Is there something specifically?
Is it tangible, emotional

Do you want me to tell you I’m sorry?
I can’t imagine why,
Even though I have been imagining
Why you want me to tell you I’m sorry

Maybe you don’t want anything from me
Which would be the worst
Maybe our volatile flames
Are only burning me, and not touching you

Maybe that’s why you want me to say I’m sorry
Because I wanted you to burn with me

Tick Tock Tick Tock
The Mouse runs down the clock
It’s on our floor
It’s out the door
It scampers down the walk
It’s past the gate
It will escape
Robbie throws a rock
Tick Tock
Tick Tock

Someone told me that inspiration comes in the form of an explosion
Another told me David came drifting through their ***** ceiling with a notecard in hand

Well I’m staring at my ceiling
In this library
And saying, the hell he does…

God doesn’t send me angels.
Inspiration is not hiding in a carbonated can that I just have to crack

Inspiration comes to me from a PlayDo machine
Something I grind and feed
Sometimes there’s something
Sometimes it’s all dried up
It comes in chunky nuggets, or smooth pasta

But it needs to be massaged
You need trained muscles, oiled gears
Writer’s block is negligence
Rusty cars never start

Wear Blue
Start Rituals
And write
Write
Write

Imagine grey, a sky like arsenic
Clouds like insulated fiberglass
And it’s raining too

I’m standing outside, feeling soggy
Looking greasy
With a sad umbrella just
Waiting to crack its ribs and turn
Inside out

It’s a contest, the first to blow apart
And rot in a landfill wins

I have coffee, but it has skim milk
And looks opaque
And smells like…
Tea
Squelch down the avenue
and run into someone you don’t want to
Accept the murky blanket of the day
And trudge along
Because today belongs to the Drudge

Hope is the invisible tie
That keeps our world together
It’s been there since the dawn of time
And continues on forever

It wakes the people with the sun
Hope of a new day
The day to change, the day’s begun
It whisks past doubts away

The hope to bring our soldiers home
To take away their pain
The Hope to employ the unemployed
So they can start again

And sometimes Hope will disappoint
Old dreams are put to bed
But from ashes ideas will grow
Hope is never, ever dead

It was something about your stubble
That I found so attractive
And mom found so repulsive
And she told me he’s nothing but,
Trouble

And you burst my safety bubble
We became so close, so quick
We burned so brightly it wrecked the wick
And I felt it in my gut,
Trouble

I was reduced to rubble
We drank the Kool-Aid of passion
Forgot love came in rations
And in the end we were double the
Trouble.

I’m from black umbrellas, and two piece pant suits
From ***** snow, and cars, and trains
From lying on a Persian rug
That smells like Starbucks in the morning and leather at night

I’m from sparkly gum on sidewalks, buttercup taxis
Lion King on Broadway, ballets, beautiful
From the land of street vendors, with 2 for $5 and best you’ll ever see
From the noises at night that rocked me to sleep

I’m from summer waterskiing and jellyfish stings
From revenge battles with a barbeque skewer
From Tom’s grilled cheese cut diagonally like I like it
And floury cakes that turned the whole kitchen white

I’m from pesky deer ticks tucked behind my ear
Because I lied too long beside the lavender bushes
I’m from the old weeping willow that cried every day
That cried harder than me the day we left

I’m from those random memories that make me smile
The bunny I never got because I couldn’t water tomatoes
The duo stroller we had because I didn’t walk fast enough for my mom. The Bus Stop café every day because mom doesn’t cook in the morning

I’m from the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps
Born and raised in a heterogeneous blend of innovators
I’m from the fleeting recollections that make up my past
The metropolitan palace of memories that houses my childhood