When did it occur to
me that I wasn't okay?
When did it occur to me
that I was? When did 'it'
occur? What is 'it'? What
occurred? What does it
mean to 'occur'? What
does it mean to wonder
what it means to 'occur'?
When did any of this matter?
Is any of this 'matter'? What
is 'matter'? What is what?
What? Pardon?

"Excuse me sir, this
is your stop."

Constant departure, always
arriving.

Constant departure, always
*arriving.

Weary, I'm not trying
very often. Not trying
not to try. I try too hard.
Fallen like the poor *******
who stood still on a moving
treadmill. I stopped to ask
why I was on the treadmill.
Stopped to inspect the
treadmill. Stopped, and
now my leg is stuck.

Etymology,

                  Spanish.

  First appeared  

      on a gravestone

             in Warwickshire, England.

       Means:  

         'loveable,'
                      
                      'have to be loved,'

                                         'deserving of love.'

All technicalities aside,
I'm not with you for your
name. That'd be like saying,

'I'm here for the free cheesecake,*
but make sure it calls itself a cheesecake,
because I trust cheesecake, but not the
moon when it questions my insanity.
Frightens me with the prospect of a
normal life.'

I haven't found the answer yet.
I haven't been looking. I've been
too busy loving you, until one day
I woke up and realized 'its always
in the last place you look.' I'd been
nuzzled in your chest for hours
before I noticed I'd found the
most important meaning
in life.


Amanda.

Etymology,

             Spanish.

        First appeared on a gravestone

                  in Warwickshire, England.

Means:

                'loveable,'

                             'have to be loved,'

                                              'deserving of love.'

Wherever he'd believed me,
it'd been a temperate climate.
Not too cold, not too hot, one
of those Buddhist middle path
days where the weather sat to
meditate. What I'd told him was,
"well, my friend, there is nothing
new under the sun."

He giggled like a 6 year old and
said, "except when I turn over
rocks."

There were photographs
of a last effort hung with
dignity across the cracked
and dusty hallways of my
mind. I wasn't sure who had
painted them, save for the
initials at the bottom right
of each work. A scrawled,
"definitely not Picasso.

I'm definitely not Picasso."

These are the words I pick
through thick Irish. Love
affair of some sort between
the bar tending woman and
a friend of the guest. Mitigation,
mutiny upon an S.S. Lovebird
Somewhere Sometime (world
affairs), can't blame the *******
for gazing left at the television
as he's only the messenger boy.
What is this, a medieval fantasy
novel?

I guess the name of wherever I
am and ponder how far away my
life is.

the killers shoot lyrical
koans on the bar delicate,
I amble for a pint of
Dungarvan beer, whatever
the where that means.
There's a sunset here
and a sunrise there,
and lunchtime somewhere
in the middle as the mahogany beneath my elbows reminds
the Romans that I'm unsure
as to whether or not they made
it as far as Ireland.

General Tiberius,
are you awake?

it's strange to enter
the world and realize
you're not quite who
you thought you were.
I thought I was a traveller
of vast spaces in all times
but life poked me in sleep to
say, "it's not that easy and
you have to wake yourself
up to do it, you beautiful,
******-up fool."

It wasnt long before the baluster flapped somewhere in the distance and Icarus knew how old he had been on the day of his birth. For whatever reason, the snow capped cappuccinos he had willfully destroyed in a heated debate on fiscal policy had him beginning again. Why was there always a beginning where there was an end? Fur traders used to circumnavigate the Hudson's Bay of his humanity when he was young, sharing drinks and fire water whiskey like it was all an H2O ready for the soul search. Sadly, many ended up in Hitlers concentration camps weeks after the **** invasion of Poland, about a month or so before the fall of the Roman Empire. Beginning with a last breath, Icarus strode off the plank with a new-found confidence unnatural in his niceties of long past. It was as if 1 minute and 35 seconds was enough to dish a clamouring populace onto the dinner table before the fat step-father gleefully orders
everyone to 'dig in, everyone!'

Cancelling everyone's appointment with Dr. Pardon meant the gaining of a key participatory certificate in El Dorado, and the gold lingering in dusty sun-beams was sifted for the taking. Some got rich, the rest got miserable. The rest used to imagine the gold, staring at ivory towers and lottery tickets, apple cores lording over old public servant applications near the city hall drain pipes as the modern world collapsed into a flash-mob image of Ronald Reagan.

Icarus was a sliver of duskish light flittering a top distant windowsills, all cupped in an intentional light because happiness was as possible as sadness. Not that considering either would make you either.

Icarus slept as his wings incinerated at the first glimpse of the solar system. He now believed every single proverb the old ***** slumbers had whispered their children as they woke to find themselves adults.

In the beginning he found the beginning beginning again. It made him feel however you wish. Both were just as possible. Both were just as much a jazz configuration as a smooth and easy guitar rift.

Ahha!

you go one place, you don't another.
you get one thing, you miss another.
you do one thing, you don't another.

you're either eternally happy, or eternally sad.

or sometimes you're one or the other.

'Next station is Bromley
South.' Cancel all my
appointments, Doris, I've
got the runs and my fault
doesn't get the joke. In a
sugar induced nose-dive
I wished you were on the
train with me, gasping at
every sight my Easter
essence was too tired
to diamond jubilee.

English countryside rolls
by like butter on banana
pancakes. The heat of
history keeps me cringing
with a full stomach. Aches
softly convalesce veins
from head to toe,
concentrated in the solar
plexus as I become the weary, dreamy traveller with little left
to seek, hoping that every closed door will lead to you wrapped in a duvet taco shell. Every bed is half-empty, so I fill your gap with a warm pillow and whisper, "I love you, Amanda. It's a softer heart at the end of every highway."

I read street art once,
that said, "lonely people
talk too much." I prove
my loneliness in para-
graphs to you that light
my darkest caverns. I
create my self-destruction
through my wordy negligence,
and this is why I can't subsist
in the world I make for myself.

I am a well spoken fool
with a very loud brain.
A brain that likes to chew
on itself and cringe as if it
were eating a whole lemon.

Christ, I'm the idiots you
died for.

it spoke to me in
medieval Dutch,
like an obese King
of Belgium who
hands out free ale.

All my dreams have
kicked me in the face
lately. in the best of ways,
but I still lie on the ground
awhile, shocked to be growing.
Like a flower in spring grasping
grass;

'wait a minute!'

someplace else would
have brought the rose.

but not Caen.

Caen made every
guest bring a
bottle, the answer
to Caen's confusion.

blast off, years off.

tears off.

land.

Angelic in stature, you're not a master,
You're not my master.
You're my equality spread like butter and jalapeño jam on a toast made to years of success.
Don't forget. It's not what you wished for,
It's not that you wished.

The fact remains that wherever the current decides to line itself and hang wet clothing is a decision made by beautiful coincidence,
So the legless can swim and the legged can spin in parking lot circles, it's the middle of the night and this is how you met her.

Can I pull a fast one? Well you cant pull a slow one, you can only carry it.
So yes, pull a fast one so the decision to put it behind you won't haunt me for the rest of life,
Because I don't want to say I almost did it,
I wanna say I did. I wanna say we loved each other madly in the corner of our parents lives so everyone left that part of the room undecorated, because the posters are ours.

The fact remains that wherever you decided to footstep the Earth is a decision made by beautiful coincidence and the world is friendlier then it seems, there is no need to impose.

Leave yourself to dry along the line set by the current,
We can wait because eternity enjoys itself in fooling us,
Shepherding the cants and wonts into oops I dids,
we believe, we believe, we believe.

wake up!
it's time to
conquer this
country like the
Nazis never could.

Once again the
lights go out
like fought-out
children in
divorce.

Twice again the
lantern masks
it's ambiguity
in laughter
from a
solid source.

Thrice the country
rises round ye olde
England, Richards
ground. The author
contemplates a paint
roller moving on its
own like bullets
once the shooter's
made a drum-roll
cease.

French girl from St. Malo,
names Gale, spelt 'Gael'
like Gaelic. Her world is
my history. Excuse me,
professor, I have a question?

only a few
epochs old!
you've got
our whole
lives ahead
of you.

a ***** strip
mall just about
ready to commit
suicide.

do as the Romans
do.

when in London
watch for Arabs
rummaging through
their backpacks.

when I tell
my parents
that I'm
"homesick,"

what I really
mean is, I'm
sick of not
being in your
arms, because
that's where
'home' is now.

Middle-aged couples
always argue during
road trips.

my parents misplaced
matter-of-factness
upsets me. They ****
themselves trying to
be right.

if we grow into middle
age together, which I
feel is a distinct
possibility, can we let
down our guard? I
don't really care to
be right. I just want
to be here. With you.
Carpe diem or what
ever the Romans
called it.

Everyone is waiting like
angry Buddhists
for the washrooms
to become vacant again.

I'm waiting for
my mind to be vacant
impatiently, like an angry
bodhisattva,

so I can get some
******* shuteye.

I saw 3 stars floating
in the window over Greenland.
The clouds below in the night
sky represented the snow blind
vision of this half-country,
half-forgotten-continent.
My stomach ached, felt like gas.
I wondered if the flight attendants
were robbing a nap
in the foreground of
our lives.

to describe you
would be like
trying to make
the tail wag the
dog.

futile, but ah, why
the hell not.

you're on
my mind
as often
as I am

everything.

you are a candlelit
dinner with the universe
itself.

you know that,
right?