just get out of here
          flame on and up and out
    
                   go on

it's not like life is a card game and
we're all death's aces
                no
                   we all lose or we
         all win, depending on your philosophy
                             in the end

      hurry up and let's get out of here
                                   this chapter is far too long
                   time to start ripping out pages

I remember a time when time was just a number,
where the only times where school and dinner.
When I didn't have to grow up to be what I want,
but I could act it out in a secret lair or a parking lot.
As you become old, they try to rid you of you imagination,
well I say nay as I fly my submarine in a train station.
You know what take my wallet, live my life,
because I am a ninja hiding in the night.
Go ahead, try and catch me if you can,
Big old stupid corporate man.
You might be sophisticated and civilized,
so what, I am a 50 foot spider that can freakin' fly!

When your lips touched that bottle
And swallowed me whole
I thought good because
atleast I'd have  a better chance at keeping those things down
Whatever it was that you were trying to
push away
By drinking

But I was lost in your stomach
And made deaf by the sound of your heart
Your acid eroded me
And those monsters in that deep hollow pit
The ones in the dark
Well, they tore my limbs apart

I tried to find my way through
Cling on to something solid
but all I could hear was
*** *** ***

I didnt know you had a heart
But, you did keep it well hidden

Oh wait, that was mine
The sound of my own beating drum
As I desperately tried to
Get to you

I fell in love with your words
That beautiful mouth
That binded me to you
Like the alcohol in your blood
The blood that was never free from
your
own
self inflicted
Poison

People keep telling me I have a sense of humor.
I look around and wonder what drugs they are taking.
If this is funny to you, please get in the line on the left,
you will get a ***** prize.
If I am boring you, go shoot yourself now, as this is downhill from here.

And speaking of boredom, I read a quote the other day
that said that boredom is rage spread thin.
I've never really thought of boredom as something soft
and creamy to go on toast, but I can see it happening.

To the waitress at Jim's:  Yes, I'll have the eggs over easy,
and wheat toast, boredom on the side, please.

I'm trying this next time.  She will probably give me that look
that reminds me I am from a different planet.  I need this sort
of thing in my life.

nanu nanu

I know the way you held the tears in,
How they swam like an ocean in your eyes,
But still you would not let them fall,
Didn't want anyone to see you cry.

And I know now why you kept such a straight face,
You told me one night when we were drunk.
You said that people look ugly when they cry,
And that you didn't want to ruin your make-up.

But your face wasn't all that crumpled on that cold December night,
No, you went flying through the wind shield,
there was no beauty, no dignity in that lost fight,
On the night that you were killed.


And I wish I could say that they miss you now,
But truth is you're just another pretty face,
Forgotten almost as soon as you hit the ground,
Almost a week from that cold December day.

So I'll write another poem about your vanity,
The price you paid to keep your pain in,
But I cannot write about beauty you see,
Because the line between beauty and tragedy,
Is only paper thin...

I remember that summer by the lake
How you were surprisingly quiet that day
and nice to everyone which was weird
no sarcastic remarks
or swearing

so unlike you

your wit had died down
if we hadn't known better
we would of said you were distracted
But grateful for the change in your
demeanour
and teaching me to skip stones
If only you had taught me how to place my heart in my palm
and throw that away
instead

You weren't one for smiles
but you didn't like dramatic send offs either
that's why I was surprised when we found your cold body on the floor
bathed in the afternoon sun
In your fathers cabin
by that god forsaken lake
Under that red sky that turned everything the shade of your blood

Cassie slipped and fell and screamed
But I didn't hear her I was too busy focusing on you
willing myself to see a chest rising and falling
but all there was, was static
somewhere beyond Cassies screams

And Luke rushed to somehow clasp your wounds shut
The reflexes of a Doctor's child
But he didn't see that there was no more blood left to flow
and you were blue and cold
but you seemed unburdened of whatever
was eating
you

I remember feeling relief
I stood there
numb

We laughed at your funeral
At the irony of it all
and when your aunt got up and said you were the most
kind, generous young man
we almost died of laughter then

you were the most cold sarcastic ******we ever met

but still loved you

Jake elbowed me and said "What would he do if he was here right now?"
I smiled  "He'd jump out that ******* coffin and give his mother a heart attack"
Because it was you after all
You did love dramatic endings

I.
I wonder if you remember me.
You said, “Go out. Find me
that universe, and take these
with you.” Talismans.
Good luck charms like Mozart
and fifty-five ways to say hello.
Navajo night chant,
Peruvian wedding song,
diagrams of ribcages, gender,
bushmen and bones.
Gifts for a people you said
I may never meet.

It has been thirty-four years
and I wonder if you remember me.

II.
Less and less,
we call across the distance:
sixteen-point-twelve hours
between transmissions
and I wonder if you remember me.
I nearly kissed Jupiter for you,
nearly skimmed Saturn’s bright rings,
but you said, “Go out.
Find me that universe,”
so I sail out into the dark for you.

I keep a photo of you,
twenty years ancient,
to keep away the quiet
between your calls:
pale pixel, distant dot,
my origin receding,
I wonder if you remember me.

III.
I know now,
you never meant
to call me home.
Dutifully, I will go out,
but I wonder if you forget me.
I am still here, sailing.

I have put a Worry Eater
on your bookshelf, right
beside your favorite books.
It may look like a simple
wooden box, but don’t be
fooled: it is a Worry Eater
and the disguise is just
so random visitors will
not know what it is and
try to take it from you,
because Worry Eaters
are very rare and coveted
things.

I would think the name
should be self-explanatory,
but you must feed it daily
in order to keep your
Worry Eater happy and full.
Feeding it is simple:
open the lid and whisper
your worries in, or write them
on little scraps of paper —
lined college-ruled will do,
but the margins of old poems
make a special treat if you
want to do something nice
for your Worry Eater.
(I’ve heard that diner napkins
and the backs of grocery-store
receipts add a nice flavor, too.)

Some people may tell you,
“Don’t worry, everything will
be alright,” but these people
do not have a hungry
Worry Eater waiting at home,
so you can just smile coyly
at them and say, “Yes,
you’re right,” and then go home
and whisper your secret worries
to your secret Worry Eater.