Things I Said Once

I am Tired

April 6th, 2009 at 9:28 pm (Poetry/Prose)

Lacking ambition,
I find no force,
No guide.
I am already tired.

This is common,
Fatigue.
Heavy legs, dragging feet,
Barely beyond the frame of my door.

I hope to be elevated.
Not to climb.
Never under my own power.
This is an important distinction,

An inconsistency of character,
A quirk.
My personality, perhaps.
Perhaps it will work itself out in time.

This will pass.
As with the good times.
One day, another,
Breath after breath.

Life after life,
One more will wax,
And wane.
Again, and again.

This is perpetual.
My love,
Or another like it.
Over and over.

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Tell it Like it Is

November 16th, 2008 at 7:41 pm (Poetry/Prose)

Make a simple observation. Step one.
Scan walls and desktops,
Feeling your way through a life,
Obscured by distance.
There is no question where you’re going.

Take in the scene,
Into account any number of tiny little details.
Points of fact, of question.
Make a point,
See where they might wind up.

You do not know me.
Look harder,
You’re certain to draw a number of conclusions.
Only it might not be what you think.
It might be different, subtle shades lighter,
Darker even.

You’ll never know. That’s really the point.
You’ll smile and speak,
Lodge your vision into discourse.
That makes it true, right?
You’ll nod gravely,
Speak in hushed tones and tell it like it is.

Only it won’t be.
It’s not that simple.
Watch and wait, You’ll be let down.
Nothing lasts,
Holds up to this kind of scrutiny.

Watch it,
Watch me wither and burn.
Slow burn,
Smoking cinders, falling ashes,
Fades away.

Only you won’t see it. I’m clever,
Slick.
I’m too good.
I’m drifting, I’m already gone.
Only you couldn’t find it. You weren’t looking.

So smile, so speak.
Know me as I might be.
Only,
I’m not,
you’ve already blinked.

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Important Toys

August 12th, 2008 at 8:22 pm (Poetry/Prose)

These are my last days. Lost to time.
To inactivity. To temptation.
Flesh is fading.
Just a start. Aches and pains.

Rising to remind me.
Caesar was mortal, afterall.
For a thousand years he ruled,
Died, ruled.

He knew that the train was going to stop.
That’s reason enough.
Cause to grab. To hold close.
Each important toy.

Nothing is important. Not through the bird’s eye.
Not a thousand years later.
So take. So love.
So long as body draws breath.

So long as the mood keeps you.
So long you might forget.
It is all ending. Someday.
Maybe tomorrow.

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Twist

August 12th, 2008 at 6:22 pm (Poetry/Prose)

Become overcome.
Unwanted, unable,
To handle this,
Latest twist.

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Call This Love

August 6th, 2008 at 9:26 pm (Poetry/Prose, Unfinished)

Love bleeds, soaks through,
Soaked sheets already soiled,
Love’s dirty little baggage,
Buried, born.

Bourne, always just out of site,
Heartbreaks marked ‘what if’,
legendary love, mythic,
Untrue.

Call this love, it’s pretty enough,
Flowered enough,
It sings, say love
When all else seems less.

Seems faded and pale,
Seams frayed, bursting,
Holding nothing back,
Constructed poorly.

Say love when you feel,
When you feel that you know,
Knowing nothing of feeling say love,
Again, love surely drifts.

Love, the forever kind,
Forever kind to the callous, shortsighted,
Never kind enough,
To avoid the eyes-wide dreamer.

Fall in love, quickly
Leaping with both feet,
Knees bent, leaping,
Headlong, out.

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Tangles of Green

July 29th, 2008 at 7:33 am (Poetry/Prose)

Fresh cut grass, hidden.
A moment within the urban sprawl.
A bit of dirt. Dark, flecked patches,
Along the knees of my favorite jeans.

A pristine place, angelic.
Tangles of moss, green.
Swings creak softly. Back and forth,
Each trip marks time passing.

Faded now, sadly.
Long since taken, buried.
Weeds grow with time. Persist,
Wrapped ’round a rusted slide.

The sun sinks atop innocence.
Light touching bits of glass.
Windblown shards broken. Carried,
Sowing the small field.

And in this moment.
This twilight breath.
The scene snags. Caught,
Between memory and the chipped face of a billboard.

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Heartbeat Beside Your Own

June 9th, 2008 at 9:19 pm (Poetry/Prose)

I spread my arms and walk.
I smile. I nod.
I watch the world float beside me,
Sample this and that,
These things and those and you’d never,
For an instant,
Think to see if I were there.

I could be invisible.
I could close my eyes and slide,
Silently into another world.
I am the ghost, in your life, the heartbeat beside your own.
Each step a whisper, breath your breath.
Warm air on cool glass,
The only signs I am here.

You are open to me.
Unaware.
You are exposed. Your flaws,
Lovely failings, you come short.
I stop to stand behind you,
Wrapped tightly against the world
The chance you might stop to notice.

You came so far to stumble
I stopped so long ago
Beyond notice, my invisibility
In your eyes. Humble.

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Just the Music

May 30th, 2008 at 7:11 am (Poetry/Prose)

I’m selling the dream of the thing.
Nothing solid, tactile,
Just the music.
The interlude of thought and desire.

‘What if’? ‘If only’?
Coming in all shapes, sizes,
All out back.
Available at a cut rate.

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Naptime

April 20th, 2008 at 6:10 pm (Poetry/Prose)

I wake up and it’s like a hundred years have passed.
My eyes struggle to focus,
There’s this nagging pain, lost somewhere at the base of my neck.
I turn and joints creak, my feet slip from the covers and touch carpet.
I rise for the first time immediately regretful, uncomfortable.
I should be somewhere else.

Anywhere but here, really,
Anywhere beyond the sheltered walls and soft comforts of home.
Pleasure is a gift, a reward extended to the worthy.
Still groggy I’ve sense enough to question whether I’ve anything resembling virtue.
Still, I breath through habit, reflex, unable to take the leap and stop.
Unable to close my eyes again, at least until another day is through.

I follow the sun.
That’s honest, right?
It’s ups and downs the measure by which I chart time.
Abiding its cycles I make more sense,
The structure becomes refreshing
After a while.

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Dirt and Lousy Conversation

April 1st, 2008 at 6:49 pm (Poetry/Prose)

I’m reluctant to tell you how I think things might wind up.
Not that I’m a pessimist,
I just think dirt makes for lousy conversation.

Polite society can’t say the sort of things I’d like to tell you.
Shovel by shovel, hand in hand,
I’m yours, baby, in pine and covered by worms.

I’m face down, facing eternity.
I’m the memory of us,
A small patch of green and maybe if I love you long enough flowers will grow.

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