After
all this time,
it doesn't matter
who--
my mind
just seems
to wander
directly
back
to you.

A few nights ago I dreamt of the memories I have with you,
They were all dusted in snow and I was trying
to find the footsteps pressed within them that I could trace back to where we were.
I stayed lost in the land of the past until the sun began to rise
and melted each memory away
and lit the road back home.

I've asked myself often,
Why am I here? Whats my purpose?
And in moments of madness when the rising sun is mine and I alone can grasp the clouds and shape the light.
In those groggy half-steps off a bus in Somewhere, America, where the stars grip the horizon and the incandescent glow of a sleeping city bleeds into the twilight,
I always find my answer.

I am here,
To ride until I am passed out on strange shoulders as tired and tense as my own.
To be rained out and washed up against gas station sanctuaries.
To be a friendly face to those who know only a few in this sea of tight lips and laser focused eyes.

I am here,
To tear cotton candy skies into road maps to there.
To pull light into the darkness and turn these chains into prisms that splash color into the void.
To rip out stitches just to see the blood because there is no beauty without pain and perception is everything.

I am here..
To find the small things.
To indulge in a microcosm of bliss.
A fresh sandwich on the highway.
Five dollars passed from a strangers hand.
A cadillac cigarette.
The whispering of trees,
Distant rolling thunder.

The road owns my soul and a devil has possessed my feet.
I am here to cast my own blend of fire into the world.
I am here,
To wander.

The nomad wondered, what went on past the walls.
He whistled away, as he walked toward the falls.
Lost in the silence, what goes on past those walls?
The beautiful bold brick, standing so tall.

Ancient and raw, the withered hand.
Who has no home, and knows no land.
Whose savage way, is to understand.
The crown and the throne, desired by man.

Pale and ghostly, her lips are chapped.
Bark has been torn, her tree has been tapped.
A filthy kingdom, which she can't adapt.
Like dirt beneath her nails, trapped.

"A Joker, a Jester,
Just a Clown?
A Man, a Boy,
A proper noun?
Making drinks,
To water them down?
Holding ice under,
To watch it drown?"

While the nomad wondered, what went on past the walls.
He whistled away, while inside she crawled;
Lost in the silence, that goes on past the walls.
Lost in the silence, that wanders the halls.

Sometimes I wonder if...
God, I just start to wonder
What is there to wonder when you've wandered to the point of no return?
Thoughts that do not seem bleak and horrid, but more so pointless and dull.
As if color faded away, and lights started to dim.
What do you do?
What are you to do when it feels like you can never win?

As my mind begins to wonder,
I am compelled to wander;
Going ever further,
The distance ever farther.

I'm the forlorn cigarette
you once placed so fervently
between soft lips;

Now I lay cast between
the cracks of the sidewalks sidewalks sidewalks.

Anticipating a

Slow Death; growing claustrophobic--
ensconced in my callous/caustic confines.

Trampled into the concrete crevice by
hastened footsteps;

My desolation denotes the sad dictum
that is my denigration.  

A slow digestion of a stubborn body
created like the concrete to be trodden by wandering soles
stamping out their fleeting existence.

Dissolute, wishing to burn;  
I long for your taste again.