You'll find somebody,
She keep's sayin'.
Somebody you'll have to settle for.
Someone who you'll take care of
cause they take care of you.
And you'll be modestly happy.
You'll find somebody
that isn't her.
Someone close to what she was,
But never fully capturing
that thing she has about her.
You'll find an Impostor.
A genetic twin/clone reject
of what you wanted.
Of who you wanted,
when you still thought about
what you wanted.
You'll find someone else and
Pretend to be in love with them.

And you'll never admit it,
But you will always know.

What hopeful words,
once lamented
upon one's ear.
thought not to hear...
Now fall to silent ruin.
So who are we
to knock down palaces
built of hearts?
Just to play another round?
that we've gotten this far
only to find there are no cards left.
Should not this alone be enough?
        that the game ended
                  in Stalemate?
No point in tempting
Shaky foundations.
Better to let time erode
Memories and Emotions.
Gather up your chips.
And find a new table.
And Maybe years from now.
We'll meet on vacation...

And yet. and still.
here i am.
here we are.
wondering where this will take us.
the future is always yet to come. right?
frightened children gather at its foot.
looking up and out
and so on and so forth.
unsure of the inevitable.
and yet. and still.
here i am.
here we are.

The Intersection
of Interruption and Intermission.
Act 2 has been delayed.
We will come right back
After a word from our sponsors.

Remember when
Remember when meant
More than just a week ago?
When the hill was only
30 years high,
And still,
nothing held the urgency
that seems to permeate
our every desperate action.

I swear we had time, then,
It seems,
So much more than
Aging naturally eats away.
But the multitudes
have multiplied,
as they are want to,
And as the telegraph cables
Come down for corridors of Light,
The speed of time Grows,
Relatively accordingly.

And so, the second part
Of this two part play
Starts 10 years later,
while we dash madder than ever,
racing each other,
to first summit the Crisis Peak.

Trophies for last place,
And a Holiday for every weekend.
A taste of this and that...
OF Italy and Ireland and Asia and Germany
and every township in the county,
and 3 collective Miles of
Portable Toilets,
Strategically Positioned
throughout each event.
cause there is going to be a Lot of ****...

Hooray for whatever we are celebrating this weekend.
Whichever one of the 30 different Woodstocks
Or week long Music Festivals
That exist only so
the Hippest of Hipsters
can congratulate each other
on how Indie they are.

Ya know, it's happy hour somewhere...
Why not party
All Day, Everyday?
Devalue the weekend
Like we have thanksgiving
And New Years.
A Five Kay For the Common Cold,
And We'll even give trophies for last place.
Cause we're all winners here.
and we're all hungry.
And What represents your heritage better than
Pizza or sauerkraut or General Tso's
And endless flowing barrels of refreshing, Ice cold, Domestically brewed and Nationally brand recognized Alcoholic Beverages?

IT's The Great Dumb Down, Charlie Brown!!!
A symptom of the Universe
If there ever was one.
Mass anesthesia to keep us all content
With our collective mediocrities,
our Forfeit Potential,
Our Day Job that doesn't pay very well,
But kind has benefits.
So we stay on.
In fear of nothing better.
It makes feel important.
Like Wheel of Fortune makes us feel smart.
(Wow, you can spell?!)...
Dwindling returns in a world of Beige and Pastels
And the Muted Grays of limestone concrete.
We Accept less and we Get less and we accept less and we Get less
And On And on and on,
till we hit that lowest common cultural denominator,
where your race is what food you eat,
And we all qualify for the special Olympics.

I keep thinking of excellent titles
for stories I haven't written yet.
Does that still give them life?
Damnable muse!
rushing in unprepared.
you leave a graveyard of thoughts
for lack of pen and paper.
abrupt endings scattered about
in the back of old notebooks.
an endless stream of stutter steps,
of scratched out
phrases.
don't you know
the name should come last?
we've given existence to written down regret,
reason to rue my very first love.
what a Jealous thing you are.
to clip the wings of baby birds.
they were ours.

Sometimes it just rains all day.
the sun and the moon and the stars
all take the day off,
Get all gloomy and introspective and ****.
drop deep thoughts
and fill up puddles
and bring meaning to things like
windshield wipers,
and lackluster poetry.


I'm still sixteen,
out much too late,
perched up on the steps of the old bank.
searching for reason
in the glare of small town streetlight.
I'm still seven
when it would just pour down,
I mean literally pour down,
in buckets and all that.
it doesn't rain like that anymore.
Not here. Not anymore.


A storm-front has been working it's way
up out of the southwest
since i have existed.
certainly much longer than that.
it's carved a path from caveman to Kentucky.
and here we are
continuously inspired
by water from the sky.


I'm going to sleep.
it just feels right.
I hope that it will rain all night.
I sleep well.