O deeper sea
That waves restless between us
Engorging and disgorging
The changeling creations
Steep rills and ridges
Making not a dent above
So stays my heart hidden
Hidden in its element
So stays our viscous love

It takes a sinner to make a saint, that’s how it started for me. I laid low the first few hours of the night, breathing in ether and manifestations of every child, adult and kid willing to speak while on the spot. The tall lanky kid on the fence sitting just over the ocean as if he were as mighty as the sea spoke diligently of revolution and “the new scene”. I couldn’t take much more of that and gleefully folded myself into bed. My bed consisted of a backpack for pillow and gas station bathroom walls for shelter. The new ideas and dreams of my surroundings were great, really great; it was saddening to see them die so fast and knowing before even while they burned and screamed “HEAR ME OUT” they were destined to death. Like any person who walks the earth or was convinced being born was a good idea, we are all destined for madness. The idea of dying seems like a made up story when you are nine years old sitting next to your father in the car and listening to him explain that someday he will die, because everyone does. It seems made up when you are woken up by a call “He’s alive but barely, cars wrecked, better get here quick”. Then the celebration of life they have after the life has long left the body. We should really celebrate our lives while we are alive! No ones here to dream or brag of death, the only reason one would **** themselves is to escape the pain of situation they decide they can no longer handle. Handle it, escape it, there is escape in many things. I chain smoke like a chainsaw, always one cigarette after another as the blade continuously revolves one after another to cut through its purpose. I dream long dreams of trains, girls, the south which I no longer dislike and my place here as a son, a brother, a friend and lover. The music I hear is marvelous and alluring. The love I’ve loved is divine and sweet. The ideas I’ve had are irrational and witless. The fires I’ve started are abiding and ageless. The nights I’ve cried are brief and temporary, while all the beauty I’ve seen is constant and everlasting.

I started out feeling a lot older than I should.  Twenty five years old and felt ugly and out of shape. No convincing me the cigarettes and anti anxiety pills had anything to do with it. I remember not so long ago when I was young, I could have swept any girl off her feet, had a good time with nothing at hand to use as conversation. Precisely delivering every word out of my mouth like a surgeon with a scalpel. I would drive pretty girls to the mountains; roll around in fields to grin wide eyed at their thighs. I was young. Complete with friends I grew up with who lived down the street, I honestly felt like I didn’t belong, if they were swimming I was drowning, if they were strong I was weak; when they were sleeping I stayed up shaking. Anyways everyone experiences some sort of solitude growing up. I met a young beautiful girl one night in the street, while she was walking by I said hello and she asked “what do you do around here?” I quickly answered “look for people like you.” It was a cool summer night when I had convinced her the next day to meet me down the street from the hotel her family was staying in. The Colony hotel, complete luxury and high life. Her name was Lilly. She had a strong British accent and I immediately loved her. We were standing on the porch of the Nonantum Hotel . People walking by checking in and out. We sat in the wicker chairs for 4 hours talking about life as if we had lived many lives before. I was seventeen, she was nineteen.  She told me to stand up and when I did she pushed her body against mine and we both pushed up to the post that ran up to the roof. She looked at me and swore to me I had to promise no matter how long, any matter of time pass, I find her so we can spend the rest of our lives arm in arm. She then leaned in and kissed me till I couldn’t breathe. Long passionate and full of emotion, she meant every poke with her tongue and curl of her lips. An older lady walked by and said loud enough for us to hear, “it must be nice to be young.” She had forgotten and I felt like we belonged in the movies as two lovers in a dramatic ending where the women cried in theatres and the men consoled their own heartbreak. We kissed for a while longer, and then I walked her up the street back to the hotel. She was gone, I’d never see her again, nor do I have any plans to find her now. I had the best part of my youth robbed as we all do, and I don’t think I could love her now the way I was sure I could love her then.

The Sea and its salt were in my eyes, snow fell around me and perished in the ocean as I was supposed to as a sailor in 1897 but an arm held me there above where I could breathe and see, 98 miles an hour north on interstate 95 and look ahead 10 feet a stopped car, cut right and behold the exit I was directed to take, but this exit kept me still breathing My heart beats to the pulse of anxiety which is the eternal pulse of fear and suffering, Buddhist sit under a tree find enlightenment but the rhythm of life is to fast to enlighten thee, the current of electricity is to slow to catch up. So there you were standing on an old railroad switch station high above the tracks, whiskey shaking as the train came fast, This particular afternoon meant absolutely nothing to me then, I traded dignity to profit using the word absolutely more times than I care to count, profit I did but at what cost? I spent it all on horses or tables, drove through Lowell and then Worcester, then into Connecticut but was I really important then? Or  should I count the losses and weigh them as gains? Not now little bird, you will just break my heart again, little bird you will just run off again with something new and pathetic, little bird just jump out your window and fly to the pavement below, no one will notice but me, not the ones you chose after or in between.

Sky burning, explosion all around. War for money, war for possesion.