I have heard your words in the night
I have read everything your heart has moved to
The very words written on your soul plain as day
There is no need for ambiguity
The bags under your eyes are because you can't sleep
You climb bridges because you know what horrors await at ground level
At times you remind me of myself
In the trinity of your world, you take the place I do
The ghost who stands tall and skinny
I have walked parts of the path you travel and if my journey is any indication you have nothing to fear
I am with you tonight in spirit
You have no need to be baptized by fire for if no one else I can forgive you
Pain in this world isn't always your fault but you are responsible for how it moves you
Do not be pushed into harsh action my brother
Understand the sovereignty of choice for all individuals and that times and people change
Do not blame yourself for the sadness you feel
The writing on the wall whispers "be calm be still breathe"
The saints and prophets wish you well
We are all but skeletons left here
Dry bones rising out of the sand of the desert
Just like Ezekiel
Stand tall and trust that nothing is imaginary
The wounds on your hands will heal and the snow will give way to flowers again

What can I add that isn't already there?
What have I said that really needed to be?
What drove me to write poetry outside of Steinbeck, Ginsberg, and you, Thomas
I have seen endless rivers
I have had my fill of stones leaves and unfound doors
My roots are of a shallow depth
My branches do not reach as yours did
My inspiration is a well run dry
My words are saliva on sidewalk
Is there a fate for me in California?
Is there a place more kind than home?
Is there a life for those who seek angels made of stone?
Thomas you saw an America I never could
You reached great heights I may never touch
But Thomas your legacy rests in my heart
I will never forget you
Angel child of Asheville
Wild man of words and words
Pages and pages
Thomas the river will always welcome you home

I remember when I was a poet
Crafting honest stanzas from a fire in my soul
Now I'm just a ***
Casting words into the ocean hoping to get a bite

I remember when I was a folk singer
Carl Sandburg-type, singing about long dusty roads and hard traveling and weeping willow trees
Now the guitar sits most days in my closet and all I ever end up singing is a cry for freedom

I remember when I was a hipster
I bought hats and loved obscure bands and couldn't wait to grow up
But now

I don't know who I am anymore
Siddhartha taught me that life is transient but I was never told I would get to a point where I don't know what I have become
I was once a lover
Late night texts and whispered words and quiet appreciation
I was once an artist
I used to be a dreamer
I had ideas that didn't weigh me down
But I realize that they lacked weight because they lacked substance
They were pretty and felt good but they wouldn't do anyone any good
I still pray every night because I still believe someone is listening
I still believe in life after death even if it sometimes scares the **** out of me
I remember dying metaphorically and waking up literally 7 or 70 times
I have gotten mad, sad, quiet, scared, elated, and everything a person can get
I am a new man
But I still listen to Bob Dylan
I am a new man
I've shot a gun before and I'll sure as hell do it again
I am a new man
I have never cried at a funeral but not from lack of trying
I am a new man
I make the same mistakes as before and sometimes I'm not sorry
I'm a new man
But I still blow a kiss to Ginsberg if I get a chance
I'm a new man
And I will take it easy
But sure as hell I'm going to take it

Only a matter of time
Is what I muttered to myself
For the better part of a week now
But that day has come
That day has come
And no one knows but me
And you
But you really knew all along
Didn't you?
Holidays tend to spell the end for me
And the writing on the walls is the same color as the warning lights I ignored for months
No one knows but us
No one knows but us
And only I know what these nights can do to me
Blasting Dead Kennedys to write this poem
Carve my doubts and solace into walls
I warned the both of us
but we were too young and proud to listen
We were warned
And tonight
If the devil goes down to Georgia
He will take Sherman with him
But the hand of war is here
And I can only keep it out of my heart for so long
State lines are prison walls
Only if you want them to be
An incarceration in my mind
Solitary confinement in my head
My heart beats like a gavel
Darling I'm here for life

Polluted precision

the calling card of mankind

Stained structures and hazmat huddles

Cluttered minds with no jurisdiction

Face mask population
black stained the blue

What was once considered unexcused is now exceptional

It slips by like a sickness

while we binge watch the bully called Hollywood

while we smear another signature on a rented luxury

Who can ever just be when so many things say why?

The natural ability for adaptation leaves room for neglect

shrugged shoulders and disconnection

We fight for air in this crowded garden

metal florals with the concrete cloves

smiles fall and we feel the weight of full corners

A slow ride may reassemble a notion of purpose

tree smoke with a tree top tincture

Still

the speed demon decides the generation

It's all so hilarious
it's all so serious
It's all so human

Compose yourself carefully

your reconstruction may replace a proper requiem

A clock reaches ******

notice the tenacity and accommodate its ticking

The reflection renders exhaustion

so much energy for a worlds acceptance

one pliable pause may replace this madness

anticipate something more than just existing

I've seen the faces after free will falters

how the sighs replace the seasons

hollow expression like a dime store display

Inside the minds

A parasite proves rational

This hysterical need for the perpetual head nod

Knowing a shake may shatter the shallow shambles you call solidarity