No towering, flowering, landlocked tree
Will weep for the waning life of thee
Forgive them, friend, they never saw you smile
Forgive them, friend, they never saw you grin

To mistress maritime you were married
For her you lived, so with her be buried
Below the surface of sorrowful sin
Where above breathe hateful and hollow men

Solar shadows spin and empty seas flow
Though they are bereft your supernal glow
Forgive me, father, I can't seem to smile
Since you died, father, I can't seem to grin



(And from the waves we are ******)

(And unto the waves we are ******)

like blue blisters in the sun her eyes pierce me
through with a fierce reckoning as she looks on
"you can't keep me here, I'm long gone" she said.
and I smoked the rest of my lit cigarette as I watched her
walk passed the wall I had built around myself
and out the front door. she walked away
with the same sizzling stride the others did
and I'm left here with a beer, partially intact, happy with my secret pact
to never fall in love
with a blue-eyed blonde beauty
ever
again.

the courtesans on the corner called him baby blue,
though he cavorted around with a candid ecstasy
seldom seen under the streetlights or above the sewers of  town
though he bought rounds for all the ******* at the bar at 2 a.m.
and bellowed drinking ballads to no one in particular
though he had a colossal crocodile smile
wider than the sea, the sky, or any of the tiny bits in between
the courtesans on the corner called him baby blue,
because on the navy nights when he would lay with them,
which was now and again, it was always with silent tears
and they flowed like the deepest sorrow untold.

i visited the old house from my childhood
and it was so beautiful i almost wept to see
the cornflower blue build and the maroon shutters and the orange tree my
brother and i used to climb reaching so high in the sky we tried to eat the sun.
i visited the old house from my childhood
and i found it exactly as i remembered
the stairs on the staircase were still too steep
and the walls were stained with the memory of
absent picture frames.
i visited the old house from my childhood
and saw all the same faces in all the same places
through the window
those lovely facade faces grinning back at me
through the window
and i could almost hear father shouting out loud:
"Smile, for God's sake, Johnny, smile once and awhile!"
i visited the old house from my childhood
and i found it exactly as i remembered
but the paint was chipping with time
and i couldn't stand to see it like that so
i painted it red with each slit wrist
and burnt the ****** thing to the ground.

In the days and silent picture frames
Of my childhood, I knew the world like simple arithmetic.
All oranges came from the tree in my backyard
All strength came from cans of spinach
All children came from God
And God hid amongst the clouds, on high
Where Heaven awaited the endless sleepers.

The moon was made of cheese
Birthday wishes always came true
Every little girl was a Disney princess
And every Disney princess would one day
Marry their own Prince Charming.
When I was a kid, my dad could kick your dad's ****.
Anytime.

When I was a kid...
But objects in motion must remain in motion,
And the moment we begin to sprout,
There's no elixir, no potion to slow it
For the fountain of youth is left behind with youth.

Because nowadays,
That orange tree is long dead.
Strength can only be found within,
And I find less of it with every tear
And Heaven is the furthest place from here.
Nowadays the moon looms above us all like melancholy madness
Like a cold hard night
Like a forever goodbye
Like glass in your gut
Like gravity.

But the magic remains and is revealed in the shield of sleep
I'm not a kid anymore, but I still believe.
I still want to believe.
And everyday, I search the sky
Between the clouds,
Carefully,
Quietly,
For a glimpse of God.

When to dust my flesh and bone lies
Bugs will eat the blue-gray from my eyes
God will take me, body and soul,
Then throw me in a deep dark hole
But hell will have no place for me
So I'll be flung unto the sea
Where the tempest shall spin and shout
And say, "No way," then spit me out
Across the grasslands, I s'pose I'll roam
A ghostly soul without a home
Oh, not for any evil deed
Nor any planted evil seed
No wicked sin I committed
Kept me from afterlife permitted
Though it's all nice, you can believe,
You weren't there, so I asked to leave.

Socrates was a savage son of a gun
Waltzing across town with an urbane gravitas,
Trumping the pimps and priests that passed
His lazy confidence demanded the reverence oft reserved
For kings and queens and prime ministers
Without a home, the world was a playground all his own
He was always gentle, always genial,
Because he descried through his one good eye
That dregs like me had it rough enough already
He was my friend,
And then he died,
And no one cared but me.
While functional American boys were
Learning from their fathers,
I was learning from that feral cat.
Good old Socrates.
Good boy, Socrates.