stories elevated by absolutes
where characters throw themselves into embarrassment
and those listening can’t contain their laughter
anymore than their alcohol or party-related energy

there’s wisdom hidden in the language
shouted for the sake of amusement
letting the music live on as the night’s compass
or liven the camaraderie ever so slightly

sticky hands finding their canned beer
after swatting the uninvited mosquitos
interrupting any chance at flirtation
lips cut their words hoping for an exchange

the pauses, the nervous ticks
insecurity slowly admitting defeat
crushing hands after crushing beers
these people interpret their own destinies
leaving the night’s heat to worry about itself

there were 9 times
9 times I was let down
9 times I expected more
and 9 times disappointed

9 shirts were laid out
and none of them picked
9 mirrors had cracks in them
not one could stay
9 books full of untapped potential
9 stories in search of readers

I counted to 9 and shut my eyes
hoping to dive right into a dream
and 9 minutes later I was still awake

there were 9 mistakes I made
and 9 times I felt sorry for each one
I counted to 9 on my fingers
and couldn't make it to the 10th

there were 9 syllables in the last thing
you said to me
I'm sorry but I can't be with you

the edges of my fingertips
swell up as they lack their magic
exposure to red disdain
covering delicate skin with danger

the walls protecting a heart
slowly die in their place
and accept the consistent rush
of an old air conditioner doing its best
to persuade heat to leave

so my empty body can feel at home
in my empty room
away from the indulgence
of July's freedom
where destiny forms between lips
and summer dresses paint the day
with vibrancy

where the borders of dawn and dusk
slip terror into the comfort
once safe enough to spend a lifetime with

so perfect it should only belong
in a Photoshop picture
where you simply take the flaws
and eradicate them

if I could take these burns
which burn brightest outside
and quietly kiss them away
like all the other things which can't
come back
leaving loose strands in dark subconscious
waiting for their moment to shine

she takes a blue pen
writes "man" over a scribbled out "beverage"
of a Dunkin' Donuts coffee warning
after I suggested with a sarcastic tone
the blue almost as dark as her black nail polish
chipping away if you look close enough

she mentions a story
of her boyfriend and his new car
something with adventure and romance
like a hard boiled detective story

my black and blue hoodie
slightly too big
but comfortable in this winter

the rest of them make separate orders
prolonging our hang out
when there are no immediate plans for later
and no one wants to volunteer their parents' house

all of our backpacks pile together on the floor
they're useless until Monday
hers is a regular bag with notebooks peeking out

she says Dunkin' Donuts coffee is good
but she prefers Starbucks
I don't drink enough to tell the difference
I trust her judgement

his hands are not coated
by the same coal instilled in his place of work
they arise out of ashes of an unseen fire
wielding its flame in unwelcomed areas

where truth and lies are rooted in the same sin
masking filth over pale skin too afraid of the sun
and telling shadows their worth can never be proven
in the ether of endless night

his rot, his grime which he wears like a badge
safely dissolving his shame
for he breathes in isolated air
which lingers in the pockets of smoke

hiding the last face she showed him
for its disturbance evoked a different life
than the one he'd like to lead
and kept his hands from the pillages of dirt

hands too terrified of wash
to see what's been hiding all this time
when their sense of duty finds its limit
when the work becomes fire
and the fire becomes forever
venturing into the forest of night
taking pity on the poor souls
too blind to see what they've done

I

the alarm clock refuses to set itself
it tells me this at 4:05 in the morning


II

I’ve started combing my hair
trying to maintain some sense of maturity
after I shaved my beard I
was reminded of my boyish look


III

the mirror decides to show
the reverse of a reflection
it shows me everything I’m not


IV

I have a dream where you’re the star
and I’m the narrator
we exist in the same world
but never interact


V

I look at my college degree like it’s an old photograph
from a time period I never lived in
I’m still seeking employment


VI

I turn 25 and unwrap gifts
looking for plans and hopes
and whether or not they’re relevant


VII

sometimes I wonder what you’re doing
who you’re with and how
much happiness you have


VIII

I disappoint myself
rejecting expectation
and ignoring opportunity
shaped in the consistency of
social resonance
populated by unpredicatable girls
who may charm you away
or ***** the scabs you’re dreading to discover


IX

abandoned ditches come with welcome signs
and I can’t help but feel a little afraid
that my vision is cut in half


X

two halves of a poem
form together
feel the uneven edges out
and agree on acceptance


XI

hands unfold
and position themselves for
placement
for some tangible thing
to appear

children on Friday
throw care out of two-story windows
their weekend is a small miracle
filled with music from old stereos

the boys send kisses to the girls
and congregate for prospects of play
the street is its own world
glistening with magic from the sky

dreary winter has quieted to sleep
flowers can find their perfect bloom
doors permanently closed for so long
creak open to invite warm air

children dance with bare feet
and tell stories fueled by quick laughter
their freedom is a wondrous privilege
for futures are a thousand years away

the hiss of dusk
claps like thunder to dethrone time
threatens with the dread of Monday
but the children don’t worry
their kingdom is a moment forever

they said you just died
though it seemed your death itself  
was 10 years in the making

she'll claim it's so sad
and her heart is finally shattered
though the moral support
a mask so easy to hide behind
can ******* the weakest minds

obligations to cry
and weep into empty telephones
when relief is instilled in the bleakest tones
something you would've agreed with

they'll lay you into the ground
or onto an ascending throne
we'll choose to forget the shell
and recognize the former you
the one capable of standing
tall enough for the winds
to carry into flight

lingering smoke from the last breath of conversation
clouds the final goodbye in the throes of departure
kissing the dark tears from a pregnant sky
drowning the serenity in an unholy baptism

it’s the last laugh, and the last regret
interrupting the youthful energy
of simple children who
throw their arms in apathy
unaware of tomorrow’s pathetic smile

there’s secrets hidden deep in the dark
in some heaven you locked yourself in
where every mirror is masking emotion
detached from steadfast friendship

it can’t be communicated with vocabulary
or confirmed with silent resolution
it simply slips away like an old calender
pages never meant to be seen again

when this music decides there's
nothing to say
nothing but dust and dead weight
settling into the same hands
which lifted the sky
and danced with uncertainty
breathing new life into each and
every adventure
raising beer glasses and interconnected hearts
beating as one
lost in the dream of some evening

this perfectly earned patience
reward blossoming with magic
unafraid of dying
even when it's happening

the language is nothing but old lies
corrupting any chance for conversation
silence best suits this air
cold
and harmless
it's the third party
stuck in place when everyone leaves

it's all somehow trapped inside
a thousand yesterdays
so close you can relive them all
where the now is so real it's terrifying
always standing by the edge of past tense
able to fall at any point

delay of a dead winter
when prospects of warm
feature across familiar ground
the steps taken with unflinching certainty
perfected in decades of practice

where sneakers and ***** jeans
defined endless afternoons caked in dirt
from the backyard
where we shared every dream we've ever had
and stole each others secrets for eternity

broken lips unleash frigid air
waiting for the train
to some temporary employment
something to save a little money
while this future still waits to give an answer

the sound of your soft voice
singing into my ear as you played with my hair
while our bodies felt like one
and we ignored time as long as we could

in the wilderness of old graffiti
staring you down, waiting for the Path
shined shoes trembling
refusing to accept this

it's the next day and the one after
the job ends
the waiting begins
you find yourself in a familiar room
wondering how you ended up here

the moment you realize your age
is not a number but a consistency
a constant reminder of all the things you've done
sometimes detached from all the things you've said

all the girls you didn't talk to
all the opportunities you passed on
thinking there'll be a better one along the way
a picture frozen in a mirror
with slight changes to your past faces
though ultimately the same boyish look
improved with the occasional ****** hair

it's the halo that hovers above you
to force comparisons with the more successful people your age
who settle into marriages
just as they settle into careers
who are in second or third or even fourth homes removed from their parents’ house
who can complain about all these “adult” responsibilities
as their eyes blaze with the thrill of being young

it’s falling into the middle of the ocean
without arms or legs
and knowing this single breath
may need to be held longer than you’d like

it stays with you like weather to an assigned season
a painting that can be examined for flaws
and surprises you by being perfect
though it’s a perfection everyone but you can see
and you should accept it at face value

it’s a story that one day can be the end of a joke
finely tuned with the perspective of advanced years

it’s an easy way to feel sorry for yourself
to indulge your insecurities
and dissect the content
of every facet of your character

it's that last day of summer
when back porches and lukewarm beer
are the solace needed

it’s the knowledge that every single yesterday has already left
and you didn’t have time to say goodbye
now there are a million tomorrows
waiting for you to say something

the turn signal forgets its duty
withdraws the promise of passing
making new rules in an ocean
of pavement and speed limits

where workers claim their land
with reduced lanes and inconvenient hours
their camaraderie drowns out the disappointment
of drivers who left their homes too late
dragging their shadows to
what must be indecent times
in the work space

they slow their speed to a whisper
and attack the horn like a beast
upon its prey
reveling in the language of anger
charged with excessive fury
raising a sermon to command people
who cannot hear the voices
too small to leave the confinement
of their vehicles

conversations lift from unnamed tongues
flirting with a language you don’t speak
the striving certainty, the swift confidence
unable to relate to hands finding themselves
in the corners of empty pockets
contemplating the why’s and the how come’s

distilling this patience which has remained
a novel idea lost in its own defeat
through the parameter of this potential
you’re convinced lives inside you
wishing to relate to a God who only loves
and can carry someone else’s burden

you’ve found truths to distinguish
where opportunity ends and regret begins
longing to reach this distance
of comfortable laughs and romantic gestures
existing in exchanges of foreign camaraderie
a language that cannot easily be taught

in this 3AM wake
when the marriage of cold sweat to empty sheets
is joined by old exhaust
a bruised and battered life
held together by a broken back
unable to lift out of this godless night

when sleep is the dream to wish upon
and escape the reckless regret
of beautiful things which have drifted into past tense
a forbidden place to venture to

when sunlight rinses over skin
humming the fire entrance
so simple it could be forgotten
as the rush of absent love finds mental security
to stay indefinitely
only ignored when lower back aches
seep into the cognitive forefront

in the endless silence
setting a permanent tone
for a helpless day
it's a moment of contemplation
to decide if this should become routine
or a mold to be broken
where every crack unravels new territory
emphatic potential unafraid to come alive

her words shatter inside his ears
like carefully dropped bombs
he waits for the cacophony
to die down
before he realizes what was actually said

her choice of words feels
practiced and perfected
like a prepared speech
suggesting this was not an impulsive move
but a carefully planned attack

and in that instant everything dies
every kiss goodbye
every drunken laugh
every ****** impulse
every Saturday morning
naked and alive
every "I love you"

it's like the way we imagine death
where your entire life flashes before your eyes
but this time it's an entire life shared
and there was a time before
and now there must be a time after

before he can collect any words of his own
she walks away
he was not given the same time to prepare

half-hearted sentiments sting the unwritten prose
bleeding through splayed fingers
and washing regret over a crimson doubt
repeatedly planted through pockets of history
upending a future perfected in a lifeless state

the primal instinct to cast blame
to point the finger back at the older self
reprimanding the absence of wisdom
too afraid to acknowledge where confidence
could have compromised kinetic fear

advancing the loaded uncertainty
baptized in the wake of youth
and slipping into adulthood
where fear unmasks its wonder
pressure breaks the safety of character

searching through peripheral vision
to a glory fueled by blinded ambition
the right call birthed out of the sense of where
the old identity excused from the frustration
lurking in the crevices of the now

the corners of your wallet
reveal fortune hasn’t found its time
sinking below the ocean of opportunity
below a fully realized surface
waiting to complete its world

your hands want to hold
carry weight in warm skin
proving strength
distilling exhausted potential

dreams memorize the bed they breathe in
offering glimpses between
the hours awake
when the night sky studies you

they like to pretend to carry
the same nostalgic wonder
as those existing in the halls of yesterday
where a picture tracks in on just one
just you
a body which doesn’t know how to behave
where backs turn to the light
where faces turn into myth

the old and the new exist in separate lives
but learn from each other
sharing their fears and their fables

it’s in between stations
on the 9:32 train out of the city
studying windows for facets of urban legacy
forcing my thoughts away from you
and the streaks in your hair which decide
your new future
a safe transformation
removing every bad thing that’s come your way

I can’t say you’re the one that got away
when I never had you to begin with
this is the ending where beginnings and middles
are of no value
for surrounding the way you smiled
and laughed when I said something witty
were the tone deaf words
shattering the wonder
where the “someone else” you find
is the first and possibly the last
where you don’t need to fall in love again

a few photos are enough
to declare this vision you always wanted
from the way his arms find you
and the way you relax into them

how maybe he takes you to bars where the music isn’t too loud
and the drinks are affordable
you can share everything with him and only him
each secret you’ve been dying to share

if I exist even as an afterthought
in the pages which don’t need revisiting
only the close of a chapter unattached to the narrative
if I ever told you you were perfect
it may have been a mistake
I can’t pretend those are original words
and I’m the first one to love you
I can’t pretend I’m the story that will become timeless
and you can’t pretend you’ll read any of this
since every poem you heard from me
whether or not you truly loved it
it always had the potential to break you
there was a sense of staying power
and you simply wanted out

with that came the "once upon a time" you
wished would come to life
safe in its innocence
never needing to be questioned

when the train finds its destination
and sends me off into the night
it could be the final page
the ambiguous ending
to a story which never began

her sigh intoxicates the room
with harbored resentment gaining momentum
he lets the first, the second, the third notice
slip into the melted ice at the bottom of his drink
feeling warmth from an uneasy grip

it's a practiced sequence
forged in the fragments of lifeless dreams
who sometimes prefer to be called nightmares
depending on how much sleep they steal

the mental script ready behind the curtain of closed lips
looking for any distraction from the impending
borrowed lines from other failed conversations
still vibrant enough to sting

her walk declares distress
moving into his frame
a delicate decision capable
of damage he'd rather not embrace
but her course takes her beyond him
into some other end of the night
he catches only the sliver of a lonely face
imperfectly aligned with his expectations

blanket statements
or rather blanket truths
swallow conversations whole
while old hands search pockets
for better things

in the outside world
the distance, the surroundings
the population of one
only you
left with cold memories
ready to dissolve away

it was then but perhaps it's now
whether regret chooses to be immediate
or have a delayed effect
an unpredictable thrill
when the shouting and the silence go hand in hand

when she sang your name
and read your body with her touch
when you both spoke of forever like it was a prayer
a message unaware of its expiration

it's the choosing to start anew
to regain vision after wandering with closed eyes
to admit there was hurt
and there could still be hurt left

to understand the same fire
which could light up a thousand nights
could also quietly burn
and leave ashes everywhere
too hot to ever touch

it's less about staring at the walls
and more about them staring back
leaving you speechless even
when you didn't have words to share

it's looking at an application page
the way you look at one of her pictures
unsure how you should go about this
and how disappointed you'll allow yourself to be

it's waking up on the wrong side of your twenties
admitting there's nothing to discuss
still stuck in this limbo
you swore you'd never visit in the first place

it's volunteering your insecurity
to navigate conversations
and dictate decisions
made inside days
irrelevant to dates or names of the week
and unprepared to call any of it a moment

it's spending days in shopping malls
and bookstores
turning your back on time
like a bad dream
or a bad idea
you can't help but run with

it's finding a rear view mirror
in an unexpected place
seeing yourself before some background
a single reflection with no intent
to leave a lasting impression

being called the good guy
the nice guy
should be a compliment
when really it's a polite way
of saying you're not good enough

you're not the best looking
you don't walk the fine line
of bad boy and *******

you're swimming in a sea of sharks
always stuck in second place

but the girls like you
they like your sensitivity, your compassion
though a perfect personality can't compete
with a cocky smile
or razorblade lips

after all someone has to be the friend
gay or not you're at a comfortable distance
at the edges of arm's length

locked in a window
waiting forever to come in from the cold
to take off your boots and
dry your skin by the fire
to say "this is where I belong"

your shoulders don't carry the alpha weight
never mustering enough masculinity
but one day you'll be the catch
father of the next year
husband material
not appropriate for a boyfriend
you'll age like fine wine
in some time foreign to now

in the mean time what should you do?
stand on the sidelines
while her heart gets beaten to death
endless brutality when she's had enough
only to say it isn't enough?

it's never enough

but keep yourself good
the world could use fewer *******
eventually someone will see you
for who you are
and that'll be beautiful
one day

no matter what you should always be yourself
it's the best you can do
it's the only honest thing to do
extend your arms with sincerity
some day someone will walk into them
and realize all that you are
which is simply not good enough

there are two dollar bills
soaking in saltwater
unsure if their worth is still warranted

a conundrum which parallels my own
work which slips away like an old love
into the passage of fire
unable to see through the smoke

this smoke makes friends with uncertainty
clouding judgmental overtones
or hiding the weeping truth
of dangerous discoveries in my life
where open change closes the doors
leaving cracks to see all
I couldn't complete

where days being single
become years
and all that was planned
falls into alcoholic waste
savoring the love I could share
for no one should claim it
when it sits in the smoke
coated in insecure skin
questioning every second it exists

there were scriptures inside your hands
turning pages into history
I was the last thought
hoping to linger in your vision

shrouded in silence
vacant windows in daily rush
where empty train seats
wait for your arrival

there are words I can’t speak
learning the language of you
nameless as you may be
I’m stung by your potential

this searching for focus
as time suffocates my expectations
for I want to know you
past the limits of passing by

I want these walls to become weightless
this anxiety to lose meaning
for this fantasy existing inside me
to show it can come to life
to finally take its first breath

they say it's when you're not looking
that you find
someone

they waltz into your life
in romanticized, Hollywood fashion
inspiration for the ages

but then there are those
who wait and then
continue to wait

they hold out their hands
for wondrous prospects
gleaming with safe confidence

they think about their friends
who just got married
and the couples moving in together

how one second there's an ocean of people
followed by a startling realization
they've all found what they're looking for

the necessity to mingle
and match on Bumble
carefully disparages personality

this clock which likes
to tick only in
the throes of danger

to settle on the assumption
you're missing something
or simply everything

to stand by as
this motion picture is supposed to begin
and quietly cry for pressure's release

it's inside these walls
of lifeless patience
where the skin around you
weeps to itself
the magic of internal allure
sleeps until it's summoned to life

who could blame the old man
who's strong wisdom was shrouded in
***** rags and slurred speech?

we thought better of ourselves
together, held candles in the shaky winds
unaware of an approaching storm

when we compromise our magic
and instill new beliefs in our everyday
dropping F bombs in the language of disappointment

where were the red flags
we so desperately cling to for guidance
to melt away our failures?

how can we look to some other future
when the hands we prepared for duty
have fallen into endless slumber?

how can we brace ourselves for battle
when we never learned the cause?
never learned to fall in love
or sing the final song
for our voices were never found

he falls into the fray
letting the last breath escape
his lungs
even the weight of his body leaves him
in the ether of smoke
summoned from violent escalation
where a backyard became a battlefield
and his shadow - loyal like a disciple
was the first to leave
and now he's in the presence
of some otherworldly thing

"what are you?" he cries in the clutches of defeat
it can't answer in words or gestures
he raises the same hands
which could build homes inside hearts
parched voice pleading, "I've lost everything"

his wants and desires are like stomachs
which cannot accept the notion of hunger
he falls to the floor waiting for death
or something like it to wash over him

yet this thing speaks to him
not in words or actions
but it communicates
he lifts his face with mustered strength
knowing everything that went wrong
cannot be changed
but change is not beholden
to the past tense

his eyes blink rapidly in
the wake of adjustment
sensing some light so soft
it could be a secret
telling the smoke
it's time to leave

stars align in proper formality
shadows disappear like tired ghosts
exercise lifts the journey into purpose
while planets pretend to watch from a far

search for solace can lead one
down empty bottles or through
broken bones
for the last beat of a heart

an outworn disposition
from conversations of yesterday
with faces losing familiarity
past the compromise of civil grounding
nothing but ashes in a private memory

a world of nighttime
unsure if it wants to be beautiful
or terrifying
it can't offer much
if you continue to walk away

promises of forever
and perfection which knows no end
these things fly off the tongue so easily
escaping before they're given any worth

youthful spirits race through the green of the meadow
boasting worth as if it needs to be proven
unaware how or when their laughter will turn to tears

the shape of the sun captured in a car window
holds energy for future release
backseat romance is best kept in the dark

springs in between steps fail
to mention the secrets
spreading their wings in
empty space
without room to nurture any wound

boys and girls hold each other
and face the world like it's a movie
they keep each other alive with
endless affection
sometimes fearing it only exists
in verbal security

and a sky which sometimes goes gray
during games and adventures in trees
can tell you the heartache that may have been a phase
is now permanent condition
stretched farther
than the outstretched hands
like prayers to a nameless god
seeking a day where beauty can exist
from beginning to end

as space promises to prolong dusk
long enough for those mourning the day's loss
to see if when they kiss there's still passion
or if it slips into obligation

will the kids who race through summer
riding the wind like chariots
will they raise their arms to become legends
and leave history in their footsteps

earthly aesthetic of sunburned tattoos
fading butterfly or a late parents' signature
looking for shelter in shaded ground
what was once perfect is now tarnished

a heat wave - some would say
melting motivated desire
lifting anguish out of simplicity
glued to the thickness of the day
sun and sky retire
slipping away without realization

this time she put her beer down
and found her hands
covered in disappointment
a cloud covering the edges of her heart
the spot where love could breathe awhile
now lost air filling unfulfilled lungs

the excess of wandering boys
cut her patience with experience
youth is a temporary friend
soon to leave like they did
forgetting to look back in regret

at the age of 25
doubt in the question of young or old
there's safety in being scared
or at least she wants there to be
for the present hour isn't working

the lack of beauty in the folds of her dress
delicately placed to provoke worry
and hide the tremblings of a naked body
finding the nearest couch
away from everything
accompanied by half empty drinks

rereading this in 10-15 years
may do little by way of
conjuring nostalgic pleasure

it may be like that painting in your house
which you swore you knew the origin of
but suddenly it's nothing but a stream of colors
and it prefers if you look away

the room is so cold and empty
you half expect dust to rise from your lungs
not being the first thing to leave you

placing a date at the top of the page
may feel like historical value
when really it's just some numbers
drifting further into the sea of memory
hoping one day it'll rush back with the current
crashing an eclectic wave through you
as unrealized wisdom will greet you
like old friends

the girl you swore would find you
may have found a different future
the guy next to her doesn't look a thing
like you
but they look good together

the boys and girls
who took shelter in bars
may be doing the same thing
but with faces of men and women
while that boyish look of yours
turns into something strangely beautiful

those worries and fears
which flew around you like demons
cursing your existence
can melt under a candle
standing on top of extended hands

all of this could read
like some ancient dialect
belonging to a person
who lived their own life

job searches feel a lot
like dating
you send your qualifications out
hoping to display the best version
of yourself
only to be amused with silence

worry shifts from
bad posture and trembling hands
into multitude of doubts
shooting like fireworks into a sky
predicting rain in the bluest day

measuring the quantity of one's worth
stacked against beautiful faces and
perfect bodies
as the sun embraces them
like prodigal sons
and you are the older brother
still waiting for your time

cold fevers can ****
the confidence
and hide in plain sight
with masks of false phrasing
slips of the tongue
never forgetting to leave
a bad taste

setting sights
on some potential
lingering in the depths of tomorrow
in a space unamused by time

stepping onto the E train
where it's so claustrophobic
you might as well cut out your lungs
and die

that would be a bit dramatic
though not as much as the pain
bottled up in the eyes
which want to cry but can't
looking through you not at you
just don't take it personally

walking along 3rd avenue
where cars colonize the street
like it's a newly found kingdom
labeling yourself a New Yorker is a title
not yet earned
since you still check Google Maps sometimes

why bother getting lunch two blocks down
at some unheard of but kinda cool pizza place
when there's a Chipotle right here
and Nintendo World is a few blocks away
and Midtown Comics is right around the corner
there's magic to this

setting your search on Tinder to one mile away
where your options are as endless as your "swipe lefts"
wondering if the next one is the one
it could be, couldn't it?

work ends and you reenter the flux of people
moving so fast it's like they're running away
maybe it's getting Happy Hour drinks
or simply going home

there's less summer every day
only a little bit of sunlight at the end
not much but something to cherish

the ******* about it being hot
will soon be the ******* about it being cold
seeing yourself march through a labyrinth of strangers
going here to there
sometimes with life scaring you
moving into territory without open arms

this filth which I can't for the life of me
rinse away
it stays with me like a scar
public shame to suffocate my progress

in this heart of mine
which looks best when it's broken
if you put your hand out you may find love
in these thorns which stole the space

when lips which don't belong to me
forget their rhythm
their words are laid bare
stripped of alternate interpretation

the skin I live in
the only home to shelter
these worries
like planets in a protective galaxy

inside this independence
when you're happy it's called solitude
and when you're sad it's loneliness
a space so familiar and yet
I'm afraid to enter

to realize I left my shadow
in the sunlight
every second my pillow denies
me sleep
sadness creeps further into the scene

a version of me which doesn't
deserve such devotion
a mask of filth I've worn too long
convincing the world there's nothing to see
convincing me it's a losing battle
when there was never a war to begin with
that these tears are permanent rain
when there isn't a cloud in the sky

just a dawn waiting to inspire the day
a simple future dancing to its own harmony

steps between spaces are as silent
as the town trying to find its sleep
whispers from hushed restaurants evaporate
as they're visually removed from focus

my desire for rest is not unlike
the town's
giving me less light than I deserve
as I search for a parked car
to take me home

kids walking along Bloomfield avenue
look for liquor stores that don't card
fueled by the ecstasy of mischievous youth

if I drive away
will I miss the golden opportunity
sitting in place waiting for kinetic release?

if all I want is to drive into your arms
without reservation
am I selfish
or just lonesome?

East Side Mags closes in
the crescendo of finality
an array of dark stores
lifeless – unattractive at night

the flicker of New York activity
a compass on the horizon for
any wandering traveler

it's a whole world over there
a perfect backdrop for night drives

ripped jeans and white shirts
forget their union
when the body that joins them
is too concerned with the heart
it holds
and how it went from being a home
to a tomb
but instead of a resurrected messiah
it only holds the ashes

nothing concrete to build
a story around
but evidence of some pain
whose markings taint the air inside

these hands have never felt this useless
to once hold a weight
or an arm
or carry skin
suddenly hold absence
fingers too afraid to close
confirming the inevitable

the stability of this body
once solid on a bed
for two
suddenly scared by the extra space
it wants to move to the floor

left in naked existence
these hands can only move across
emptiness for so long
before they can't even
hold worth

the stone that could roll
away and restore faith
covers half of this tomb
enough to forget
there's anything there

First Interview

it's the waves of formal
lurking in the, "What do you want to do?"
and "Why do you want to work here?"
satisfactory answers exist in an arrangement
left in the limbo with, "We'll keep in touch."
keep trying
they say

Second Interview

it's a gallery
of somewhat interesting profiles
and glamorous pictures
to swipe left or right over
they're doing the same
and it's all so very

******

Third Interview

my cold hands face the fact
that sweat smeared across my face
lifts scares from a frightened dream
rolling through a sleepless bed
searching for a desperate morning

Fourth Interview

in these days which prefer to be called weeks
when staring at a blank screen
or a blank page
can only slightly distract
from the question of "Why am I here?"
or more importantly, "Where did everyone go?"
ambition rising to fruition
free from the promised danger

Last Interview

it's time to shower
you ***** human
and comb that hair
and pretend to shine your shoes
make your way out into this thing called the world
hustle and don't you forget to smile
you did brush your teeth, didn't you?
stand up straight
and walk with confidence
this is it
and you're more than ready

it's safe now
to turn back and take a look
at a dream which convinced itself
it was more than that
silently drifting somewhere else

he gathers records
of some history which never
truly lived
decides this melancholic heart
isn't worth fighting for

rereading the romance
which swept her into the clouds
so high up she became out of reach
and all he could do was whisper goodbye
so quietly only God could hear

the records form into a narrative
existing in linear progression
unfortunately outdated
tainted by its irrelevance

glimpses of some other life
enter the peripheral
planting thoughts behind closed eyes
waiting for uncertainty to inspire
and awaken old habits
losing focus of where the sting left
scars forgetting their pain
hands resurrecting their purpose

out of the ethereal bliss
where you came from
woken by godlike thunder
from an aging grandfather clock
striking the twelve
while you see your hands
are without hands to hold them

afraid that the day before you
will open to reveal
a window of nothing
romance that doesn't belong to you
from others who make the most of their time
you'll retell this saying "lovers" instead

heat sticks to you
like a bandage which forgot the pain
peeling off blankets
wishing you could peel off skin

the rush of routine
where pockets of laziness
should be spent hoping
for that sign to be sent
air of relief flowing through your lungs
but it holds you hostage in patience

and if tomorrow and today
become one
cutting out vocal expression
something to resemble improvement
you'll take solace under the sky
feeling the surface of the earth
cradle you like a scared child

peaceful slumber which
should be a simple wish
is distracted by ***** air
finding shelter inside lungs
occupied by cheap whiskey and
violent words waiting for release

when patience tries to be the
biggest strength and the greatest
weakness
it loses value
as unanswered calls stack up in place
to test the stability of patience

and how much silence is enough
before all that's wanted is a scream?

it's not the days that blur together
but the moments
when other people take off their clothes
and live forever
dancing in permanent sunsets

when choosing your own way
feels more like the absence of one
and running into the future
is more frightening than arresting

putting yourself to sleep
in a bed of trepidation
offers the small sounds
of outside wonder

cries carry their echoes like scared children
into the deepest pockets of the abyss
waiting for merciless thunder to stop
bombing the earth

where the soil of kinetic frustration
realizes the roots were of pure harmony
a tenderly crafted perfection - brought to life
in an air of laughter
found in back door summers
and ice cold beers

a constructed fantasy - populated
by playful youth on their thrones of rebellion
raising the fire from its safe place
to burst the night sky into crackling bliss
free from chains of pressured change
promising a potential future
stripped of good times
leaving naked anxiety

scars to color perspective
uncertain if this sky is blue or black

all these good times
stretched thin between quotations
broad activity
soon to be branded
by nostalgia

facets of frustration
can carry different weight
depending on how much concern
is thrown at that piece of hair
which refuses to stay down
or those tears you wish
you hadn't seen

a look in the mirror
where you accidentally catch
a glimpse of who you'll grow up
to be
while the linger of old laughter
glides through thoughts like
a lullaby
joined by other small voices
doing their best to keep this room alive

this room
where bags and boxes
stay set for packaging
while the clock watches you
as you stare at her picture
seconds longer than
you should

never knowing worth
is trailed by an expiration date
a ticking time bomb to pause
the perfection indefinitely
or force the transition of
entering the realm of tomorrow
where these walls will no longer
be your parameter

she's heard them all before
beautiful
****
gorgeous
smokin'
perfect 10
so



pretty



this vocabulary filtered
through nameless voices
springs into routine
like the obligation
of starting and ending

she sees this beauty that acts as a constant reminder
accentuated by perfect lighting
and mascara capable of hiding every bag
under each eye

the community of star struck boys
who slide their smiles into her peripheral view
saying all the right things they've learned through practice
******* her with their hungry eyes

they wear the gentleman's charm
and aim to sweep her off her feet
where she can glow in the spotlight she deserves
fed the endless affection they assume she craves

in the description of perfect lips
and an incredible ***
*******
and nice hips
categories in bullet point dialogue
meant to be locked away in male camaraderie

she realizes this beauty
stealing the gaze of well-intentioned wolves
exposed only to the surface
filling in the rest as they please

she never knew the shivers
from a sky glowing with galaxies
vast space painting the moon red

she was safe in the security of arms
rooted in a certain love
a kind of magic she only saw in dreams

this girl, this wandering beauty
who looks lovely in the eyes of boys
holding her shape in their stares

this love she felt
buried her insecurity
allowed her light to sing to the sky

his combed hair and sweet voice
wrapped like a blanket around her skin
the greatest strength was how convincing it was

her candle could only flicker for so long
before blinking into nothing
from honest hands forged by abuse
stealing the last of her beauty

this wandering girl - never recognized the cold
to feel the shivers of an endless night
breathing every scar to life

I've taken the beatings
and felt the blows
the one-two
the fester of *******
seeping into my worry

I've placed my ear
to the walls
and heard the screams
taking their shapes
the strange cacophony
of hollow voices
creeping just beyond reach

beneath these bruises
in the empty that owns the pain
and poisons expectation
where each new smile
is less brave than before
mining troubles
like flags waiting to be found

promises
summon back their quotations
ripe with a vagueness
to blacken out the deal
and erase its history
or simply wait long enough
to one day be forgotten

to cut out my tongue
so I can't talk back
to look me in the eyes
and tell me I can't see

pockets deceive themselves
when ashes depart into the offering
momentum of tired fists
shooting into space
harboring some hatred to God
or His silence

aching eyelids travel
to another offer
testing the weight of a soul
unable to measure its true worth
until it's released

and these eyes which have
steadily grown into catastrophe
tapping doomed potential
when the last gamble can't lead to compromise
only closure

a living parable written in word
dotting its last period
when the eyes shut
and accept there's a vast darkness
where limitation doesn't have to be the focal point
it never was after all

I'm aimless now
wandering through helpless days
searching intersections and afternoons
looking for light

these bones wish to give up
become one with the ground
like the sleepless whose roots
are found in broken pavement

I've called for a sign
a promise to one day fulfill
direction in the wake of danger
relief above this failure

scriptures have been recited
to calm the internal wind
prayers fell from bleeding lips
sometimes too late

the city's muted color
from congregations of clouds
above this wanderer
lost but still looking