Monthly Archives: November 2015

This Was Always Coming to This

We all knew this was coming to this

problem is this this is different

from this this

that for each of us trying to describe this this

or any other this that you might want to know even on just a casual basis.

This.

This was that and this will be this even when this is that.

This is everything.

His was this’s last word and it’s next

this gets around

this was just here and just here

this is wherever you call this that

and that is everything else that is not this

just like this is the fourteenth line but if we’d hiccupped together we’d be somewhere further along the

line

a lot can get coughed up in a hiccup

if this chapter was a physical or verbal response to life it would be a burp:

loud, blunt and saying nothing else

beyond the onomatopoeia

and he knew you were an assassin before you kissed him on the cheek

and said welcome to this story

sorry

so, who’s sorry now?

Sounds like someone different from whom we initially buried

does that mean we’ll eventually blame something or someone new next?

I’m an optimist

so I hope so.  

 

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By This Time Friday Night

My mind by this time Friday night can go anywhere

and here we are

even if you’re not reading this I imagine you are

and you know who you are

just like I know who you are and here we are

alone together

where do you want to go from here?

Here

obviously cause here

is where we choose to be

or we wouldn’t be here

oh, sure, we can call ourselves hostages

to falling to gravity

till we stand up for ourselves

and put our dukes up

our hands to the piano’s keyboard till eventually the piano falls on our heads

still

at least we tried

and at most

we tried

and does this make us eyes wide open explorers or blind?

Or somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean

and Christopher Columbus is standing on deck of the Santa Maria looking up at the stars

and trusts they will lead him to India

till bumping into the Bahamas wrote the character who called himself

The Writer

though now he wonders if he is Bahamas.

Bananas.

But at least he didn’t try

he didn’t feel the need to whip out a map to define his feet

and he knew just like the stars are not above him his feet are not below him.

When Death Gets Jet Lag

This sunset lets Death sneak out under these last strains of light

this dying star in all her glory

exposed in all her pink parts

as her pink purple curtain clouds draw to close

their shades in both vanity and modesty

only to fade to black

while every dusk is one minute earlier

and every day is one day later

until night falls asleep

like visiting Samoa for a day

and you leave one day before you arrived

cause stars got sleep in their eyes

and this international date line

blurs today from yesterday

so you can die today

and appear in yesterday’s obituary.

The Lunatic on the Subway

The lunatic on the subway

is less crazy when you know the song he’s singing

and though you know it’s nuts to sing so loudly on public transit

you know the lyrics

to the song

that the lunatic isn’t singing too badly

so you pretend you’re not listening

but in your head you’re singing along.

Peter Pan Staring Forty In The Face

If it wasn’t for the bathroom mirror

he would never know how old he was

and the back pain

sure you can slide into home at forty like you could at twenty

but one day later

will remind you of the twenty years that have passed

and how you were out at the plate anyway

and you can lose track of time but time doesn’t lose track of you

and you score less

and you lose more

and your only hope in winning

is scoring life on who loses more wins

cause you gotta live long enough to lose this much

so, victory for you, old man.