the city remembers -
our noons and nights we spent
reciting scoops from our favorite novel
how we spread our souls
to the cold sound of the wind,
sprawling through the darkest part of us
how love gently tickles us in between
before we even speak about it
I been drinking since I was sixteen .
That was many a moon ago.
I been in the party life most all my life .
It was a natural environment I fit in like the fucking furniture .
I played the scene for all its worth found many a warm bed seldom was it my own.
Then for awhile I stepped away .
Never from the bottle just from the scene.
Many thought the edge was gone that the wolf settled down became some old dog sleeping upon the porch.
But anything planned is often foiled by life.
And now back to what will be my cemeteries existence I return.
Alone but then again a lone wolf isn't the a wolf if not alone.
The fangs still sharp with some fresh scars on display.
False happiness and full of shit .
It wasn't my choice to return but at the party till my death shall I stay.
We all find ourselves wherever the fuck we least expected .
You can't plan life but you can catch a buzz somewhere in the bullshit inbetween.
Laughter can be heard.
So loud it comes from all directions.
Pointed fingers and dripping nostrils.
Exploding stomachs as the heavy aching thunder rolls from below.
It used to be just a trickle.
Only triggering occasionally.
Every move that's made succumbs to it.
For truly in the mind they belong right here.
And for just a few heavenly moments can paradise be felt.
Thus what follows is accepted.
For one to believe that those tiny specs of preciousness are worth.
Because soon they will be gone.
The days are made brighter and easier to maneuver.
But its like having a rusted cart to push for miles.
With only drops of oil left to get it there.
When nothing is wanted more than to just cross into the prosperous lands.
Focusing too much on any point but the one that these boots do tread.
Always leads the traveler and his belongings astray.
Although as time has came and went.
His precious things slowly fell away to the ages.
Maybe one day it will fill again.
But its best just to keep the eyes trained on the horizon.
Storms tend to betray those that fail to give lady fate proper respect.
charlie said ‘go back to zero’
i don’t have to dig too deep
i choose to go back
go home and to love
or to nothing
look from the perspective of the particle of air
be free of thought
but in control of surroundings i can only mediate alone
so no one manipulates me,
you can do it too with worries let them go
but be conscious of your energy
and place it perfectly for want you want
see that is a poem
and its truth
and that is what i am dad
because of you and mum
i love you both
and i will look after myself
people always love the sky
whether it's raining, storming, windy, sunny, bright, dark, day or night
people romanticize the sky
is it because when when are under the stars the moonlight reflects his brown eyes?
is it because when the sun is bright and loud you can see the way her freckles line up against her nose
is it because all those night were you feel powerless and you scream into the sky hoping God will hear you?
the truth about the sky is it makes us feel grounded, like this moment, this place is where i belong
everything you love is present under the sky
every good moment you have ever lived through happened under these stars
someone somewhere is staring into the same sky as me
we breathe the same air
we romanticize the same sky
we were the stars
that burn those bitter nights
we lie awake
and we had our fingers too,
greedily calling out to the other,
as love stutters
trying to lock this phantasm into life,
that gentle heat of yours
was what made
this almost heart rise
after thousands of shattery blows
but I’m truly glad
they made our stay look a lot like heaven