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Aug 16 · 149
Scarecrows and Sundials
Never knowing just what you have, love
Could have (should've) been us... or maybe just me
But we'll see through tide and shore,
But when we sail in with flags shoal-masted
Even the ITC cant prove anyone living still rides with me.

To recognize our shared demise...
Could we - embitter expectations ?
Are they better than you?
Are they any better than me?

They... need (songs to keep the weary alert at sea)
They need to be better than we.

In all my songs and all my stories
I told the crowd how "she" might end with me
Or maybe end me

But are
These just dreams
That still
Let her hurt me
I will let her hurt me

But no
Whisper you're safe
You own your memr'y,  mind and choice or cost to your faith
Mystical and whimsy
Or are we my enemy
Maybe me

Time is a convenient tragedy
And I play witness to this evening's mystery
Inconvenient but always complicit company.
We were never meant to be

I... half drunk, half hallucinating, half angry - Who can I blame for not being me?

All the same but I maybe somebody.

We were never meant to be recognizable
never meant to be anybody you can acclaim
on the most current, convenient, complicity capitulated captivation of cognitive, but captured and categorized component of your human experience...

Now I'm
Someone you cant recognize
But now I'm now
Almost 40
And its always just been us.

(I'm 3 years to 41
who should I have become)

And what do I have to show
a body left too long in the undertow
This decomposing
This wreckage left of me

If in the last breaths I breathe
My history comes haunting me
There are 8 women I thought could love me

Yet today I can still recall the first
Her name like silver dripping onto silk
How her voice burned in through memories
And she's still here with me
I rode my bike by your house

And the second, like every second after
I painted you inside my head

The rest of this story, and I am sorry will drive you into a never ending loop of pity and tragedy and only one of us gets out alive...

We'll see if you can find any reference of me in three years.
There is a work of words, clumsily compiled, that I may eventually build with enough confidence to post or at least speak publicly - about my grandmother. She was the last of my grandparents to pass, but not even the last of my parents. We ideologically disagreed virulently... but I am starting to see that maybe my father's legacy of doing good and getting ******* around every corner but persevering anyway... may be a gift from both sides of my family. 93, I think she was 93. Two careers, 3 children, 5 grand children, 2 great grandkids.

It may be that her loss is so recent, or that the last 8 years through trauma, surgery, and recovery - being with her was more difficult, and I was also so far away. After losing my father, and never having been afforded the opportunity to decide for myself  how I wanted to remember him, I reflect that maybe I could've spent more time with her - a conscious regret calcified by how difficult it became to talk to her more than a few minutes when I did. Those brief moments of recognition were like trying to watch someone using a fly-swatter in a hurricane of history - desperate to maybe, if lucky, remember me.

Those moments were so different from the hundreds of hours of conversation. When we would have lunch, just she and I - and SHE insisted that any words expressed between us remained only hers and mine... an honor I have always kept sacred.

I said at her funeral that she was a constant source of council, regardless our inability to find common ground on things like faith and "right".

It's weird that I may only be handling this now, but I think I understand her better than I did. To live that long, to experience so much... I am not sure I will ever have the clarity of spirit or the bravery of self to suffer so much for so long and still inspire so many. It was no accident that she was everyone's grandma - she did that on purpose, and we had better give her credit for that.
Jul 4 · 60
Im envious of Bermuda.
Her triangle is so deeply recognized.
I am caught in the "this is me now" in the face of who I should've been, and who I thought I'd be.
Cathedrals stacked to the stars
Like for Margaret.
And that you don't know this reference is the perfect epithet.
But how can I place my weight against the scale?
Imperial? Metric? Metaphysical?
What is the search for a sense of self
If not a desperate notion to understand our gravity?
I'm grave, for the far too many I've buried and the far more whom found a mausoleum in me, secure in my secrets.
In theory buried with me, but buried within me, and that is far too great a weight to put on dirt and rock and mantle.
I won't be buried.
Not because I could not keep them but because of kindness in grief, and in the ground isn't safe for these stories to rest, lest, and list - oh list... they die with me never to be uninterred by graverobbers or corporate land barons seeking to build a new golf course.
If the earth had to bear the gravity of conscious existence, she would implode like a fledgling star.
I doubt humans are alone in the universe, but I'd honestly get it - such a mistake...
For evolutionary crafted monkees to dare say this is Me and bend the world and rules around us, mostly by seeking an understanding of those rules...
And then turning them to profit. How human.
Fools, all of us.
Slaves, indentured to the tide of society.
I thought the progression of civilization was to move forward.
The things we'd learned from the dark ages - foolish and desperate attempts to cling to what we thought of as power.
But what happens when power evolves?
It certainly has exceeded us by the boundless laws of physics.
We relent and release in deference to the "please lead me" through questionable times
No one questioning that we brought this unto ourselves
A marooned ship a mile from paradise but destined it it's ignorance to sink.
Nothing, spirit or body, would intelligently design this.
At the very least if the concept of God was not just metaphorical but an ecumenical argument that we should be better...
Why the need to argue at all?
We are perfect imperfections of random chance and about 4 pounds
Of mostly wet pretty much bacon
Electrified like an sophomoric Frankenstein
And most of us haven't even read Mary Shelley
We are a species so magnetic to ourselves.
Watch what we can do.
Even if we shouldn't do it.
Maybe I'll just do it to see what my neighbor does.
And so the echelons grow.
To a maximum order of magnitude 13.
If everyone tells two friends
And those two can only tell two others
With no repeats
Only 13 times can a story be shared before it exceeds the maximal population of our planet.
Only 13 times can a paper be folded in half until you breach space.
It's a poorly dreamed up pyramid scheme.
I've evidently started writing again.
I am not who I thought I'd be
Sure I look a little like John McClane now
If he'd birthed Gary Busey.
An unrelenting action hero
That finds "action" an unlikely filter too far from reality, and "hero" a notion so freely given that societally we have reduced what it was meant to mean.
Heroes used to be subjects of admiration
That which inspired aspiration in our youths (utes- some of you get it)
But the title of "hero" was an impermanent...

(Character) is a hero (timeline) for doing (x)

Yet it becomes their lifelong nomination to the firmament of history.
How many of our "heroes" died on crosses only to reveal skeletons (a lot) or journal pages of moments?
How many times have "heroes" been exposed as nearly inexplicable excellence deposed by the consequence of inconvenient fact?

{This guy did a super awesome thing... but oh, wait - no... don't Google, he's really a *******}

That achievement, as laudable as it should be, is no replacement for an expectation to be human.. to be in spite of being.

Athletes, actors, poets, and songwriters, producers, investors, and attorneys who all say "you're going to do great kid", who support you right up until the moment you aren't doing great... or in reality: they're about to get "me too"-ed. {I desperately want to call it moo-ed}

It's not an accident that every movie is familiar and every song sounds the same except the few artists who stake their own vulnerability - it's a badly written matinee.

[Like trying to make those words rhyme]

If we sound or seem mundane, it's because you, the sheeple, conditioned to show contrition at the steeple, believe it to be a reflection of your pain.
We've crafted a carefully cultivated currency of resistance in the constant contentious, captivating and  licensious, breeding and ever feeding, consumers of today... to tell you all to stop listening to us.

And stop smoking cigarettes <wink>.

Taylor Swift, America's sweetheart and a genuinely talented songwriter keeps writing songs about why you should stop listening to her. And that none of you get "it" is probably why I never will.

It's more subtle now. The punk and post punk movements of the pixies and velvet underground refaced the pavements surreptitious to what "adults" then thought was "a wall of sound".
But what is punk now except an exposition of 30 somethings trying to find the after hours after party, even literally underground? Or just go to bed?

We cannot even have an open discussion without being so hurt we have to find private corners to complain about anyone who disagrees with "me"
Never giving credence or understanding of what "me" means...

It's nothing. History will forget you as I hope it forgets me. The only thing I hope is that a few people read my lines, I might help shape a few minds, and I might live forever in the national archives - the pages of memory.
I may have been seeking
A perfect disaster
Thats where I found you
Poring through the files in the evidence room

Swipe right, its like a mirror
You're my reflection
In the beautiful fractals of broken stained glass
A composite of missed memories and failing to act

But I
Keep callin you "lady",
But thats a stretch like calling me a "gentleman"
I am a perfect *******
That's what you're after
Baby I'd be your "*****" if only you'd let me in
A thousand times I should've known
I should have felt
The thousand times without.
For the misplaced faith in a wraith I couldn't doubt...

My own feeling left me reeling
For me to tell the one story,
I'd left untold
And I can never know - if I was right...

I dreamt a hundred lives
And in each time
I never saw your face...

You were here with me from the beginning
Maybe a reflection of my ghost
Or I was too young for me to place you.

On and on.

But I chased you well.
I told the stories
In poems, songs, in visions
In theories, in ev'ry mis-decision
I keep you alive in every lie
In every breath that claims that I
I believe

Did you know that I drowned...

You are my hidden face
Wittness to my unveiled disgrace
I was once asked in all my songs
Who were "you"

My unseen mistress
My forgiveness,
My implacabal
Agressive shadow

My insecure insignificant
My insight
Myself deplorable
An adorable
A beautiful disaster

And we slept
So many nights
In each other's comforting arms
And I invited you in
Without a fight
But thats all you left in me

... the FIGHT

My disgraceful, irreplaceable
My exoneration,

my desperation, my displacement,
my revelations...

My whimsical
Mystical, quixiotical
My enervation...

Disgraceful, irreplaceable, it's not just distrust,
Its ireedemable

You're my,

Captivated, and one day they'll maybe see
You've always been me

My inescapable

I havent written in a long time. It would go a long way for me to have any critique. I deliberately wrote this out of meter, using percussive moments similar to A Day to Remember, Hawthorne Heights, and Breaking Benjamin as a punctuated separation of thought.

Bronte, Sartre, Eidelhoff, and Bruhn are referenced in meter or lyric.
Jan 27 · 340
An Unfinished Ballet
Feel the ***** of your feet
Each step painting a tapestry
Each breath left unnoticed
Each move unrelenting...

Neither of us
Wished I were here

What should've been a revival
became default to a recital
And every pirouette
A moment none of us
Should have missed
... and I'm no better

I'd've penned you letters
Each with the broken, desperate intent
And secret hope, you'd just throw it away

But I can feel in each poissson
As i fish for every moment you've lost
And the tilte barre
Cant fulfill your absent tomorrows
I could have staged for you
an "I'm sorry"

Now every time I hear your laugh
In playback or live from a hundred miles
Your giggles reignite in me
A flame through a negative
The moments as they might be
But here we are
And where we both were left to be
I figured out who I wrote this for.
I had a normal day once...
I suppose that depends on how you define "normal".
And I think it was a Tuesday,
But that depends on what a Tuesday is, or means, or if our Tuedays have ever meant the same things.
It was late spring. April, maybe May.
But it was a steamy Tuesday, the first angry sun after a rain.
And the only thought that occupied my mind that day,
In that moment and in my memory...
Was how the uneven earth felt beneath my feet
As I, solo, explored the woods beyond the shopping plaza across the street
And it might have been or may still be the last normal day for me
On some random Tuesday, two decades ago
In April or maybe May.
I maybe shouldve called this "catching your reflection in a pocket watch"
Nov 2020 · 138
Knowledge or Happiness
My intellect has served me only a level of awareness of the fragility
Of our world... bonded pieces tethered together
By the bubblegum and handshakes, and gentleman's agreements of
Violent, un-gentle men
Lost in time to a group-think long rumored to be extinct
Rumors whose purpose serve only to palliate the weariness of consumers
To keep the market machine spinning
But whose ideals every decade or so resurfaces to strike bold into each generation that our history is not as clean as
The books, and songs of the "good ol days" mislead us to believe
And to raise the rancor of the awakened shouting into choruses of their own voices carrying the same message of resist
And whose fervor is cartooned as extremist
It is said the entitlement of the peaceful to sleep sound at night
Is owed to the will of brave men who stand ready to deliver violence
On their behalf
But whose iron sights and guided bombs increasingly shift focus to the not-entirely-innocent
Whose guilt by association signed in iron pen their death warrants by foreign manipulators claiming liberation
They know what's best, after all
My intellect has served only to deliver this life of anxiety, in the pursuit of happiness.
Die Welt
Die Welt fällt um uns herum
Und Splitter
Splitter reißt durch die Luft
Und wir stehen
Denn es gibt kein Versteck
Aber die Liebe
Die Liebe wird uns dort beschützen

Und wir küssen uns
Als ob nichts passiert wäre
Und die Bomben
Fallen Sie weit zur Seite
Und die Kugeln
*******nicht so erschreckend
Und nichts so Auffälliges
Wie die Verlangsamung der Zeit

Und die Nacht
Die Nacht bricht um uns herum ein
Bis zum Morgengrauen kommt Licht
Wie der Rauch
Der Rauch setzt sich um uns herum ab
Wir stehen immer noch
Zur Niederlage beider Seiten

Dann sind wir helden
Nur diesen Tag

Und wir sind dann Helden
Nur für diesen Tag
This is the original way it was written.
Jan 2020 · 120
Enough of this
For time to be so temporal
For life to be so livable
This is too much
Enough of this captiulation
And scrificial commesuration
Grief and pity not longer
Share separate identity
Words we have spoken
Betray the prophesies written
And the ghosts and shadows of the past
Dictate that which will pass
Angst not on display
Is quietly suffered
While those whose voices do expel
The wanton verbosity signifying nothing
Do similarly nothing to quell
A riotius symptom of revolution
Erased by untenable conclusions
Simply delay and unite
If they are not loath to invite
The most unquietous suspect
Public dissolusion.
First Ive written in years. Be cruel.
Can you tell me have I lost my mind?
Seeking other lonely to be my guide.
Streetlight prophets have all your answers for a price
Turning all your coppers into fortified signs.

I keep on dreaming of you and of you only
Speaking your name as though it's something I hold holy
But can you tell me does the sky get lonely
.. Siting all alone up there

Sing me songs of love and revolution
In a rage of fury and absolution
The alley oracles keep searching for solutions
To find fortune in hearts weakened by contusions.
They sing...

Find me love sweet like sacramental wine
For my penance I'd pay any price
Give me strength to pursue my paradise
And the wisdom when I find it to recognize
That the only thing missing in my life
Was someone to walk beside.

They sing...
Can you tell us have we lost our minds
Seeking other lonely to be our guides
To navigate and hide us in the streetlights
As we lay awake looking for a sign.
Jun 2016 · 973
The Pulse
Its nigh on nine
In the evening.
And I for the first time in too long
Feel each heart beat leave
This frail form
Never to be heard again.
And they are all different
And some have gone unnoticed
Sadly the preservation of life
Sometimes bears no witness.
The meticulous muscle un-felt
As it pounds against all
The could've been-s and maybes.
Each gasping for the air
My lungs are the warden to disperse.
Held in a prison of bone and flesh
Unseated and riled at the mildest stimuli
Beating their own rhythm
A pendulum marking its own time.
The clock is broken and never to repeat
And each beat is a second closer to its last
It is in the dim candlelight and shadow
That it screams the loudest.
Why is a heartbeat so unforgiving
And yet so unrelenting
That at moments of peace we're hardly aware its there?
And why when shadows cross a wall
In a cast of two dimensional players
Does it cheer so?
Sometimes it is as if
It will break free from my breast
And beat no longer
I can only hope
That when it leaves
Its in a rage of songs and fury
And its departure does not go unnoticed.
Ante, Shuffle, Deal me in
You should know that I came to win
Perfect smile, low cut dress
You'll reveal everything
Cut the deck and deal the cards
I cant win until this thing starts
We both know this is my last game

Place your bets, raises, calls
I bet my blind you're a queen of hearts
Pocket Aces, bluff and call
I'd chase the river from this start
No one wins until one of us ends
Play the slow game and stay your hand
There's no way I can lose this game
My chips are all in when you're playing with my heart

I chased my queen down the river
*** commited and I'm all in
Cashing in on my losings
Neither of us can ever win
We could run away together
We'd have to leave right now
Let them chase us for forever
And burn this card house down

Time to make a decision
This has gone on way too long
Stay, fold, or raise me
Cant hide behind your cards
When you gave me your heart, baby
You said it was safe to play
But my hearts set on arson
And you love this game

Burn the card, throw the flop
Every tell reveals what your chasing
Say the words, we can stop
Let my jack baby be your king
After this we wont be the same
I'm the wildcard you cant tame
If we'd both win I'd throw the game
I would.

Texas-hold my
broken heart
We were always meant to end like this
A game of chance,
a deck of cards
Our love staked on a
game -  of - risk
What the hell,
just roll the dice
Someone else could be just as nice
No more buy backs,
you cant re-buy-in
I'll burn this house down to ensure the house never wins

I'll chase my queen down the river
I committed and went all in
Now I'm cashing in on my losings
Cause its like I never win
We can run away together
We'd have to leave right now
We'll run until forever
And let them chase us down

Time to make a decision
We're both sick of playing games
Thought I'd win on the gamble
I wont buy your poker face
You've got a decision, baby
I've loved you from the start
Or is everything I've dreamed of
A bad hand of cards

(Your clever highness
usher out the bards
try to hide the bluff in
hide the bluff in your house of cards)

Time to make a decision
It'll never be the same
Thought I played a safe gamble
But you lit the flame

You decide if we chase the river
And if you'll lose this game
But if you're gonna chase that rabbit
This house - goes up - in flames

Chase me to the river
It'll cost you everything
Chase me for forever
But you know I'm all in

You've got to make a decision
I've loved you from the start
Or is everything I've played for
A bad hand of cards
A modified version of Taylor Swift's "Blank Space" adjusted to the heavier sound of I Prevail's cover. This is the same story as her's, from a jaded guy perspective.
Feb 2015 · 770
The Guilt of Immortality
I've lived for a thousand years.
The thing about immortality...
You dont get to live
And you dont get to die.

You just watch.
As everyone you know
Lives... and leaves.

The people that I admire most;
The ones who have made immortality
Less painful...

Were the ones who,
Even for the briefest moment,
Allowed me to live in those years
With them
Not beyond them.

Who allowed me not to think
Without guilt
Of a future without them in it,
Or how I will someday have to deal with their loss.
How I,
Will have to keep living.
Jun 2014 · 2.1k
Little Bastard
I dont know any cool pickup lines,
I stole them from TV
Hey baby do you have the time?
You just walked away from me

Im not cool or smooth
And I'm not slick
And I need to think of something quick

He didnt write for you, that punk rock love song,
He stole it from the Byrds
He just changed the chords
And never bothered to learn the words

But he's got you hooked
Your pulse
Is racing

You know that hes a traitor
He's a one-track trouble maker
And he's rotten company

But he's got you in his sights
You're going home with him tonight
Another loveless casualty

He keeps you coming back for more but now
Hes into someone new
He changed the locks on both my doors
So I guess that means we're through

But baby dont go,
He isn't home
And I'm waiting

I know that he's a traitor
A true master debater
Such sincere insincerity
Without hesitation
Standing in ovation to
Your perfect symmetry

We'd take it slow
But we both know
He's waiting

You know that hes a traitor
Silver tounged negotiator
And he's plotting mutiny
You dont know him quite like I do
Once he's had his way, he'll leave you
To a taxi company
And he's immune to my handy remedy,

Just come inside, he asks persuadingly
But you, you're thinking of me

Just spend the night
We'll work it out

You know that hes a traitor
He's a one-track trouble maker
And he's rotten company
But he's got you in his sights
You're going home with him tonight
Another loveless casualty
That little ******* part of me
Another thematically, or at least rhythmically influenced. Check out Ludo "Mutiny Below" for where I was going with this one.
Jan 2014 · 2.8k
God Dies at the End
This is not a poem.
This is a rant.

I will put on my rage face,
And paint the town red,
And "just go crazy, man"
With the company of myself
In the comfort of my own home
Because I can tear my shirt,
Or draw a knife
Or shout shakespear off a balcony
And I openly scream at the shadows
Who answer politely with silence
I can behave badly
And if I am my only witness
I can sleep at night
Without the peace and solitude that comes from iron bars
And padded cells
I can fight with myself and indulge in the guilty pleasures
That make me feel sullied and stupid
I can argue with a hundred dream girls
And when I sleep,
They are still there in my dreams
There is no loss or losing
I can spend three hundred dollars
Monthly on alcohol
If it saves me three thousand
Monthly on sanity
I can look in the mirror and see a hundred different faces
Each more honest to its emotion than the last
I can bite my tongue to spite my face and
Laugh that it was my reflection that drove me to do so,
You never know what that ******* will say
When i am not looking
I dont spend the night on the town
Because I no longer need to surround myself with people.
I no longer need to go out to buy a hat
That suits me and makes me look interesting or meaningful
When I sit alone at the bar
I have no one to impress except myself
And myself already knows I am unimpressive.
There is no one to disappoint
And while this seems like a sad tale,
The truth is that it is the free-est I've ever felt.
In the sanctity of a space that is mine
Surrounded only by people I disagree with
My reflections
And shadows
And to be able to write this while wearing underpants.
Bukowski was right
God is dead
The last line is ironic. If you get it.
Jan 2014 · 1.2k
Sometimes I spit
To let the saliva
On my lips

Its stupid cold
A cold of the kind
That effects the synapses
Of the mind

So cold the the very molecules
Experience a slowing of time
That I
Cannot taste

Cold so that the frozen ground
Refuses to accept
The burial shroud

A kind of cold
That dinosaurs
Dreamt of in nightmares

Planetary bodies
Far more distant from ours
Are warmer

And still the saliva


Moist on my lips


And dripping

A defiant *******
Shouting **** physics
**** the evidence

Nothing can be as real and limiting as this

Biology at war with
The law of thermodynamics

A molecular battle to exist

And still the cold persists
Nov 2013 · 1.0k
My home has been invaded.
Not by the usual suspects.
Instead, by the ravenous locusts of judgement.
Of the "I told you so's" and not good enough's.
A territorial plague that infests the very structure of molecules.
Never has a room so full felt so empty.

They digest.
Devouring the fabric of electron bonds
To where the air itself is heavier than water

And my lungs choke,
Desperate for smoke.
The condescending eyes,
The pollution of a space I once called mine.
A space once pristine has now
Festooned itself in patternous greed
Where opinion is paragon before law
And the laws once laid
Leave a cavitated wake
As they lay helpless by the wayside
Waiting for a passer-by
To claim the unclean deed
And draw away what sickens me

The raw and busted hide
Plays brave but cracks to the festering wound
Of unbridled, wild pride.
So strong are those that sit on perceived thrones
That even in another's home
Basic courtesies are considered contrived.

And the sickness soaks
Deep in the bones
Of the worn and weary
We should all hope to press without due regard
Sep 2013 · 876
An Odd Date With Death
Late last night I had a date with Death
And she wore a corsage of my last breath
Around her wrist and
I dressed to impress
Half-heartedly desperate to look my best...
I wore a sweater-vest

With a spoon, I slit my throat
And pulled my tongue through the narrow hole
I figured I was getting dressed to die
So I wore a cuban neck tie

I picked her up at eight
On the street parallel to the eastern gate
Of a golf course adjacent to cemetery trees
... Seemed about right to me.

We strolled through the evergreens
And a thorny briar of trees
Silently chewing on epitaffy

I was unsurprised that there was a plot
I had not surmised
And when we found ourselves raising hell
I checked my watch for the time

I walked her home along the shores
Of a river called Styx
With a gondolier called Charon.
And despite his non-speaking tone,
It was nice.

We walked to a house made of brimstone and bricks
I found myself standing at Death's door
and peered inside expecting fire
But instead the fireplace was roasting goat hide

I smiled
And I leaned in for a kiss
Instead of a kiss, all she gave me is...
A pat on the shoulder
And said we could still be friends
After all, we'd be together in
The End
May 2013 · 2.1k
A Werewolf in London, 1599
What dew so sweet
On the morning willow grows
And the blood runs true deep
Alas the body overthrows
Pray thee to gaze
Lay waste to the east
Upon western glades
Resounds, the bay of the beast
In mortal coil
On cracked earth resign
The body transform
Lay return to the mind
And in provincial mist
Walk thee twixt the cold
Eyes upon skin
And tattered remnants of clothes
And speaketh no name
But pray eat and sleep
And rest now anon
A fortnight defeat
For liketh the moonrise
Three days a month full
Give rise, hounds of hell
Ne're the sunrise to cull
Some men fight for charity
Some to save their youth
Some men fight for pride
Against an evil brood
Some men wish for safety
Far from foreign shores
While some men live and die
By the blade of their own sword

And while we waste the days at sea
Alone and unafraid
And long times from our lives and homes
We often tend to stay

The claim is always righteous
The innocent to save
And while men stand on walls at night
Some sleep in the shadows wake.

And Neptune mighty, king alas
Send fair winds and following seas
And guide onto familiar shores
Those that choose to ride with me.

I dont mean to deceive you, men
I aim to misbehave
For those who stand fast, I intend
To place you in harm's way.

So make your peace to the deep
And Davy Jones be kind
Let your waters run swift and true
Leave no man left behind
Nov 2012 · 923
I feel sometimes
That I am standing on a ledge
High enough
That when the clouds clear
And the seas are calm
I can glean a moment
Of the lost Atlantis
And far above the city lights
I can touch the stars
And capture a breath
Of the human soul

If you could for a moment
Experience this elation
This exileration
Than you would come to realize
That at most you know nothing
And that simple fact
Is the greatest truth to know

On the edge of this precipice
Made jagged by fire escapes
The world below seems small
And falls away to nothing
The grand canyon cannot reach so deep.

It is here that I find a segmented
Illusion of peace
And a serenity
That escapes me so completely
When I look away
That I become empty
A vessel without a captain
A being without purpose
On this ledge
I have more strength
Than the bitter moments that
Fill the space between these interactions
Here I can know God
And I am not a believer

In these breaths of
Honest truths
Where I can finally be alone
And in that loneliness
Finally find a path
That allows me to stumble
My way back to myself

So why
When I am on the verge
Of all that I am
Of all I could be
At this point of decision...

Is someone trying to talk me down
Oct 2012 · 701
Insincerity For Amusement
Your interest seemed so sincere
I thought I ought pretend these words have purpose
But as you read
You will see
That these words are worthless
You fell for it.... don't hate. :)
Where I grew up
We didn't celebrate celebrity
And weren't slaves
to the cattle-drivers of the masses

Where I grew up,
We were just young

And free

We toiled on train-tracks
Inventing troubles requiring
A daring escape.

With our stick-strapped-satchels
We foolishly mocked the local bums

Jealous of their freedom.
Ignorant of their pain.

Imitation is the hallmark of love
And yes, we loved the bums
And we were thorough through it

Where I grew up
The incandescence of the late afternoon
And early morning suns
Drew in a vibrant orange
Cast as paint on pale walls

The apartment... and eventually... the house
Shone brighter for it;
Though it seemed to struggle less in a house
That was considerably more empty

Especially around the holidays.

Where I grew up
We were taught racial and radical equality
Exacted with extreme prejudice
At every pep rally and presumably PTA meeting.

And while neighboring towns held race riots
We were racing our bikes, well...
I do miss my rollerblades

Where I grew up
Every girl was pretty as a movie star
And chased the bad boys
Like in every story I'd ever heard

And those boys won by popularity and power of presence
Girls they never deserved

Where I grew up
In winter we built massive palaces
From the winter's teardrops that huddled together
For warmth after the plow

Where I grew up...

I grew up too soon.
A little more than a little at a time
And it became clear
I had to move.
Sep 2012 · 1.1k
I run
Away from good fortune
and into the fray
Fortuna favet fortibus
Or so someone once said

I run from the city skies poisoned
by the blinding lights of frivolity
Desperate for blackouts
Rolling and unpredicatble
I hope they last months
So I can fill a mason jar with fire flys

I run from the pretty faces
Claiming exasperatedly that mine is just
And that pretty faces are often
If not always
Attached to liars

I run from the honesty
The unyielding truth that I
have ceased to be me
And have been replaced
by an imposter
Who laughs when I look in the mirror

I run until my lungs gasp
For the air between two stars
And until the blood flowing
In the sinew of my thigh
Begins to burn and clot

I run
Until my legs fall off

Just to crawl across the finish
And pretend that I
am a martyr
For a purpose that kept me running
And I forget now
Apr 2012 · 1.4k
Somewhere there is a bee
Excellent at pollination
If a little aggressive.
Someday this bee will sting
And will find out the irony
That he is allergic to me.
[ G Major 3/4 time]

Some nights I cant remember
All the things that happened
I never will get over
All the mornings after

How many loves of a lifetime
Walked right out my front door
While I lied-awake hopelessly
Wanting for more

Each notch in my bedpost
Another scar on my heart
Of the ten-thousand maybes
Who turned out to be not

They march right through me
In an endless parade
Insufficient remedies
For someone I cant replace

My pulse is the drum beat
Our love was the war
And their harmonies choke me
As I hang by my
Guitar chords

I keep on playing you
A song written for her
It has a different title now
The contents are undisturbed

Violins whisper
A dull aching pain
And in a hundred "I love yous"
I whispered her name

Each moment of ecstasy
That rips you away
Leaves the empty shell of me
Searching for an escape

But her song keeps playing
A phantom theme in my head
While you reach your crescendo
I'm just here in our bed

My pulse is the drum beat
Our love is the war
And our harmony chokes me
As I hang myself by my

Emptiness chokes me
As I hang myself and I

As I hang by my
Guitar chords

<instrumental - strings bridge>

<modulated harmony and waltz... piano>

<drums and acoustic front + choral vocal overlay "suffocate...">

Her pulse was my drum beat
My love was the cost
Cashed-in in self-sacrifice
It was me that I lost

In mirrors like pictures
I can see who I was
But I look so different now...
I became "I am because"

We shared our heartbeat
Our love was the war
and this song hangs
Something unfinished
I suffocate
Trapped in our tapestry
It's just me
Left to hang by my guitar chords
Maybe the only song I ever wrote in G major; such an epic Disney feel. Guitar, strings, piano, vocals, I even have harmonica for this... but its rhythym and melody is hugely inspired by Taking Back Sunday "A New American Classic".

Maybe 9 people in the world know who this song was about - and Ive never recovered. Maybe that's why I am alone now.
Sep 2011 · 2.4k
Privileged Little Bitch-Girl
Its a **** shame that she had such a pretty picture
Cause when we finally met she was such a ***** - Her
Mouth kept running round the clock
She ******* about her life non-stop
I said "girl, I don't care about your ****"
Stuck up privileged little rich girl

Its a shame that shes such a beautiful disaster
Cause her pretty smile wont let anyone walk past her
Pay attention and you'll see
She thinks she's Jackie Kennedy
That stuck-up little *****-girl

Dont waste my time
I dont want to hear it anymore
You hate your dad
And your sick of being bored
Maybe that means something
To somebody else
You think that you're the only one
Looking for a way out

Some day she'll wake up and she'll look in to the mirror
And she will find out that theres no one near her
What do you expect
When all you care about's yourself
But there are some nights that I still miss her...
My privileged little *****-girl.
Sep 2011 · 993
The Tree of Knowledge
The bees of the tree of knowledge
Produce a honey so sweet
And so protected in the tree's mortal coils
That any who drink from it
Get diabetes
And scrapes on their knees.
Sep 2011 · 1.9k
I am not what you expected
A paradox in locomotion
A pendulum marking out its own time
An uninspired
Who refuses to write in words that sound similiar
And I too will leave you wanting
Jun 2011 · 896
Demilitarized Zone
On the streets of Baghdad
Stood a man begging for peace
And honesty
And quiet on the sabbath
And in the wreckage
Of Sunnis and Shiites
And deaf from the bomb blasts
He was finally allowed to have it.
Jun 2011 · 3.2k
The End of Imagination
In all our haunted houses
Are ghosts just wrapped in sheets
And the vampires and werewolves
Havent been seen in weeks
We diagnosed the children
Who heard voices in their rooms
Now all they do is paint the walls
In crayola crayon hues
And the monsters under our stairs and beds
Seek refuge in our closets
As we boiled imagination down
To vibrations in quartz deposits
The sky betrayed an aura of foreboding
Not that I expected anything to happen
And perhaps it was just the impending storm
But the air itself seemed to dance

As every molecule vibrated visibly
And meticulusly
Towards some unseen end
And to be sure
It wasnt just the storm
But the sand upon the shore
Galloped away from the whisking waves
To a percieved safety
Flawed though it may be
That is what they percieved

Those lonely grains of sand
And that shrouded musky air
Fleeing from winter's lips
Revealing teeth, but in the bare
If not but for the few
Grains of sand and dancing air
Whom escaped winters grasp
Would this tale be told
And dark winter, upon its lips
Wears a dream of spring
Out of the cold
Dec 2010 · 1.1k
Money Shot
You were in the mezzanine
By the dugout of your favorite team
And when you tore your dress
They got it on the mega screen
Well, even the next day
After the attention went away
Your picture found its way
Into a girly magazine

Well, you did your walk of shame
And it became your name
But at least you got your 15 minutes
Of televison fame
On that summer day
Where your crotch was on display
And bad luck for the home team
Cause no one could watch the game
Oct 2010 · 767
Fire Escapes
I still remember those days
Sitting on our fire escape
Watching the stars parade
Above the rooftops
There were never words to say

Under the dark blue of the skies
When the blackout took away the lights
We sat together side by side
On those fire escapes just you and I
Until the sun stole away the night

That was our Brooklyn
A private room with a perfect view
On balconies set just for two
Under skies of the darkest blue

Tell me, do you still hear the sounds
Of this sad and boring blackhole town
On the nights we learned we could generate
A Brooklyn just for runaways
After they shut the power down

It was fixed in just a couple days
And we both used our fire escape
To make our separate getaways
Well I hope you traveled safe
I hope you made it home; you found your way...

And maybe I'll see you soon
The power goes down this afternoon

And I'll wait

On our Fire Escape
Oct 2010 · 622
Art in Destruction
I stand here
To give you license
To take that painful and sometimes
Forgotten ball of emotion
That we bury deep beneath our flesh and
Masquerade faces,
And throw it
Against the wall
To see what colors it will make.
I bet it will be beautiful.
Aug 2010 · 815
Dann Sind Wir Helden
The World
The World falls around us
And shrapnel
Shrapnel rips through the air
And we stand
Cause there is no hiding
But love
Love will shelter us there

And we kiss
As if nothing has happened
And the bombs
Fall far to the side
And the bullets
Dont seem so frightening
And nothings so striking
As the slowing of time

And the Night
The Night falls around us
Breaking away
To the dawns coming light
As the smoke
The smoke settles around us
Still we stand
To the defeat of both sides

Dann sind wir helden
Nur diesen tag

And we are then Heroes
For only this day
Credit for the last two lines goes to Apocalyptica and Till Lindemann (Rammstein) from the German version of David Bowie's "Heroes". The last line is the literal translation of the line preceeding.
Jul 2010 · 942
To be obsessed with the superficial
Status symbol
Of the masses
Is to scratch the surface
Only to discover
More surface
And realize
The more you pay attention
The less that makes sense
And the more becomes meaningless
Jul 2010 · 608
Ghosts in the Machine
There are ghosts in the machine
That they aptly labeled "me"
Lines of code that know
What the wind does
When it doesnt blow

Were they placed there to find
Or escape only to hide
And if I give chase
Can I be content
That they'd only erase

There are ghosts in the shell
Hiding in the spaces between each cell
As they permeate my gears
They assail my mind with the thought
"There are no ghosts in here"
The age of men and women
Taking grand heroic action
Or making small significant gestures
Which changed the world
Are over.
Enter the age of indifference
Failing economics
And aging alcoholics
Dot the skyline
Of forclosures
And reposessions
Where once stood
Raised Fists

We ignored the warnings
The unemployment rate
Rises faster than global warming
Al Gore is an adulterer
Another inconvenient truth
Lining the landscape of sephulchre

Failing motivation
Spreads like an infectuous disease
And e-mails to God go unanswered
Replaced by homicidal tendency
The philosophers and writers
Visionaries and fighters
Have all been diagnosed with
Social disorder
And put on lithium
The public would rather watch
The latest news on the off-shore drilling Moratorium
Its just getting boring.

The smallest voice has ceased to be listened
So instead of pulling out my hair
I resign to not care
And stopped acting like it makes a difference.
Jun 2010 · 999
Finding Frankenstein
Stitches hold together rotting Skin.
Buried secrets Deep in me,
Struggle to remain Within.
You sent for me to Stand right by your Side.
I arrived the Night that you
Gave away your Life, Again.

You'd said,
If you Love me let me Go.
I said,
Run away Before I know.
Somewhere that I can never Find,
Run and Leave me far Behind.
As I Give in Into my Fear,
I Reach for You, you Disappear.
And I Thought that I could Save You.
My soul was Banished to the Dark,
Lost to necromantic Art.

I still Keep your Letters penned in Ink,
Secrets Whispered privately,
And Sealed with your Kiss.
Your Words keep you Alive Inside my mind.
Until I have you Here again,
I wont give up the Fight.
So London, run and Save yourselves.
Down here this Madman's raising Hell.
But this is All for Love.
I only hope that its Enough.

I'll take the Living and the Dead,
and you'll be with me In The End.
Tell me God what is the Price?
for Sacrifice to Save a Life
Im Finding Frankenstein.

So Save your Breath, I will not Hear.
I think by Now its very Clear.
to Hell with Right and Wrong,
I'm the One thats playing God.
and I wont Listen to your Pain,
or Give in without my Way.
and for Now we may be Apart;
Until you come back from the dark
And the Blood flows through your Heart.

Bring out your Dead.
Bring out your Dead.
Bring out your Dead...

... I need the parts.
Jun 2010 · 1.2k
Playing With My Food
I dont mean to be indifferent.
Its just that I dont care.
Not anymore anyway.
I couldnt care less

About your problems
Issues you have with your dad
Or other such demonstrations of
Your selfishness.

I dont want to talk about the weather
I'd rather just play with my food.
Maybe we can have *** in a while
That is, if I'm still in the mood.

So go ahead and talk through your martini.
Talk through me.
As if I'm really listening.
It would be rude to interrupt.
May 2010 · 3.4k
I washed my sneakers
With a Mr. Clean
Magic Eraser.

With it,
I erased the evidence
Of where my treads
Had led me.

Mud cleared from
Inbetween the grains
On the soles of my shoes,
I feel lighter.

With a blank canvas
On which
To write tomorrow's story,
Tonight I spraypaint my sneakers black.

Magic Erasers Are ******* Expensive.
Its hard to concentrate
When your thoughts rattle around
Like machinegun fire
Caught in complicated clockwork
Trying to captivate
One cognitive idea
About Life

While the tapestries
Of cliches attempt
To coalesce as they
Only to fall away
As they dribble out my ears
The critics are unimpressed.

There is no one on this earth
Who is still interested
In simple lyrics backed by
Overwhelming overtures
When the focus is on expenditures
And the bottom line wont budge

Its as if it holds a grudge
Torturing visionary artists
Hiding in their closets
From monsters under the bed
And detained by superego authorities
While alone and afraid
Locked in Negative Headspace

But the artists becon of light
Is an ironic twist of common life
In a pedestrian plight
Captured on 8mm film
And put on Lifetime.

How do you write a song when
The melody is wrong
But the lyrics flow from the hand
Like the last latent ramblings
Of a dying, possessed man
Onto the page as
The imaginary lines fade
And the surreal becomes real

And in your head its something you can hear

In your gut, its something you can feel

But the fingers on the guitar
Cant catch these falling stars
And before we go to far
Its time to take a step back
To breathe

The guitar bleeds
But its blood isnt music
And if you turn away you lose it
As the sound gets trapped behind
The saturated limitations of the mind
The brass threads slowly unwind
Only to stab you in the neck.

And still,
The critics are unimpressed.
May 2010 · 2.2k
Life Is Not Symmetrical
Life is not symmetrical.
An interesting ponderance
With unforseen,
Far-reaching consequence
And the green is in the profits
For the sages and prophets
Who drop it
Telling rhymes
To capsize time

And no one's around to stop it
Open to interpretation,
A cryptic message
Whose meaning gets lost in translation
When living in a basement
With one suitcase of baggage
And it amplifies
The black-tie strife
Of societal ties.

And you figure you figures
Add up to something bigger
While I'm a ghost just trying to capture
A bigger piece of the bigger picture
But got distracted by the frame
I look familiar
But you dont know my name
I look familiar...
Like looking in a mirror
Because we both look the same

But we're different
You see,

Im a dedicated runaway
Who ran away from home
Trying to escape
A world of computers
And cell phones
Pursuing a knowledge
I always have known
But the world's greatest minds
Never predicted this...

And my happy meal
Tastes like flies and ****
Yeah, ****.
Because someone ****** in my vinegar
And if I ever see justice,
I've got something to give to her

My eyes.
And the power of sight.
To open up her mind
And redirect her fight.
But I fall back
With no one to catch me
Forced to rely upon
Linguistic ability
Because its the power of speech
Which tells you to look both ways
Before you proceed
To walk across the street

And I know its not easy
To live on adrenaline and caffiene
But I'll chainsmoke cigarettes
And drink gin from the tub
And try to destroy
Another piece of myself everyday..
Until all thats left is love...

Life is not symmetrical.
Sometimes it rains on only one side of the street.
May 2010 · 1.7k
She hides her cries
In the makeup she applies
By streetlight.
Both wash away in the rain.

Devious and mistrusted
She's a little disgusted
By here reflection
In the window pane.

Beautifully tragic,
Hypocritical and magic,
She tries to
Hide her cries.
We pretend to look away.

Her parents called her stardust
And she covered her scars
Under tattooed stars
Until her body was the universe;
With a black hole over her heart.

Ten thousand constellations
Painted on a beautiful landscape
With no reservations,
Invisible lines
And constantly change
Images making
And breaking
To spell out
My name

— The End —