Our Last Summers

They said, "this is your last summer alone;
you'll be swept away in the winds of the cold,
like everyone that's ever cried,
and wrung their hands to help decide."
Where do you go?
when there is no destination.
And for the last time in the history of man
a child grows into his nation.

They said, "this is your last summer alive."
But I won't be so far away as I try.
Each leaf that falls to cover the past
leaves trees empty, burns wicks to wax.
(sigh)...Another candle gone,
and there is no culmination;
just summers away, gone, and dead,
leaving no trace of an explanation.

They said, "ah, but this is life."
They said, "ah, but don't you fight.
With a strong wind your candle's gone."
(out, out!)
Wicks to wax and on and on.
(you brief candle)
We're walking shadows in our last summers.
(out, out, out!)
Count on till you reach a hundred.
(we are heard no more...)

~05/2006

Bittersweet

The bitterness of your distance
fades a little every day;
each airplane that floats by
takes me miles and miles away.
This way, I'd go, I'd run, I'd hide,
but your eyes see past all the pride.
Though I will be invisible to you,
through and through I know I'll wait,
and savor each little taste you give me...
every one is bittersweet.
It's you and me,
but it's bittersweet.

I dreamt I ran a marathon,
but it was all the wrong direction.
I dreamt I won the lottery,
but my wealth crushed the economy.
I woke and walked along the beach,
rainy sand on foreign feet;
looked and saw, to my surprise,
two sets of footprints on the horizon.

The bite and sting of pesky thoughts;
where's the peace of eastern men?
I'm not religious, but if I believed,
the laws of nature would have to bend.
And I drive the same monotonous route
day by day, and lacking you.
Through and through you know I'll take
and savor each little taste you give me...
every one is bittersweet.
It's still you and me,
but it's bittersweet.

I dreamt I climbed the tallest mountain,
but still couldn't reach to touch the sun.
I dreamt I swam across the ocean,
and in the middle you were floating
like an island, a lonely planet...
sleepless nights with airplanes landing.
I couldn't hear above their roar;
I yelled for you 'til my throat was hoarse.

* * * * *

And so I stir, spoon in coffee,
wondering when to lift and taste.
Bittersweet we may always be,
and if I find that that's the case,
I may nod and go, or hide, or stay,
but you'll have to fix things any way.
This is what's inside of you,
this battle waged inside of you,
and each taste you choose to give me,
every one is bittersweet.
It is you and me, yes,
but it's bittersweet.

I dreamt I played the perfect song,
and forgot it when I paused too long.
I dreamt I drove, or maybe flew,
but crashed along my way to you.
I woke and walked along the street,
ghetto trash on foreign feet;
looked and saw no signs of life,
all alone in the night.
So I kept on walking down the street,
singing, "you and me, we're bittersweet."
"You and me...it's bittersweet."

~06/2006

Half Right

You're no private school;
there's tradition in all the rules.
If only it were easy,
like one less head, an empty seat, but
I've got voices that follow me.
They talk to me,
condescendingly.

You're no math exam;
I can't study my way into being a man,
or cheat inside of any class,

because this is only fail or pass.

I've got voices that condemn me:
they're temporary,
as is my sanity.

You're no flag salute;
I sing anthems in a tie and suit,
but they don't mean a thing
if I don't believe in what I sing.
I've got lyrics that betray me,
as if they hate me.
They hate me.

You're a book to read,
half of which I'll never see.
You're a voice in me,
half of which I'll never hear.

~06/2007

Sabotage

If you're feeling a little blind,
well, so am I.
Not that sabotage feels wrong
when you're the one who made the bomb.
It's a sort of stark surrealism:
a view that could rival an eagle's,
with a troubling lack of vision.

I'm sorry to say I'm not as self-assured
as I pretend or as you might've heard.
You're a sort of soft sabotage,
keeping quiet in the crowd,
but showing me like it's a badge.
I'd break the laws to make you proud,
but God knows we're not allowed.

If you're feeling like a bomb,
well, hold on.
I'll cut the wires and stop the song
so we won't sing of sabotage.
It's a sort of saintly sin
to see this far through all the din,
and dirt, and death of half-desired dreams...
isn't it better than facing your fears?
Isn't it? Tell the truth,
because all I fear is you.

~09/2007

Faith in Fiction

I wish I were addicted, because
addiction's an excuse, and
I could use a lie or two.
But deceiving yourself
is harder than you might imagine.
All my brain's gone to hell,
and my heart's probably worse;
I've made love such a sin
that it's become my addiction.

I want to be a politician, because
then you'd see me in a suit.
I've got looks and a mind to boot,
but they don't count for nothin':
I want a goal I can pursue.
All my love's in automatic transmission,
and all my life is shifting gears;
I wish that I had faith in fiction,
but my skepticism is far too dear.

I wish that I were licked,
defeated, face down in the dust.
It wouldn't be my responsibility anymore,
and I wouldn't have to make decisions;
I could simply blame this
all on my addictions, instead
of feeling the perpetual fear
that these are the wages of my sin...
the wages of my sin.

I wish that I had faith in fiction.
I wish that I had faith in fiction.

~09/2007

Rats Don't Run for Fun

You say I'm the rat;
I say I'm the wheel.
No cage could hold me in
or halt the way I feel.
I invented love on your behalf;
Apollo played his harp;
Rome and Greece burned down
as I serenaded in the dark.

You say I'm the rat;
I say, well, look again.
My tail is gone, as you see,
and my tale doesn't have an end.
Seven years will pass,
famine will take hold of Earth,
but I will eat my hoard of grain
while I wander, wait, and curse.

You say I'm the rat;
I say the rat is dead.
Scientists will come and go,
but I'll just go to bed.
I put on clothes, my Sunday Best,
to worship gods that are not there.
I ran upon my wheel till dawn
and realized that no-one cares.

~01/2008

Light Footsteps Tread

Light footsteps tread
outside the door of conviction.
“Let me in,” says a small sweet voice,
but I turn over in bed.
Some lovers are best left unheeded.
“Let me in!” repeats the thing, now monstrous, but
I pull the pillow over my head
and feign ignorance.


~05/06

Zoo

[Note: this poem is an abecedarian - a 26-line poem where each line begins with a successive letter of the alphabet.]

After the darkness breaks, and
before the violent armies
clash at sunrise, will you
dally to watch them, to
engage them? Will you open your breast to
fear and let it
gorge itself upon you? Or will you
hinder its progress, deny its
impact, believe that true
justice is easy, that the
kindling for a
luscious flame is
mediocrity? It is
not. It never was. The
object is
peace, the
quiet peace of the
rested, of the weary, of the
singularly afraid that extend their arms to
touch, and through touching, to
understand: life is not
violent. Life is not a
war. Life has no
xplanation.
you and I are bestial, trapped in this
zoo, fantasizing that we’re free.


~04/09

Acid

WHAT AM I TRYING TO PERCEIVE?
MY UNFETTERED SOUL,
GET RID OF THE DEVILS
WITH A SIDEWAYS MIND!
IT’S DIFFERENT THAN LIFE;
GOOD THING I KNOW HOW TO BREATHE.
I’M ALMOST A L I V E, FINALLY!
DON’T. DON’T BURN COLORS.
TAKE IT AS IT COMES.
THESE ARE MY TEARS;
MULTI-COLORED SPIDERWEBS,
LIKE A KALEIDOSCOPE ORGASM.
RAINBOW ICE IN MY VEINS,
JEWELS,
DROPS OF ACID.
I NEED TO GET RID OF THE DEMONS
THAT TICKLE ME, SHAKING
THE JOURNEY.
LIFE IS MELTING AWAY AND
WE NEED TO STOP IT.


~12/08 - 05/09

Sundial

His eyes burn first,
the sinner who incinerates himself,
and blackened corneas blind him to
the brevity of the flame.
It is a spontaneous combustion of sorts;
the brittle brush a little too dry,
the coals too covert to quench.
Next the hands are eaten by orange,
and then the body, and then
the heart, a festering flame like
a sleeping star, or a campfire,
a cannibal campfire. It casts
dancing shadows, the kind that seem
larger than they are...and all at once,
he sees through scintillating eyes:
they are not the silhouettes of a
monster, but merely - a sundial -
orienting him away from history.

-4/6/10