,
but a cliched Irish *******
when he wanted to be.
Drinker, brawler,
all that stuff.
Never shed a tear,
saw weakness everywhere.
But he had this thing for poems,
poetry;
reading them, quoting them.
Probably thought it rounded him off,
ya know?
His way of apologizing,
I guess.
And there was one
that hung over the desk in his den.
It was only when I was a lot older,
I realized he had written it.
It was untitled,
four lines.
I read it at his funeral.
'Once more into the fray
Into the last good fight I'll ever know
Live and die on this day
Live and die on this day'

That day the grass boiled,
the sky churned
and the trees melted.
That day I felt better
than you will ever comprehend,
I felt a joy that can only be described
as purely indescribable;
I was the king of my own universe,
tucked neatly away
behind a small suburban neighborhood
where the flowers sold secrets
and the hills truly had eyes.
I was the god of a bridge that evening,
it only stood because I willed it to.
My consciousness was not as sturdy,
gaining omnipotence
took the wind right out of my step.

I woke up
swearing I'd never eat
another mushroom.

There was a time
where I didn't know anyone
with a child.
Where I hadn't been
a groomsmen
in three weddings.
Where I didn't feel as though
I were losing some imaginary race.

There was a time
when T.J. was still alive,
when Lisa was still alive,
when Peg was still alive.
But every flower wilts with time.
Some by choice,
some after a hard fought fight
and some after a long lived life.

There will be a time
when this all makes sense.
When I will see why my road
took the course it did.
When I will be humble
with my fate.

But time is relative
and it is man made.
Life is but a fleeting single flash.
It is just one big bang.

Pure energy,
harnessed
but not controlled,
being used in the most primitive,
****** way;
The essence of both
fire
and dance,
Making love
in one beautiful
moment

Sometimes, what's left behind
is better than what was there in the first place

You've got greed on your mind
and may have better things to do,
but we've seen grander sights
and have had better nights than you.

I have a closet full of costumes
yet not a single ****** disguise,
I can forever change my shape
buy I'll always keep these eyes.
I know I look worse for the wear,
I swear it's from nights spent on the move.
How do I know when the limits been reached
with no one there to disapprove?

We ambled 'home' through the streets
and arrived, just me and you.
We found comfort in the sheets
soft and smooth as scar tissue.
But If home is where the heart is
where do the heartless rest their head?
I guess I'll never know the truth
and tonight will bring no rest.

I'll keep stumbling around
until the crowds fail to gather
or a woman comes to my side;
I lie about preferring the latter.
And I've stumbled onto hard times
but caught myself before the cliff
and yet I took another step,
just for the simple sake of it.

Dead men speak with fallen angels.
Blind men in the silent presence of fate.
Ride the waves of a sea long forgotten.
The deep blue of her eyes covers the hate.

Oh God, what a conscious man I've been.

A strawberry-blonde,
buck tooth, 
dinosaur lovin' kid
is the purest thing
I think I've ever been.

As the river forward flows,
constructed for deconstruction,
the shores start to erode
with no intent of reproduction.
They dance off one another,
until one has been worn out;
like the stigma of the summer:
too hot to let your hair come down.
The rocks invade the river,
the river eats at the rocks.
Cold water sends a shiver
through all their late night talks.
As her mouth begins to stretch out,
as she becomes one with the sea,
the rocks are left with no doubt,
they are no longer what she needs.
All this time spent to confine her,
trying to tell her where to be,
he forgot to flow with her desires
and now she's finally running free.

Sweep these thoughts under your sheets
so you can sleep on them for now.
Do they draw daggers to your sleeves,
or are they light as a cloud?
What paintings have you drawn up of me,
what image do I draw in your mind?
Should we keep dancin' like the breeze
or will you bury me with time?
Am I someone that you'd keep,
like a secret, close to you?
Am I something that you need,
a new refreshing point of view?
'Cause I don't know where I am,
and I was hoping you'd help me
find the right direction
to a little home up in the trees.
A place to see the stars at night,
a place to find a little peace.
A place to raise some children right,
away from drugs and from t.v..
And when they've all grown up,
with dreams of different things to see,
they'll realize they had it rough
compared to life in the city.
But they'll be better for it
and they'll be thankful for me
so when I'm layin' in my death bed
I'll know I did at least 
one 
good 
thing.

Another albatross bends into a thousand canyons
As the battle blossoms another home fades away
Nothing fills the voids left by broken wings
The price of every burden bleeds out for free

I don't expect you
to ever really understand
I just wish you had 
the courage to give me one chance
I know you haven't 
seen all the things that I've seen
And trust me I've seen 
far too much of everything
I don't know if it's the drugs
or the path I've chosen
I bet it's both mixed with 
how the blackouts always close in
I'd trade the world away
and all of its stress
for seven simple seconds 
lying next to you in bed
Staring into your eyes
talking deep about life
I bet those seven seconds
would bend the rules of time
Cause I could spend forever
swimming through your velvet voice
And you can tell us whats in common
between me and the lost boys
Time would keep us captive
it would **** off all our pains
like this overdose of Nyquil
slowly coursing through my veins

Just give me a sign
I'd make the right move
Just give me a rhyme
You make it so smooth
Just give me the time
I'd give all mine to you
Just give me a line
You always speak the truth

Haven't you learned anything
from the tapes we've watched?
He'll die.
You'll say you can't move on.
You'll move on just fine in the city with me,
falling for one of my friends;
falling deeper down the rabbit hole
into some cliche label
that has yet to be properly named.
I'll then be forced into some war
I want nothing to do with,
and despite the fact
that I will become a broken man,
there will be no Beatles song
to carry me home.

We will sing and dance on the rooftops.
Forgetting the lower levels of our lives.

Oh sister,
if watching Across the Universe
has taught me one thing
it's that I helped to raise you right.
I just didn't know
it was right into the lions mouth
that is the urban crawl
of trading your life away
for dark dank bar corners
and aromatic head shops.

We'll go grab some coffee
from the place down the street,
where the old wooden floors
creak just beneath our feet.
Then we'll take our drinks out
for a walk through the park
where the moon shines enough light
to see each other in the dark.
We'll start mixin' things up
with the flask inside my coat.
The breezy wind ain't bad
once the heat hits our throats.
We'll share drinks at a bench,
joke about people passing by
and we'll hide behind trees
passing a bowl, getting high.
We'd explore a bit more
then watch an indie dramedy.
We'd forget about Trainspotting
and focus just on you and me.
We'll lie side by side,
as we will the rest of the night,
thinking of things to add
to the list of things we like
like all the chemicals
that make our bodies hum
and the facts that we are free
and that our nights are always fun.

It's just dawned on me:
all these houses are too close together
and all these rooms are full.
I have nowhere that I can scream to myself
without somebody close by knowing
that I'm not okay.

The Mississippi gleams
like the rock on your hand.
Let its water fill your cup,
its steam fill your lungs
and let yourself go with the rapids. 
For every blow
you take to the face,
every little shot
that finds its mark
and every hit
that leaves you gasping for air
comes a new way to roll
with the real punches thrown.

The river keeps flowing
and your left with few choices.
Grab a branch, find some stability
and start a life outside the stream.
Stop fighting, let yourself sink
and burn out beneath the waves.
Or you can ride it out, every twist and turn,
and see what N'orleans brings.

It first served as a conduit.
Somewhere pure to place
passions, pressures and people.
Now this place has become a board
where we must match
eachothers movement
with our own critical thinking.
Each tile filled with recycled lies
hidden within fresh new lines,
where every throw of the dice
could win you the round
or move you back in the ranks,
desperate and drained,
deservedly so.
The totems we've chosen for ourselves
move hastily through the rules,
guidelines and restrictions,
hoping that the next 'chance' card
we draw
might instead read 'fate,'
and that the game will finally cease.

"Go steady with me
I know it turns you off when I
I get talking like a teen
I get talking like a teen"

Yes, it does.
You read so well.
But it turns me on
when you speak
with such elegant grammar,
each word turned over
in your mind,
waiting to find it's perfect placement;
a lot like Stephen King,
another soul capable of capturing
my a.d.d.led attention.
Oh, what I'd do,
to be placed among
the proper nouns you leave out
and the procreated proverbs
you seem to sell your secrets to.
Instead, it seems,
you've caste me to the cemetery,
with the other animals,
only later to be risen from the dead.

This is your candle to burn,
The wax you long to flux?
You will this wick to blaze?
Then light our match with your crux

I'm a wise owl in sheep in wolf's clothing
Interpreting every cautious move made running with the pack
And you're exactly what you appear to be
You're ghostly traits just as transparent from the back
I am the pretentious walking dead man
Far too good for my own rotting flesh
I guess thats just the way she goes
down
Like any devil in a blood red dress
Last call only tends to last a little while
Until another bitter day calls for a God forsaken night
I am the self-forgetten first born
Passing lessons down after making no first decisions right
I've been on top of the town
Still wet from arctic lengths of time trapped under ice
I keep a hold of others' darkest secrets
ruling this game of thrones and still playing it nice
I'm a king in beggars clothing
I have everything I need and no reason to boast
I don't find joy in you're possessions
salvation found in being no one is a reason to coast
You've lost the fire that kept your spirits up
and have become another mindless ******* bore
when we're old and reacquainted
I'd like to see you convince me that I haven't lived more

"When they unearth these passages
will I appear to be proud?
Not if you're listening close enough.
Not if you're sounding it out."

The infinite serpent
that devours his own tail,
as he reaches the end,
is back where he began;
restarting the journey
inside out

I don't know what's more shallow,
me or the graves that I've dug.
I can't tell what's more empty,
my heart or the ones that I've loved.
I don't feel what's on fire,
Is it my eyes or the bridges I've crossed?
I wonder what's more winding?
My thoughts or the path that I walk.
I can't decide what's more frightening,
the ghosts that I carry or the people I haunt.
I cant see what cuts deeper,
the dagger you've drawn or the things that we want.

The infinite serpent
that devours his own tail,
as he reaches the end,
is back where he began;
restarting the journey 
outside in

A child learns to walk
his way to becoming a man.
A man learns to sit down, shut up
and listen to the master plan.
Seems kinda backwards 
to a guy like me,
so I'll keep walkin' on,
keep bein' free.
They say the grass is greener
on life's other side
so I took a trip,
I went for the ride.
I arrived and I saw
a new point of view,
I showed up refreshed,
feelin' somethin' new.
So I decided
that I'd stay for a while.
Got better reacquainted
with my inner child.
I spent my youth workin' hard
tryin' to grow up,
at twenty years of life I realized
that I hadn't lived enough.
So I opened up my heart and mind,
started trustin' everyone
except those who won't accept me,
those relationships are done.
Peace and love
and all that other good stuff
too many other people
just don't look for it enough.
But I started to accept it
once I opened my mind,
once I broke on through
to the other side.
Trap me in a room
with some normal populace
I'll be antisocial
in my head makin' lists,
'cause I wanna be sure
I don't end up like them.
My life, mind and time ain't as simple
as the suit and tie men.
But put me in a place
with people dyin' to be free
I'll have a smile on my face
and a reason to be me.
I'll enjoy myself,
I'll dance, laugh and love
and know Gods smilin' down on me
up from above.
He didn't give us life
to fill with work, stress and tears,
he never expected us
to face all our fears.
He loves us and he wants us
to be happy and free
like bluebirds in the sky
doin' whatever they please.

I'm not as cool
or as lame
as some would lead you to think
I'm not as calm
or hotheaded
as most people would say
I'm not as lost
or as focused
as I'd claim to be
I'm not as sad
or as happy
as the person I play

I'm just me
and I'm ****** good
at being
what they want me to be.

This house still is not a home. 
Sure, all my stuff is here,
and I have even more than I did before;
which I've found is rare after a move.
I have things like freedom
and a spot in the garage.
A theatre major across the hall
who likes Portlandia as much as I do.
A giant mirror
leaning on the living room,
which I doubt Keiya will ever move.
Joe's Market is now a block away
instead of Matt Elliot,
who is the epitome of white trash.
And Mud Suckers,
where I can find a mean chai,
is just two blocks past that.
I have Dinkytown
and it's countless opportunities
within walking distance.

What makes a house a home, though,
is love.
Home is where the heart is
and my heart has no memories 
to help support itself here.
I haven't laid in this bed,
watching David Bowie
in The Labyrinth,
with my arms perfectly placed
in the chasms of another's architect;
I have yet to get lost,
in this now familiar place,
with someone
I am uncomfortably comfortable with.

Like quicksand around my feet
procrastination keeps me.
I put things off
that I find off-putting;
It puts me in rough situations.

The kind of situations
that a man needs to grow.
How can you be upset with life
when your given all you need?
Nobody knows, it just sort of happens.
Everyone finds something
to complain about,
no matter how easy life is.
When the real wolves come
to overthrow us from our comfort
we are already too caught up
in ourselves.
We panic
We sink
We forget to remain
Calm.
And like being trapped in quicksand,
we are swallowed whole.

A nice stone fireplace.
Worn in chairs.
Tables covered in scratches,
stories people have forgotten.
Kind faces.
Delicious drinks.
I wish I lived in Caribou.
It's the kind of place
that helps me find peace
in the middle of the storm.
The kind of place
that helps me forget 
about the small things.

Your words seem often sheeted
by waves of mystique
Like sand by the ocean
out on the beach.
They pour over your lips
like waterfalls in your head
They come crashing into pools
of what's already been said
I'd love to dive in deeper
submerged in sadness and lies
To bathe in your holy spirit
like an infant first baptized 

Your eyes are like white wine
they help to calm my nerve
Your nerves are like explosions
they catch my eyes as they deserve
Your skin sets my skin on fire
whenever we don't touch
I feel the flame encase me
like a casket forged in rust
Your frame holds the painting
that is your beautiful soul
Your hands, unlike my burdens
could only be mine to hold

Your assets only intrigue me
you carry yourself so well
You drape yourself in clothes
to cover your beautiful self
Your modesty is mesmerizing
your humbleness deserves merit
You carry your lust inside you
like a bomb waiting to be lit
The words you've whispered to me
shoot contradictions like a gun
Contradictions like my ability
to write love poems to no one

I wonder what goes through your head
As you lie awake at night.
I wonder what you thought I'd say
When you said you weren't right.

Do you know how I pictured you?
The fun one that never rests.
But now I see your sadness.
It sinks anchors in my chest.

I see you yelling for help.
I see you stranded all alone.
I know your looking for something,
Maybe someone to call home.

I think you need help
But I'm too close to you.
You need someone further away
With a different point of view.

You expect me to share your weight,
To bring you in to safer shores,
But I'm finally shaking my blues,
What gives you the right to give me yours?

21 years of waking up 
with the bed half
empty.
The nightmare that haunts me
as I lie there, awake,
Is going through 20 more.

More than death
More than failure
More than large bodies of water
I fear being alone.

I won't let the love
that flows through my veins
go untapped. Unused.
I've already let
too much potential
go to waste.

'I mean, seriously,
what kind of man
scores a 31 on his ACT
and only goes on to do
a single year at community college?'

The same kind of man
who's worries have
teetered on the edges of love
rather than within the confines
of success.
The kind of man
who'd rather be writing
stories to the beat
of other peoples lives
than allow the tales
of his own journey
to grow dull with time.
The kind of man
who measures life
in the amount of friends
and loved ones a person
accumulates
rather than with stacks
of green paper.

Someday I'll meet a women
who can see the world as I do.
We will be happy
in our tiny, cute 
twin cities cottage.
I'll walk down the street
to grab the paper and some coffee,
she'll watch the boys
while trying to make her deadline.
We'll be happy
in our own chaotic,
free-spirited,
open-minded kind of way.
Physical possessions
poison the soul.
Money has no value here.

I'm soft-spoken.
But
Words
I say
Carry a
Heavy
Weight.

You resemble innocence:
the second one grasps
the concept
it becomes nearly
impossible to retain.
You are a thing
lost to time.
Though,
whenever I am introduced
to an unfamiliar aspect
a tingle is shot
up my spine
in a way that is
unequivocal

again,
like innocence.

I've been told
I seem cool 
from a distance,
and that I'm amazing 
if we manage
To get close.
It's too bad, then,
that I never learned 
how to navigate 
the middle grounds.

I know you can't get
from point A 
to point C
without a few trips over
the long winding
bridge
that is point B.
But I can't face my fear
of heights
or of what little is there 
to catch us
should it all collapse.

The fear of heights
Isn't really what it seems,
though.
I'm more afraid 
of waking up one morning
only to realize
I've forgotten how to fly
than of flight itself.

The biggest weakness I have
is my ability to love something
one day
and begin to tire of it
the next.
I find myself getting over
things sooner than I
can find their replacement. 

And I guess, 
amidst the womb 
that is
my ability to bore,
to forget, 
my fear 
of not being caught
developed.

Each time you recoil
to your northern roots
I am enamored.
Floored.
Caught in your web
like a leaf who's path,
being carved by the wind,
is brought to a sudden
and urgent 
stop.

We were only together
for what seemed like years.
But that was years ago.
And eventually we called it a day.
There have been
other girls since,
but none as calm,
kind
or gentle as you were. 
As you still are.

Every time I move past it
you retreat back home.
And Just like that,
the fuse is relit.
Like that night,
two years ago, in Boyds basement.
We didn't even kiss, but we did sleep
together. Side by side.
My arms around you.

I remember telling you
that I was in love. 
You were the first women
I ever shared those words with.
Im fairly positive that when you packed 
for Georgia
my heart was tucked away in your baggage.
It has resided in Atlanta
ever since.

In bed with his glasses on,
he had been too tired to take them off.
Too shy to smile.
Too nervous to say anything.

It was when she opened her mouth;
Revealing.

"I know why you're so quiet.
It's because you're excited."

"Through darkness you have come to your hope,
and have now all your desire."
The falling sun shone,
to gleam like red gold,
and the white was turned to a flame.

Into the waste lands beyond,
they passed over.
For they were afraid,
for they were still.

On the sixth day they overtook an old man.
He was clothed in rags; another beggar,
slouching and whining.

"Where are you going?"
          "What is that to you?" he answered.
"You know the answers."
          "The time of my labours now draws to and end.
The burden would have shown you wisdom and mercy."
"I desire an answer"
          "Then once more you are going the wrong way."

Did you notice,
that I noticed?
Yes, I noticed you.

We sat together.
We sat alone, but together.
Not alone in the sense
that we weren't together,
but alone in the sense that
it was just us.

We talked for hours
About our dreams
and our goals.
We revealed our frailties
and our nightmares.
We talked about the hours
that passed as we talked.

We fell for each other
as we joked about how
foolish things are
like love and fear;
like anger and confusion.
We foolishly joked
about falling for each other.

We pictured a life together
where finances didn't matter,
only that we were in love.
We pictured our children,
our cats and our dogs.
At least thats how I picture us
picturing us.

We sat together.
We sat alone, but together.
I mistook your love
for friendship at first
just as you mistook my friendship for love.
A mistake I made, thinking it was real
until the moment that I finally woke up.

They sat Together
on the porch with Their hot chocolate
now beginning to chill

He had so much to tell Her
how He felt
how He saw Her
how much She mattered to Him
He was so embarrassed to share His feelings
He was even worried
as to how HIs breath made clouds in the cold air
Hers were not as noticable

there were many things keeping Them apart
the slight mount of snow building between Them
the frigidness of the cold air
and the secrets

the secrets
hanging around Him
like the halo of the snow angel
She had made earlier that night

the love He had for Her
as refreshing as the cool air
against Her soft cheeks
yet He was afraid of it

He took Her hand in his
stared Her in the eye
and gathered His courage

then She said "I Love You"

Smooth, Sleek, Structured
Caramel colored and Calm
Slight scratches show
A past of pain, no glory
Smooth, Sleek, Structured
Caramel colored and Calm
A Soft and Simple stone

Too bad I hate rocks
Even one this beautiful.
Rocks are ******* boring.

She put on her make-up, her dress and her watch
She pulled up her socks and put up her hair
And in her hair, she placed the umbrella

The small green umbrella
had at first been a joke.
There in her cocktail
on their very first date.
He had taken it from the ice,
setting it above her left ear.

She walked out the door, down the driveway, to the car
She pulled out from the drive, and into the street
And in the rearview mirror, she caught the umbrella

She had worn it on each
of their dates after that.
Through all the long years.
Through all the happiness,
and sometimes the fights.
It always kept them connected.

She entered the building made of soft colored stone
She met with the nun, who helped her with the practice procession
Through her walks down the aisle, the sister noticed, but didnt ask, about the umbrella

She had worn it the night
that he had proposed,
just as she would
on the day they would wed;
and the next ten years after that.

She saw more cars pull up, more friends and family arrive
She met with them all, and spoke with them softly
They were all accustomed, of course, to the fifteen year old, faded, umbrella

Ten years after the wedding
she still had the keepsake.
She had even been wearing it
on the most tragic of days.
The day of the accident,
the one she survived.

So she walked down the aisle, and arrived center stage
She smiled at the calm face of the man that she loved
She then reached up to her hair, and inside his casket she placed

The Small Green Umbrella