The world has forgotten about the moon,
which is fine.
Filled with holes and
long-distance relationships never work out.
The moon can do better.

Sometimes I look up into the sun and
wonder what the flames are thinking.
Imagination is a powerful tool.
An ally.
The sun never responds.
It blocks the view.
I can do better.

What happens when the dead come back to life?
Will we still watch reality TV?
Keeping up with the Corpses.
The strange will inherit the Earth.

The glare of the office's lights are blinding.
I wonder how many secrets
the wall clock can remember.

My cube neighbor and I have an argument.
I suggest that Spiderman is a terrible superhero,
he shows me his Brown Recluse bite.
I will still claim victory.

To the lady walking down N. Broadway,
pretending that she is a bird.
I get it,
I want to fly as well.
There is no will left to fight.

I will never reach my fullest potential.
That is something I will remember forever.
However,
I am hoping for the best.
A fool's errand.

Hope is something that
rich men talk about, while
flying through the clouds.
The sun is their ally.
Keeping the poor from dreaming.

My only plans for the New Year,
are sitting on my couch,
drinking beer, and
watching the walls dance.
Bubbles busting in celebration,
while I fall asleep at 12:01 AM.

Thus is the life of an adult.
Listening to the ruins of society,
waiting for the witches to burn.

Running through these dark halls,
being chased by bulls and
my own thoughts.
I'm more afraid of the bulls.
My thoughts are dull and focus on
rocket science and The Green Arrow.
That might be a lie.
I am no scientist.
The arrow flies through this thick air.
I am choking on the pollution of others.
Air so dense,
it makes the weeds ashamed.
They are pushed off of their pedestal.
What happens if I fall?
Left to die in this dark hall.
Crawling towards freedom,
while the hall runs away from my memories.
The door grows larger,
encompassing the wall.
The door handle is made of solid brass,
too heavy to turn.
A knocking fills the hall with thunderous applause.
Then,
all is white,
then black.
I can smell the subtle hint of perfume and
feel the wind on my face.
It's comforting to know
that this is how I will die.

A dark river
at night,
how beautiful.

The treacherous rapids,
and stretches of gentle water,
that never last.

Even the river ends,
spilling out into a lake
or an ocean,
or even another river.

Some rivers are underground.

Those are the darkest rivers,
one hopes they can cross when the time comes.

But from this position,
on top of a small pile of rocks,
in the gentle stretch of the river,
there are rapids ahead,
another battle to be fought.

But beyond the churning water,
is this mist.

It sparkles,
it's so beautiful,
it feels safe,
but it's unknown.

And if the battle is won,
i'll be lost in that sparkling mist,
that hides all shadows.

When the sun rises
and the mist fades away,
will I fade as well?

Or, when the mist fades
will it clear my vision?
...
But I have to leave my island
and fight those dark, churning waters
first.

Then I'll know for sure.

i lay awake at night
and
listen to the sound the rain makes.
it spatters onto the ground with such purpose
that i can not help but feel jealousy in the pit
of my empty stomach.
the rain knows where its going and where its been.
i wander, confused at who i am and who i'm going to be.
i crave the feeling of certainty.
to know if i'm going to pull the string attached to my lips
and pull it into another forced smile another day.
i lay awake at night and
wish to be a drop of rain.

Cogs and free wheels chains and hubs
Twist and turns loud creeks and rubs
Sears and Snap-on won't do the job
Park and Pedro worth a few bob

Your problems are complex and real
You're tormented cry: squeak and squeal
Not a job for the feeble man
I have the tools, do what I can

Put you in my vice and hold tight
Crank the toggle bolt, torqued just right
I am the wrench to smooth your ride
Hand me the tools, stand by my side