I love the world for its imperfection
The record for its skips
The map for its misdirection
The faucet for its drips

I love the universe for its flaws
The window for its cracks
The kitten for his scratching claws
My life for all it lacks

In an angular hall built up forty feet tall
We defied a silent world with sound
And the stories we called broke down tiny walls
As they crumbled, we flew from the ground

In a bright open space with no chemical waste
We pushed our dreams with pride
And the light on our face seemed to be full of grace
As we unleashed what we had kept inside

In spite of these years, my hands shake from fear
We becomes me, bit by bit
And through my tears, I shake hands with fear
As I lie on the fire I have lit

In this innocent hell shaped like a citadel
I become silent in a world of my own
And the stories I tell are never as well
As they seem when I am alone

The wind is getting faster, warmer
And the trees have gone green overnight
Watch the shrinking shadows as the clouds release sunlight
Hear the breathless chatter of a countdown summer

My brothers will throw paper onto orange flame
That crackles beneath laughter of the best kind
My sisters will cry in a Hollywood sigh
That things will never be the same

Among answers and exits that I never cared to find
The days are melting through red brick shields
Hear the big band blare through snow cone fields
Watch my father pack his bags, watch my mother lose her mind

A common thread pulls me far from home
My blue walls dissolve into boxes, then curious loss
Left with thoughts of the miles and borders to cross
To larger trees and longer roads to roam

Will my brothers burn the nights away as they do now?
Will my sisters be braver and sharper somehow?
Will the blinding white tapestry unravel to offer another thread
Or will the warm wind and shadows be this time full of dread?

The wind is growing harsh and cool
And the trees have turned black without a fight
Watch the staggering sky as the shadow overtakes the light
Hear the wistful worries of a countdown fool

My boots chased each other down a staircase
That led me straight to you
It was obvious, from the map in your hands
That you didn't have a clue

Our eyes met
My pace slowed

I saw a budding smile in your gaze
As you stood and waited
It was obvious, a soul in quiet distress
Waiting to be aided

I walked on
Your face fell

My boots questioned each other across the floor
And ever since that day
Lost stranger, you are my biggest regret
Did you ever find your way?

He said boring, safe.

He said 9 to 5, nothing brave.

Well, he’s got it in his head that he’s special, he’s a rebel

‘cause he’s only 17 but the walls are lined with bottles,

‘cause he’s only a kid but he shreds and he’s bled

like the best of the living, breathing, plastic models

under lights like lines and smoke like signs.

Alternative *******, kicks convention like a stone

on a dodgy, moonlit road laced with beaten brick and bone.

But I walked that street with your own two trees--
shivered in the neon glow—

and you’re just a hammock swinging between them, same as me—

I know you know.

We were thrown into the forest, stood together, two by two,

and if you’d dragged me into the shadowy thicket right along with you,
invited me out grasping at poison with your avenging leeches—

maybe I’m not so unfulfilled as you’d like to believe when you’re giving speeches,
strumming and shaking above me, so proud to break away.

Alternative *******, look this way.

I listen to the *** Pistols, jack.

I wear leather.

I text in class.

I sneak trinkets on the side,

under the table, on my mother’s unwitting dime.

Last week I put *** in my pineapple juice because no one else was home.

I write on the walls, I run in the halls

with scissors, with a smirk.

I chase ice cream trucks, I blow off homework.

Don’t you scoff at Metallica, call it an old man’s band.

Cats are badass, son, mine will tear up your hands.
And the garbage on your T-shirt wouldn’t be around to fuel your *******

if Metallica hadn’t taken the stage and taken the hits.

So when you come to town after the laughs fill a decade,

and you want to reunite so the memories don’t fade,

I’ll meet you for drinks sometime after five,

and I’ll go home in time to wake up before nine.

And you better listen close when I tell you how happy I am,

how I work alright 40/7, saying yes sir and no ma’am.

And maybe I drop acid under a bridge between F and M,

splash the city walls and bathroom stalls

with expletives and half-brained philosophy on a whim.

Or maybe I hug a homemade quilt and wait for the clock to tilt

while some ****** sitcom grasps at humor under oath.

And maybe I do both,

and maybe I’m smiling either way.

I’ll tell you this in tumbling words and phrases from our old days,

and then I’ll tap a finger on my soda, safe as houses,

houses like the twin towers that we came from, weighing ounces,

and I’ll ask about you.

And I swear on my 9 to 5 life that I hope you’re smiling too
when you tell me how the band is doing great, playing shows,

how the records fly like spinning pizza pie

in grimy downtown windows.

And when you go home into the stars and you pick up your guitar,

I hope you remember an earlier night, no matter how distant it seems,

that syrupy discourse when I gave you dollars for dreams

and you thanked me with words like boring, safe, because of some one-day preferences.

I hope you realize that I can smile through acid and expletives

just as well and true as I can smile at quilts and clocks,

so don’t put me in a box.


My happiness doesn’t need your special stamp of alternative approval.

My notebook is running out of pages

It’s wrinkled, torn, in its final stages

I wish I’d been more thoughtful

I wish I’d been more careful

With what messy, scribbled words
I’ve written down over the ages

But I’ve written what was present in my mind at the time

And to do anything else would be something of a crime

I’ve pushed aside more “important” things

To run my pen down the metal rings

That bind the sheets of paper as I try to find the phrase

To describe my thoughts in such a way that someday will amaze

High school students as they sit in lamplight in their friendly cage

In their hands they’ll hold my soul on a freshly printed page

That is just the starting stage of a bright and brand new age