Tuesday, February 28, 2012

dark corners

in the dark corners,
of peeling paint,
flickering bulbs,
some live there,
some because they have to,
some because it's who they feel they are,
they can't pretend white picket fences,
lane ways leading to big homes,
on the water,
but rather the dark corners of the city,
where the refuse unloads,
rats scrounge and the homeless shuffle with a staggered hope,
places near to me,
I wonder about those kids,
riding rusty bikes,
with dirty pants and dirty hands,
lonely faces,
retreating behind broken doors,
windows that let the cold wind whistle through,
can they sleep?
do they feel safe?
can they at least dream?
single mothers,
single fathers,
single people,
exhausted behind paper thin walls,
peeling paint and flickering bulbs,
praying for energy, time and money,
eyes peer out at me from the darkness,
maybe waiting, lost or scared,
home nevertheless,
places near to me,
I'm no better,
I hope good things happen for you someday,
you'll make some money,
you'll have clean sheets on the bed,
and heat to keep you warm at night,
I'll walk by again,
your eyes will be brighter,
you'll have a new bike,
clean pants,
and there will be some flowers in a jar behind your new window.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

symbiosis (I can't stand you)

I first read it in Joseph Campbell,
the symbol of the mountain,
metaphor of the gamble,
I first learned it on my own,
in the middle of the night,
on a cold dark road,
I had to keep climbing,
had to keep breathing,
had to keep trying,
felt like I was drowning,
rusting and corroding,
I became nothing,
the future unfolding,

it became the road that I was driving,
I questioned the point of an empty surviving,
but then the empty gave me something,
I became myself somewhere,
at the moment you looked right at me,
you were twice as there.

Tuesday, February 07, 2012


exhaust belches from midnight rigs,
as I sail through the greens,
I feel the past turn to plastic,
as I catch up to the traffic,

I try to pull more moments,
from our small moments,
but our small moments don't hold much more,
than a long, empty hallway,
or cold, deserted highway,

I try to stall time,
with a joke,
or a line,
but nothing comes to mind,

so I watch you from the window,
after you slip out the door.