you ain’t
lonely enough yet
show me your
friend-ship
and i’ll sail it
straight for the rocks
wish i could
say i didn’t know
where you went
but i went there too
just did not
see you coming
when you
scraped me
off the side
of the ship
just like
those bar-knuckle
sandwich bagged &
brown eyed blues
they won’t sit
still for long enough
to take that picture
to the next level
of the demolition phase
before completion
there were
only goal posts
to show us
both sides
a thousand yards
in any old field
to go please
older now!
The children are older now
They don’t say the darnedest things
But something’s holding mom and pop together
Aside from all the needles broken, and stricken from the record
The only thing their conversations lack
Is a word to pinpoint all of the blessings
All arrayed in such minimal disguises
And their memories collide sometimes
Escaping blind alleys,
Burning buildings,
Park benches,
Bad loans,
Bad news,
Bad directions…
The children are older now
They don’t say the darnedest things
special guest manifest
brains!
brains!
putrid
ham
a sinewy
spiral
like a
wicker
tornado
hamper
all things scottish or it’s crap
*nurh*
lively hood
you shake all the branches
of this tree
this is true
all the branches would agree
the ants would have no limb to climb
without a bark
not a bite
they’d never make it past the massive masked anteater
to find the boat upon the mountain decked out like a parade float
who should dare
open the door
to see if there’s a window too
while balancing water on each knee
an elevator
full of fire
there we’ll find just the right leaves
and the peaceful in the storm
held still
holding
watch out for that glass, it’s a sea nod your head if you’re asleep
done
deal
pull my sleeve if you can’t hear me
from the tree that we lean on
to counting with our eyes closed
pushing the boat over
capturing our next breath
no wrong numbers
who was i
fighting, i never
saw anyone
in my path
the way i went
about swinging
lashing, at what
i know not
who held me up
against my wishes
who watched who
drowning, crawling
who was that
that put me
back on the shore
feet in the sand
who was it, just wanted to play
& find something
to eat, to drink
not me
i was in
some other way
how could i
surrender now
after a lifetime
of hardly living
breathing on occasion
with these weapons
held tighter to my chest
than each fist
within arms’ reach
who was it
that wanted and still wants
to hold this hand
so full
so awful
counting
digits
freeze
someday i’ll forget, as of yet, i do well to remember
i remember well
that night
it was a friday
& quiet
i said one thing
& you thought i meant another
so i chose to ignore your reply
without an alibi
all i could think was
i love you, i love you
i hate to let you go
but you must not think
too good of me
for your sake
you must know the truth beyond
when you can’t figure out how
i must be willing to let you
see the bad sides & seeds
for what they truly are
in me first, in order that
i may not behave so blindly
the next time
i may gain understanding
by the mercy of Him
who sent you to me
not that i might discount grace
but that i would see it more true
considering how badly i need it
not that i have obtained it or deserved it
regardless of my finest
of intentions & inventions
from which come all manner
of confusion & collapse
calamity for the sake
of my most sincere condolences
in lieu of finding
the patience to endure
a temporary fit of conscience
which demands to soothe
or be soothed
for sake of self alone
and no one else
but thou art true to Him first
for He is your Former
though a ladder falls
in between two walls
in a true house we prosper
not according to gain
but rather, loss
facing forward, standing
walking, kneeling
bowing
(can you tell it’s gettin’ late here?)
as though I were caught up
in clouds of other-worldly-proportions
where diamonds are still rough around the edges, yet true
and all the silver is just for spoonin’
and the milk ain’t too far-out-of-the-way-to-go
between the last 2 grains of all the cereal in all the world
in 2 big brown hopeful bowls full
held in rapture by 2 wild blue yonder scoops
out from under the tutoring of the moon
sometimes the cheese gets sneaky
like a fingernail couldn’t cut it
and the red planet is parted
by words that barely escape her lips
the chalkboard has to go
the eraser and the chalk are held up
like a bank robber’s invisible arms
the potato sack is still missing a leg
come race time, come finish line
before them there is only a cloud
then comes the rain, then the fire, all consuming
then the ground returns
but it will not find their feet
because they found each other first
being carried by their Maker
notes for not just any tiffany (b. mar. 29,’11, & keep on going…)
strangers always recognize when something’s not too familiar
gee, look at the time…
what if i were in a bad mood for a long long very long time-seeming-longer-than-actual, imitation-real, substantialesque, momentary (even), collapsible, temporary, take-out, say, almost non-existent, spilt-secondary-chance-like-a-trance, where once there was a dance…
i began to write a song, as usual:
hell is a lukewarm place
where hearts won’t melt
& noses don’t freeze
where cards hold hands
like leaves hold trees together
———–
that’s why he’s got to spit us out
better a dry morsel with contentment
than much with strife
pressing down
“my life”
despite the feeling
i am caught
in the neighborhood
of million-dollar bad guys
makes me wanna steal everything back
from the bad king who steals
what i thought i needed
now i know, but i’m no better
that is sadder than this
more breath taking though
than what i was amused with
———–
some months have passed,
since first you asked,
in your all-too-truly-unquestionable-fashion,
what was i doing there,
among the birds in that tree of sad songs?
but your voice was & is the exception,
and your bird wouldn’t settle,
for any old cage ( i imagine )
———–
just think
if we weren’t so lovesick
we might find better things
heaven forbid: a handshake for surety, a bargain, a steal
love must be found to be of truer stuff still
He is our longing, though we do not know: how long?
He is our comfort, though we hardly feel… so…
He will not let us fall
Unless we fall completely
Apart
So that
We might be brought nearer
From loneliness
To otherness
Because there is no “other”
Outside of Him all fails to be significant
& so,
to me,
you are
prelude to emily l.
the point of turning &
what left my hands burned
wait until it dies
that’s all the devourer
in me tells me
when i won’t listen
there is no common sense
can not abide with
must reject the concept
of simpler times imagined
all the bells, whistles, wind chimes
i attempt to sell
a friend says no
we were who?
we were just talking about that!
hold on, i got dirt in my nose,
no way!
yeah, totally serious, this sucks
awesome man!
did you know i was a vacuum salesman!?
dirt is one thing you can’t breathe
but we all dream of the clouds, surrounding, enveloping, carrying
& the wings that took us there had disappeared
& we were motionless, so glad to be @ rest
& the moisture was reasonable
not too hard to swallow or share
no rationing, none poisoned
sustaining, perhaps
from the fire below & the rising heat
the build up, the wind
having completed it’s full swing
& the hammers in safer hands
& the pipes in pools of their own, standing taller than ever
& the music pointing the right direction
instead, instead, instead
of all the obvious flaws
the reverse
& beautiful
so much more so
& we thought we knew
but we were only talking
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