a villanelle

Flight School

You’ll unfold your wings, you tired bird;
Arise and stretch to greet the day,
And when you take the sky, cry out to be heard. 

Through the night you did rest, unstirred.
Now, the morning dew falls as if to say,
Come, unfold your wings, you tired bird.

In quiet slumber with not one word
And in sweet repose you did lay.
Soon you’ll take the sky and cry out to be heard.

Through dreams of flight you’ve been spurred
Make them true in your way
It’s time to unfold your wings, you tired bird.

Aspirations and reality become blurred,
While the dawn chases darkness out, away.
It’s time to take the sky and cry out to be heard.

Put aside your sleep and dreams, for life instead, deferred.
Carpe diem, goes the archaic cliché.
Unfold your wings; be not like the tired bird.
Enter flight! Take the sky! And cry out to be heard.

six AM is the new midnight

don't call me;
don't call me baby.
no, don't call me babe.
don't call me anything at all.

sick and sad and lonely and kind of afraid.
i'm sick and sad and lonely; it's just one of those days.
sick and sad and lonely and i thought I was done.
sick and sad and lonely... 
i thought i was...
i was wrong.

from idealistic romantic to fatalistic realist.
my philosophy is post-transcendental and pre-making sense.

when i thought i had the world at my feet
it turned out i was at the foot of the world.
i was certain;
now uncertainty asserts itself and i'm not so sure anymore.
i was dancing through life and then i remembered--
i don't even know how to dance.

now's your chance.
"i told you so. i told you."
that's just how the story goes.

this one is going to be a song!

Laundry and Love Notes
don't you know you were my favorite?
are not were, now pardon me.
let's go out on the town,
see a show, grab a bite to eat.

i'm sitting here in an empty house
my mind has turned itself inside out
the floor is laid out with clothes and paper,
laundry and love notes left incomplete. 

ages ago and a long time from now
we saw things we are bound to see.
but follow my lead, bare your heartstrings,
on principle i know nothing. 

it's easier that way.
yes, i said it's easier that way.
your head's not rushing,
your heart's not broken,
your blood is flowing,
leave tomorrow, take today.

a cool breeze blows  through the screen door,
cool memories blow over me 
it's kind of soothing, kind of moving,
it reassures me summertime ain't always scorching heat.

yeah follow my lead, bare your heart strings
leave tomorrow, take today. 

spoken word/slam poetry style

The Gray 
The fact of the matter is that the facts don't matter.
As a matter of fact, lacking tact and all class
I'd call the facts a right pain in the collective ass
of anyone who's ever known hope, love, or pain
and to every single person trying to keep themselves sane.
This game that we play, tug-o-war, keep away,
We strive to explain all the loss to our brains
As we walk and we talk and we drop more than names
and all the time tell our children this is not all in vain.

The struggles that we face are not all in vain.

Large or small, short or tall,
Black or white, scatter brained or on the ball
Demons they battle, everyone, one and all.
Be it abuse, money, lust, drugs, self worth, or alcohol.
Darkness and light compromise in the gray,
And for now compromise will help us to stay
Up above the dirty water that we tread every day,
And the verses that we write and rhymes that we lay,
Will help us to keep all our demons at bay.

The words on the page keep our demons at bay.

This life can be hard and these times even harder,
But success can be found if sought after with ardor.
Now I'm going to hijack some old dusty cliches, 
See, the trick is to always live for today,
Let tomorrow worry about itself for a change.
What will be will be were the words spoke to me,
And after all that I've seen I still believe in a dream.
Beyond the clouds and beyond the days lacking sunlight.
We can make up a life where if we go down we still fight,
Get back up, and keep on, keeping our goal in mind,
It's about belief in ourselves and what's in front, not behind.


The past is the past so leave it behind.

she said: are you looking for something?

Girls and Boys
He swallowed a hand full of thumbtacks. She offered him a glass of gasoline to wash it down with. They made love. 

The girls aren't interested (unless he has some sort of complex)
Some kind of Macho/sad little puppy dog/deeply misunderstood/impenetrable...
Differentiating factor .
They want... 
Hands all over (and over and over and over again...)
No no no. Chaste. Gotta be chaste.
Really, there's no right or wrong way (until she says there is, and then you BETTER BELIEVE you are doing it wrong).

And the boys? They're oblivious, too (unless she's already taken [and ESPECIALLY if the other guy is an ass hole]).
Or has an eating disorder, cuts herself, maybe.
Unattractive as it seemingly comes off, they gravitate towards that kind of thing. 
Suckers for wanting to save the girl. (Growing Up Male rule #1: there is always a maiden, and she will always be in need of rescuing).

No, the boys and the girls couldn't give a fuck less.
At least...not until something isn't quite right.
At least...not until there's a challenge.
There always has to be a challenge. 
Because if it's easy...
If it feels right...
Then it's wrong.

These words ring cynical?
Good. At least the idea of cynicism is still alive.
Daunting those who haven't fallen pray to this
Uncompromisingly arrogant way.
Maybe you will be something like me and despise
This masquerade.
This cat and mouse love hate hate love love game.
Built upon sexism on both ends and preconceived notions of what
Any given boy, any given girl would, could, or should be.

To all of those who ever had a piece of my heart, mind, or spirit--a message:

Face to Back to Heart
Here we are
Face to face
Or back to back...
It depends on the day.
I've got my responsibilities and engagements to uphold;
The same goes for you.
I'm sure, I'm SURE you are pulled as taut as I am in regards to...everything. Life. 
Even more so, maybe.
But I'm letting you know even though we're back to back or face to face but never really heart to heart anymore...
We can be.
I'm right here and I'm not necessarily waiting, but I'm ready at any time.
I'm ready and I'm willing to stop the motion of move move rush rush move for you.
I'm completely game for doing that.
Just let me know that it's alright for me to let you know that things never ended,
They just got busy
We just got older
But we've still got us.

three poems yet one poem

I Am / Faith and Everything After / Phonographs and Digital Files
I am a dumpster.
I am a French cologne.
I am a shitty bike.
I am a fucking Rolls-Royce.
I am your first mistake.
I am your final truth.
I am nothing 
And I am everything.
I am yours.
I am mine.
I bow to no one.
I sing your praise.
I can't move.
I'll never stop.
I am hell bound.
I am heaven sent.
I am revolting.
I am picture perfect.
I am.
I am.
I am.

What ever, however I am, I am
And I'll never be different.
But I'll never be quite the same.

Lips that told secrets.
Ears that listened.
Minds that retained.
Never mentioned,
Ever present.

Eyes and glances
Fingertips and brushes
Faith and everything after.

There is a part of me that knows you'll always be my favorite song,
But there's a part of me that knows that I'll always remain a record player
While you transform and reform and expand and compress
And now you've become a goddam mp3.
While music is a universal language, our mediums have changed.
So my old fashioned needle and your new fangled  encoding do not coincide.
But you know what, you know something? That's fine.