As I light alight my city,
as the sky shines in the moon,
as Tom Sawyer's battery enters through my ears,
as my phone's battery dies
I see
I see
I see
I see the lights and the sea
I see the moon shining onto my eyes.
And Red Barchetta is already kicking in,
and god it's been long since I've listened to Rush,
and I hope my phone survives it.

I think
I think
I think
I think if I am, but I reach no conclusion.
I think I am young,
yet so many things have flowed through me,
as YYZ flows through my brain,
I think it's this album's best.
As the sea shall flow through the ashes
of my waking city.
I am alive today.
I may have died in another universe,
probably flowing myself to the sea,
my suicide of preference,
maybe by sudden piano fall
or rather unprobable spontaneous combustion;
yet I am not dead.
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
In this moment I exist,
or at least I think I exist,
and I write it
as the moon shines on the fire as it flows into the sea.

Here comes the 'Rush Hour';
Commuters in a hurry
just to get a seat.

Every night I wonder
what it's like to feel the rush of an unforgettable night.
It's such a shame that I'm forced to crave
the comfort of home.
Just once I want to take on the night
with my fellow dreamers,
show them all my best side
seeing me feel this drink in my bones.
I don't wanna be alone tonight,
so let us ride high and show me what it's like to be still young.  
I'm tired of hiding behind crowds,
but there's plenty of room back here for me and my thoughts.
If being this afraid and alone is all I have,
well, I guess I'm destined to be a dreamer.
Prove me wrong,
I'm ready to disappear into the lights.

Oh, how I long-
to sit at the banks
of that wide river,

that holds so many
of my memories captive,
in its rushing waters

dip my fingers into
the swirling currents
to check the temperature of my thoughts

Lo, I long for those days to come again,
when I could step easily into
the river I now fear,

To draw out what I desire,
the words, the thoughts, the feelings-
like rocks, like fish, like earth,
And pan out the gold.

Pan out the gold to gift to you,
like I used to

But we understand-
the river is now empty,
and gold sinks beneath sand.

We drink alcohol
and smoke cigarettes
and kiss stupid boys
that don't care about us
Just to forget about
life
We want to feel the rush
the adrenalin
because in reality
we have that boring job
and that one stupid boy
that doesn't text back.
reality hurts
and we don't want to feel pain

City rush me
Pretty push
Did he see?
The wish on
*******
Sunday I thought
A rush of pluses +++
He won
Be on time if not - - -

Monday be
good to me
Rumors
Fantasy thoughts
I am
What I am
Not Popeye
Going day back
I need a third eye
I am
All free
Robin
Bird
From
everyone

Wait!!

Don't rush me
I love everyone*

Newspaper's
Sunday
Daily
News
Poem
touchdown
My poem stood
With the others
I bowed ((Gladly))

Waking up
To a Racers- mouth
Ray_ speed lover
No homework

All game
Sunday_
Candles burned
The House flamed

"Procrastinator"
I'll be back
"Destroyer-Terminator"
Coffee drug me percolator
He April fools her
Shopping Sunday
right up magnifying
dress

He is back
Not the future
Smart *** tricks
On the Escalator
He Jeremy irons out
her clothes
That's it!!!

Never rushed
on Sunday
To make
a mob hit

The call girls
Busy- tight pants
So Panicked Monday's
religiously
Hooked in
Scientology

So ****** in
Not to ever kiss
her on a
Sunday
He bunked into ((God))
Poem ritual bunk bed
Well NYC
Cabbie, he
will
never
take it
on Sunday

The big game
crazies
The flower
shops
of horror
Emptied
out with
Moms
Tiger
Lillies
Smelling

Mad Men hungover

Rush hour
Tv movie
Hangover
Jet game
Sprinkler
shower

Opening up
The door to his
apartment
Big Girly
hoarder mess
After a
long talk
night

Saturday Night
Brooklyn
The Disco Queen
bridge-sight
His Mom
is still oiling
His BMW Racecar
with
Hot fire Crisco
he
will never
be
rushed
out the door
His car
never
starts
Sunday
or a
Monday

Teased on
Tuesday
Wednesday
shes wild
Thursday
Ladies
drink
for free_

She got
her husband
to buy
her cushion
cut square
On Sunday
Do it or dare
She's
hanging
low

Times Square

Girly rough
Brooklyn
tough
Channel
blush
On Sunday
he is so
wired bushed

Speed is relative.
I have begun to lose myself.
Everyday seems slower, the faster I go.
I punch the gas pedal and feel nothing.
I'm not after a rush, but the null is so strong.

Lately, I have felt more alone than ever.
A circle of love, holds me in high regard.
And yet, they seem so far out on the fringe.
This real me, in this real world is hollow.
Beneath in dark shadows, deep in the core,
Is a detached, dissociated self, I pity him.

Nights have become restless.
I lay awake, tossing and turning,
Ever out of reach of a rejuvenating slumber.
Sleep is dreamless, which is hell.
Even nightmares offer some insight,
A certain clarity of clairvoyance.

Perhaps, as I strongly feel, change is coming.