The Lizard man
Set down
His cigar
And wept
For himself and
The world and
All those
In
Between
Us
There has always been
The Lizard man
And his cigar
And his tears

I find it is
Much harder
To muster the ambition
To write
Out of emotional precaution
Rather than
Out of emotional necessity

Being
In love
With the moon
Is hard
Sometimes
It
Isn't

I don't know how to write
About you
Your onset was not acute
One
It was the methodical build up of
An unchangeable phenomenon
An epidemic
Too
And now you have been implanted
With such subtlety and grace
That I convinced myself I was in control
Again
I wait
While this weight breaks me
And I prepare to solve another puzzle

My unrequited love
Still a friend
I'm invited
To watch my love be given away
The cliffs you dance on
Are not nearly as hazardous as you claim
But I'm waltzing with solitude
And gambling with the old maid in hand

We dance in circles
Made of salt
Seasoned
With each turn
With each step
Making our intentions
Known

Indefinite freedom
Promises some
Sort of change
But form
Without
Substance cannot
Do much
In this world
We all need glasses

This pond
An ocean
When we stand
On either side

But now my
Thoughts turn to
December and
That morning when we all
Unloaded the dishwasher
Together and
It was perfect

Sometimes clarity
Comes when
The blurriness of life
Blocks out all other options

You are not
Some sacred flower
Worthy of
all
And subject to none
But
Like a flower
You can
**** yourself

If you
Meet the truth
You know
It
If you don't
Know it
Then you didn't
Meet it
I think
That is somewhat true

I long for you
weary tendrils extend from my chest
in a vain attempt to corral you
but you are not corralable
you are the wisp of the wind
whose gentle kiss brushes
against my existence
with warmth and subtle excitation
then vanishes as quickly as you entered
even though I know when you’re coming
and you’ll tell me when you’re going
Your absence
leaves my heart motionless
sitting alone with nothing
but an irrational
unreconcilable fear
tell me I am the lone benefactor
of your calming touch
of your mindful caress
I cannot and will not bear
the agony
of watching the sand blow in the wind

keep plodding
Keep plodding the great
unpaired line up
basking in the illumination that
streams
from those opposite
of them
some sick trick
of light
or dark
that sends those caught
in the crossfire on a wild goose
chase into the night
some version of this that works our
limitations
Breed
Stagnation daily

I do not miss you
But love
I do not miss your eyes
But bastions of rest
I do not miss your laugh
But that carbonated joy
Percolating through me
I do not miss your arms
But the comfort of acceptance
I do not miss your lips
But the serenity
and
Contentment of intimacy
I miss
The mystical
And unmistakeable
Truth
Of two people who find death
Life
And finality in each other's eyes

I sit here
Every morning
Waiting
For it
To come to me
I'm begging you
Please
Don't misinterpret my silence
For apathy
Or my stillness for weakness
But your clothes are the world
And my skin weighs enough on its own

You are
A bur
Stuck to my
Fleece socks
Each
Stroke of this pen
Writes
Your name
I haven't
spilled a drop
of ink in months
In which
You are not contained

Martha
Though your call is heard
It cannot be
Understood the language
You speak
Is lost
In time
A victim
Of "progress"
and modernity
Still
Sing proudly
Your contributions are the period
At the end of a sad novel

You plant
A seed in me
Every time
I see you and
Spring is coming

I feel like
There is someone behind me
just pushing me along
Like those levels on old video games where if the left side of the screen
caught up
To you
You died
You remember those?
Thats what life is
To a ******* T
Nintendo was foreshadowing the inevitability of time and death
When we were 8 years old
and we had no clue
We just wanted
The Italian plumber
To eat as many mushrooms
as possible
Which was some foreshadowing
In its own right
I guess
What im trying to say is
Life is hard man

I’m just making myself do this
And I’m not sure why
I guess it could be beneficial
Sometimes it is
But sometimes it isn’t
The fleeting nature of the majority of my feelings
Is a constant and nagging concern
I fall in love with most things the way
I do with poetry and women
The fall is violent
Exhilarating
Exhausting
The passion and excitement of the fall
become inseparably intertwined with the reality of my daily experience
Enveloping me
minute by minute
and dominating my thoughts
my actions
I am Neruda
Until I begin to sober up
I continue to drink both in
With the ferocity of an alcoholic
So the source of this sobriety eludes me
Perhaps the beauty of women and the beauty of Poetry are fleeting by nature
Making their brief ecstasy all the more powerful
Perhaps the sudden disinterest reflects
On my character
But, there is no time for these thoughts
Because for now I am in love
With her
And with Poetry
And I want to enjoy the fall

I've been here
For some time
And
I swear I never once saw
Anyone load anything
Onto that boat
Yet
Lo and behold
Here I stand
Watching the candlelight fade
From the shores of exile

All the way here
for the somemadeupnumberthatsoundsbiggerthananythingyoucanimagine'th time.
it always surprises me how tricky the geography around here is
no matter how many times i walk down a road
i cannot
seem to make a mental map of my surroundings
i always
"could've sworn that tree used to be over there"
if i could find
some sense
of resolution
i think i would
fall to my knees
and thank god
or that spaghetti thing
that seems to be popular
for the piece

You look pretty tonight
His words were offered
a sacrificial lamb
Stop it
her words were spit
they had spoiled
What once was playful
Has grown too old for games
She sits outside the circle
And watches the fools dance

Isn't it funny
how the older
we get
the more we know
but the less
time we have
to use it

She recedes and
Crashes
As an ocean
Waves the eternal
Give
And take
Of a boat
Helplessly cast
Away

I find loneliness
To be
Paradoxical
In that
Such a deep hurt
Always opts for the knife
Of its creation
Over the salve
Of its savior

Our story was written
In pencil but
Your name is
Written
In ink

Fashion whatever
Tools you like
For the project is
a product of
Your own design
Anyway

I've been up drinking
In
Some kind of silence
Lately
Radio frequencies
Don't quite make it out here
You know
Interference
And what not
But
I'm thinking
It's all for the best
It's not like
They play
Anything good
Anymore
Anyway
My thoughts tend
To keep my company
As of late

when
Man is lost
at sea
the surest of life
rafts
is a good Dog

You had two kids
With you when we met
Blonde hair
And one of those smiles
That helps people remember
What we're doing here
After
All
Rather than brave the storm
I chose to sit here
And mine this paper for answers

Everytime I sit down
to draw
I expect to see
my brain fall onto the paper
but instead
i see
my fragile scratchings
fall short
of some standard they cant understand

Every once in awhile
I'll be
Stopped in my tracks
By the great Mistress
Who calls and muses
Promising her promises
Of Turkish delight
And
World peace
Her promises are
As empty
As my life without her

My love you
Are an object of
Which a shadow
Could never be
Cast

This runaway train is nothing
More than a ticket home
The forgotten masses
Were given
Passes
For a
One way trip
Alone
When asked about the signs
That said the tracks were designed
With care
A burly man shrugged
I don't know
But
I will tell you this
He said with a grimace
His hand clutched to his chest
One knee hit the ground
The other in time
His head
Was the the rimshot I heard

Once
Again
I find myself
Kicking time around
Like
A tin can waiting
For inspiration
To fall out

If I
Produced as much art
as the trash I consume
well
things would be different

Tell me
Of the ocean
That swells
And recedes as
It gives your words form
A single sunbeam
And
I'll sell all I own
Because
There is no price
I will not pay
For a seat at your table

About
20 minutes
Ago
But noone seemed to notice
Except me
And you who sat
Staring at our own interpretation
Of the same sky
With our hearts empty
But our hands full

Mortality is
The meaning
Of life

I'm really trying
Honest
To stick to my guns
And not let
My heart get out
Of my hand
But like some child
Urging me to play in the rain
Your simple elegance
compels me
To accept the downpour
Weathering into a puddle
At your feet
I look up
I am the child
And I just want you
To hold the hand
Where my heart used to be
And not let go

I'm too far away
from those summer nights
when we would just sit
and listen
to each other
breathe
i don't remember
i think you tried
to change me
but
i know
i tried to change
you
if I remember
you said I wasn't
there for you
but the face you put on
is turning old and gray
and my sympathies are withering
maybe one day
you'll see
i was the shoulder you said you need

Insert appropriate metaphor here
some flourishing
elegant
representation of
whatever the **** is going on
inside me
because
god knows
if there is one
that I don’t even know
how to talk about
this
whatever
“this” is
maybe if I just put
another brilliant
and articulate
simile here
or maybe an allusion or quote
that perfectly captures
and labels this pain
and fear
yes
that’s it
I feel
better already
isn’t poetry great?

What is this love
That rises
From such fleeting encounters
And
Don't you dare
For a second
Say that it's infatuation
It was not
The shape of your body
But the sanctuary of your gaze
That causes me to lament
What we could be
Our paths bend
Touching at the elbows
Then parting sharply
What form of matter
conjured by your stare
Is capable of affecting me so?

Homesick for a moment
That doesn't
Exist
Now
Or forever
Hold your peace

You’re at a party
and I'm here studying
by myself
wondering
what the threshold is
for trust
in a relationship
because there is a part of me
that knows
it’s already over
you’ve found someone else
you are dancing and happy
and the ****** atmosphere is quickly becoming too much for you to endure
and another part of me
hopes
that you are sitting alone
sad
unable to enjoy yourself
because I’m not there
I hate both versions of me equally
and they seem to hate each other as well
as they refuse to bear some sort of reasonable offspring
capable of interpreting the situation
with tact and logic
no
instead they will continue to bicker
and I will sit in the middle
like a child of divorce
stuck in the squabble
with my heart in my hands
slowly pulling it apart
while you dance
or cry
wondering why I can’t seem to do either

I don't want reality
Just
Some facsimile that provides
Me with the emotions
Necessary to write

Line after line
Word after word
I feebly
and desperately
utter these simple combinations
like prayers
or mantras
hoping to infuse
them with some divine
healing power
wishing
completion for myself
and these poems
but neither of us
is ever finished
nor
will we ever be finished
because pain is a marathon runner
and I
can guarantee you
he is better conditioned
for the trek
than you
or I

There is something
Attractive about the life
Of hermits
Whether it's the
Courage or
The cowardice
I can’t decide