I think I've been looking at this
all wrong
she doesn't miss me
and she didn't know
what it meant when she kissed me
and I shouldn't expect her to
because I never spoke my mind
completely
oh god
I'm a fraud
I can only be mad at myself
me
myself
the blame is on my hands
my hands
Oh ****
Oh ****
Oh ******* ****
I've done it again
misconstrued everything
time to
reevaluate
I'll see you later
when my head is on
straight

This marble pedestal,
that has me so high up
like an extraterrestrial,
is causing a lack of oxygen
my thoughts drift from neurons
to the tip of my pen
so many questions without answers
so many things giving me cancer
my own thoughts jousting
after the sting of a friend's syllables
even though I try and be gold
they still hold me up
push me to the clouds
where I will die for want of air
but if I jump down
I drown

I stood by while the shopkeeper
rang up the tea stored in little Big Bens.
My girlfriend fiddled with some pens at the desk.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
We both replied, "California!"
"Ah, but you," he said,
looking her straight in the eye,
"where are you from originally?"
Her shoulders slumped.
She repressed a sigh.
"Well, my mom, and grandma, and grandpa,
and their parents, and their parents' parents
were all born in America,
but way back when my mom's side
came from Japan.
My dad's side is English though."
"Ah," said the shopkeeper, "So your mom
is from Japan. I could see something different
in your face."
Inside I cried'
"Where are you from originally?
It couldn't possibly be here,
you hair is the wrong color,
your skin a shade off,
so please give us your family history.
Or do you swear you're a Brit?
You were born here? Oh sure, but your mom?
Her too?
No, she must be a foreigner."

Instead, I handed over the notes,
grabbed the tea,
and left without saying a thing,
without saying a thing,
without saying a...

Here I am again watching swirls in my cup o' noodles
figuring out ways to dip and skip through some loop holes
Cause I'm tired of jumping though hoops
to prove to people what I am or am not willing
to do
Roommate's in the kitchen making fish minus the bone
and I'm ******, wasting time, putzing on my phone
waiting to hear from someone
anyone to get me out of this funk
it's been awhile but I know this place
the first hint of it was in the twice packed bowl that stunk
of the first step to giving up
To sleeping in past important positions of clock hands
like employers will understand, yeah right
feeling like I'm the man
but I'm the man of nothing
but an empty can and that
lousy mouse that clicks
flicks its way through millions of pics
of girls and tattoos and more girls
It's been awhile now, quite long enough
cause I just took that first step back to
giving....well you know.....up

The air in my bedroom is blue,
I float through it, a stark vessel
tussling against the dark hue
desperate to nestle into sheets,
or clouds,
or weary dreams filled
with a dark street,
a slammed foot,
and a hair's breadth
from turning a deer into dead meat,
resulting in a crash,
leaving a dead me;
Only to awake shaken,
recollecting a statement
from my grandma's dementia ridden mind
"I always see it with you,
it's always right behind..."
then I sit up with a sigh
and a shrug,
and open up to the blue air,
at least whatever it is
will always be there,
will always...
care

A fall from the sky,
better than any angel,
and no need for wings,
to arrive in my waiting arms
filled with adrenaline love.
A gift to my eyes,
like rain pouring over
a dry savanna,
pooling into watering holes
for my parched soul.

Falling used to mean
plummeting, parachuteless,
toward an abrupt end.
Now it's more like floating,
knowing the return to Earth
will hold more,
that we will arrive safely,
gracefully,
and keep on lovin'.

This liquor tastes like
a loaded gun
Each sip propelling bullets
through memories of someone,
I can't remember who
so I guess it's working  
as my brain tilts this room

This smoke feels like
the gentle embrace
of my mother,
before she divorced my father
Now she doesn't even bother
getting out of bed

I'm sick and tired
of pulling the trigger
on every ****** beer
trying to steer this
body clear so my mind
can keep on thinking itself
to death

Long lasting
love
is not about belonging
to one another,
but finding someone
you appreciate
and having them appreciate
you back.

Fine sand grains coat my toes
as pure, crystal waves break,
playful, ancient, against the shore.

The swaying plink of reggae guitar
bounces over the sand,
lulling a laze in my core
then emanates out across the beach,
past the break,
and out to sea.

The blanket my first love
gave me, still lays atop my bed
Not because I wish to have
back the days on couches
the pictures, family, comfort
but because it was made by a
best friend
and I never forget my friends.

A wicked wind carries a witch's spell
it's chill belying
the magma of hell
brought forth by incantations
drawing deep
from a dark magic well
The willow's sigh combines with the whisper
beckoning  me tither
to an alter made from black iron
crowned by scepters
on which two crows perch
the earth around me seizes and spurts
with dead hands erupting from
the earth

It's a terrible struggle
between
knowing what is just
and fighting for it
or
knowing what is just
and giving up

everyone is the same person
just different incarnations
so really I am just you
trying to love
yourself

my fingers don't move
quite fast enough to melt faces
my voice doesn't go
quite high enough to send shivers
through folks
my words only capture
the gist
it feels like I'm always
not quite
good enough

I'm petering out,
the afterburners already kicked in
fueled to the last drop, doubt
taking over my eyes
when I see this small world
from the big skies
Crocidial smiles and alligator grins
trying to lure a fool in
but I'm a picese, I can swim
Gills filled to the brim with green
All I want is that cash, that greed
If love and laughter can't fuel me
fill the tank with money.

How many times have I
just been a line
scrapped on a page?
I am more than ink,
blue stains of pain
on some thrown sheet.
I have skins and bones,
eyes that see,
and a mind that knows
that I am not that bundle
of metaphors and smilies,
tossed about with pronouns,
ifs, whens, has beens.
I'm not the flat print out
captured by some lens.
Don't even try to entwine me
in song lines,
I'm a person, with desires
fears, addictions, lies.
I'm just like everyone else
showing the better half
of two sides.
So this is me telling you
I'm tired
of being something that inspires
I'm tired of part of me
being in your notebooks, yours.
I'd much rather
be a human being.

March single file, up, up, up.
Take the stairs two at a time,
sweat beads run lines down your face.
Get to the tunnel carved in rock,
push past the crowds to break out,
then up, up, up
till you peak at the top,
the trail's end.
Survey the crater, lush, serene,
barricaded against the city
which spills between hills and mountains.
Forget it all,
turn to face the sea.