Natalia was mean to me,
I was 11,
I was 13,
Teachers said to stop flirting,
I misplaced ideas of what that meant,
I am 32 and Natalia is married with 2 kids,
Is it supposed to mean something,
Aging emo,
Codependency was never cute,
But at least they made some good records,
The records I am making were
Best broken bottles setting scenes at 8 am
Sober and spiritual,
Non chalant locked in battle
With too much chalant,
Writing letters that transform and terrorize,
Just to get the cathartic release,
Putting those letters back in the ether box,
They were never said,
But they were,
With glances and bad motives,
Harping on that embarrassment you felt,
After shouting into that flooded storm,
Yes,
This is loneliness,
This is the late night doom scrolling,
The early morning speed dates of pictures and one word pick-up line,
I should be further,
I shouldn't feel this,
******* crazy,
Misguided meetings,
Modern motivation through justifications,
I'm definitely going for the meditation not the manipulation
I accept my feelings after dizzying candlelights and a shouting mind,
But just because I accept feelings,
Doesn't mean that they don't ****,
"Who knew sobriety would make you so suicidal."
I guess only the ones who made it far enough to feel those unaccepted feelings,
The sun still rises,
Better come up with a better pick-up line.

Dog asleep,
Snorting at invisible peanut butter,
I have the lights on, but
Feels like no body is home,
Baseball game, barely paying attention,
Cant sleep, too exhausted exhausted,
This is the life I always dreamt,
House full of life,
Is this what's left?

Had an old-timer say on Saturday,
Insane thoughts don't sound too bad,
When you're batshit crazy,
Guess that's where I'm at,
Appreciating that most of the time,
I just don't know,
Nothing,

Drove home again,
Screaming at the headlights and silence,
Screaming at a loneliness I,
Lived so long with,
Screaming,
Why did you leave me,
Alone,
The house is no longer empty,
Screaming that my life,
Is just another,
Cold brew from Sonic,
Is this what's left,

Grey.
The Grey hair was only on my eyebrow,
Guess that's ok,
ATM cards slipping outa my pocket,
While flying over real life fictional cities,
Should have made the world smaller,
But it just made me feel more,
Alone,
There it is.

Newcomer,
Needing life,
Reminds me of what I deserve,
He said,
"I just want what you got"
Perspective
I turn off the light,
Dogs didn't move,
The sonic sobs,
I didn't finish it,
The loneliness flashes like a nostalgic smell,
The Giants beat the Mets.

Nature of,
Is ever,
Changing,
It goes with the wind,
No one understands,
How it's blowing,
A moment,
Is invaded by shadow,
But a byproduct,
Of light,
The winter appearing,
In the midst,
Of the ever present desert,
Shutdown,
With the spring and blooms,
The feeling
Of
Happiness
Of a sun shining,
Knowing the leaves will soon turn,
What is it, a kiss, or smile
The gray hair,
Or
The feelings of somewhere else,
It's all changing,
Life live streams,
Veins, in moutains,
Drying up,
Natures of lifetimes.
It's all just wind blowing,
Anyhow.

Bass too loud,
Breaking the sunset,
Riding to another hospital,
Stops along the way,
Followed by phone drops
And embarrassed looks,
No one saw anyhow,
No one was looking,
Energy drinks and firebombs,
We're are just looking for life,
The best of us lie,
The worst of us give up.
Another chair,
Sterilized smells,
the methadone looks like it's kicking in,
But I'm here looking for life,
they are looking for a way to get some smokes,
We're all oot anyway,
The ride home shakes the night,
Talks aboot living life,
Bills,
Past lives,
Punk rock grown up,
Black eye liner under transition lenses,
The dogs are waiting,
So is the laundry,
My welcome mat smiles,
And the love smiles brighter,
Turn on hbo,
Life is living,
Sunsets and overplayed setlists.

It snowed in Phoenix,
The winds smelled like a nostalgic candle,
In the middle of a crowd,
Dogs barked fearing the sky was falling,
And old timers were either smiling,
Or judging onlookers,
Because it reminded them of where then ran,
Chimneys rose with fireplace's pride,
They knew this day would come,
Cars scratched down freeways of people,
Lost,
Because they forgot where they were,
They themselves knew that they didn't know where they were going anyhow,
The dead rose, or turned over,
Depending,
On what Christmas song was playing,
The poets and the painters alike broke tools,
Because nature beat them too it-
Again,
It snowed in Phoenix today,
And the world decided to burn,
Time to put up those Christmas Lights.

The lights in Beijing,
They are trying to imitate the stars,
Their falsehoods only ring true with the right song,
They only loose their deception in fake smiles,
And long standing words,
That have only little meaning left,
The waves in honolu,
Are trying to be the calming breath,
They only loose their depth,
When you cant believe your back at smitty's again,
When you see your last 5 spot,
And you know where it's going,
They can't calm you to sleep anymore,
The mountains in Denver are wanting to be Gods,
But they loose their glory in giant snow storms,
That make you feel like your fingers itch and numb,
Their Godhood is called into question when she won't wake up in bathroom stall,
And when you can't see the stars,
The heated wind in Phoenix,
Wants to be your warm blanket,
It just looses it's luster when you want to open your eyes to who you are,
When you can't breathe because of looks from far away people in far away minds,
And if you just need that cigarette to put the day behind you

The lights in Beijing shine true,
When the right song comes on,
And their glow is the hope that's left,

The waves in ol' Honolu breathe calm,
When you decide to go home,
And see your hopeful tomorrow,
Waves

The Mountains in Denver,
Are paying Godly attention,
When the sun comes a shining,
And remind you exactly where you are at,
The whisper,
It's exactly where you need to be

The hot windy days in Phoenix,
Show their comfort,
Dancing with dust and spinning with leaves,
The love of life always around,
And no matter where you are,
You just might be home.

Sympathetic empathas saying words,
That are read from a script,
No one knew how to write,
It's early and cars,
Driving to,
Another paid bill,
Or whatever Thomas said,
Expierences fulfilled by fuel,
Maybe they aren't driving,
Or drinking,
might just be,
making babies in the,
Basement,
Or whatever Keats said,
Distantly dancing,
To kindergarteners and,
cancer patients,
Just another Thursday,
With mystic music,
Lofting around,
The empty dance halls,
Falling up,
With Christopher Robbins,
To the stars,
The bus is on time
Or whatever Dylan said.

Nonsense hiding in an autobiography,
Starting down dusty roads,
Where you truly found yourself,
Daring the mountains and questioning the cold,
To high rises with coke that guy you didn’t know too well brought,
She was there naked and gleaming,
Maybe she had od’d but ****,
She’s great at acting,
Just ask her mom,
You saw her face before,
In flashes of hot breath playing against,
Folk songs and guitars in a punk bathroom,
You didn’t know the faces then,
But you will,
Trust me,
You will,
Weren’t you there at the great protests,
Arm bands and water riots?
You saw what they saw,
But really,
“it’s poetry, not an autobiography”
Spelling errors speak to those who are deaf,
And you say it like it’s fact,
What else do you got?
You remember staring down a gun,
That didn’t belong to you,
In fact it wasn’t aimed at you,
It was aimed at them and all you could do was shake,
But the shakes don’t change when you,
Wake up the same,
You cant shake you,
You told me that while we layed in the sun,
Pointing out constellations,
I said,
It’s morning,
Why talk?
All I heard was a sigh,
But through the onomatopoeias,
I heard things like,
You cant see the stars but the sun still shines,
Whatever that means,
the rest of the day didn’t matter,
and you traveled again,
where’d you go now?
Maybe your letter will help,
Or maybe the call you sent is the way you,
Tried to send a pick-me-up,
Or maybe it’s just *******,
Either way,
Yea,
Either way,
We’ll answer.

It's quiet in Phoenix,
Ain't no cars driving down,
Even the crackheads are tucked in,
It's only midnight,
And birds confused,
Sing far away songs,
The crickets forgot what day it was,
And wont stop a chirpin,
Old texts and dogs barking at tumbleweeds,
But there isn't any wind,
A plane makes more noise than my mind is,
And that's alright,
Air conditioners blast their melody,
While the lone car,
Confused at which street to take,
I say outloud, "I guess none of us really do."
The loneliness is fading,
With streetlamps wondering what's it's job,
Don't worry,
Just keep doing what you're doing,
The porch light dies,
And what's left,
Just them dogs,
And the crickets,
Goodnight Phoenix.

It's there,
When we are ordering ****** food,
And the way you like how I talk to the cashiers,
I can feel it when you pick me up from work,
And you do this dorky little wave,
You have your way,
Which is just that,
Yours,
Whether it's comfortable or just comforting,
I try to read every pause in between your lines,
It's there,
When we dance in your car,
like the idiots we try to only reveal to those closest,
I can feel it when you squeeze my hand,
The refreshing reminder,
That everything is ok,
It's there,
In the moments where we collapse on the bed,
Both dreading that tomorrow means,
The end of tonight,
I can feel it in the silences that exist,
Solely because we are saying more with our souls,
It's there,
in blues music, and starry nights,
That every cliche could make the milky way,
I can feel it,
In the smiles that I thought,
Had never existed,
It's there,
And I can feel it.

She's crying over text messages,
As the pink haired ****** decides it's time,
The dope always wins,
The lady behind me has flowers,
With a note tucked,
It says,
"Dedicated to the little moments".
The former **** with crossed oot S's,
Smiles at a skinny Jew,
We do change,
Most of the time over a ride,
But usually the ride lasts the lifetime,
She's no longer crying,
Trying to be strong like her mama once told her,
When she fell,
The college kid in tucked flannel reads chapter 45,
Of a book that is blank,
The pages scream, "fill me in!"
He checks his wallet, not knowing what else,
To do,
The poet is in the front,
Or the back,
It depends on which way you're going,
He writes this little story,
Tapping a face that reflects his good,
Intentions,
He has to write the opera of souls,
Poured out,
He signs off,
Another Lightrail Tale.

Lightning past the wells Fargo building,
Central and pima,
The build up is always stronger
Than the break apart,
Cozy houses showing lives that we can always fantasize about,
Smells of rain,
Tastes like electric feels,
Clouds of vapor play with the fears of yesterday,
Were all underneath something,
Because we don't know what else to do,
It's more of a drizzle,
But the lightning pays no mind,
Reflective headlights bounce back thoughts,
The road is barely wet,
And the skyline seems to know it,
It's a good feeling,
Watching that lightning,
Maybe someone else,
Is fantasizing about,
That cozy house too.

I don't write these very well,
But here it goes,
The fragility of a Sunday night,
In between talks and smiles,
Little words with big implications,
Sometimes much isnt said,
But it's always enough,
It's always tough standing outside,
Saying the good nights and safe ride,
The creeping on of tomorrow,
When yesterday went too soon,
I feel like a kid,
Who has to go to school the next day,
But instead of seeing the hallways and the homework,
I wont be seeing you,
So I hold on tight to tonight,
And tighter to the chance of seeing you again,
I look ahead not because it's easier,
Than what I've had in the past,
Or because it's softer,
It's because it's just you.
The beauty of normalcy,
Entranced by the renewed excitement,
That we have today.
Today, it was after the rushed slow down,
The lingering smell of coffee and sobriety,
Driving home, with hope driving,
Speeding through the stretched desert with windows down,
That I realized,
The slow step into infinity
Is what I've built my second chance life around,
And I get to take each one,
Holding the hand that belongs to you.
With each leg lifted,
There are a million songs sang together,
Thousands of documentaries,
Hundreds of screams from jump scares,
And tens of adorable animals,
But it all comes back to one night.
The night I met you.

Sunsets hidden behind palm trees,
Breaks in buildings,
Give the blinders and spot,
To stop today,
And begin tomorrow,
Street light stunts,
Neighbors with smiles of strangers,
Strained,
Just trying to get that bit of change,
Rushed hours turn off light switches,
To rush hour,
Cant get through it quick enough,
We're trying, but it's rough,
Battles brushed off by that alarm clock,
Watching the sunrise with stills of cameras,
That we're coloring in the blank edges,
Knees hurting and the same song sang loudly, on
Repeat,
The street lights turning off,
Like the memory of catastrophes,
That had turned on last week,
We enjoy the breaks,
And the sunset.

Green goomba backpacks,
Extended busses,
The kids only ride one stop,
Folk music in my headphones,
Playing with the hopeful heat,
Of rainy day rides.
Where are we going?
On the one driving the bus knows,
And even they have their stop.
Societal soliloqal differences,
But here we are,
Cultural clashes melt away,
With,
"You can have my seat."
Falling into souls with just sideways glances,
Cases of, "what did you want to be when you grow up?"
****,
What did I want to be?
A longing nostalgia of places in memories that never existed,
Luckily,
The bus has no rearview mirrors.
Phoenix is grey,
So is Reno too,
Hawaii had it's days,
All have their riders,
And their drivers,
The stop is requested,
But I don't need to get off.

This'll be the last one I write you,
As twilight turns blue,
And black again,
The sun rises eventually,
And the sunset was too beautiful
To miss,
A song on repeat,
That sounds like me,
And feels like you.
I smile at what we had,
You smile at what we became,
Regardless, at least we are smiling.
Deserved love, but undeserved lovers,
But a love nonetheless.
We doubled booked venues,
There isn't a show to steal anymore,
But you're solo act will knock them dead.
I'm proud of what you are,
I'm disappointed that I don't get to act out,
The rest of the scene,
At least it was beautiful while we were on stage.
So, put down the lines,
And turn the page,
This will be the last one that I write for you,
But I look forward to the one,
You write, for you.

I put off writing this,
For then it becomes,
Real,
Like a scared kid with a,
Shadow in the room,
I chose to hide from it,
But pictures of pieces,
Still loom,
The surround sound sad songs,
Have all started rhyming the same,
And the soliloquies have all gone
Silent,
I'm just trying to be happy for you,
But even when thoughts drift away,
The feelings linger,
Crooked parkway signs,
And certain looks,
In young lovers eyes,
Sounds,
Bring it all back,
It is real,
And I'm just trying to be happy for you,
Memorial officials to weddings,
In dances of words,
No one,
But you,
Will understand,
Promises of undone cigarettes,
With entwined mountain town dreams,
And names like June,
Prayers in a house that reads,
"Isnt death always at a funeral"
We will move on from fantasy and foreplay,
Because It is real,
And,
I will be happy for you tomorrow,
Today,
I just need to be sad.

It's raining,
Ambulance sirens drown the,
Silent slumber,
No one is on the road,
A mobile maddance,
Mad chanced,
Or mild happenstance,
No change,
But the toll keeper keeps,
Jingling coins,
What have you got to pay?
The windowless hospital waits,
With a unacknowledged anxiety,
No one is on the road,
Will this be the last time or,
Are you trying to make,
Every one stare longer,
The rain wont stop,
Shot, shot, shot,
Drip, drip, drip,
It'll be a few days,
Till the rain,
Decides to quit,
The toll keeper has better things to do.
And the ambulance rolls on.

Small talks,
Written in between railroad tracks,
A track going to nowhere,
At least it's beautiful,
The houses look cozy,
Behind their walls we wonder aloud,
If its football or just a get together,
Little lives playing,
Seemingly unimportant roles,
Living lives, on stairway steps,
No longer living lies,
Breathing,
Just breathe
Return to places you've never been,
And feel the love around,
At least it's hear now,
Long timers with only today,
Saying words that feel weighted,
Because they actually know,
Caravans catering to the perpetual,
One night stands,
Take the advice,
And keep the serenity,
You won't feel it till tomorrow,
As you smile at your
Forever frustrating manager,
Leave the destruction back where,
It belongs,
Take your seat,
remember to stay awake,
And hold onto the kisses in the car,
Tomorrow reality is waiting,
And you've only,
Just begun kiddo.

The doctrine lines,
The white brick walls,
Coffee creeps,
We still drink,
Our tastes have just changed,
Who took the last of the ******* sugar?
It's been empty for weeks,
But mainstays stay, mainly,
Another 24 hours,
Some look less,
Another victim of violence visitation,
Rattling sign, the wind makes it's appearance,
We made it,
Johnboy the ****** tells aboot,
His momentum,
Taking his mom oot to dinner,
He wore his tattoos on his face,
One cheek said sin, the other, ner,
Shakey Sam comes every meow and then,
Saying nothing has changed again,
Lights are flickering,
While Jesus Jane is on another rant,
You know, aboot Jesus and whatnot,
Atheist Jocoby just groans,
The coffee is a bit burnt,
So is my tongue,
New cats, alley cats,
Dogs and birds,
I couldn't tell you which one I am,
Emergency alarms a buzzing all around,
We just turn down the sound,
As it's another go round,
to speak,
I'm James and I'm an alcoholic,
Hi James,
Turn over turn on,
Hold hands with scumbags turned saints,
All because of the fire we got from a drink,
A smoke,
A burnt down life turned to building,
We hug once again,
And step ootside,
Open door policy,
And fire in the sky is there waiting,
Some run,
Some cry,
Shakey Sam wonders aloud,
Will his dealer deliver,
****** Johnboy calls his mom,
Jesus Jane prays,
And Atheist Jocoby drives away,
I put the sign back on the door,
And make a new ***,
I want to hear that story,
Of how that newcomer once got shot,
By a disgruntled **** in San Francisco bay,
At least I don't need a drink today.

I see you in
Girls on the bus writing in notebooks,
With notes,
Only their soul will understand,
In walks,
With music flickering to the street,
Lights and street lies,
The beats with my steps,
I see you in storm clouds,
Sliced by layers of light,
Through anxiety fights,
With attacks coming from places unknown,
Surrounded with an armor of well sown,
In dances too songs you never
Wanted to listen to,
Yet here we are,
The clouds became rain,
The anxiety has passed,
The song has changed,
The cord has been pulled,
And the stop is ahead,
I'm home,
And I still see,
You.

Approaching Station,
Exit to left,
Passes please,
Discounted and undiscovered,
Are the tracks still broken?
Hand loosing it's grip,
As the content contentment,
Starts to rise,
Dreamers can't have dreams,
When passed oot,
Trying to shake,
Tattooed faces,
Security let's it go,
When glasses cant stop staring,
An angel with Diamondback wings,
Trying her best to keep it all together,
While puting on shoes,
That aren't on her feet,
Rushing to the other car she saves another soul,
Central ave,
Centralized humility with mangled humanity,
He's alive,
But rarely living,
Loved,
But wondering where it is,
Art district and,
**** I've listened to this song too many times,
Poetry on rails,
******* railed by poetry,
Glasses terrified by realness,
They all deserve better,
Would they know what to do with it?
Exit to left,
The angel let's her sister go,
The door closes,
She checks,
The rail only has so many stops,
It's quiet,
The significance of the moment,
Discovered then discarded,
She's asleep.
He's not waking up,
She leaves,
Approaching station.
1st ave,
Passes please.

My couch,
Is death,
And avoidance is a second language,
Ask me do I speak it?
Conjoined twins,
Of misery and manipulation,
No calls,
Only cushions and customer's custom complaints,
From tomorrow,
The phone wont ring,
So I'll stay down this road,
Listening to headlines and headlights
Sing,
Moody music dwelling,
Where the lies and shame met in between,
Cut the cue, end the scene

The stage has been rebuilt,
We talked like teenagers,
And you told me that I've changed,
But the same,
Still that same number,
No more gap,
But your smile still kills,
Pain with palendromes,
We were here before,
And so again we,
Our fighting saying goodnight,
Street lamps in different cities,
Static.

I'm just fine,
Playing my part,
My mainstream maybe different,
But
Obsession has been overcame,
By the rising tide of a smile,
If the teleprompting signs shine through,
Meanwhiles and meditations
What can I do,
Except hope I'm reading,
The
Right
Script,

The couch,
It asks,
Where have you been?
I set down another,
chip.

I see you,
In greater conversations
And small
Talks,
Lost in time,
But,
Weighted in a reality,
That the years
Exist,
Through small lines,
Near your eyes
Are histories,
That most miss,
I see you,
In stanzas of songs,
Reminding you
Of home,
Nights of sweat and smoke,
Paired with a hopeful abandon,
Of living forever
But praying for death
By
Their kiss,
I see you,
In prose and rhymes,
Of books upon books,
With eyes heavier than
The pride,
You wish you saw in your father's,
The legs sore,
Because you forgot what it's like
To not try to run,
I see you,
In the moments,
In the
In between,
The indescribable
Deep breath photographs
That make up the flashes
Of phone calls and razors edges
On linoleum,
With Fate's scissors
Being put back in the box,
I see you,
Through the hidden smiles,
That convey a sense of mystery,
Forcing my uncontrolled
Outbursts,
To see what other
Smirks and eye rolls
That even you are surprised
When they are uncovered,
Like the gaunt archeologist
I treasure them,
And put them on display
At my memories museum,
I see you,
In the days
You are away,
When shirts and the sounds
Of morning coffee contemplations
Are the only things
Keeping me sane,
I see you,
In future momentary messages,
And past years pudding proof,
That with all the moments,
Yet lived,
That
Will let me,
See you.

I told her,
He'd,
Regret it,
That she holds the stars,
And he was too busy asking,
Why she held them,
So tightly,
Words come under
Snapshots of looks that
Have effects,
So long,
So deep,
It's a memory on our make-up,
I want to put a fist through his face and heal him
Back up,
Just to break it
Again,
I want to make poems
That make her famous,
So that people look to
Loved ones
And smile knowing
That they exist,
I want to remind her
How the ocean air feels
And tastes
When she feels at home,
I want to remind her,
That she makes me feel at
Home,
So that for one minute,
She would feel the
Freedom
She gives me freely,
But,
Realizing you are human
And
Knowing,
That on the other end of the silicon and circuits,
Lies a greater distance,
Than just the thousands
Of miles that make it up,
So,
I speak,
In shakey syllables,
Aboot distorted dreams
That come out as
"I'm sorry's" and
Weird eye twitches
In front of showers
Because I want to drown in
Thoughts and forgotten conversations
I should have held tighter,
I spoke with uneasy words,
Telling,
You,
That he'll regret it,
You spoke with broken typed words,
"I dont think
Think so."

We always do.

Because you hold the stars,
And I,
Kept asking,
Why you  held them,
So tightly.

Hours speed,
Up on weekends and I,
Think about this while,
The smells of soap and sobriety,
Creep like layers of,
A cake that I've just began eating,
But the minutes feel,
Like a,
Laundromat waiting room,
In purgatory,
In between your messages,
That force my,
Script writing pen,
To be set down,
I never am right,
When I try to write,
What your next line will be,
Your smiles are sometimes,
Hidden beneath a,
Sadness,
That I can only try to coax,
With cheese,
To see it's broken body,
But,
That sadness isnt some broken board,
In an old house,
that needs to be fixed
It's needing the,
Appreciation,
That if it was repaired,
It would loose it's history,
And that awesome broken board,
Doesn't make,
The whole whole house,
It makes it,
Unique,
Unique in the way that,
I wake up in the middle of the night,
Grasping my bed,
For,
That person that has never been there,
But,
Is there every night,
I can appreciate the grabbed sheets,
Because I can appreciate the new year,
Like that amazing house with,
History,
I find new things,
New rooms,
With new broken boards,
And new broken bodies,
Except this year I can remember,
All of it,
And,
I got a new batch of cheese,
Time to get oot of the shower,
And,
Walk through,
That first room.

You deserve a poem,
at the very least,
you really ought to have a feast,
with all the people that,
see you,
for you,
you deserve to have sounds from stars,
playing to delight,
till your day has become your night,
you took a chance,
on a broken,
tired rhymed poet,
it's your birthday,
and this is the best I can do,
you deserve a band,
and people to recognize you across the land,
to wish you a special day,
because you have that way,
to make people feel,
like it's their day,
depression and nutella,
socks and underpants,
dances with no end,
you deserve the better,
and never just something,
people feel like that they lend,
coffee with cats,
castles with open mic nights,
you deserve more,
a year ago I would have killed to write this,
a year ago you were just a kid,
behind bars,
or across oceans,
you deserve more,
a year from meow,
I know that you will be even better,
because, **** girl,
like a meteor,
you'll make another big impact,
you deserve more than a poem,
but it's what I can give at the very least,
and all that's left to write,
is,

Happy Birthday.

It's the night,
before another rotation,
things feel right,
unspoken words,
have turned into one way actions,
elusive internet *******,
replaced by the piggle wiggle's,
chainsaw snoring,
the room smells of seroquel, feet,
and the helping of hope,
sticks from a recovery melted poet,
legs of jell-o,
mood of mellow,
dancing twilight in a skyline,
of building and buses,
a year ago he was drunk,
and jail was his entitlement a week,
later,
two years and more,
have evaporated to chemicals and nights that no longer exist,
and lust,
and fair share of unalibitical rust,
the sounds and smells he's,
holding onto this year,
the only hourglass sand bits,
not fallen through, for the feels of fear,
will only disappear,
Birthdays in rehab,
birthdays ad non infinitum,
courtships of programming & meetings,
the poet,
now producing naturally foreign unforced smiles,
better get his sponsor,
to sign his slip.

Being loved,
when no one asked,
is a weird feeling.

Sponsor numbers,
and Ibprophen,
reading,
feeding,
what's for breakfast tomorrow?
Hope with a guilty side,
Chinaski hidden in a,
recovery library,
words to the poet,
a secret vice,
are nostalgic tremors,
a giggle for the unknown,
terminal uniqueness,
and a desk map with no ****,
pray for the piggly wiggly roommate,
the hope overpowers the guilt,
and the coffee makes,
me smile,
a good day,
a better,
turn,
click.

Piggly Wiggly sleeps,
and snores,
behind,
closed doors,
while someone is cleaning a door,
jam,
others are questioning where they are,
a poet,
reads words in a bathroom stall,
someone down the hall,
whisper shouting in another,
stall,
asks, "What's the point to all this?"
rehab in winter,
rehab in fall,
a **** and a smile,
but a reminder,
you get in what you get out,
sixty one days sober,
breaking the record every day,
the poet flushes away,
is internal frown,
complaining companions move onto the windows,
piggly wiggly dreams aboot,
bacon and ****,
another record,
the poet asks his higher power,
please let it last,
one day at a time,
everyone stops,
sloppy joes & cigarettes,
for,
lunch.

I messaged with words that sound written down,
they were,
got a new courage that has been found,
I didnt trail off, but the world lost it's sound,
who knew?
I guess you would had to have if it really made sense,
trying to appreciate his recompense,
It's cloudy and I hear the rhymes,
but that doesnt take care of all the I'm fines,
I hear it and want to hug you,
so wrapping in written syllables,
I try to believe in miracles,
hoping that you can see the prayers coming out of my head,
when you saw my smile instead,
calling me your best friend,
Sending songs you'll forget,
but I bet you'll feel at home,
so I'll send them along with a phone,
full of mysteries that will plague us both.
Don't dare to say you miss me the most,
because I raise my coffee in toast,
that you'll be happy tomorrow,
and at least smile today,
spoken with fiery words in sentences that arent coherent,
So i guess I'll tuck in my shirt to see that smirk,
and remain in adherence,
as my poem fades away,
and I'll sign off with a tackle and a dance,
and thank God again for poetic miles,
and happenstance.

I hope you feel better.

Picturing her is tough,
you'd think it'd be easier,
when I dream of her enough,
she's got brown hair with a past that's a little rough,
I mean relatability,
is on the key ring of comfortability,
a good smile,
and the first to kiss or say "I love you" first every once in a while,
a plus if she can write,
and not feel ashamed to sometimes be the first to apologize after a fight,
she's someone not looking to be found,
healthy and (superficially) not super round,
but can eat quesadilla's and chocolate cake in bed,
who listens,
but also knows what needs to be said,
a girl who giggles & smiles at my cheeesyness,
and says that it's ok that my life is a mess,
she makes love instead of *******,
(sometimes a good **** is what we need though)
Knows how to get me oot of my head,
and is self reliant,
but also has trouble watching me leave,
she'll be fine with dancing/singing/kissing me in the rain,
and know all the right words and moves to drive me insane,
thick hair like a mane,
and doesnt care if I'm poor or have fame,
she'll appreciate my crazy music,
and will take care of me when I'm being a ****** when I'm sick,
who wants kids and that awesomely typical house,
she'll be loving and empathetic,
Loving Bob Dylan and dogs,
shorter than I is a must, and know's how to be the sun in my times of fogs,
adventuring but doesnt mind  a good netflix and chill,
her eye's will be revealing,
with every look my heart she'll be stealing,
smooth sexiness withoot the need to be based on touch and feeling,
kissable lips,
grab worthy hips,
a girl I could laugh with for the rest of my life,
an honest wife.

I'll dream of her with a certain notoriety,
hoping I find her,
after a year of sobriety.

She's waking up, and already in his head,
Lucidly in hers as I go to bed,
a different world apart,
it's cold and her coffee is hot,
it's hot and he cant bring his Polar Pop back,
from the mini mart,
both dancing to obscure tunes of knowledge,
both hanging onto,
but jumping off incredible ledges,
to what?
Whatever everyone seems to have so whatever figured out,
she reveals her smiles through a new different colored pout,
and he hides his smiles in words,
that get jumbled in your jaw,
they can only see what they saw,
in text messages and telephone towers,
as if being worlds apart gave them super powers,
she was dead living,
he was living dead,
worlds apart,
waking and going to bed.

Indigint rehab,
checking in checking out,
another bout,
another sight,
you're weeping in the bathroom,
not knowing that life is tapping its toe impatiently,
in the next room,
choose to be,
choose to rot,
I chose that my past will always be there,
but sometimes it's easy when it's normalcy that you sought,
forgetting to forget,
you take your breath and move "one day at a time",
so they say,
but really it's one step at a time,
your life is unmanageable that's clear enough,
full of things and stuff,
but another suicide attempt under your belt,
and another counselor asking you how you felt,
the rhymes are oot of place,
like you feel whenever you walk through another space,
who's to say you werent in the right,
who's to say that you arent just looking for another fight,
so focus ahead my dear guy,
for once you can remeber what color and how to pronounce,
the works that unlie,
in this new story you can decide to write,
keep moving,
"Dont give up and dont give in",
leave your pride and take that stide,
clean yourself up kid and walk through the bathroom,
you'll start seeing all the crazy new,
and the bits of blue,
from your new view,
with cigarettes and skylines,
You'll be just fine.

I'm done trying to write,
So I'm going to write.

I kept searching through a
catalogue of memories,
And soon-to-be's,
Trying to find some great metaphor,
Or situation to use,
But it became borderline self abuse
Trying to find non-cliche *******,
But I'm done trying to right,

So I'm going to write -

'I miss you'
and well, the real question is
Who the **** wouldn't?

Your eyes hide a lot kid,
And that's what makes you frustrating
I can't tell if they are clear or fading,
But I kinda hope I never learn
So it forces towards me to discern,
If you really choose comfortability
That's ok lady gaga because your poker face
will never outpace your smile

That smile gives away more than your eyes,
The sudden urge to not when you know you're speaking beautiful lies
It shifts when you need to look away
And it's because you have to wear it every day
It's easy for someone to miss
the subtle ways.

And you, you're as subtle as a chainsaw,
To the people that actually see you.

Dear dream girl,

Before I let the words unfurl
Let me thank you for meeting me there.
It's a place I know but have never been,
It's ground soft, like a nostalgic sin,
And I wait,
Wait for a sound or a feeling,
Sortof sitting, sortof kneeling,
You are there.
How you found the lair,
Or why we started talking were questions
I would not far,
to ask or know
Your face would change in your tone,
I had my bottle and you had your phone,
But neither of us would let go of them.
You didn't like talking unless I said something first,
And I was always left with a thirst.
There were walls like we were somewhere artificial,
Manufactured for a short use time;
I didn't reply, but you said "it will be fine".

The walls have reel to reel projectors,
With a hum of ghostly patriotic defectors,
With a weird blue tint,
Memories of terrible heartache stints,
My demons playing on the left
Every time I yelled or was jealous,
And zooming in it shows your smile
Or the sadness on the other end of the phone,
Or the craving to be with me at home,
And on the right was you putting walls up,
Fighting on things that now really don't matter,
Zooming in on me smiling,
Or the me just getting sadder.

I asked you to meet me here tomorrow,
Because I'll take all the time I can borrow,
The door closes,
And I'm awake.

From toes still in the water,
With love.

Goodnight my distant movie,
Playing some ****** horror flick on repeat,
With the smell of some bar and meat,
Hanging,
The morning was quiet
And I gave up the fight in it,
So time to put it away with a dusty painting,
And go to sleep.

Goodbye my far away rhythm,
Dancing entwined with separate together mythdom
But always too far to touch
It isn't much,
But my dreams are a place to visit
So time to go put the music on,
And go to sleep.

Goodbye my recent moon,
Sung under crossed stars,
with an unexplained tune,
Beautiful but with scars,
I'll smile from afar
So time to put the globe away,
Knowing it's ok
Not being the Earth.

It's not something so easy to get,
Waiting for a reply,
Not wanting to have your name the last two times,
So you lie,
And send  another,
Underanalyzing to overanalyze
But you're pressuring too much,
So grab a crutch,
And ask a someone close,
Theyll ask you,
Are you in the gittyness or the get over it my friend?

You look at 'em funny,
And it's not because you don't have no money,
Because you've never had money to change your mind,
It's not the gain grin or drop of a smile,
Or a laugh that sounds different,
Like moving in a different apartment,
That's in the same building,
Are you in the gittyness, or the get over it?

There's no answer,
No answer I know anyhow,
Just depends on which side of the road you think you're standing on

Your smile creeps off you know,
With no control,
Like you aren't wanting to go,
But there's something unknown,
And with alot of pull,
The voice dismayed with things that haven't happened,
And probably won't,
The slight underwhelming moan,
In a sea of sighs,
You can't try to control,
The glass is normally half full,
But like villains,
only known to the narrator,
Stalks in linens,
And they deploy the daggers,
That don't make any sense,
So you build the fence,
And hope to sleep,
Because when you're up again,
You'll smile at the pen,
know it doesn't make sense,
And that it will happen more,
Just do you're process and apologize,
Saying that there is no control
But realize,
It doesn't matter if it's normal,
It means it will change.

Falling asleep,
But needing to write,
Too much oxygen,
Or too much right,
I owe it to her, to write right meow,
Heartbeat is realizing,
They aren't coming back that night,
Like a loyal dog it begins to calm,
Until they come back,
And feel their palm,
I don't think to stand nor sleep,
Just here wherever,
Trying to remember new memories to keep,
It's awkward, but unforced,
With delirious comfortability,
But sleep eventually conquers,
And my writing loosing eligibility,
Dizzy, but the smiling won't cease,
Waking up tomorrow, or tonight.
With an awkward peace

Her smile,
*******,
It's taking up to much of a file,
She always flips a coin,
And smiles when telling you,
That she found it in Spain,
And calls it her laws of nature,
Then joking refers to a yoyo she named her *** life,
She cuts words like samurai getting ahold of a dinner knife,
But speaks awkwardly everytime,
Tending to tenderness,
Who knows?
But that smile,
*******,
It's like a terrible heist movie,
With a plot line that has to do with monks,
And one actor is overpaid,
Knowing that at the end their still made,
What to do besides eat that popcorn and enjoy the show,
That smile though...

The theater's empty and I can't seem to figure why,
The ground feels like a sticky, but hard lie,
It's plain with drapes to a darkened heaven,
With movie posters that make me nostalgic for when I was 7,
Or was it 11?
The projector starts to warm up,
And the ghosts in the machine show who they wanted to be,
This popcorn reminds me of a love that was wearing her favorite leather jacket,
*******, how did I get popcorn?
The screen shows ads for ****** ****,
But its in Spanish with Czech subtitles ,
And a weird sense of accomplishment,
Seems to give way with the images, now gone,
Apparently I have a soda that I have never noticed nor engaged or enraged,
Blue stills of ****** knees and beaches unbeknownst to any future,
With the credits rolling of names I'll remember, forget and lie remembering
A calming anxiety seems to fill in where the smoke creeping oot the vents does not,
The teleporting popcorn comes with me,
And choose to leave, with the seat,
I seem to forget to ask myself,
meow so clear,
How did I get here?

It was aboot ten miles away from your fate,
when Taco bell and pigs decided to gang up,
and you didnt realize it till it was too late,
Oh, you knew what you had did,
trying to pour back what is already drank,
like winning the lottery, only to realize there is no money in the bank,
The Mormon Virginia City had struck again,
and took me down to a feeling of a non-man,
where the screaming, the anxiety and the screaming anxiety all met,
the moment you realized you lost the bet,
between you, the devil, the universe, that one friend, the boogy man, God, and the lady down at the farmers market,
you are an easy target,
with a tough bullseye,
and a sly,
liar's smiling lips,
it wasnt till that cold floor touched you,
and your mind's lack of institutional control,
had been realized,
life had surmised,
that the chances you had were faulty tests.

Big John had taken your car with vanity plates,
a joke you want to tell your mates,
but realize the build up is all wrong,
he was the picture of a folk song,
but withoot the music and any good lyrics,
a tow truck mentioned in poems you have never heard,
telling him to hold onto that paper you signatured,
"You're going to famous like everyone else when they go?"
"I wont, but  I'll be nice in the poem everyone will know"
He laughed and kicked you out.

A new song that has a ****** tune,
starts to sound nice soon,
and you will appreciate it by your life's noon,
rough memories turn into life lessons, that turn into rough memories,
but you dont know you are in an ocean till you passed some seas,
so you drive away from the  town that built the great ****,
with a face of weather, guilt, and an unknown nostalgia for the future.

His keyboard destroyed the sidewalk,
Left ideological lines of chalk,
Deciding to discover the one true song,
That makes every soul smile,
He travels from east to west,
Talking with the worst,
And the best,
Doing ******* with drummers,
That are due on stage,
Asking them what song is a miracle?
Then writing them on beer stained pages,
The sumo while singing did that,
He bought the beer,
And they only talked in song,
(they didn't know what they had said till the morning)
He searched through the gutters,
And every disco he was there,
Asking freaks and cutters,
Never finding the one song,
It's been a while since he was home,
How long?
The haze of yesterday's drugs and memories that don't belong to him,
But the search continues,
He ends up learning it all, folk, techno, and blues,
It was in Reno when he said the wrong words,
And a man shot him,
Just to watch him die,
He got to see,
That his dream will never be,
It's not exactly the end,
As time began to bend,
A door that opens to,
Millions of record players,
In layers,
by the billions,
A familiar tune begins to play,
The best song.

It hurt,
But only here and there with a spurt,
I never hear her footsteps,
And question if she's really gone,
Appearing ghost like when she first appears,
With musicless skin tones and melodramatic tears,
She shares her fears and wants,
Steals kisses with under the breathe taunts,
Then she walks away with no footsteps,
Months and years blur into a painting of a portrait that has changed painters with completely different ideals,
With each painter a random time,
As she returns,
With more scars that follow on her in painted burns,
Everything is new,
But the words have a different ring to them, everytime,
Taking more but leaving with less,
When she leaves I hear no footsteps,
It hurts a little.

Oh Jacob, where did you go?
Smiling with your madness,
Of...wait, he wonders where'd his veins go!?
They had ran of to another part of his mind,
One he didn't understand very well,
And felt haunted going there,
Because of the attic from hell,
Oh Jacob, where'd you go?
He heard it,
But the corner vortex has a beautiful hum,
And the desperation of his frantic glances for fun,
He doesn't know whether to talk back or just...
Oh lord the clocks are ticking backwards and everyone is acting like it's a pumpkin patch they never wanted to visit,
He must let everyone know!
He says, "What's the point of shoveling snow?!"
While living in a desert,
Oh Jacob, where'd you go

It was on the walk while surrounded by dizzy  
stillness and birds' song,
Invoked in a desperate last gasp
It was all too apparent with the spinning nothingness of this street
Swirled and unapologetically driven by nonsense except in smatterings
while looking down a street
looking for a cigarette,
The reality in facing reality hits me,
like a swift kick in the nuts
when the Gardener looks at me with those,  uneasy eyes,
The walk continues as
the colors inked with rusted mailboxes
etched with dying roses synch grey skies
and grey...sweatshirts
The walk feels well worn
and I stand in unconvinced understanding,
That I was no longer nauseous.