Sleep depravation leads to many fun things,
Like commas,
And sea dragons,
And low self esteem,

Being happy leads to several exciting things!
Like exclamation marks!
And dolphins!
And a sexually transmitted disease!

Anger leads to lots of frustrating things.
Like periods.
And humans.
And bullets handed out for free.

So with all these great feelings, creating such magic!
How in the world could life be so tragic.

There stands an important man,
Made immortal by the bronze and gold that laces his structure.
Firm, aged and full of intellect,
He stands pointing toward the western sun.
Tie worn tight as his suit lays motionless in the wind.
Crass, hopeful, he is not without scandal,
A man who lives with his past open for all interpretation.
Those who stroll past look up,
Thoughts lingering on his works.
Eternal, when all else crumbles to
Dust and scatters the raging sea,
He will stand steady, pointing, outlasting
All he should be remembered for.

A Blank Canvas,
strokes waiting to cover the fabric,
stories to be told,
dreams to inspire.
No one line captures what it is to be alive,
no one piece grasps the flint of life.
A promise, first hellos and last goodbyes
spread the portrait,
city lights ignite the heavens,
simplicity in those grand moments of chaos,
not one dab of paint creates a masterpiece,
not one breath language,
not one instance life
and not one person civilization.
Within the City and Walls.

When I die I have thoughts for my bodies end.
I never did like the concept of crushed ashes,
nor my body confined to a stone tomb,

no, I think I would prefer
a more common approach,
laying in the dirt eternally,

well, let me correct myself: not eternally,
I think it would be nice to be a bit more finite,

rather than searching out my sturdy cage,
look to someone’s ragged, beached ship as a container,
I intend to give my energy back to that which gave me so much,

enjoy my skin, our bones and your life,
for I have enjoyed theirs.

And those who read my works after I am gone
Will linger,
Linger,
Linger on
Until I am lost.

Never to be read,
But rather laid to rest with glory encompassing my bed.
Let me lay in the earth,
Give my papers back to their damp dirt.

I will not miss
What I have failed to gain.
My tombstone shall quote,
“I was famous for anonymously being forgotten.”
At least that is my wish.

Let the Brooklyn Ferry crash,
Give me acceptance to sleep in neglected ash.