I'll fasten my belt, but I won't let my beliefs buckle.
I'll need more than luck, though it's sweet as honeysuckle.
Good things start; well the path will get bumpy.
No doubt I am strong, but we all need company.

Most matters can be solved by the mind: it is the original power tool.
It has its domain, as it grows it will prove me a fool.
Inventions of the imagination are poor substitutes
In reality, fantasy has its roots.

The tree grows lofty while I sit in the branches sipping coffee.
Looking down with a fantastic view, I think
"These visions will do--in lieu of a real experience."
Because watching everyone have a good time
seems to suit me just fine.

A lady who is deserving of the title,
a search the FBI would call an x-file.
No one could find a spirit so kind.
Then, how lucky am I to
spy you with my little eye?

A woman most honest and wise
who always gives the best advice.
A loyal friend right unto the end.
You would look for laughter
in the middle of a disaster.

Winter is cold and cruel,
if you look in a mirror, you'll
see sadness does not suit you.
It must be hard, being so blue,
but this much is true:

The world becomes a beautiful place
when I look at your smiling face.

Currents, both peaceful and agitated
dance through my head,
stirring up emotion filled sediment.

It clouds my vision, cuts off my oxygen.
Slamming the brakes
only makes me swerve into oblivion.

While flooring it blurs the billboards
I love so much, and
leaves me passing over spiked cords

Floating in space amongst the stars
with nothing to push off of,
and nothing to hold on to
is the most terrifying place
for a man to be.

Yet it has become the norm.
All zipped up snug and tight,
safe in our space suits
we cannot reach one another.

But to take off this helmet
for one fleeting kiss is to risk
asphyxiation.

A sane man in a mental ward has no chance. He knows his name:
They’ve sewn it to his pants.
He closes his eyes and pretends he’s surrounded by novelty clocks.
Every hour the accusations of being cuckoo hit his head like
Jagged rocks.
With a dull ringing in his ears, he is still reeling from his fears
That came to be.

Nurses come in and out, trying to see what the fuss is all about.
He watches one load the syringe. He cannot help, but cringe.
Sedated, he starts to feel comfortable in this asylum
His mind is faded.
When the clouds clear, he knows he is hated here.
And so, tries to cheat his fate by sneaking out the gate.

He is lucky. His mind is a rarity. He kept his sanity.
He learned the hard way—No matter what others say:
it’s a choice. A desperate struggle to hold fast to the rational.
It is some comfort to know that every now and then it is acceptable to
Let go.
Take care not to stray too far. Should you get lost you will pay a grave cost.
No refunds.

If we were both much younger
would we be able to satisfy our hunger?
Would we still find new trails to blaze?
Or split a case as our hearts begin to race?

If we could do it all again, would we
do it all the same? Or break the mold
in a reckless quest for fame? What I would give
For a second chance, for one final dance.

If we could get along, then maybe it wouldn't matter
who was wrong. Could we put it all behind us?
Or would it be like popping pimples full of pus?
Another morning routine before our daily dose of caffeine.

If we had never met, would I still have these regrets?
Who would be in my thoughts as my fingers
pushed against these frets? My mind is in need of a
recess, but I know tonight will be sleepless.

Unfolding across countless tables
the same exaggerated fables
packed with hidden half-truths
spreading an agenda based on fear.

Another fight,
another foreign war
in a fledgling republic
no one cares about.

Reports of a far off catastrophe,
heralding disaster--calamity!
Turn the page and read about the death
of a celebrity.

Ask the homeless. They will tell you:
These rags provide little comfort.