Put to cares, investiture
World's worth, the lips of sustain
Having the moment, a chance curiosity...
With the legend of suppose, a critique came?

What's is in the box, dismay?
Generosity of a soul, if not spirit
To wonder in a clashing eye, the pout you made
Is a reach for judgment, that has discussed avarice's limit...

Cold, shouldering your simplicity...
Said in the form and function of living example
The reasons of virtue, without the redoubted tendency...?
Of love over silence, the harmony of youth to question, hell

Prayers we dote, are in the mix...
But, such a beautiful eye of essences made, esteem laid
To rest with a harbored kiss, for what is a psyche
Meant in the now, with us for a proof, of seclusion said:

How's the new lover, Jack?
Where imposition is to be, the court of selection
Spate influences, will in withheld eye's we lack?
With the emotions of sincerity, the face of completion...

Souled by craving, sealed by having
Toward the known kind, we fade to life a whole dare
Is a reality to venture the words, of a sense of a decision saving
You, for the barriers of justice, where one swallow is a world of cares...

I suspect that if I was taller,
I'd get laid more.

Think Basketball: I'd shoot my shot
over her friend zone defense and score.
Her weak knees would wobble at
my every move.

And there’s research to prove it:
the female psyche is hard
wired to conflate height with power.
Leadership. Responsibility.
Extra large shoes.
As if size mattered
more than say,
Endurance
as a true measure
of the lengths I'd go for the people I love.

Still, if I was taller,
I'd have an evolutionary edge.
I'd play the game
like a guitar.
Because guitar gets girl, right?

Picture this:
me strumming at heart strings
under the lights of a coffeehouse stage,
a tall post-modern Troubadour
with say, an east European or French accent.

A Filipino with a French accent:
how baller would that be!

I'd be unstoppable.
I’d have fans. Groupies.
Her phone number.
And the decency of a reply
to my text.

I’ll give the crowd what they came to see:
the tousled hair and rugged eyes,
the unshaven charm that makes her
want more by appearing to care less.

Hard to get: that’s what the crowd wants me to play
on that guitar
I barely know how to use.

(But I’m trying, right?)

yo who is it she's really after,
because that vertically privileged
guitar hero
sounds nothing like me.

I wish I was taller (high chord)
so she'd see me.
Because I am tired
of being turned
into a ghost
writing songs
for an empty room.

Guitar gets girl.

If thats true,
I suspect she won't get me
because maybe this isnt
the sound I'm supposed to make.
We'd just be pretending
to strike a chord on
strings attached
to a dissonant tune.
We'd play each other out:
a one hit wonder
on a radio station:

Guitar gets girl.

My nice guy cover falls flat.
My Asian appearance falls short
of the socio romantic standard she
is conditioned to fall for

Guitar gets girl
Same song. Play on.

And forget accompaniment (Ditch guitar)

All I need is a pen
to write lyrics
for my new single.

I’ll start a one-man indie band
and swoon in solitude
over who I sound like
on my own.
(Strum Flourish)

When we're together
It's like escaping to a magical land
Locked in a stuffy room
Our desires reigned recklessly free
Keeping away the harsh realities of our lives
Passionately intertwined as one
In each others own madness

Your fingers are minx like
Dancing across the fretboard with thoughtless grace
Strumming your thoughts through our kisses
With a sharp twinkle in those quiet brown eyes
Every song feels like reliving an old memory
One you plucked fresh from my soul

I love the way cigarettes rest on your lips
A classic addition some would say
But in it I see the self made man you are
The way your fingers elegantly roll tobacco
Baffles my clumsy mind

Could a mortal be so beautifully designed?

A sight beyond sight
Forever watching the stars,
Fall from the sky
Beyond a galaxy too immense to describe
The lights traveling thousands of Light years
Seemingly instantaneously

A love beyond love
Caring for one another despite time,
Space, distance and age.
They stand as one, hand in hand,
Two wandering spirits traveling together

A friendship beyond
Even my own exorbitant expectations
With these figments of my imagination
Manifested into my nerdy possessions
And my 6 stringed expression machines
However, attachment with material things is not to be taken lightly...

A pretty girl sits down at a patio table across from me.
She takes an acoustic guitar
out of her leather purse. I’m drinking coffee grounded from Carver Stories
With one hand, she tunes the guitar,
and with the other she strums the strings
with a beating heart.

I feel an emptiness,
deep from within my chest,
that is like a ceramic jar
missing its precious soil.
The lyrics to her songs
come from a radio station on the moon.

The one that plays
music made out of
empty friends and unplanned successes.
I hum along to the pauses
between her words and clap
to the punctuation marks, constraining her lovely voice.

She sounds like my future.
She sounds like a songbird.
She sounds like running your fingers
through a round, bald head.
The girl looks up from her guitar
and smiles at me, as if I am her second boyfriend.

The same one who she marries
out of necessity,
out of income,
out of security.
I offer her a piece of gum
Etched with masculinity.

She takes a bite.
Then spits it out at once.
I laugh.
She laughs.
And it’s not the kind of laugh that is forced,
or given out of sympathy.

It’s the kind of laugh that says:
“Hey I see you and I know,
I miss the stranger in your smile.
And the kick drum in your heart.
And all love
that I have never received, due to my stubbornness.”

I blinked.
And the girl transformed into
a mirror.
And I changed into the girl.
And then the mirror became the girl.
And the girl became me.

Then we looked into each other’s eyes,
and made love under the spell of a song,
the same one she played in the beginning,
with music notes that sounded like the anguished cries
that come from my heart, the same heart
that she uses to play her guitar.

I saw a sign that said,
I spent all my money on scotch, women and guitars. The rest  I just wasted
My life will probably be the same way
Except knowing my luck I'll **** around and have the strings misplaced

Men never really grow up our toys just get more expensive
As a guy I can attest to this
I went from being content with action figures Legos and my N64
To guitars cars and rollerblading on the Riverwalk under the bridges

It's funny how that happens
How materialism changes how we see the world
But pursuing all the finer things
Wanting champagne wishes and caviar dreams
Makes you forget the madness that truly comprises the earth

she always crossed the street so suddenly,
she would stand right on the curb as cars flew past her.
she wanted to drop out of high school.
run away, and just live her ******* life.
she hated being tied down to something or someone.
she taught me life shouldn’t be taken so seriously
and to live in the moment more often.
she was this mysterious, fearless girl
who wanted nothing more than to figure out this huge ****** up world.
h.d.