peace felt
is as close to eternity
as one can get

I miss you,
I love you.

Need I say more?
Of course.

You are unbelievably beautiful,
the way your smile can brighten a room and my day every time.
I'm so happy to call you mine.
Time is what scares me.
So much to do and so little to do it in.
But I know, if I spend it with you it's definitely worth it.
It's always worth it.

all the good luck in the world won't save you
from yourself
we were born as four young men
all at odds with something
we couldn't conjure a name for
a masochistic lightning bolt of self-destruction
streaking through us

the straight man
doing everything right
with a bottle of soda
which gets so shaken up
that it pops and spills over
on drunken occasions
body becoming synonymous with temple
a place of worship
with a strong love
for vicariously living the southern life

The anarchist
spelled ID ID ID ID
is getting ****** up
and thinking he ***** up
all too often
Mr. Insomniac
Mr. smoker's hack
ash stained fingers slowly yellowing
as the hot Richmond sun
turns our skin to leather
He is brave
he is impulsive
smart, but not smart enough
to figure out how to get out of his own way
some would say criminal
he would say unlucky
I would say
What's the difference?

The anomaly
much older than the few years he carries in his hand
to skip away as stones
across the pond
of awkward, confused, troubled adolescence
at home in front of a room full of people
doing stupid ****
in clever ways
making them laugh and laugh
at home locked away for countless summer days
in his bedroom talking to strangers
in some online video game
he reminds me much of myself
which is why I have always carried
the chips on his shoulders
close to my heart
because if we raise him right,
he'll be better than all of us

The OCD CEO
the creative type
with a metaphorical hippy flower in her hair
a teacher
a healer
a support beam
and a ******* basket case
gifted in the tongue with the art of embellishment
and when her kingdom comes under attack
she uses love as a shield
and guilt as a sword
she can read all the words
but only if they are jumbled
in the precisely right order
just because
"That's how it should be"

The King of Abdication
made of steel and iron
as still as a stone until
the scent of blood reaches his nostrils
so strange to see the visage in the shattered mirror
of cold, calculated, killer on the battle field of capitalism
nerdy, awkward, silent on the battle field of human relations
A rolling stone
who always rolled on back home
who taught me
that sometimes you have no other option
but to buckle down, take the hits
be a man and finish the job
as well as you can
frugality and hard work and yaddah yaddah
surprised me when he told me
"Sometimes you just need to jump,
Jumping was the best choice I ever made"

The Rebel,
highly frustrating
intelligent
confident in his lack of self-esteem
unaware of what happened in those hazy years
to lead him to reach out
to total strangers
like he was begging for a new toy
"Look what I made! Isn't it good?
Please tell me it's good.
Please tell me I'm okay."
who never liked being told
"I'm older than you, so do what I say"
so he made it his own personal mission
to do the opposite whenever he could
regardless of what it meant for him
and in his mind
he paints himself as missed genius
too intelligent to ever be happy
with the world he lives in
and in everybody else's mind
he is a whiny little kid
in need of a kick in the pants and a job
a grade A reality check
before his burning protest
leaves him stranded with no bridges
a hermit of his own making
constantly looking for that human attention

The cast is in place
the audience are taking their seats
but this isn't a play
not a comedy, tragedy
not a hope
nobody knows how it is all going to end
but like fair weather NASCAR fans
they are just there for the crashes

dead of night
soon be sunup
providence plays
her game
hide and seek
hide and seek
hide and seek

i'm so tired
of wanting to become something --
grand designs
doing pirouettes in my little head --

i just
need
more time
to think things through

plastic tines
stab at forks
in the road

silly you!
trying to stop the decision-making process
like a child
with a rhyme

speaking of the devil,
for a limited time only,
**** the walking dread
that paces at the foot of your being
like a thing in need --
how? thought you'd never ask ---
i'll get to that, in due time

-- i will say this though: it's not with an ax
or bow
or some moralized TV show
nope

nothing like that

the need to be
to be --
that

is the imperative --
timeless
tasks tasked with go-forth --

we feed on it --
always pressing forward
always-already doing things,
going places, lurching concern,
consuming steps steps steps

listen

progress is
a stone alone inside my pocket
-- watch it
bloom tumultuous
into a decision to be undone ----

I am
The backward startle
Flesh made text

Know this:
All will be retraced till
All that remains is
a waiting cursor --
Blinking blinking
Blank page staring
Into your you --
The mess undressed, ****** --
Don't unfuck it --
Allow it --
Let it ******* for a time

Then go hardly softly into the night
With steps alighting
Bold events of past doings lit
Given another chance

The was made present
A specter sent
To turn the insides of your bones
Into channels --
Canals of then-time (makes sense)

Get to know the script
Then flip it
Budge its molecular structure
See its words squirm
Make its serifs recoil
And strike at your command

Crazy? Yes
Impossible? Perhaps
But your verse must be heard
The play goes on and on and on
Until you decide
To interrupt it

I've carried it.
The burden of my house; it's gone.
I burried it.
Far down the road; It's wrong.
I've been wary.
It's a curse, a nightmare and song.
I've tarried.
And for that my days are long.
I was married.
Until the curse found them; drug them along
The consequence varied.
But no one escaped; the curse is strong.
The sin plauged all who carried it.
Its been the burden of my house for too long.
I've burried it.
Down in my grave where it belongs

It's just a grave
Of a soldier, young and brave.
No body does it keep,
And few visit or weep.
I alone,
Sit by this stone.
And yet I know,
Though it brings me greif and woe,
It is not he,
Who lies beneath me.
There is no soul
For me to love and console.
Sadly, I must admit
With all my clever, all my wit
There is nothing here, save
This lonely old grave.