Back to when I was so sad, and still am,
Reflecting on Mexico City Blues,
Making time for love and feeling sinful,
Seeing the world turn, and spring coming into view,
Feeling left out when it was the women of my fantasies who were consequential,
Diving into the Ohio River to clear my sinuses and finding only pollution.

Well, the solitude is getting deeper and heavier.

Can't get a **** cheap, meaningless rendezvous, but I know how true dishonest devotion can feel,

And I'm sending in a request for no one's solace or sympathy tonight.

I feel your sermon of restless ambition, I can smell your beer soaked soul, in its elemental glory, on my collar.

Jack Kerouac, in his 94th year, is still bustling and full of life in the retinas of poets and dreamers,

And I won't sell you short,
You're keeping me afloat.

A ring is round
and has no end.
It has no sharp edges.
Nor will it bend.
Love is precious.
It has no limit.
You can reach the top.
And still can't beat it.
Your high is your addiction.
Feeling so confused.
Is it real or is it fiction.
Can you handle my
love affection.
Your heart feels my
soul connection.

contemplations of an angsty agnostic
otherwise known as the subtitle to my lengthy biopic
or the fumbling intellectual journey
the endless search to find
the divine reality behind,
to trace, pinpoint exactly what lies
at the center of the cosmos
at the crucified heart of all humankind
some days i feel there is no God
no chance of a higher power
i'm resigned to spewing cliched aphorisms as nihilistic as Schopenhauer
fragmented theories and meditations on life
consuming my thoughts and flooding my mind
ideas tessellate and twist as i'm crumbling, stumbling to try and make sense of all this
i find
the existential condition that burdens the shoulders of the wonder filled kids
from the blinkered blues of the beats
to the hopeful hedonism of the hippies
and the time tick ticks
regardless of the passing ecstasy of our dream-filled kicks
i feel there must be something more than this.
absurdity has the tendency to consume the very core of me
ultimately, does that not make me more free?
like Sisyphus, i stagnate
repetitive routines threaten to enchain me
but i believe i know the path i'm on
and i have to know it will save me
we live in times
of overwhelming, reeling uncertainty
is it true that one day the gleaming, spinning light will find me?

Nothing is more silent than the snow covered city,
Your steady heart beats in my ear as I mold into your side,
I lay and count each beat for fear of the day your body is more silent than the snow covered city.

I inhale it, i inject it in to my heart. Its the dust
That penetrates my pores, that love I,ve been
Inhaling even though some times it has
Shattered my heart.

The dust of love is addictive, specially once
A heart is broken. More is needed to mend the
Cracks to mend the feelings. Shattered in this
Dust filled aching heart.

I am addicted to this dust, I need it for my heart.
I'm not the only one but there are dangers, because
If a heart is broken it can lead to your death.

Because some times the dust is not enough to mend,
The soul decays because it misses the other beat.
Fleeting and faint leading away from the heart.

You get down on your knees,
Pull the hair beneath your ears.

Feels the beat of the sea,
As you sip your tea.

Sky's purple as your lips,
As the sun slowly drips

With my heart you never keep.