There are thing you must do
And you'll always know, exactly why

And on the other side
Of the same wall

There will be residual things
Ever new to you

And the reasons for which
You will probably guess at

Though you may never know
Must you learn to abide?

Take me back,
Wash away my worries
And drown me in memories
Of everything bread by the sea.

The songs which shake me moreso
Than the rumble strips on the freeway
Break down my all my hope and change
And strip me of the passing you
And also of my memory outside the window

I've drained every wishing well
Dried-up every puddle of water
And drank down every lake, pond, and looming ocean
Not a venue is left to quench my thirst
Or to quell the viscous expression in me
Which burns like the saline fires of the red sea
So I of course... Being of sound mind
Tilt my head back to the sky to catch the rain
For the sky provides the purity of mind
To wash the taste of salt away
And to remind me what it is like to drink
Anew from the stream of each new day

Dear May
Check your memos
Your voicemail and fax
Because it feels like April today
And it's a full twelve days
Since your sister has supposedly
"Gone away"

I am an outstretched arm with a fibrous grain.

I am a whooshing, waving, slashing glaive.

Waiting to cut the wind with a bending sway.

And with a gleam of blue the ball darts away.

Carve the heart out from its walls
Drain the kindness from its veins
Change absolutely nothing at all
But remove the heart, and baby, it’ll die
Because the heart of that place was everything
Good and wholesome, below the sky

Rarely do I understand
The beginning as it begins

Rarely do I comprehend and recognize
The middle of any consequence
As it leads to its inevitable, relatable, end

Rarely is how I would say
And without breadth
Is how all great adventures begin

For she must have a more patient heart than me
To tolerate her friend as such
And to wait this long to be trusted so
But I cannot wait
I cannot walk
When no progress avails itself to me
And so I must go

Someday I'll be an old man
Just a note in my granddaughters calendar
And
It'll read
"Visit him"

The truth is not at the bottom of a cup
Nor beneath the Saucer underneath

No words can hold the sacred truth
Just as two cups cannot guarantee
That two minds will ever meet

No, the truth is out there on each table
Waiting for all who would simply sip

The truth that is, the truth is this
That regardless of wherever we may be
The truth is something that simply is

Much like this coffee
Honest with a breath of heat
Or possibly even cold and sweet

Such truth is always percolating
Even if we cannot taste or see
The words of God, resting gently underneath

We want to dream
Because we think
That dreams will give us meaning

But when we wake
And see the day
No dream was worth believing

The only thing
That matters still
Awaits upon awaking

Because nothing
Added ere by dreams
Will ever be for keeping

The sound of snow is a beautiful thing
Catch every snowflake, you could not
But the earth can
Like the marching ants in the fruitful spring
Snowflakes need not tiptoe through the house of winter
Instead, they patter a song to sing on the frozen ground
And we, as humans are helpless to stop it from falling down
With tiny little pinprick sounds
The reign of winter falls all around*

End of storm
Beginning of season

Like an alarm clock from the old oak cabin
I wind and wait for you to find

Like a night of rest in which myself
Is nowhere to be found

Like a wishful sigh which dies out slow
As the noise is consumed by the town

So no words are like this, ever enough for me
To express my wingding down

Like a burst of grape in the eager mouth
So a sound it last is out

For the Like in me has not gone away
So much as just been pushed around, haha.

With a rain like this
That would never stop
I'd wish it not over
Again and again
That way I wouldn't have to face the sunshine
Let alone call it mine
When this need for a new life of mine
Must begin

When spirits are roused
Minds set afire
And dust sent flying by the awakened feet
Hands aching for action
Not just for resistance or victory
Not for power or blood
Nor for conquest or feast
No, such hunger growls due to the inaction of man
From the settling sunlit rays of dust
From the empty corridors
From rememberance of fire being felt beneath the feet

Tomorrow is coming, like a train of iron on a track of steel and nothing can stop it.  Nothing that is or ever will be derailed. Tomorrow is coming between friction and steel.

With armchair oceans
Window territories
And cavernous vaults beneath wooden beach
Oak and timber, rock and stone
Stretched out in the cold of winter contained
Find a new home for your quiet feet
And in months, when spring born summer ends
Fall back into the ease of a rustling sleep
With the choice to never begin
Beneath a canvas of life
Which keeps growing and falling
Ever onward and over again

Like rain
I fall, I rest and evaporate
Over and over again
One and the same
I am like rain

With solemn eyes I look and see,
The person I think I could be.

Not a suit nor a tie or an in between,
But a passionate man of many things.

I think, I am, I create to be,
A person who expects more of me.

Though rolled up my sleeves are not unique,
I want much more than this present me.

Succeed a hundred
Even a thousand times more
Only to prop up
Your former self minded life
As all will fall when we die

Marriage is a newfound island
A purchased continent
Walk all your life and you will not find
Or know every single inch of land

Walk and walk again

The greatest trick that the devil ever played.

Was not in death or in speech to exist.

But in convincing manking that it was God who'd been made.

Too much time
Not enough air
Stale paling walls and melted snow
Sometimes home is the one place to which you cannot go
The one thought of which you dare not revisit in there

Crushing, beating, heart of the mountain
Encased in stone and rock enclosed
Ruby, emerald, sapphires, gold
But also bedrock veins of water
Running silently and cold

Shooting spree
Fatal none
(that I know)
The camera man once me

Deep into the evening, on such a day as this,
An unfathomable amount of whispers escape your lips.

Mostly quiet things pulled straight from the heart.
Like a shot of whiskey, honest and warm.

Like a song of time on the radio,
It's slowly in time that I must let you go.

Like a dulcet strum, so I heard your last sound.
Be it far away at the edge of town.

And yet echoing as your voice is now,
I hear both your heart and mind call out.

Begging me to whisper you free,
And remember you as you always wanted to be.

Love is giving when you're not comfortable giving
The difficult part is both the explaining and understanding your own discomfort
Any lover can give when things are perfect
But it takes faith and trust to keep giving
And to truly understand the meaning
Behind the gift

I can feel the light on my own skin, soaking into the eyes and bouncing off the cream-colored walls of old. The light, evaporating into the hours as if planned to pass gently by. And then within them accordingly. So also am I.

For whatever it is
You feel called to do
You choose what it is
But remember this
First consult your form of truth
And then do it for them
As do it for you

The most dangerous creative question, is asked not in part but entirely in sum.

Plain and simple, black listed.

"You inspire me..."

"But where do you get your ideas from?"

They ask me if I’m with anyone…
If I’ve found anyone in my place of need?
Or if by chance she happened to walk on by
Down the other side of the same street
Just right past me?

To which I have always and often replied
Feigning a smile of effortless ease
That they shouldn’t worry about such things
Because my love life will stroll at whatever pace
And down whatever street that it does please

If I knew
I would've done
If I'd known
I wouldn't have never ran away from it

The stars know no cold
Like the lonely walking minds
Who know, what it means
To be more than just burning
Atmospheric dust yearning

Telling yourself not to not
Is not enough
It's already a thought

Coffee so cold that it cuts through the dark like the moonlit rays’ mere hours before
The feeling of fog which should not last and could not for long  
No song for this, bask in quietness
For awakenings upon do not belong

A slight draw
With jawbones peaked

Another day revealed

Revealed to be cold
And cold with cold
On this mountaintop

Yet no wind remains
To appeal to me

I will not yield

Maybe today
My words will change
The face of the earth
And make her smile
Smile again

You dust the cobwebs
Dawn the attic
Wear the house like a flared dress
So that I can see the not so bitter end
How our world would end

And I’ll pull the nails of our old lives out
One by one until all around  
Fall the remnants of these former towns

Building homes amidst adventures is not how

Chemical, the fluctuation of quiet in the night.
And yet, the dawning of the agenda reveals no radiant Dawn.
No truth revealed, just another dogged fight.

I am not a stream
Nor a babbling brook
I am a pond with a passing ripple
A sinking stone, thrown, once shook
With a shake often and aware of it
I am never content
With the soft waters unbroken
As a stream I am not known

Real life is neither the work nor the time spent waiting inbetween. The sacrifice or the freedom perceived. No, there is more to it now than there has ever been. Due to the congruent moments and the minutes passing. Because the real exists, not at the initial signs of belief. But at the time at which you realize that, you began long ago almost instantly.

Dear chaos heart
Die on the edge of my orderly blade
And bleed out your malevolence
Forever depart