Evening 1/3/18

Sometimes the days are too much for me
And I don't know what to do with myself

The sentence doesn't need me once it is alive.
Where it goes, what it does is no longer my concern.

How deep must we dig to find the heart of the earth?

I am not speaking in my voice
Rather I seek
To speak
And leave the voice
I've grown into behind

Everything will be left behind
Everything will be forgotten
Everyone remembered will be lost

The line must break
The line must be broken

Piece together my head
From fragments of words
Create the image
Imagine the whole

We wish to protect the innocent
as long as we can because this life
will do everything it can to take it away.
_____________

Cream Scene Boogie Machine

Summer Sleep

Warm summer nights
Sleeping next to an open window
How easy it is
to fall asleep in this comfort
Floating between worlds
Eyes moving behind eyelids
Seeing everything and forgetting
Seeing everything and remembering

Evening 7/1/17

This place is a beginning
This beginning gives birth to steps
These steps leads to a path
This path leads to experience
Those experiences are the journey
and the destination

we came as men and left as gods

everything keeps
      moving and s pin ning
com ingto geth er and pull  ing
apart

Found

It had been a long day and now he was home.
He made himself a sandwich and grabbed a
can of soda and sat by a window. It was night
as the hangnail moon shone down it's sliver of
light. A breeze as light as an exhale gently
touched the leaves of the trees. He took a bite
of the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.
There was nowhere else to go. This was
where he needed to be. The crack the can of
soda made as he opened it cut the stillness
with it's metallic pop. The carbonation made
his throat burn ever slightly, he tried to avoid
drinking too much soda. His dad had told him
to not have too many when he was growing up.
Normally he would have put a record on to
listen to but not tonight. Tonight he allowed
the stillness of night in. It was so much more
peaceful here than growing up in the city.
He loved the city, he supposed he always would.
As he grew older he felt it to be a bit much.
As much as the city could bring people together
it could also foster a great sense of isolation
among people. Perhaps it was not the city
itself that caused the isolation, it was more the
result of the people living in it. The small town
he lived in was the kind of place he would have
avoided as a teenager or young man but now it
gave him comfort. He was no stranger to his
neighbors and the clerk at the general store knew
him by name. He took another bite of his sandwich
and let his mind empty for a moment. It was easier
for him to do this since he began living in the town.
The ability to slow thought down to a crawl was
never something he could afford to do in his old home.
Here it was not only possible but expected. What
good is a human mind that can not let itself be
empty from time to time? It would be summer soon.
The evenings would be a little warmer and humid
but no less pleasant. There would be nights when
he would put on his records and let the music
waft from his windows and into the calm night.
There would be nights when family and friends
from afar would visit and he would play host as
they marveled at the place he now called home.
They would wonder if he had gone mad or at
last found the thing they had all been looking for.

before the drive

Sitting in my car
looking through the windshield
flecked with rain 
resting on the glass
The world glimmers wetly
for a moment 
before I turn on the wipers
and see things as 
they are once more

Night Bloom

Nights of endless wandering

Through lamplit boulevards

Cities blend into one another

Indistinct and uniform

I open my windows

Cool evening air

Tousles my hair

Heartbeat steadies

To the time of the ballad

Braking to a stop

Impatient heart

Heavy foot

Green sets me alight

Forward rush

Into midnight light

Deep breath

Exhale

Blood of the city

From my marrow

It comes

Flows through me

A creature

At home in this place

Sweet Moon

Kiss me as a lover 

8/29/16

11:22pm

Kiss me beneathe the tree 
under which I heard you sing.

Notebook Dump #7

I fall awake with great difficulty most mornings but I am glad to do so while I can. Mornings move swifter than I do and quickly rush me in to afternoon. Afternoons are never in a hurry and are quite content to laze about as long as the sun holds her place above. Afternoon and Evening meet at the far edge of the horizon where the ocean and sky blur into a singular being. They trade off duties as the Moon ascends to her rightful place as she permits us to gaze upon her pocked white face. Her blemishes only increase her beauty as she travels across the sky like a car full of teenagers down the boulevard on a Friday night. She guides us into unconscious tranquility and whispers to us in the faintest of voices so we wonder what were the words we heard and what could they possibly mean.

Beneathe the Harvest Moon

We have yet to dance beneathe 

the light of the full moon,

still, I dream of this future memory

as though I were remembering

the last time I held you.

Ending The Night

I am awake because I am tired
and cannot sleep.
The neighbors across the way
are as loud at 2 a.m. as at 10 p.m.

When I fall asleep I am good
at remaining undisturbed through
whatever turbulence the night brings.
I have not undone the laces on my shoes,

my bedclothes rest on top of my sheets.
When I am in bed I will listen to the sounds
outside my window, the breath from my lungs,
the steady sound of my internal metronome.

After Work

The brown bag would have fooled no one had anyone 

walked by and seen it. There aren't many reasons to grip

a brown bag and put it to your lips. 

Work had been a bore that day, it usually was. He drove

to the liquor store near his house and bought a cheap 40oz.

bottle of malt liquor.

It wasn't just work that was boring, his life had fallen into

a rut that got deeper every time he woke up. The drink

was always something that soothed the dull ache.

From his porch he could see the glowing lights of neighboring 

windows. Occasionally a car would drive by at the speed limit.

His body glowed with an inner warmth.

It wasn't so bad now. Sleep would come soon. Night became 

a fading memory as the newspaper landed in the driveway.