i dropped to my knees
digging deep for water
     and felt the clay take shape beneath my fingers

this place
     this is home

so from the dust i sculpted doorways
          and windows
          and halls
     lifted up walls
and made myself a castle out of the sand

now i drink beer at the edge of paradise
and ask the thirsty to come inside
     and play in the shade


i never ask them to stay
     but neither do i point them towards the door

A generation
of people
exposed to the evil
spoon fed to the children in time.

We grew up deceitful,
won’t budge till we need you,
to feel is to open our minds.

While different is scary,
and anger is bearing,
over a whole mess of pride;
we judge onto others
we’re scared of skin colors
and scarred by the media's lies.

Dumb content matter
a rung of the ladder
onto this corporate climb.
Cause who funds the TV?
The people who think we,
deserve all the scraps we can find.

The fatter the cat is,
the further the facts live
distracted from where they reside.
Statements redacted
the blames coming back,
full circle, with cyclical rhymes.

I am aware that it is harmful
that I consciously convince myself
of the comforting fantasy
that he is just an old friend who I fell out of touch with.
That somewhere he is living a life:
Following his dreams,
Falling in love,
Making strangers smile.
That I will see him again,
in a crowded bar,
or at a backyard birthday,
where we will catch up like we do
and he will be there and the world will be right.

Then it will hit me.
In the midst of mundane daily details,
If I let my mind go numb for the smallest of seconds,
reality will rush in and engulf me
and scratch on the back of my skull
and crash through my chest with more mercilessness
and more weight
than I knew the world could carry
(it is far too much for me to carry).
I am forced to remember
why the night feels a little more black
with one less lighthouse
to remind me where home is.

But sometimes I blindly smile.
Because how lucky were we,
Peter Pan’s lost boys,
to have had such a brilliant brother
to have lit up our sky at all?

i 've got a soft spot for the smell of tobacco and the taste of whiskey
and the voice of boys who claim to miss me

i long to get high
high up in the trees
in the hills
along the ridges
     i live to pierce the atmosphere
and note the lack of sensation as i plummet

oh how i love it
     those cheap thrills of the fall

arriving at a peak in the valley
     i've never once proclaimed to the hill i've climbed
"i have conquered you"

i've always seen it the other way around

"i am yours now
     mountain
your treasures and secrets are yours to keep
i only ask that you share with me your view"