Poetry · Writing

war on all fronts

the road;

a misunderstanding

broken trust landing

the sign said lover demanding-

a fools game played with fools gold

and i am in debt

not a risk or trust fall

takes money to make money

kitty poster on the wall

a misunderstanding

account overdrawn

a broken trust landing

never a i’ll be right there always a hang on

the sign said lover demanding-

under the red river walk-on

the squandered pawn shop

pumping muscle out of my vessel

traded for a penny for the ferry

jet tail on the sea front gambling on freedom

away from black crossbones away from eden

treason, the road will wash up, defeated

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Poetry · Writing

eight minutes of ads

i passed-

a whole in the door

like cartoons in the morning

it’s over by eight;

and someone else has walked through

the door was only open

for twenty-two minutes

into a space

where doors are always open

Poetry · Writing

ghostbusters

i want to believe-

believe that today and the next are not a patch of air floating between my fingers

that your hands feel something real and not a figure of my imagination

is this- me

i can see what is real but it slips through my fingers

chasing like a dream i will fall through

ghosts of days i want to forget haunt the ones that i need to remember

is this- me

giving up like a dream i don’t know what is real anymore

maybe will buy a firehouse

make a dream of this nightmare

Poetry · Writing

three women – thank you

you watched me fall

you watched me climb, still watching

i know in her visions i am never stopping

a workhorse, mane and all

and i thank you for that:

dreaming on days when i can’t sleep

moving forward when my feet feel like concrete

living when i wasn’t sure how too

and i could never repay you-

 

i find myself wondering where you are,

if you’re still in the same city, playing the same guitar:

i left on a broken down car in the middle of a storm

lost in memories, in a jeep, with a ghost and you

no phone, no address, no one

a seven on my arm drawn in charcoal

the same one i drew on a casket not an hour earlier

and i haven’t seen you since

i hope you made it out of the storm too-

 

i love you- with only nine lines i couldn’t begin to explain

the light that i see in you, it is blinding

and i don’t need my mask, exposed to all of you;

it feels fucking great

your body in my hands warms my soul

my heart beats out of my chest when you’re near

and it’s been like that since you’re light touched me-

you’ll change the world, you’ve already changed mine

 

thank you

 

 

 

Poetry · Writing

podium lows

can’t finish first every time

you’ll finish short

and watch someone else cross your finish line-

i know

i know you can’t win them all but you were the one

so this one hits harder

everything feels so much farther

just watch the podium

this one wasn’t yours

they’ll talk about it for a week

and you’ll be gone

but be back

it was just one race

Poetry · Writing

clear vision – answering machine

i never ran away with doubt

danced with greed

or slept with fear,

it was always clear vision-

no second thoughts of where i needed to be

who i needed to be

i have seen them laying and waiting

for me to slip up;

but i have left them behind

feet no longer on the ground

cut a whole in the boat they’ve all drowned

snuck out at night never made a sound

and they won’t see my number again on that answering machine

they’ll see me from a distance with you

jealous talking shit, but i’ll never split

 

Poetry · Writing

kiddle

seen it before

this is the part of the story were i start a fire;

same book, different page-

so lets burn the book

set fire to nights reflecting on those pages,

stay up all night and write new ones

laugh a little more love a lot harder

let you know that i will never run away

never be the one to be consumed by fire

i have been so tired

of this book- seared pages- same ending- new flames

not this time,

i am not the human tourch

or controlled by these fears-

we will write a new one

call it the kiddle

so no fire will come close

Poetry · Writing

saint III

i looked you in the eyes

and i took your words as gospel

preacher of the light

the filler of void

an anchor in the middle of the ocean

and on this cruise, you were the voice of reason

that outfit you can wear during any season-

i pray to you;

before thy i kneel and worship the grace you give

the challenge in your eyes gives strength to those

that can’t will themselves from bed

that can’t summon the strength

that wish for change and are granted borrowed time from your generous hands

that you for the gifts wrapped in neat bows

an angel from below i thought sent to curse

to burn

yet you tend to my gardens

for i

for i am only a humble poet

a dancer of water for the moons wishes

a singer for those souls that cherish the moments that never end

and you granted my wish

for that;

i will love in my borrowed time

i will write about your words

about your beauty

about this life, from this view

 

Poetry · Writing

tootsie roll

i walked a line

that was drawn for me

words were not my friend i found comfort in the arms of another

before the pen was my pillow

i needed you to find the center of a tootsie roll pop

i couldn’t rely on my own will

on my own path

on my own words

bleeding was just casual

love was always occasionally

direction was always running in after the bell rang on a monday morning with one shoe and no backpack;

 

always after the test was done-

always after the she found another-

always too late

Poetry · Writing

same problem – different day

and it is always me

caught in the darkest corner of my mind

wandering aimlessly destroying the structure that wasn’t

in the last invasion claiming the lives of more innocent thoughts-

i can put down the knife but i can’t hide it

when i am not looking, i will continue to cut and stab and kill

until this home is a crime scene;

there are only a few calm moments

a voice that sends me, the other me

running- running to a place i have yet to evict

to a place he calls home that has it all put together

but

when i am gone:

picket fence repainted

door mat dusted

time for books to be placed back on the shelf

photo albums rebound

dinner in the oven

albums placed next to the sega genesis

and

i

can

breathe