stills left on the kitchen table 

a shot of you when less able

i sat along while you were crumbling 

a situation just kept tumbling

what did you want me to do?

where was that when you were you

now a fraction left alone

a silent thought waiting on the phone

messages i never got 

future attempts that i dropped

a stoic time when we were stills

a moment when nothing seemed to maaaaatter

it didn’t seem like any of that maaaattered

a space and life behind

now i listen while you’re blind

the passions tied us to our posts

a lesson left for our ghosts

to dance and wonder what we meant

just stills now dancing on the pavement 

i lost you in that place

remnants of a forgotten place

now its nothing just your face

on stills i carry and retrace

you think i want to feel this way

disgusting and half sure 

clash bangs ringing through my head 

voices disguised 

perhaps that’s the reason masks on strangers, acquaintances, or friends cause me to recoil. yet, they’re always there, the last one of choice without consequence terrifies me. everything else is as it should be. regardless i spent the day wrapped tight striking out to make sure you stay away 

i didn’t push myself out of this position 

it would have been fetal the memory of that is too painful 

there are young eyes observing this dance with demented demons talking, switching, and pounding my eyes. i see you and them and then there’s them steering 

which way to go?

If I were half way between here and there i’d decide based off of where you’re going.

Distracted.

lemon scented hallways 

you’re the one who brought me here

seriously, don’t get too close it’s one thing to tell you i can’t maintain but if you knew what was behind the splintered frame i know i’d lose more than my name at least to a few who matter when these wild wind thoughts scatter 

go ahead, touch the grey matter that filters these promises of ‘i’ll get betters’ there isn’t a better 

naked and seeking i begin peaking into your top drawer to figure out what for and underneath unworn underwear i find what first captured my still born heart in a time when i needed you. i can’t do this. continuing to walk side-by-side and share the shame you point and claim it’s them who can’t figure it all out. i make bathroom excuses to fill the void, coming back more human than droid yet no less ready to feel anyone’s reality, we flee. just you and me storming down side streets in first falling rain they think it’s careless love, a post card in their collection of images to ease considering they are desperately seeking another place where scream shouts aren’t heard, how could they let you see this side, with thirty years of fear frighteningly flying out of mouths using words capturing messy ketchup caps and left on lights. can’t you grow up and stop this fight. tonight, they ran too far. crossing carelessly it wasn’t their abandoning of one another , but a car who didn’t see them. headlights. and release from misery. for them. he now carried their deaths the rest of his days.

the frail features that aren’t shone in the light are what frightens me when we’re dusted by morning sights that aren’t quite clear and nestled away 
there are three things i expect to happen. 

if you leave now there’s a better chance

when the leaf unfurls and the captain arrives i’ll know it’s complete 

the captain is kind really a pirate half blind enters stage left to keep things quiet. from time to time he’ll whisper a line mostly he comes to chew out the behind of passerby’s and near miss lovers. take the blanket too. 

red helps

not too much

yet, it inspires me

rising from a shocking place

a relic left to erratically erase

this classic chatter and bus station banter 

stand next to me

just stand

i don’t need anything else 

stop

you’re talking again

it’s not that i don’t want to hear you

it’s the pressure to return after you hear me

once you find out

there’ll be little reason for you to stay

i’m not what you thought

Is that you?

same thoughts and disturbed view everyday left with the few who follow sympathy and lag behind misery this cross legged toad that sat alone sniffing out the bog to find home never moving far enough away from you and curfew was eight mate so find a date who won’t judge this decision to escape to a place where poetry doesn’t rely on pain here’s a happy thought, before i start let me warn you writing happy sets me off. not happy in and of itself if left on the shelf we can observe the way this often used idea gets batted about we question its existence where does it lurk sadness is something we tend to jerk by the collar of confusion with little delusion that it’s a state we can relate and tears get questioned as often as your smile so skeptical we are of one another’s denial file that away. what’s behind that? you do it too much. it’s fake your fake for fucks sake let’s make a mask much less malleable maybe skeletons it’s why they’re favored if left to bones of existence we’d have to explain ourselves better it wouldn’t be shown or overblown we’d be less alone and not always pulling at this phone. pushing more than pulling yet who is extolling the belief that i care what you’d share suddenly i would be less bare i’ll make a mask out of anything wood straw or brick i’m all three piggies living in the thick of some quickly read book with no meaning. clever or full of shit i question that everyday. it could really go either way. hiding. 

yawns that pass time with regularity it’s a nervous reaction to the lack of clarity i can hardly see anymore through the lens you gave me and now i must try with more sincerity it’s hard to muster the strength to stride through the dining room of where you reside and why do people have these cornered off rooms that never get used show pieces to another time when we worked to impress and shove the shininess of our dimes into walls that can’t hear laughter 

#2

i haven’t stopped listening

it’s hard sometimes to hear through the mumble of people nearby

so, i lean in to lick the lecture you provide it comes so easily and now i must confide that i don’t care what comes out of your mouth

it’s all about going south to discover what happens when longitude dwindles and latitude lingers inside this coffin of forbidden situations will you take me with you where we don’t need mittens where i can feel the frost and not get bitten experience the sunset and the purr of a kitten, yet i hate that sound it’s rhythmic pound and claws kneading tender spots that i’m needing to clear away or put plastic on today armor that can be penetrated and broke before you spoke i knew what your reply would be. ‘stay home’ where you are free to have more than just me and when the time comes for you to flee i’ll be here standing alone by the tree of forgiveness. 

It’s a cruel trick he plays on himself

Breaking one cigarette and putting it back in the pack to see how many times he pulls it out

More than you’d think

A reminder to consider everything he does

including driving to the store when there are three left 

leaving a pile of packs with single broken cigarettes in them on the kitchen table

he figures they’ll come in handy one day

when he’s desperate

i’m not sure what you call this then

she wouldn’t have allowed it

she left

‘allowing’ was the issue

other than self destruction, what does he want?

he willingly gives himself up, to everything

people, drugs, puppies, mugs, silence

‘who are you?’

he hears from behind while lost in a daydream standing backside to the corner store

‘huh?’ he turns while the door closes behind her

she asks him to go for a walk

‘i’m good’ he muttered

she laughed at that

he was caught by surprise, and her pixie cut framing angular features blue eyes protruding

‘come on, man. do i have to pull you off that wall?’ 

she was getting closer.

‘no, really, you should go to another place’

as she neared, she understood and left

‘i’ll get back to you someday.’ she thought while walking away. 

I learned to write from Whitman

Scratch that

I write because of Whitman

and Dylan

not Thomas, though he knows who bores me

The other two taught me that lines don’t end

Songs can last longer than three minutes

And people will come back to find meaning

If they feel something

That’s all I want

To feel

For you to feel

Loafing and easing 

Words that gain momentum are less about what is said

And more an inspiration to continue asking questions

The why of it all

Purpose

Driving street cars with strangers can fulfill the most basic needs, knowing the intention is what builds the supportive beams and I would rather do the mundane and know the reason than climb up a mountain only because it’s in season

Why do I write?

The answer is benign and trite

I want you to hear me

I want you to notice the hand print in my cave and wonder

What made him come out?

Whitman knows what my story is about

And Bob

Well

He knows too

So do you 

my right brain left me

now there’s only logic

that explains why you’re not making sense

images are replaced by linear thinking

a clue to you

with all this blinking

natural facts

I surrender to your latest attack

the end of my nose is where my eyes go when wondering how i fit into this pugilistic flow of cat meows and furrowed brows i can’t stand to look any longer

the crowd lasted the whole way through, yelling “how dare you” and “you’re not the select few”, even dead heads take a break during morning dew, well, a few, depending on where you find your pew and sanctity it’s not in a place that preaches separation though it got me wondering where i fit in this constant battle between ideas we busy ourselves with. if we didn’t show up to say it’s wrong who would listen to the death march song? would they grow? 

or, die away, a bar band that played its last hum drum cover to two drooling drunks and a couple under covers underage consent and rules that get bent to allow us all to numb out our need to shout and be heard for the way we feel. they stole the preppy dress code and stride into our streams thinking they could mask the language of the previously unseen bastards not even owning their rank and to them we should continue to thank that we can check our own complacency. 

take for granted that solid ground and sink holes devour even the most profound thinkers of our time who forgot they need to act, not just sit alone spinning a drone to make scruffy college kids put down their phone, for a minute, and check the tone of this nation where i never felt comfortable with how we interact, yet my shit stays pretty intact with this white skin and dangling parts i can’t help but think how far ahead i start. oh, but you claim that’s a myth to keep me down and it’s nothing to do with the color brown but preserving something for those who ‘found’ this mass of land now completely unbound. i don’t see a rejoining. i can’t imagine the whole peace thing. yet, i go to the store, hit the dance floor and the chat room bravado doesn’t find me. chicken shit caustic cancers can have their ‘white’ world, and preserve their jelly minded thoughts. how will you get on without slaves? really? i mean, we can’t pretend they don’t still exist – we just don’t want them living right around us. that too will change, as this whole thing gets rearranged.

you, the deranged, may be the ones in shackle and chains.