Alone

What is with the sad-boi hours?
What is with the rain without flowers?
Do I dare explore the confines
of an expectedly average mind?

Or do I dwell on the past?
Replay the failures of a man who has passed?
Do I look to the future?
Foresee lacerations and sutures?

Messages, lights, and dings
hurt my eyes and remind me of darker things.
Bright screens
screen my screams.

Someone must save me
if there is anything left in the salvage
Someone must pull me
to solid ground from the ridge.

The String Play

Actors of ice
tumble and wrestle,
dip, dive, and parry
to a pitch-black stage drop.

Enter Stage Right,
the archer comes.
Hooded and silent
a friend of the night.
The orange curtains open.
Stillness reigns over distilled rains.
Frigid tundra tumblers play their games.
The artist now in cover.
Calmly caressed in the cover of crystals.
The weight of the clouds rests on the back of a sleeping giant.

Enter Stage Left,
His Majesty enters
from luscious greens.
His crown is magnificent.
Seven Jewels on each side.
His crown, divine.

Crisp.
Quiet.
Cool.

Hoof meets snow.
Nose meets grain.
Wood meets wood,
and string meets bone.

With a flick of the finger, feathers meet the air.
The end meets the start.
Tobacco offered to the earth,
obsidian hardens the heart.

The artist sees the fall of a King
and shakes off his white robe.
He dips, and he bows.
He carries the regal beast.
The artic acrobats keep on dancing
and the curtains close.

 

Au Revoir à Rien

Sometimes I wonder what’s in the dark.

Sometimes I wonder what lurks behind closed eyes.

Does the world end with a nap?
Or does the soul emerge from the mortal cocoon,
shedding the drudgery, the prejudice, the shackles of our pathetic past?

What was I supposed to do here?
I’ve been told that I need to find my Dad.
I called out for him, he went out for a jug of milk.
So I shrug and I sulk.
What’s the purpose of finding a purpose? I’d be dead lyin’ if I didn’t say that my deadline happening at any moment makes me feel alive.
Bless my poor little heart and the stress that I put it through
Earth returns to earth.
My hot blood spurts a scorching statement, it spits in the face of chance.

Fuck you and your comfort.
I’d rather be full of piss and vinegar
than full of regret.
Fuck me and my polite reserves
this is my life, it belongs to me.
I’d rather ruffle some feathers
than be a bird in a cage.

Stay on guard
Stay pissed off.
Smile in the face of anxiety
We chose half-truths and easy answers
over hard decisions
over rethinking our biases.

We chose of life of being
Docile, infertile.
Medicated, sedated.
tame, lame.
simple, limp.
Formulaic, archaic.

 

Choose life.

 

A Bright Man.

I don’t follow the newest news.
I don’t know how to say no.
I may not be a bright man,
but I do have some light, man.

How can I be well-read
without and good-reads?
How can I be a leader
and not tell another where to be led?

Is that a revelation?
The word reveals nothing, much ado.
Is that a revolution?
The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Is that evolution?
Stagnation loves having nothing to do.

Change takes time
But we take no time to change.

 

Smothered

Breathless gasps
above raging waves.
Hapless grasps
slipping on the reigns.

A race that I cannot win,
A weight that I cannot lift.
Too little forgiveness of sin,
Too much space in this rift.

Pushed down,

down,

down.

Expected to rise.

I will drown
in the quicksand.
Small grains build muffled screams and burning eyes.

Throw me a rope.
Throw me a hand.

To get here you must have been a dope.
At least pretend like you understand.

Tar on my heels,
tar in my head.

I’m sorry if that’s the way you feel.
Maybe try growing up instead?

Smothered

Like a mother who won’t let go.

Undiscovered

Like under a dusty vinyl cover, the contents hidden and stowed.

Eggshells

Why must I tiptoe around dysfunction,

why not trade a lifetime bliss by raising a little Hell?

Why must I obscure my own vision,

and scuttle through the eggshells?

 

Why must I sit, when I know I should stand?

Why must I whisper, wilt and whimper?

Why be a worm, when I must be man?

I lick my wounds, guilt and bitter.

 

I cannot make waves to save Earth,

I must silence justice

and prepare her hearse.

Where is God, and his iron fist?

 

Seated, I stay.

My lips sewn shut.

The wolves lie in wait

Will no one stop their strut?

 

Gonna

I’m gonna,
you’ll see.
That’s all that I’m gonna,
because gonna is easy.

I don’t need to be bogged down by goals,
I just need a dream,
I don’t need the sum of a whole,
I just need parts of a ream. 

Why can’t the haters appreciate what I’m gonna do?
Why are they so selfish to only care about what I’ve done?
Why can’t they look to the future,
to see my time in the sun?

You’re gonna be sorry that you doubted me,
when I do what I’m gonna do.
I’m gonna be rich, successful, and happy
while you’re gonna be blue

Day-to-day with head in the clouds
as high as I’m gonna be.
While you’re down there on the ground,
planting those tiny little seeds.

Someday, it’s gonna happen.
Someday, my dreams will come true.
Someday, I will.
Someday.

The British Man

I stumbled across a British man

while stumbling out of the bar, 

he picked me up with an outstretched hand,

while speaking from afar.

 

He did not look down on me,

but put me at his level.

He did not think that I needed therapy,

and told me about how hard he fell.

 

He said that he had met wizard,

or at least a well-dressed Indian.

He said that the wolves amongst sheep were his herd,

but it was his new life that he preferred.

 

I asked him, “Why? Did you not have fear?”

He shook his head.

He told me that he hadn’t eaten peas in five years.

Life was nothing but fear, nothing but laying in bed.

 

Across by an ocean

but there when I need.

Dry as a desert

his ideas plant seeds.

 

Thank you, British man,

you talkative bloke.

Not all stories need to end sad,

not all of us need to drown and to choke.

 

Worth

You know that you have to hustle and network
to increase your net-worth.

To be in the black
you must first be in the red,

you need to be behind,
in order to get ahead.

Paying loans with loans
for things we don’t even own.

Like AC/DC, Money Talks,
but nobody told me that it never stops.

We buy and buy,
and just get by.

We always ask how,
and never ask why.

We always know our checks and balances,
it is the center of our Earth.
We always know our deals and debts,
but we rarely know our worth.

Thoughts and Prayers

Thoughts and Prayers,
Thoughts and Prayers.

 

When the world has been torn asunder,
by a gunman, a bomber, or natural blunder,
Do not fret, do not fear.

Relax.

There is one thing that you need to hear.

 

Thoughts and Prayers,
Thoughts and Prayers.

When your children are in the jaws of the wolves,
when your people are hungry and riot in droves,
when your poor die frozen deaths from the cold,

there’s only one thing you can do, I suppose,

Thoughts and Prayers,
Thoughts and Prayers.