my earliest memory…
was of playing with my first
set of legos, tinkering with
each brick, putting in the way
it should be, according to some
abstract and incalculable
method

things were so simple
then

everything fit together
so perfect

now I look forward to
a broken world

the former owners saying,
“it’s your problem now,
kid!”

I took in a deep breath today,
inhaling in the cold air
of the coming winter
through my mouths
and
through my
nostrils

as the volume built within me
my chest grew

outward
outward
outward

my chest went

deep within it
a bubble of confidence
and enlightenment
floated about,
flooding my mind
with its
intoxicating
gases

the high was marvelous

the deep, if fleeting, unity
with the universe that comes
as one stands, eyes half
closed, and breathes
in the gray clouds
that seem to go on
forever

taking one last whiff
of all this greatness,
I breath out

in one short gasp
all that ecstasy escapes
as white, foggy
haze

it disappears instantly,
leaving me only with a world
in need of fixing,
one which I can only change
within the confines of my
seemingly all-powerful
imagination

I sit here,
flicking a lighter

on off
on off
on off
on off

and I like the way,
if you time it just right
you can see the tiniest
bubble of butane escape
the spark
and run screaming
into the
atmosphere

it gasps for air
freed from its plastic
prison

one tiny moment
of vigorous
effort

and then

nothing

the life of that gas
is as fleeting as my
attention

my mind so full with
terror and worry and
anxiety that it’s gone
blank

so I sit here,
flicking a lighter

on off
on off
on off
on off

waiting for a spark,
a light,
a breath of fresh
air

the alarms are not sounding
the cops aren’t being called
the world won’t even notice

but there’s a crisis of my being today
and it’s consuming
and burning
and it’s
eating
my
soul

there’s a fire licking at my tender flesh
and I have no interest in extinguishing it

the world is full
of the definite

the tv sits across the room

if I go to it, hit the power
button, it will turn off

if I stay seated, bother with
the remote, it can change
channels or turn off as
well

or if I do nothing,
nothing will
happen

this is how the universe is

no tricks
no secrets
no conspiracies

even humans aren’t
that complex

they do the same things
over and over and over
and over and over and
over and over again

like stock characters out
of the text book, everyone-
everyone- does things in
a predictable and easily-
understood way

the **** will always **** the dumb-****
guy, the lawyer will **** the innocent,
and our role-models will always let us
down

it’s not new and it never
has been

so I have no sympathy
for those of you who
are surprised

and neither for those
of you determined to
change what the world
is

I’ve already told you:

this is a definite world,
of concrete, unalienable
facts

there is no place for liars
or those convinced there’s
something else going on
than what they can see

there is little place for the deceived
and the blinded

(especially when their eyes
are gouged out by their own
knife)

I saw a sight
of summer
today

it was a boy
riding and jumping
on a bicycle through
the grass

and in the stink of my car
and in the light of the grey
sky, I thought:
oh how I wish to run
and jump and play
in the grass

but I am too young,
life too cruel,
and the autumn weather
too turbulent to
commit to any
plans

so I drove away, wondering
where that boy went without
me

I sit here

afraid, jaded,
and
unhopeful

watching the people of
the world
through so many
screens

this show I just finished
was a tough one
for sure

neophyte actors
big cast
weird script
and the ****
“KYLE’S”
sign

this is the first show
I’ve been allowed to direct
in a while
and,
for that,
I’m thankful
but,
at the same time,
I’ve hated
it

in a show about robots
willing to fulfill every whim
and fancy of the owner,
it all came
down to me,
I feel

my blood, sweat,
and hard work made
this thing come to
fruition

a truth that
shouldn’t really
have to be

at the end of it though,
Property Rites
(as it was called)
is probably one of the best
shows that’s been put
on in years
by my
theatre


for that,
I’m proud
but,
at the same time,
I’ve hated
it

everything came
down to me

I’m not afraid of having
the world on my shoulders,
but I am tired of being the
only one pushing it into
the future

the **** “KYLE’S” sign
sums it up the best

up above the stage,
high above the heads of the girls
playing robots
and the guys playing repair men,
and business people, and a pathetic
**** fool,
was supposed to be this big red sign,
done up in lights,
spelling
out:

K Y L E ’ S

(that’s the name of the guy
trying to sell the robots)

I was the only one who could see it
I was the only one who could write it out on board
I was the only one who could pester our teacher to cut it out
I was the only one who could paint it right
I was the only one who could drill the holes for the lights
I was the only one who could plug those little lights in
I was the only one who could hang from the rafters
I was the only one who could get anything done with it

at least that’s how it seemed

it wasn’t a hard job
but at the end of it
I said
**** it
let the sign rest back-stage
as the show went on
and
forgot that I ever even
wanted to have it

I was the only one willing to finish it,
even as everyone loved the idea and
applauded me with each new way it
could be used

I was the only one pushing
this unnecessary but grand
idea forward

I was the only one,
and when I decided
the work was not
worth the ends, no
one could say any-
thing when I said
**** it

this last couple of months
have been a tough few
for sure

just trying to survive
has felt like going above
and beyond

trying to twinkle in a world
full of darkness and gravity

I return home
from another long night
putting on shows for
people I do not know
and with people
I can scarcely
relate
to

my legs ache,
my hands twitch,
little bites and
bruises liter my body
like some kind of
war paint

there is no satisfaction
in this any more

there is a deep unfulfillment
in the life I am now living

I move slowly,
each action taking more
and inflicting more,
while I contemplate the
meaning of my life
(once again)
and look about my bedroom
wondering why I have allowed
it to become so
messy

I doubt myself
but wonder
why

I think:
why do I think I will fail?

logos, nor ethos,
nor examination of the
past leads me to this
road and yet

I doubt myself
and wonder
why

I question myself
and ask questions like
what are you talking
about
what are your reasons
what is your purpose

but I do not answer,
I cannot answer,
the answers are locked
deep in tombs my conscious
does not even realize exist

they stand deep with my mind,
begging me to find them, open
their doors and release secrets
so that they may wither and
die in the sunlight

they doubt me,
asking
why

why not let us loose?
why do you ignore us?
why do you not find us
in the dark places you know
we are?
why are we alone?
why are we in the basement?
why are we starving for the
sight of ears and for the power
to destroy and/or create?
why are dying?

let us loose they say

my hand reaches the lock
but trembles in mid-air

I doubt myself
but wonder
why

the world isn’t ending any more
humanity doesn’t rest on my shoulders
death is both frightening  and
no longer a threat
eating is tasteless and bland
anger no longer satisfies
a deep tiredness looms over me
and watches me
and says:
you are no longer
the inferno
you once
were

I am letting go of tension
and giving up on fate
I am killing myself and trying
all over again

the act was committed
and done in an instant

my eyes go hazy
my gaze looks nowhere
and yet sees everything
my world sharp as glass
but my feelings so dull
I forget they are their

I am logs still hissing
from cold water

silently my embers die
blindly I sink into the earth
my last moments were
trivial and like any
other
it was a good run,,
I think,
but I am now due
for a long rest
before
the biggest
one of
all

tears like fire, the truth
burning your flesh as a
string of swears flow
off your tongue, every-
one tells you they told
you so and you know
that they are right

anger, darkness, suicide,
doubt, hatred, self-hatred,
and self-loathing fill you
and consume you and in
your heart you feel the
beating stop

this is what death feels
like until:

you stop

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

you say to yourself,
wetness burning in
your eyes and freshly
opened wounds

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no

no more, you scream and then fall
silent

no more,
you whimper

crawling to the mirror is like torture,
looking, seeing yourself; sockets puffed
and red, examining your unkempt hair
and the rawness of your soul

you scream, break the mirror
with your hands, and take in
the scene you’ve created

the blood looks rich and
vibrant and reminds you:

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

you remember you are human,
you must take a deep breath
and move on

there is inspiration
welling
up inside me

not for art

no

not for
art

instead,
for creation

for birth
for construction
for development
for growth
for building
for adding on to
for heuristic intention
for the laying of new roads,
pathways, bridges, and towns
for the betterment of myself
and others

there is inspiration
growing
like a fire

a spark has come,
lighting the tender
thistles
in the base of my
soul

climbing up through
my legs, then warming
my belly, while passing
my heart and burning
up my fingers

it hits my mind in a rush
of emotions

I smile,
ready to pounce on
opportunity

there is a tragedy
in life

a pointlessness

that’s what religion is for
I suppose

or philosophy
or politics
or tight nit
family

but I don’t need it
why should I?

most need something though
apparently

so I suppose they know
the tragedy too

they know the
pointlessness

but they go to bed crying
and I wake up to brighter day
every morning

sand,
filled to the brim with that,
or something else
so liquid
and yet with such
heft

my limbs move slowly
but power grows

they accelerate
move faster and faster
until they are beyond
my control

running,
I’m running and
going and jumping
and going past
all the things that
stopped me
before

then I hit it

the wall,
the boulder,
the object

and I am stopped

it’s not a slowing down
it’s not a loss of will

it’s a full, complete brake
and it leaves me undone

sand,
leaking out of every hole,
slowly building,
growing
into a pile immovable,
unchanging

it takes so much to start
and yet so much more to
start again

we had beauty once

everything was art
and we carried about how,
why, what it looked like
in the end

now all we have is
crap

plastic shells on
plastic souls
make hallow sounds like
empty buckets aching
for water to fill
them

there is no art
there is no purpose

there is nothing
but the desert
and
our fading tracks in
the sand

we had beauty once

it was all grand
and our childhood was
well-deserved and
yet to run off into
the
sunset

there is
a conversation
going on
outside
the
window

it is simple
and interesting
and full of
drama

each one takes
turns telling their
part

wild, vivid,
full of drama

the ones waiting
for their turn to speak
react in gasps and
over-done ******
expressions

I am reading Bukowski
again

the world seems simple,
vivid,
full of drama

the truth hurts

failure stabs
like a dagger
and slices you
to mush

that’s why I cry
that’s what the bravado
dies and the illusion
evaporates or
sometimes
crumbles

I face getting caught
but my bravery poisons
my pride

I will walk to my room
breathing out years of
rancid doubts

there is a sad child
somewhere
over beyond those trees
where a red balloon
floated up from
his hand
and
into the blue,
fall
sky

I’m sure he pulls
at his mother’s hand,
begging her to look,
to notice,
but she will shuffle
him off, tugging
the boy along
as he points and
cries towards
the volume of rubber
growing smaller
and smaller in
the distance

there is nothing I can do,
nothing anyone can do
and I take solace in that

but I feel for the kid:

his first disappointment
in a long life filled with even
worse ones

death would be easy

you’re right

but it’s for cowards
and weaklings and
fearful men

death is not an option
for the men who are destined
to do great things

the only choice
for them is how far their
journey will take them
and how hard their
path will
be

those meant
to go down in history
books all know it

they don’t discuss it
neither are they ever
entirely sure of their
fate

they know though,
they know they don’t get
to choose when their
work ends, only
where

so in a way,
death isn’t
easier

to ask the future
legends of humanity
to end themselves
too soon

that is an impossible
task

let nobody convince
you otherwise

let’s get this done

let’s knuckle down
man up, and go for
it

let’s conquer like
they did in ancient
times

and skipping out
into the sunset, I
planned to do just
that

let winter come,
I say,
we all want the cold
and the silence.

this summer’s been
too brutal,
this heat has frayed
our nerves

we’re done caring
we’re done feeling
we all want to be
numb

jackets, fires, and
family are much more
warmer than the sun’s
ungodly light

so let winter come,
I say,
let the world be quiet
and its people take some
time to heal

there is a fire
through the fog
in the forest
as old as god

there is a breeze
which fans the flame
caressing our children
touching our dames

there is a hunter
who watches it burn,
cooking with blunder
his freshly-caught game

there is a star
that shines in the night
reflecting the fire
as a twinkling white

there is a season
when the air is so cold
that men forget treason
and together, they grow

there is an ancient fire
that through ephemeral fog
burns in the land of forests
to be seen, only by god

honesty, the true and whole
expression of the being who
we actually are, is my most
key and integral tenet

I forgive the meek, the lazy,
the angry, the godless, the
misunderstood, the ignorant,
and the infirm if only they
admit to me they are those
things

+

living in a society of lies,
I have grown to value the
little grains of truth I can
mine out of this world

the reasons people are afraid
of the dark, the motivations
that drive some to attack other,
and the lusts hidden away in
trunks and drawers and dark
places are just some of the
gems I have extracted

those are too dramatic though,
they do not reflect why I value
their kind so, for they are jewels
sought out by others, for more
greedy, selfish reasons

they are my prize because
they are real. they are the
reality in room of mirrors.

they ground while the
world takes flight.

amongst them are simpler things:
true opinion, small desires, empty
thoughts, the questions raised when
the teacher turns her back, the terrors
that haunt others in their sleep, the
different paths that all minds take

these are what I seek,
what  I desire and lust
for

+

my life is spoiled, in many ways,
by the juxtaposition of possibility
with inevitability

the assumption of the later is
proved false by the first

one can never be forced to play
a game, there are always many
others, or there is always death

+

I find myself on the edge
of a blade, slowly cutting
the two halves of myself
into feuding worlds

those smart and those willing
now war against those attracted
to comfort and to chance

I stand at the center,
my form withering
as I grow

tonight, I sleep under the grey clouds,
hoping the rain will wash away the
sin

the revolution, or should I say,
the American one, was such a
beautiful time because it was
last era were hope persisted in
this world

though they knew times were
not getting better, they knew
that their children, or the child’s
children, or the child’s children’s
offspring, would one day inherit
the beauty of this world

those men in ***** wigs and
uncomfortable cotton could
believe like few others in
history

sure, some might say the french,
in their coup d’état, had as much
or more vigor as their American
peers, but as I recall, their fervor
would turn on them and consume
them like a fire burning out of
control

some too argue that the generations
following the fathers, those trekking
out the western frontiers, those going
off to the civil, the first, and the second
world wars were just as brave and yes
they were

brave

they were brave indeed
but they were not filled
with hope

they did not expect to win

they expected to die
they expected to fail
to lose, to go down in
history as nothing and
that was enough for
them

but not Washington
not Jefferson,
not Madison,
not Adams,
not Hamilton,
not Franklin.

they weren’t in it for history,
they were in it for the future

for the history
of the day after
tomorrow

they
fought because
they knew
they
could
win

until today this optimism
had died

until today, when I, looking into the
future and seeing nothing, still smile,
there was no one who truly understood
that life is not about living

it is about the lives that go on living
after you

idiots

as days have turn to hours,
much more quickly than I
could have anticipated, my
tendency to observe myself
in these moments before my
greater ones has kicked in

nine hours stands between
me and grand change in my
life yet those hours seem as
ordinary as any I have had
over these months

what I feel is a grand lack
of anticipation for the end
that is even more swiftly
approaching

I propose that this is because
this condition, this tragedy in
any other’s eyes, is nothing
but a set-back in my life for
me

while others panic, look wildly
at me when I utter this disease
that I do have, I have never done
that

I sat stoically in that office,
somehow knowing there was
nothing to worry about

to this day I cannot tell you
why I think that way

I can tell you I do

I have, in my heart,
a complete faith that
this will not be my
end

mortality was neither
further nor nearer to
my mind

as the hours to turn
to minutes, the same
amount of struggle in
the end, I cannot say
I feel any different

if anyone were to ask
me now, I would say
I hope tomorrow is a
normal day

as you push on the
gas it’s like you’re
pumping the gas in-
to yourself

your veins burn like
fire and your heart
roars like a lion

the yellow light dares
you and you accept

it’s in that moment
that you remember
all that’s chasing
you

years of mistakes,
countless scarred
acquaintances, a life
of doubt and (all
told) failure

they’re all behind you
and you (almost) forgot

you take a drink
from your sixty-
three cent soda

do you taste that?
it’s regret

it’s that tightness in
the back of your throat
when you know you’ve
been found out

it’s doing something
despite knowing
better

the gas pedal can go no further,
this is your greatest regret of all

she is so
magical
because I am so
sick

my body aches with
years of abuse and/or
neglect

my mind is the graveyard
for so many toxic thoughts

she can fix me,
I hope

not with bandages
or medicine,
nor therapy or
treatment

she will heal me
because she is so
healthy herself

sure, she has her own
scars, her own diseases
and lingering ailments,
but there’s something…

pure

something that tells me she
can understand my sins,
sooth my wounds, forget my
disfigurations, and nurse me
back to health

something no else
has ever been able
to do

she is the one who
will soak up the poisons
of my life

she knows just how
to turn my toxins
into gold

heaven, for the first time,
seems like a possibility

all the strong men,
now hiding in

cowardice,
religion,
and
ignorance

are no use to a
generation where
wisdom is as
scarce
as

humanity

what new Atlas
rises to keep the
world afloat?

not I,
you say.

not I,
they say.

not I,
says I.

the millions watch
as the statues crumble
the cities fall and
Atlas lays down
for some much deserved
rest

we wake at 7
pack all our bags
in the back of
the family car
and ride off
into the dawn
the sleepiness
not yet shaken
from our eyes

from silent thunder
breeds thunderous
sound

the rain is following
like I feel it should

there was a day like this once

perhaps the most
important day of
my life

but that day is gone
and so is the feeling,
the happiness,
and the
memory

the rain was just
like this

I was just like
this

lost,
alone,
unsure

so there’s the rain

unforgiving,
unforgetting

to you,
my old friend,
I bid goodnight
and good
thanks

if there is one thing
to be said of my poetry
it is that as much as
I understand that the
world is a ****** and
terrible place, it has
never stopped me from
doing what I want and
most definitely not kept
me from happiness

they sat around
the covered
earth
and tried
to remember
what he sounded
like

it’s amazing the sheer number
of supernatural powers people
have attached to things over the
course of history

charms, temples,
talismans, totems

all forms of the same
misguided ignorance and
fear

it is funny to me that
I feel something when
given one myself

water

that’s all

water from the south of france
dug out of the moat of some a
church that’s older than legend
that surrounds it

supposedly, this vile of *****
fluid can heal, better than any
doctor or medicine

now I, and the person who gave
it to me, both doubt it’s powers

that doesn’t shake
it’s meaning

it was a token,
a gift,
from one sickened
soul to another

that’s touching

that
is
real

so perhaps that’s why
humanity has been giving
gifts like this since the
dawn of time

it’s not a magic, unnamable,
but the simpler wizardry of
friendship

she’s not feeling well

she says

and I suppose
that’s true

so she sleeps in my bed
working out whatever needs
to be worked out

I sit,
and write,
like I
always tend
to do

why though?

I wonder

but never mind,
you don’t know
do you?

neither does anyone
else, don’t worry

I’m working on it

working out the big why’s

life, love, literature

we don’t know why
but that’s never stopped
us

she wakes up, says
good morning

I greet her similarly

I’ll get back to you
when I have any answers,
old friend

I need some sleep
myself

from the first time you
locked eyes it was fire

when you finally touch
lips it’s like a thousand
nuclear bombs are going
off and you two are the
only ones who don’t care

when you touch her
for the first time the
fire turns into a blaze

you’re hungry now,
hungry for her, for
the first taste of her
flesh, for the first
lick, the first ******,
the first **** of the
last **** of your
life

words seem silent
against the sound
of touching skin
and burning flesh

the moment never comes sooner,
the finale is the overture itself

you don’t care anymore

from the first time you
locked eyes it was fire

after the last memory fades,
the flame silently goes out

just a number,
I suppose,
but to think that my work
has been seen
that many
times
is
quieting,
simply
put

going somewhere
but nowhere

having a home
but not a
house

we sleep in beds
but never rest

the dead live
better lives
than any of
us

caught up in pride, in jesus,
in being “right”, in believing
in theory and clinging onto
belief, in defending faith, in
living life like it’s perfect,
in pretending that they know
all the answers

we die all the same
you know?

but they forget, talking of
magic solutions that promise
not effort or pain required

that’s not what’s going to
happen though

we’re going to suffer

suffer like sinners suffer
because we have sinned

we have committed the
one and only true sin:

ignorance

we do it so much, we’ve
taken to it like moths to
a flame, even defending
it like it’s something to
be proud of, something
that isn’t suicidal

they shout it on the radio,
debate it on the tv, talk
it up at rally’s, and print
it out for future invaders
to see in our newspapers,
magazines, and marble
institutions

are we afraid?
are you sacred?

we should be

the hole stares down at us
as the pit gets closer to the
core

are we going to do something?
are we going to man up?

sunlight filters down, but
we’ve still got to sew our
rope

(it’s made of sweat and
pain and finally admitting
that things aren’t getting
better)

there’s a strange man
in the mirror,
staring back at me with
a week’s worth of beard
and eyes that are hot
like fire while
looking as cool
as an ocean
breeze

he doesn’t say anything,
just seems content to sit
in the mirror and stare

so I leave,
and I’m not sure
if he ever left
too

maybe I’ll see him
again one day,
he looks like
someone I’d like
to meet

and it was gone just like that

like a weight off my shoulders,
like escape from certain death,
like running away without a
worry

it was gone just like that

with a handshake,
a smile,
and five steps
out the
door

I was a new man

fresh,
reborn,
free

unknowing of what
had happened in the
mean time

it is impossible to come
back from death without
collateral

what hallow husk
am I trying to bring back
now?

it’s not hard to say

it’s not even hard
to think about

it doesn’t make me sad
or mad
or any of those
other emotions
I’m supposed to be
feeling

it just is

simply as that

I’m getting the news out

first to my girlfriend,
then to my best friend,
then to those who know
me the very least

my mom will take care of family,
doctors, school, people who
“need to know”

but it’s my job to sit around with
it

it’s not hard yet

so far,
it’s pretty easy

it just is
like I said earlier
it just is

nothing to be said
or done or thought
about

and I think my poetry
isn’t going to be any
better

my life isn’t going to seem
any richer

my mind isn’t going to seem
lost or out of sorts

I think I’m still going to be Caleb

no more or less

others are going to have a
harder time than I will

I’m just going to sit around
and write more poetry, sipping
my diet coke like I always do
and quietly repeating to myself:

*oh well

perhaps it just hasn’t hit me yet
or maybe,
I lack the maturity
to understand it
but the fact of the matter is:
I have cancer

I don’t know why
I don’t know when
I don’t know how

but I can see my future
and it is grim

as the sun sets today
I could not remember
what it looked like

only the darkness,
and the light
before

the morning is soft today
the light, caresses my skin
instead of burning it,
the air feels like a fluffy
cloud come down amongst
us mortal folks

there is a new day filtering
through the blinds of my
window; promising a chance
to do what you’ve always
wanted to do like it always
does

the problem is not with obtaining the goal
but figuring out what it is in the first place

with the steam raising off the
darkened roadways after hours
upon hours of quietly violent
rain, there is a peace in driving
alone with yourself, observing
only the night

with no end in sight, we can
only drive alone, hoping that
somehow, the morning will
come, bringing with it a change
in the weather and somebody
to listen to the radio with

when it comes down to
it; life is exactly what it
seems.

consisting of going to the
bathroom, eating your
favorite  dessert, driving
hundreds of miles every
week to work and back,
writing papers for teachers
you don’t respect, finding
and falling in love, fending
off doubt, feeling terrified
the first time you hold your
child, making meal after
meal without any thanks,
looking at yourself with
scorn, wondering where
you are and how you got
there, fearing death and
turning on the fan when
the room gets a bit too hot
for comfort

never forget the simplicity
of the universe

never forget that humans
are just animals, animals
just life forms, life forms
just atoms, atoms just tiny
clouds of indefinable
importance

when you get down to it;
the universe is exactly
what it seems:

a space too big for us life-
forms to understand, offering
only the acceptance of this
poem as a means to stave
off insanity

young, so full of youth,
filled to the brim with
*** and desire and the
quest for flesh,

we are living the lives they
write about

we the young, so full of
uncontained emotion, so
happy to be alive and yet
not even realizing it, we
talk of suicide but never
believe it exists

we are perfect in our
decided ignorance of
our imperfections

(it gives us strength like
nobody knows)

-

spreading across the globe,
to China, Europe, and the
Southern Lands, our disease
is no plague

to the youth of the enslaved
places, to the poor countries,
and those shackled in the old
traditions:

we give to you our itch,
our burn, our aching and
hurting that drives us to
go out and do what needs
to be done

we give to you a reason
to make things better

(just as we give ourselves)

we are the reason
the earth still spins

we are the drive
behind every new
empire

we are the innovators
and the diviners

the makers of tools
and seekers of
riches

the creators of gods
and the gods
themselves

we, so young, so full
of energy and zeal and
lust, we the ones who
create and destroy, we
who so thoughtlessly
hurtle the human race
forward

we take ourselves to bed
each night, not wondering
with whom we sleep or
where we will awake;

knowing only that adventure
is worth having in itself.

that the morning is our treasure
and the new day is more fulfilling  
than any golden trinket in the
tombs of the old kings

this we sleep with, smiling,  
dreaming of the wild chances
we are challenged to tame

-

so young, so full of youth,
filled to the brim with ***
and desire and the thirst for
a definition in this grey and
blotted world

we awake each day
and drearily attack our
lives

we the pioneers, the philosophers,
and historians

humanity cannot live without us
(and I mean to say they have no
choice)

the ache
from too much
smiling
is as pleasurable
a pain one can
find

it’s is impossible
to comprehend the
difficulty to see
a reason in
anything

it is even more
impossible to go on
accepting that
their isn’t
any
reason

at all