Part one:
I wake up. Everything's still kinda quiet. Except the highway. I've slept next to a high way since as long a I can remember. Has everyone? How far do you have to be to escape the endless trickle of passengers and their escorts tumbling down the great divide of one way or the other, compressing and condensing the magnitude and grandeur of the space between them? I like it that way. Always wondering who's face has crossed across your conscious space, that has drifted to the back of your brain. How alike are they to the innumerable faces you pass in the midst of all manner of journeys. Yours is as irrelevant to them as theirs is to you and yet for a split second, you both simultaneously glance over at the precise moment and you know, there's gotta be something more than this.

I am beginning to wonder
how many more times
I will awake
to another sunrise
to find
that I never quite shut my eyes
yet again-
I was just spinning or
maybe swimming
in these visions of sins
and grins met upon
the second guess that
set in after that double take.
Is this
something we can make
or will it just
make everything
more tedious-
what we are is fleeting
and I’m lost on a bus
and the schedules swing
in pendulums-
when they hit the bottom
they strike as weapon
of wasted time
and I need a ride.
  I might get off track
but at least
I can keep you laughing
with the things I say
behind a timed rhyme style-
I’m done with denial
of my actions of a child.
Excuse me
I just went a little wild
trying to beat the feeling
that I was mild,
just mediocre.
Compensation
for a consolation prize
I’ll play the joker.
I don’t have a spine
but I’m paying for things
that aren't mine
Don’t worry
I’ve just lost my mind
in the shrinking times
that grow more rapidly
with their progression.
The earth stands still
while heads
are standing upside down
in the sands of their dreams
and perspective realities
I’m up in the trees
or maybe
I’m just trying to get closer
to the sky
so I can feel free.
There’s where I need to be-
those dying stars aren’t fleeting.
Not immortal,
no maybe not;
but so ever radiant
in a cataclysmic death.
Finding my way
through broken phrases
and run-ons
I’m tripping towards
my glory days
wondering
if I can actually make it
or if I will be forced
into the illustrations
of exaggerated narrations
of a day last week
or last month,
does it matter if it’s gone?
I’m just like you,
trying to hold on.

I'll stuff myself with sweets
and line my bed with pillows
but even in
the impending summer heat
I'm cold
and you're nowhere near me.
my head,
my bed...empty.  
the way it must be
meant to be.

Stale crackers and
Quivering cigarettes
Held in a hesitant hand
And lonesome lips.
Nothing tastes more of regret
Than the spit on your chin
On your way back
From the bathroom,
Twenty minutes after your knees
Have finished holding down the floor
While the cold wrinkled faces
Of your feet turn up towards
The dull buzzing of the fan.

Your vision is blurred
By the tainted tears
That squeeze out
When the hand over your mouth
Just isn't enough to cover
the cost
Of last nights tab
And the penalty you avoided
By taking a cab back to
Your flat for a short nap
Before your six am shift.

But eleven hours later
And the ding of the elevator outside your door
Jolts you awake-
Seven missed calls mark your mistake
And there's a feeling you can't shake
That this is terribly wrong.

Turn over again
Running miles, still in bed.
You've spent too long
Marinating in your poor decisions
And night after night
You succumb to your vices.
You will make no progress
If you cannot be contrite.
You aren't
Alright.

C.e.M. 3.28.15

I love you.


That's not something
I'm accustomed to.

The summer is beginning to
Seep back into my sallow skin
As the crisp night air
Turns warm and fragrant

And the sky
Dirtied with light
Disapates back into
An eerie though
Strangely comforting displacement.

Always temporary,
Change remains scary.
But the uncharted territory
Can't always be complementary
To the days whims and desires.

Weeks may come and go
And I will remain uninspired,
But soon the summer breeze
Will come whispering again
To remind me

Of the tickle of anticipation
When ideas are all I have
And facts have yet to
Set themselves into any certain order

And I don't feel so old
And your body will block the cold
With sandy smirks
And drunken comfort
As we slosh together uncaringly
For a few nights out of the week

And maybe by and by
You'll mean something to me
Or maybe we'll just go with
"We'll see"

But either way you will come again with the summer
And again I'll see
if I can try to be happy.

3.25.15 C.e.M

You smell like the second night
In a fresh bed of sheets
Soon to be soaked
In a morning sun
That has slipped it's way
In through the window to
Drench you in daylight and responsibility.
You worry what the others will think
But they're downstairs
And a ghost like wind
Will shut your door to hide you from them,
It will caress you and suggest you
Dive back into sleep again
But morning must end  
And you're drawn back
Into the pretend game
That awaits you
On the other side
Of your second day sheets.

C.e.M. 3.21.15