the hollow glow of city lights
shine on fruitless futile pursuits
empty smiles and business suits
trash piles behind phone booths,
contracts, files, the destitute,
red lights, golden tooth,
searching for truth,
to only find lies,
when people lose their homes
what should they occupy?
try, for a second,
to walk in those shoes,
in a system designed to f*ck us all,
what do you think you'd choose?
don't confuse your luck,
for an inability to fall,
you say that just the way it is?
well that's just not your call.

and it's pitch black outside,
and there's nobody left,
and the only sound you hear
is the beating of your chest,
squint your eyes to see
the faint outlines of your breath,
before running in a direction
where you assume the others went.

a sky so full of stars,
that it looks more white than black,
the silence of no cars,
the panic of no way back,
the sweat upon your forehead
is working its way down,
its salty taste against your tongue,
before falling to the ground.

is this how it ends?
sprinting past trees at full speed?
the warmth of friends
replaced by the smell of weeds?
dirt and grass in place of
broken glass and concrete?
words meant to have been spoken
forever incomplete?

the wind is calm now,
as your endurance fades,
and as you pause to sit down,
memories are replayed,
how pointless was that anger?
that frustration? that shame?
had you known this was to happen,
would it have played out the same?

i never pegged you for someone
swept up by razzle dazzle,
infatuated with muscle men,
acrobats, and stars.
your view on animal rights,
seemingly discarded,
for an elephant's tricks,
the lion tamer's whip,
the tent apparently blocking out
harsh judging light.

i viewed you as critical,
skeptical of spectacle,
squinting unsure,
behind those black wayfarers,
the image constructed in my mind,
supported by that vintage dress,
the style of your hair,
the music you listened to
on the car ride over,
how can you be satisfied
with this carnival fare?

frivolous displays favoured
over subtle gestures,
superficial appearances favoured
over chemistry,
hollow showman dialogue
echoing over loudspeakers
favoured over a conversation,

perhaps i'm a hypocrite,
your attributes simply skewed,
by my being swept up in the
razzle dazzle spectacle
of you.

(i'll be in the hall of mirrors)

i dont really know what im interested in,
but right now my interest's in you.
right now the only ambition i have
is to hold boomboxes outside your window.
and that sentiment was cute when i was 15,
skipping gym class to spend
some more time as a friend,
but as of right now, i should have a drive
towards something more responsible,
than the feel of your cheek
against mine.

i have no clue what im capable of,
but how can any feat compare,
to the brilliant warmth that is
found in those eyes
when one of these jumbles of words
makes you smile?
or better yet, laugh?

these curls, these crunches, these chinos, these white strips,
these copies of The Economist and the New York Times,
are all in attempt to make sure that the glow
that emits from those pores remains visible.
health is a clever cover-up, without the motivation,
i'd listen to The Smiths for just the melodies,
and help myself to another portion (of bacon).

right now, the only reason i'm writing this down,
is i hear that chicks dig poetry,
they're constructed in this way to feign substance,
so that you might associate substance with me,
and when i go on stage to perform these words,
it's in hopes that you'd hear them,
or at least hear that i'm a "slam poet".

these moments of knowing and not-knowing,
make this life worthwhile
and honestly i feel like that's f*cked up,
but i'd rather the question be,
one where you're the answer,
than one where you're not a factor.

the scent of that moment
a mélange of:
orange neutrogena
axe body spray
dentyne ice
hair glue (yes, glue)
and apple body mist
...breathe it in

the look of that moment
squinting in the dark:
pursed lips
eyes shut
head tilt (37 degrees)
face lit up
by a movie
whose plot i've long forgotten
(or better yet, barely noticed)
...take it in

the feel of that moment
a culmination:
the gentle collision
of lips
fingers subtly grazing
hair like
beaded curtains
a tongue
accustomed to
the glue on envelopes
and melting ice cream
suddenly embraced
by another
...don't let it pass

paying for my poems
to be put onto a site
this must be a joke

i'm an astronaut,
aimlessly floating through space,
afraid to grasp at
floating objects,
moving swiftly 'round me,
pointless calculations
of velocity and direction,
consume my decisions
until it's all out of reach.

though i'm pulled towards
these stars,
they're much too dangerous to touch,
the reactions, the heat,
i know not to get pulled in,

but meteor, you shine,
with an effervescent glow,
smooth rounded corners,
i edge slowly towards you,
butterfly stroking
through zero gravity,
it's not long until you
fill the gaze through this helmet,

but proximity somehow
changes this drive,
i justify waiting
by forcing imperfections,
shrugging off the journey
before it even happens,
after all probability states that
this mission will likely
end incomplete,
trajectories in sync
are a rarity at best,
perfect arcs can quickly differ
soon after their peaks.

this vacuous environment
clouds better judgment,
fleeting moments of comfort are
like recycled air,
bland maintenance of life,
the taste of postage stamps.

let's not forget the reason,
why we now float aimless,
years of training for a mission,
that fell apart when truly tested.