crutch

some days are angry wasps,

or lonely birds,

and I'm a colicky one,

never quite fit the puzzle piece,

caged in a damp shirt,

a box fan works the sticky heat through dusty spaces,

perched floors above,

the swarms of traffic,

rushing trucks bullet,

from deadline to deadline to deadline,

clenched jaws,

swallow the fatigue,

and long for the sanctuary,

of a good night sleep,

I'm not expecting tenderness,

or a comforting touch,

emotions remain an untamed ox,

when the mind is mush,

if everyday is a mountain climb,

than I'm a man with a crutch. 

a puzzle unsolved

let it be unresolved,

a puzzle unsolved,

I won't shake your hand because there is a barrier between us,

I'm not appeased by your glib smile and pat on the back,

you were brought up thinking there could be a resolution,

taught a story in which things ultimately work out for the better,

you have become used to that emotion you get,

the appearance of success,

when you convince people that you like them,

and that there is no problem between you,

but then you tear them apart behind their back,

or at the very least, forget about them,

and all they have done for you,

you lazy motherfucker,

you are a loathsome sight,

and I am sickened,

that so many of these beautiful, naive sheep fall for your bullshit,

so now, 

as you stand before me,

I won't shake your hand,

you looked shocked and surprised,

yours is extended and waiting,

but I want you to accept the barrier between you and me,

I want you to understand there is a problem,

and it is unresolved,

and I want you to embrace this unresolved state,

to let it be,

be strong,

I know you can do it,

I want you to feel the distance I feel,

to go to bed at night knowing there is a problem between us,

that things are unresolved,

for your disingenuous movements have made me weary,

so please accept the uncertainty,

put your hand down,

and go,

keep going,

for there is a barrier between us,

it is ok,

it is just unresolved,

let it shake you awake,

let it make you hungry again,

for something more than the mediocre bullshit that you have gorged upon,

the false modesty you are so full of,

which has made you so complacent,

numb,

and fat,

 

why, we are a puzzle unsolved,

so please live with it now,

this distance, 

let it be unresolved,

let the puzzle be unsolved,

it is the natural state.

girlfriend

your whining girlfriend

just fucking shoot me now

orange red sunset

pseudonym

"Ever feel like a pseudonym?" she asked,

"What?" he questioned,

"I mean, do you ever feel like someone other than you?" she asked,

"Well, that's not really a pseudonym...you write under a pseudonym specifically because you want to protect the real you...like you're scared that your real name will be negatively affected or something...." he replied,

She laughed quietly as if she didn't care or already knew what he was explaining,

"That's not being very honest...or open or whatever," she remarked,

"Well, it's a dangerous world...privacy especially is all fucked up now," he stated,

They lay quietly on the couch watching the flickering television, 

hypnotized by the images moving through the darkness of the room,

"Hey, are you going to come to the cottage next week?" she asked curiously,

"Um, is your Dad going to be there?" he asked,

"Uh, probably...why?...it doesn't matter...just come..." she replied,

"Then no," he said sharply,

He continued, "he's just going to put me through the ringer."

"What?" she asked smiling,

He replied, mimicking her father's voice, "You got a real job yet son?...you still working part time at that coffee shop?...how do you expect to provide for my daughter on shit money like that?..."

"Oh bullshit...." she said laughing loudly, "you're crazy."

As they lay there, the summer night breeze blew gently through the open curtains. She seemed to fall asleep as she lay against him. He puffed quietly on a joint as he flipped between fishing shows and an old Steve McQueen movie with the sound off. This apartment seemed to have become kind of like an oasis of sorts. Like some kind of peaceful space where he could be with her unimpeded by the usual demands of ever impending adulthood. 

"In a way, lately, I do feel like a pseudonym...I feel like someone else..but I don't know who," he said quietly in the dark of the room thinking she was asleep. After a awhile he began to drift away into flowing lacquered memories and old songs.

In the quiet she asked gently, "are you still awake?"

"mmm hmm," he hummed lazily,

"I'm still awake too," she whispered.  

music in the park

another weeknight,

another batch of clouds,

a bucket of balls,

before the pails of rain,

worried souls,

cash crunches and tapped out hearts,

another restless night,

with panicked dreams,

of corporate cannibals,

burning out the landfills,

trying to kill the music,

a failed experiment,

of rich men in leather chairs,

hidden behind curtains of conformity,

the "opium of the masses,"

making us skeletons of fear,

screaming in lonely rooms,

but then I heard music,

and I awoke to remember,

the world is my own,

another crisis was part of the lies,

another passing storm,

another sunrise.

vultures over the landfill

an old woman irons shirts,

in the window of a highrise,

under a midnight moon,

a man below screams at the TV,

with a six pack and a foul mouth,

rust and the smell of paint remover,

wisps of hair flutter in a dirty breeze,

looking for answers,

in ideas, sounds, words,

finding only interpretations,

opinions nothing more,

than the bastard children of thoughtless bitterness,

the tap of leather shoes,

move outside a squeaky door,

an ant on the ceiling,

a spider on the floor,

their lives are small,

but mine isn't much more,

just a speck on infinity,

fueled on alchemical lore,

born to be responsible,

to choose the endless chore,

of seeking the Self,

hidden at the core.