June 13, 2011

• All My Excuses

  Wet Space

  In a relationship lost at sea
  such a wonderful place to be
  since I never could stand
  being stuck on dry land
  that is planning to bury me

  But I cannot deny it’s a thrill
  when cresting the top of a hill
  and I see a new view
  that just wouldn’t be true
  if it wasn’t for my own will

  Still the water makes everything cool
  and the ship is my home and my school
  where my goal is a shore
  I can roam and explore
  finding everything there has some rule

  And I know I could never feel free
  ’til I’m back making waves in the sea
  where the stars realize
  were it not for my eyes
  they could never mean anything to me

  On the Diversity of Nutrition

  I had a vision at school one day
  inside a book, yet far away
  beyond alive, below the living
  unborn, an omen of Thanksgiving

  The leaves were dead in spite of joy
  with swirling winds in their employ
  the cool air seeping right through the glass
  interrupting my sacrifice to algebra class

  With so many reasons to be alive
  I wondered why so many people strive
  to attain perfection or relative success
  even suffer for it, take abuse, no less

  And I suddenly felt my malaise slip away
  it’s a cycle to ride, just an ordinary day
  so I ate my algebra and washed the dirty plate
  I knew the leaves and the wind would wait

  waking up at convenient times

  when I was young and god was new
  and life was green and red and blue
  I would sing the songs from the radio
  never lacking for anything to do
  with thoughts of death and fantasy
  and hearts forever true

  the mornings felt like progress
  the evenings felt like dreams
  until one day I awoke in protest
  and nothing was what it seems

  except love, even with all the corn
  and giggling when new thoughts are born
  and loneliness in introspection
  and pain when oaths are sworn

  when I grow up and god is close
  and fear is selfish and morose
  I will dance the steps of the world-wide-web
  not afraid of stepping on toes
  to dream of love with smileys and prose
  and hearts like nobody knows

  A Bohemian Yearnal

  I long for a ramshackle hole in a wall
  with insects and mildew, uncomfortably small
  surrounded by refuse, recyclables and all
  and a candle that smells of anything but pine

  I would go there to think and reflect on my life
  and the women I’ve known who could have been a wife
  and I’d be sure to bring my lucky pocket-knife
  to carve a sort of memorial sign

  I’d write ‘this is the life you warned me about
  with no real desirable qualities to tout
  but it’s mine, you can’t have it,
  you’ll have to live without’
  because I know I am doing just fine
  and nothing can ever really be mine

  • 5:36 am
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