I was sitting on a park bench
Two days ago
After putting in some overtime
When a pair of kids walked by
"Life is so dope"
Said one to the other
It was said with sincerity
Not a hint of irony
It was beautiful
I was hit with a moment of
Satori

Life is so dope.

Do not fear it's form
Soft, dark dweller of the earth
Everyday reborn

Time does not exist
Or so I am told
An artificial instrument
created by man
As it turns
the Earth shrugs it's shoulders
She doesn't know what to think either

Time is not linear
That is what I hear
Everything has already happened
and is happening at the same time

So...wait.

I imagine it like one gigantic explosion
Our lives play out
Everything happens separately and at once
My ten year old self and my eighty year old self are one in the same
I have heard that

There are some people I wish I could talk to again
The ten year old smiles and continues the conversation
I sit here and think that if everything has happened and is happening all at the same time

Then

I am still having those conversations
with Living Ghosts

In the dark we clutch our coffee
half as tight as we clutch each other
Breath escaping as puffs of steam
as we are illuminated by the icicle
lights that float above Davis Street
Frozen in time, we should only be so lucky

Let's grow old together
and raise a Christmas Tree Farm

Gonna go back a few years
Back when clothes came from Sears
Nineties life revolved behind some handle bars
A few years away from driving cars
A few more from sipping at the bars
Trying with all our hearts to salvage
those moments of pretend
But the time is here for it to end I fear
Dennis and I prepare for one more neighborhood war
I raid the water balloons and paint ***** from my skivvy drawer
We go to Max's Video for a battle plan
Maybe some tips to take out a vampire clan
Step inside and see the back curtain
What's behind, we are not certain
Clerk is gone at a glance
Pull it back, take a chance
Please be kind
Press rewind
Leave your childhood behind

It's true I am being paid
But it's not just for my time
They get much more than that
It wasn't till I pulled up
my driveway from an hour
and a half commute
that I realized I have
gone nearly a week without thinking
my own thoughts.
Yes I get a stipend for my time
But my mind has been hijacked

and I let them...

Starving and searching for food
in the cupboard and freezer
If my pantry was in "Oregon Trail"
it would be meager

Those eyes
Like cups of black coffee
I cannot tell were the iris stops and the
pupil begins
Windows to your soul
and you are a mystery

That's ok
Because I am a detective.

Puffy eyes, stayed up late
That's what they say
Broken window, glass in the seat
Who would want an empty bag
anyway?
Manners lost, nothing but hate
and strife.
I hate when people can't even act
in real life.

Rainy days and Mondays
Piloting my car like a
river boat captain
on a shiny Mississippi
It is morning but still dark
an eye dropper of blue has
been added to the sky
and what was once black
has now slowly spread to purple
A purple macchiato in the atmosphere

I pass by a convenient store
It looks like an oasis in the dark rain
Soft blue lights reflecting on wet asphalt, illuminated marquee
an old cinematographer trick  

This is my time
This is where I live
This is me.
My true self
before,
I am stained by work

The goofy middle aged men
are funny as they
flirt with baristas

Sitting here sipping away
at this blackest of coffee
I cannot help but think
that a glass of tequila might
serve me better today
Somebody should have a
Happy Hour
in the morning

Sitting at the coffee shop
across from my labyrinth of
employment.
I could...I could do it.
I could walk to my car and just drive.
Keep driving.
Just disappear....

If I was brave.

America is a
bacon egg and cheese
sandwich

Some days it's musty
Especially after a summer rain
The yellowed steeple chase wall paper peels back in places
It's pretty big for an efficiency
One big room in the top floor
Cut out of an old faded yellow house
It is compartmentalized like a CIA agent
The bathroom is the color of rust
On rainy days the door jam swells
and the wood panelling in the walls heave
The textured ceiling in between
fake styrofoam wooden beams makes
Me feel like I am inhabiting my own cave
or cabin
Many people I know couldn't live like
I do
This is my home
This is my garret
Alone I write.

I want to burn
More than anything
I need to feel and fuel
My own fire that
I know is my core
Ignite me
So I can ignite you
Watch it spread
I promise
You will enjoy it
I want to burn

Everybody gets to be a winner
The greatest lie they ever sold to my generation
No ****
Who likes to lose?
But the biggest lie is that handing trophies out to kids
Makes them entitled
Everyone wants to win, the right way.
Competition is in the soul...
You can't take that from me
Sorry to burst your bubble
but competition is our soul
It's our
inalienable right
Whether we get a trophy to mark our season of playing
Or for our esteem it does not make me who I am.
In fact me and my generation don't compete for ******* pieces of Tin or Plastic
For us it's a different plane
Next time please do not point at a trophy
And sum up my(our) whole existence
You already had your shot.

I used to be a mystic
Or at least what I thought was one
Effortless it was as a child to be completely
Transformed
Transported
Transfixed
It was more than pretend
I was these people
I went to these places
As the dust settled and the years have gone bye,
It has gotten harder to find these places again.
To be these people
It's only a feeling now
Here and there
When I stare at the lines
in my hands
I only get glimpses
Like the aftertaste of a single malt
lingering like a memory
Only a non mystic would use that metaphor
But I feel like I was a mystic longer than most

Chapped
Done
Shattered Bleeding
Broken
Slower to get up now
Cracking noises snapped prime delusions
Caught between, what?
A rock and a, no **** that
Sitting at a middling crossroads
Salt remnants in my beard
Maybe a new path can be attained
Walls punched, pillows confided in
Matches struck, lungs burn
Passions drowned in hops and barley
A professional crossroads
Sometimes the best teachers are broken people
Great leaders wear chain mail over a flawed guise
Hands down offer a leg up
Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough
Changes can be made
Fat washed up
Walls repaired
Pillows cleaned
Reflection looks
Pony Boy Tuff
A mind can be made up
A new path begins with a rising sun
Spitting is a ***** habit
But I know a worse one

We all have those moments that stay with us
Frozen in the  video screen that is our head
like a lost cable connection
The last frame stays with you

Once my life was a Better Than Ezra song
"I remember running through the wet grass,
falling a step behind"
I caught up to you
The grass was wet
The trickle of the run beside us
was our only audience
Under the gazebo
"Are you going to kiss me?"
She asked for the first time
Ever.
I answered her.

I heard that song a few days later
The moment is inseparable
Locked away in the time capsule
that is my heart

Stop
I am tired of it
I don't need reasons:
1, 2, 3
Let alone
7, 8, 9
Your bad behavior
is your bad behavior
No more rationalizing
**** your personality
if it's going to be like that
I am done
Own your faults
shut your mouth
and maybe, just maybe
Overcome them.

I know you are brave

The Peanuts Christmas Music
is already playing on the radio
It's impossible to grab a loaf of bread
or a gallon of milk with out hearing
So many memories
it makes me so sad to hear
The sound of the piano
a part of me hears it, dies inside
thinking of those times that are gone
but were always kind of sad in the first place

But then why does a part of me
secretly love this feeling
Why does it feel good to be so
utterly sad?
Similar in effect to the child watching a
scary film through strategically placed fingers
they do not want to be scared but deep down
they secretly love to be afraid
Why do we do this to ourselves?
And why are most not honest about it?
Why are we broken?
Or maybe we are not

I never liked the Peanuts anyway

I will get there
he said
staring
at the blank wall in front of him
the shadow of a lonely nail sticking out like a sun-dial
when he does
it will be
very
very
slowly

To me
more than just a vessel to the afterlife
but it might just be

I build my pyramid on the carpet
4x3
One by three by five by seven
So on and so forth

Above all this pyramid has the power
to change my life
Monetarily
Immortality
or
most importantly
for myself
right
here
(The Heart)

We came together once

I move
You move
You move me
Too...

At one time I was the oldest and you the youngest
I long for those lost days, days of innocence
I am still the oldest but now I am waiting on you
Giving your body over to a bad real estate deal
The tattoos on your arms cannot conceal the tacky
Tract Housing or
The New Developments
I know it's hard
I know you will fail
More than once
Many contracts have expired but the offer
Is still on the table
The more you put in
The less of you is left
I know it is hard
and I am here

That spark came from within
Radiating outward
People could see
And return my smile
I was soft and happy
Like a wonderbread lunch

Time passes
Caught in quicksand
Sometimes wormholes
Head down back up
No time for lunch today
Life's drum beats on
I hear it
Oh do I hear it

My day starts in fifteen minutes
The drums are easy to hear
When your back is the bass
Sipping the last bit of coffee
I notice the toast on my plate
Burnt Toast
I give him a fraternal nod
I step out into the street and walk to work

I might be waiting at line for Coffee
It's 2014 and I am in Starbucks
But when "As Time Goes Bye"
plays on the speaker
I am at Rick's
If only for a moment

In a second story room
a gas fire goes out
as a refrigerator compressor kicks on
even the middle of nowhere is noisy
The panel board walls relax as the room cools
like an asthmatic that can finally breath again
Snow and sleet pelt the
windows and deck
I write this with greasy hair
and a band t-shirt
Thank you for today
sometimes a poem
pays more than a
day of work anyway

Halloween
to me
will always
smell like
Chocolate
in a
Pillowcase

I was just a kid
It was first grade
I knew we were at war
Saw it on the news
We stood a lot longer in the mornings now
We always said the pledge
But now we sang
"Proud to Be An American"
Every day for about a month
I really liked singing it
Once I got in trouble because I was walking down the hall back to class when it was on
I was told I should have stopped until it was over
Chris and I used to make Scud and Patriot missiles during indoor recess with our Legos
We did our part
I hurt my eye one day and had to wear a patch
I had to stay inside and play a game with Mr. K
"Do you want to play Scud Missiles?" I asked
He looked at me with an eyebrow arched
smirked a little bit and said
"How about we play checkers instead?"

I wish I could
Inhale my morning coffee
And
Drink the morning air

I think of you and it shows
I try to write poems but they come out as prose
I play it cool, keep it close to the vest
But DOOM said it best
She winks rainbows

A twitch and a instant
she is awake
light peeks into the room
through a cracked window
She wipes at the tight skin
around the corner of her cheek
from where her drool dried
as she takes in this
Bleach Bypass World
There is a red infected
burn mark above her upper lip
must have tucked her hand
to her face with the lighter
still in it.
These things get harder to explain
Love it. Hate it.
Hate...that she loves it

He has more invested
Second nature, this style
of life
It was a hook up
A **** buddy
A mistress
One more for old times sake
A marriage
The monkey tattooed on his
left arm used to lead to laughs
Ironic
Literally feeding the monkey
The jokes are gone
But the monkey is
hungrier than ever.

He sees her across the room
She is crying and touching her lip
He hates her
She loves him
He loves her
She hates him
He hates himself
He picks up the lighter
from the floor next to the
**** smelling couch she is sitting on

The setting was a back country road
The script was minimal
Descriptions mostly
It was us two
Acting mostly with our eyes and smiles
Actors don't know how to act with their eyes
Anymore
The natural light of the sun
Illuminated you in the most majestic
of ways
The whole day was magic hour
And few get to act with their muse

I am afraid
Not just of getting old
Not just of dying
Not just of being alone
I am afraid of dying,
old and alone.
But worst of all
with nothing to show for
it...

Poetry is a start.

I am stuck in the darkness
A world so bad it has to be real
My dreams never cease to surprise me
in thier vividness
I wake up to my relief
Only to be ****** back into terror
Long shadowy arms extend from my ceiling
And hold me down
I can't move
I try to shout for help...
The shadow covers my mouth
...I live alone anyway
The fear creeps through me
as the electricity of this
shadowy intruder
keeps me still
Panic
And just as fast as it began
the shadow creeps back to the corners
it grew from
and I can move again.

It's three in the morning.
But I am not going back to sleep
I open a book and read instead.

As I step out the door into the gravel  lot
I can feel the coolness in the air of the coming fall
It will make itself comfortable here for the next few months

Looking down into the gravel I see
white and cork cylinders strewn about
Cigarette Butts
These are our stories
Some would say our *******

Our day becomes more bearable
when we are able to share stories
in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette
Maybe I should take up smoking

There are a years worth of stories back here
My only fear is
that they will not last longer than the
cigarettes

No grin, frog lips
It's run, jump, punch
parta the apocalypse
Tired of being the
last ball in the hopper
Worth more than the
price of the copper

...now listen...

Jonzin for the days
Of Zee Emerald
and a loose tooth
**** is ephemeral
Like the era in a phone booth
Put a quarter up
E.T. Phone home
Kids today never had to
fear that dial tone...

She was my Drugstore Cowgirl
It's tough this time of year
She smelled like Christmas Trees
and pallet fires
rooftops were not safe
from our company
Car rides
Sips of beer
And medusa's stare
The Violent Femmes carried
through the air
I can still feel her hugging
on the sleeve of my grandfather's
old Army jacket
I tried too hard and not enough
She got bored

So.
You ****** up
You know it
But like anything else
it's what you do next that counts.

On He Climbs!
Back up my spartan kitchen wall
a spot on a blank canvas
making his little way
to the tombstone of a landline
Oh Little Stink-Bug!
everyone hates you
I used to
too
Now I hardly notice you
crawling up my wall
not bothering anyone
keeping me company in fact
Poor Little Stink-Bug!
I saw you fall
It looked like a suicide
Made me quite sad
On He Climbs!
and I am glad to see you back

The heat of the mornings are
slowly being replaced by autumn's approaching coolness
It looks like another summer for the books
It is harder to make memories now

Those forever days
Hours spent at the pool
Surviving off of Goldfish and cookie sleeves
While hair went blonde and skin went brown
The paradoxical AC freezing the skin off of your bones
But you can't retreat to your blanket without preparing yourself
for dinner

Those endless hours spent alone or with company
Doing everything and nothing
A place where Kokapeli's pizza still exists
Or experiencing that fender ****** as a witness
The girl gets out to check the damage
She is wearing only a bikini
I felt like I was in an Updike story
Only in the summer

Sewn together out of old
flannel memories and work shirts of the past
a network of  veins
plumping generations of
angry blood
We carry traces of mean,
scared people
Terrible things
not fondly remembered
at reunions
And yet are present in the tapestry

But

There are many
kind
compassionate
beautiful souls as well

They are all on your tapestry
Know it
and display it well

Today was my last day of work
Tomorrow is looking different
I sat down and stared at the
wall...

Clockwise against the blue light
Silhouette against a 70 mile speed limit
"I let the music take over my soul, body, and mind."
It looks like an ant with wings
Hitchiking it's final ride
Counter Clockwise against the blue light
It takes off and lands again
The wheel shakes as my unbalanced tires reach 75
I turn the volume **** two notches up
Clockwise against the blue light
"The stress burns my brain,
like acid raindrops."

Today is the first day of Spring
and it is snowing
Like the first day of rehab
and you are fixing
The difference is
it is not in your
nature.

I would see him in the mornings
He
Like me liked to get to work early
gently puffing away on his cigarette
The Man in the building who smokes
I thought he was a little scary
at first
seemed grumpy and aloof
gray and wrinkled
lines forming around his mouth
like bowing natives around a fire
The Man in the building who smokes
was actually kind of funny
when I (you?) got to know him
Standing outside
rain - sleet - snow
more dependable than the mail
or our couriers
He didn't take anyone's guff
and could tell you a million jokes
if you had a bad day
He even figured out where the buildings property stopped
so he could continue being
The Man in the building who smokes
I took some days off
and then it got busy
days turning into weeks
I asked my co worker if he has seen
The Man in the building who smokes.

Wading through a passive aggressive retort
With a fever coming on, voice horse
Knowing that you are falling ill
Work like a fist in the stomach against your will
Tapping out a code of morse to a time before the workforce

Walking through a dim lit wood
The far off scent of firewood and nosetalgia  
creeps up my back like an old Army Blanket
A shade appears before me
Without words I follow
Further and further
The translucent green shade leads on
I come to a great oak tree
A very old strand of barbed wire
appears to be melted into the tree
It is very dark now
the shade is gone
In these woods
Man's boundaries
Meet
Nature's patience