Archive for January, 2013

January 30, 2013

I am Looking for Him, He is looking for Me

He changed them for the world to see.

He hides what he can.

 

In a matter of just days, he altered their state.

He has touched all of our friends.

 

His absence is apparent.

His presence is a trend.

 

He has many acquaintances in need of a mend.

 

I will find you.

He says.

I am always looking.

You are always on my mind.

 

At the bottom of a bottle.

At the top of a high.

At the end of a line.

 

I just can’t, and won’t get over things until you are gone.

Excuses.

Four leaf clover kind of luck to evade the parade of flesh.

Excuses.

Without you my spirits are crushed, I am cut and dressed.

Excuses.

 

Swan Song.

 

He is hanging on forever, never saying goodbye.

We lose friends in the process, we lose sleep if we try.

 

Without a doubt, make a bet, he is breathing down your neck.

 

Then everything is over.

All is dark.

 

Everyone is sober, and all have read.

Beating a dead horse to death.

He is the smell on your last breath.

 

The End

 

***

 

The things we miss out on while sober are nothing in comparison to the things we have lost while intoxicated.

 

This piece is for my mother, the strongest person I know.

 

January 26, 2013

Perfect Morning Placement (Still-life Vagrant)

She said (some of this):

 

Passion is where your hands are at.

 

The moment you realize hotels never have quality coffee…

You have one in your hands…

 

The moment you realize the last thing you need is an ice cold beer…

You have one in your hands…

 

Love is in your hands.

 

My girl is back; my dick still works.

My ex says I have only one good quality:  A sense of humor…

 

I say perks.

 

She calls pretty regular

Smiles are not her concern.

 

I say adjunct.

 

I’m still laughing.

It was a joke that we lasted so long, yet nothing is right or wrong.

 

The aftermath is where the real comedy lies.

After that one has to decide.

 

Perfect morning placement.

There are so many different arrangements.

 

Big teeth, big eyes, no lies.

The truth is its good.

 

Staying in 3 different places, in 3 different stages, in 3 different ranges.

Enjoying the Now placement, living like a vagrant.

 

***

 

Train travel babble.

Ride the rails like thoughts, its hard to get lost when there is no destination.

 

***

 

And she asks on some social media site, “Do I know you?”

And I answer, “Probably not.”

January 25, 2013

Another One of The Few (Not for You)

Another piece from an exploited animal.

The cage remains the same.

 

Virtuoso and I haven’t even picked up the manual.

Capture that shot in a picture frame.

 

Heaven sent prospect; opportunistic optimist.

Not coming to grant your wish, just trying to exist.

 

Think about handling shit…

I can do the math-Its ____________________.

 

Baffle bitches while I swing it like a whiffle bat.

Breeze like air through holes, wearing cold sneakers and a backpack.

 

Time to relax the act.

Pick up the paint brush.

 

You show me canvass, I’ll show you abstract.

 

Cold house, small heater, Minnesota’s where its at.

Time to follow the leader.

 

2 questions:

Who’s in front though?

And can you see her?

 

***

I miss you Poopsauce, I hope everything is great in Philly.

TS_

January 21, 2013

Look The Other Way (On a Cold Winter’s Day)

Question:  How much would you have to say if you couldn’t whine or complain?

(Don’t answer that question.)

 

 

 

Then I wonder…

Are you ever going to have a good day?

 

Who is offended if they care?

Controlled stare; unfair declaration on trivial affairs.

 

Then I wonder…

Are you ever going to have a good day?

 

Spare me your fortitude, and ideas of compromised free-thought.

Spare me and get lost, or bare the cost, the brunt of frost.

 

Then I wonder…

Are you ever going to have a good day?

 

Don’t get caught.

Chopped up and Slapped down.

Found laying flat on the cold winter’s ground.

 

Then I wonder…

Are you ever going to have a good day?

 

Frown-town, Downtown, and I laugh about, without preoccupation.

-No real occupation.

Non-sensical elation.

 

Yet I wonder…

 

Sit with patience.

Doctor and his patients, same situation.

 

Another day.

Another day.

 

Yet I wonder…

 

Another day.

 

Prescribing you a remedy, that’s why you came, right?

 

Then I wonder…

Are you ever going to have a good day?

 

Is it night?

 

What do you see, taste, and smell?

So well, all the same, nothing new; mundane and tame.

 

Is it different from my senses?

 

This is your waking Hell.

And I dare to be different, purposefully, even if the criticism is sharp as a tack.

 

Then I wonder…

Are you ever going to have a good day?

 

Then I know…

Its good to be seen, just living the dream.

Still breathing as it seems, still getting by, and in between.

 

Then I know…

I know someone who is worse off then you, and they are having a good day.

 

 

 

 

January 7, 2013

Tender Thought (Self-sufficient Shorty)

She asked me if I ever got writer’s block…

I thought about it…

Yeah… I thought, but only when I’m in love; I can’t seem to get out of bed…

***

 

All that stuff in the past, I can’t rewind that.

Think as it passes, and then relax, its as good as trash at this juncture, in relation to my head.

 

I was gathering dust and rust with lust, so I traded in.

And found something underrated.

 

I found something that was there with patience:

Greatness.

 

Like rocks in a river.

Like cold to a shiver.

Like heat to a blister.

 

One another, together; behold a symbiotic situation.

A generation waited in anticipation.

Baited with cinematic inspiration.

 

And mildly let down…

 

Until…

 

It Feels like a lifetime since I’ve said I love you like this.

It Feels like bliss.

 

Like that.

Like old hat.

Like a first kiss.

 

Like this:

 

Not unlike the heat of super-glue placement on flesh, but absolutely benign.

Love is hope.

Love stops time.

Love is divine, and blind.

 

Love loses coordination; A sea-sick sailor, oh(!), on weak knees.

A maladroit, worth being teased.

It’s not butterflies within my stomach, its children on trampolines.

 

Trapeze.

 

Water and debris, in all its glory, just float by me.

All to see; my mind’s absorbing and storing.

 

Stuff like this needs to be remember for later, saved for a rainy day as they say.

 

Call it Zen, call it mother hen to chicks, call it being logical and simplistic.

We all need shelter.

We all need a little helper.

 

Every movement of the eyes is categorized, recorded, and translated into a statement.

What do they see?

 

Check the facts, there are no stats on love.

Nothing hanging above, just pure perception, intention, and honor.

 

Like subjective minutiae worth the weight of the world sitting on your chest.

Like boys and girls.

Like coming unfurled; sprawled for all to see when you’re not at your best.

 

There is only true feeling.

No embarrassment, guilt, or regret.

It is heaven-sent, even to the non-believer.

 

To live without such love would be oppression, regression of my true nature.

Not a misunderstood nomenclature, just part of my culture.

 

How one survives without someone like her, I’d be damned to know…

She is like a warm drink and chaser in midwinter, she and I sat bedside as the sky turned grey.

 

We had only good things to say; no stones to throw.

 

And that is what I thought of on New Year’s Day.

I thought of writer’s block, and how it felt when she and I were alone.

January 2, 2013

My Type (Like Me)

My type of girl might like me if she likes:

 

To take advantage and fight, or take full flight.

Or drink beers.

Or watch the stars at night.

 

On a moderate cash stash.

 

Or grab your girls ass.

Or laugh.

Or leave-

 

And get back fast.

 

Top class with a hall pass on everyday typical situations-

My pitch is for patience.

 

My time and the people around me are ageless and painted.

 

Not fleeting occasions, but I will visit some for a moment.

 

Sitting patient in the basement while others get disintegrated by the nearest bomb placement.

Adjacent awesome, blossoming like a daisy with a supply of water as plentiful as the ocean.

 

As far as you can see.

You hear me?

 

And others think I am lazy or crazy, thank you John Lennon.

 

He is thought-some.

Thoughtful.

Focused and fantastic.

To others it’s a tragedy and drastic.

They are made of plastic and spastic; damaged like broken elastic.

(Snap)

 

They snap.

 

Thinking about the time they didn’t have it, and the time they still don’t.

(Now)

And they won’t.

(But how?)

 

But I won’t joke.

 

I think its time for practice.

The 5 p’s to avoid a choke.

 

The shit like that’s it, and we sink the boat that you chose float.

I quit, so you can rest easy.

I write the stuff you quote.

 

And I am favorably friendly to most.

That’s it.

 

From above:

Likes me for who I am and who I want to be-

Who I am, you see…

Just like me.  

 

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