Every light makes a shadow
And every shadow is darkness.
The darkness holds a secret
A secret never to be revealed by the light.
Every person is light
But everyone holds a secret.
A secret buried deep within themselves
Covered in darkness.
When the light meets the darkness
They clash.
There is no neutral or gray.
In the end, only one is left standing.

Her bare feet slapped against the pavement.
Tulle skirt stuck to her sweaty thighs.
The first drop fell.
Rain came that day.

Arms outstretched, she started to twirl.
Until the footsteps came near.
Out of time with the thunder claps and bursts of light.
She stopped and stared.

He was there.
Drenched in the rain.
Watching.
She laughed and pulled him to dance with her.

I met a woman at the laundromat,
six-foot tall in her flats.
She bore the scent of a bachelor's degree,
class C cigarettes and warm whiskey--

oh no,
here I go,
down to the river to cleanse my soul.

"My name is Tangerine," she splintered,
75 cents and a steady hand remembered.
I've got an incessant woman miles away,
but your proximity begs me to stay.

oh no,
here I go,
down to the river to cleanse my soul.

Tangerine had two crooked teeth,
a penchant for Plato seeped.
She was a batshit woman,
a bona fide tombstone,
an endless corridor,
and a paper bag dream.

oh no,
here I go,
down to the river to cleanse my soul.

Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******.

Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.

the coffee was cold.
a day old.
i heated it.
poured it.
fought through it.

put on a b-film.
something about crap
films made our lives
feel more fulfilling.

we laughed.
exposed every flaw.
we held hands.
snuck
loving glances.

i have to wake up in three
hours, but all i can think
is life is luck,
even for the dumbest of us,
when you tell your
eyes to open up.

I only wanted to learn love; the unknown was unbearable.
Like a child plucking flimsy wings
from pretty little dying things,
I'm innocent, and terrible.

Every once in a while, there is one of those nights where you don't sleep.
Where every little decision you have ever made comes under intense scrutiny.
Where every "What If" haunts you.
And every mistake you ever made is clear and present in your mind.
And you just want to curl up and sleep
But you can't.
These are the nights where you invade my mind.
The thoughts you of are vivid, my imagination running wild with possibilities and ideas.
Everything feels so bittersweet and temporary.
And then the doubt sets in.
Finally one question is prevalent over all others.
What the hell am I doing?