clearly, the days slip past
i nearly lasted, keeping track
tags and descriptions, each one placed
as if a benefit falls upon the lot
for drawing connective lines
god's dead, god's not dead,
i'm god, the god of sand,
ephemera at my command
but what's it mean? these things
take time, but not seriously, because
the sun hits the wax on a paper cup
and it blinds us from the bushes
and so low, can't care
so low, lone, done dead
can't care for upsides
but asides and sideways

The trees bare themselves for winter.

While we barricade.

It's time for the ***** snow and the drippy nose.
Stressful dinners
                 and
                        hand-me-down clothes.

Thanksgiving house-fires
                          and
                                 Christmas suiciders.

So bundle up!
And arm yourself with holiday cheer.
                                         Because we'll be lucky to make it this year.

I thought you were my friend
we shared herb and spirits
with an addict in recovery
I've never really left this town like you
I broke my new tablet
while watching ducks from rocks
This ***** river bank
This ***** city may
Be the only ocean for me

It was the anthem of an era – a short-lived era,

and I think only those of us who lived there

could have detected it at the time.

"*******, I'm punk."

There is constant reinvention, recreation, but

I am sure it will never be the effortless –ism it once was.

We are accessible now, but we were visible then.

We were the spectrum, we were the speed,  

an onslaught of red Sunfires and green T-Birds.

There were nights I could swear (to whatever God was to me then)  

that I had seen every last one of them trickle in or out,

sometimes all at once.

There were days I was a constant, an observer,  

terrified of missing whatever "it" wound up being.

Most of the time, I was seemingly absent – maybe soulless, even.

With coaxing, I would be brought back from stratospheric distances

to a camaraderie that seems sacred now.

None of us thought it so back then.

The grip we thought we needed always seemed to elude us.

What we did have was vital to us all,

though we couldn't admit such vulnerability –  

our eyes bugging out and our hearts caving in.

And now, knowing the future is destined to be wavy and unknown

like the tracers leaving callous brushstrokes behind everything they see,

I realize how the brick sidewalk was a sight for sore eyes if I ever stood staring at one,

motionless.