Where are the words
that search for me?
They are among me,
tugging at my fingertips
tumbling in my mind-
reckless, selfish children
playing hide and seek
while these grownup thoughts
and all the pains of adulthood
chase expression to no avail.
The words are not ready
to come out and play
so I am left restless
stumbling through
these thoughts without words

I want a new face
I want to escape outside myself
find a new place to be
maybe a scene change would put a little polish
on a shady soul
I want to change dreams midstream
give up this steady trek for something unknown
forget family, friends, and failed lovers
forget what I am
and where I’m trying to fit
because it’s like this life
has lost its shine
and the straightjacket
of this straight-line trajectory
to some twisted success
is not what it should be
at least not what I think it should be
or how I thought it would feel
but what would I know
I’m just another young adult
who escaped the teenage wasteland
to find that it’s not much prettier
once you make it out the other side

the time has come for sleep
the time has come to stretch
and unfold,  and sink into rest
cocooned in the darkness, lulled
by the whispers of constant,
contenting fan blades
the time has come to give up
this day, fade for the night
and appear again tomorrow

get your house in order
your things in order
your lies and loves in order
the end is nearly too near to ignore
we come so far, fight so hard
and still
what is left?

what is left is a rotten dream
that belongs in the past
a dream that no one has owned
for generations now
but we’re too afraid, too stricken to say
that no one wants our parents’ parents’ wants
what is left is a Frankenstein of a country-
a nation so gnarled and scarred
it is barely recognizable
as being created in
a free democratic image,
a re-creation so afraid of being burned
that it reacts violently
to the mere idea
of coming under fire

and still
we put up
shut up
and lock and load
bring home boatloads of black boxes
filled with the corpses of could-have-beens
tuck our valiant patriotic
flag- and country-loving
sons and daughters to sleep
through eternally wakeless nights
in the dirt of this land of lost promises
because the decision making machine
of false democracy
is nowhere near to closing the war factory

happiness is not inherent
nor inherited,
not passed on in a dusty family scrapbook
parents can't package it for children
wish though they might
can't slip it into a card,
like so many bills equating to birthdays
can't secret it into the corner of a care package
to arrive unbidden but enjoyed no less
friends can't pass it on
like a carefully folded grade-school note
or a free drink at the favorite watering hole
work can't substitute it, not forever
faith can play-act it, but not forever
it's left up to the one
most desperately searching to find
to find if it is
and if it is, what it is
and how to hold it
so that that unhappiness might live only
as a memory of a reminder
of a life less good

tonight
she will fall into her bed
drunk and resplendant
perform a modern dance concert
writhing between the sheets
struggling to find a moment of perfection
in her otherwise
****** up life