Sunday, August 3, 2014

new and mostly untitled

These are the dreams of 
the catatonic soldiers,
hands raised to ask 
ultimate questions 
as the riddles of sleeping, 
we are grains of sand 
on this beach 
of the dreaming. 
Standing at the ready to 
be taken by the sea of 
tranquil night

Pretending to aristocracy, 
hiding our eyes in tapestries, 
draping our bloodlines,
 I used to be a blue collar hero,
 I'm a statistic in a book, 
on a spreadsheet that only has 
Joe Friday information
What is the algorithm for loyalty, 
the equation for a handshake. 
Can you look me in the eyes and 
ask me if I'm Joe public or 
another demographic man. 
Selling my words, 
my sweat, 
my back, 
my blood, 
via your web address, 
does this URL tell you the real 
measure of a man

There are no regrets as 
I remember the feel of cigarette smoke, 
gripping like an old movie, 
familiar like a good friend, 
a stab in the back, 
uncomfortable silences that 
new friends gloss over. 
Can you forgive me? 
Especially in my overwhelming innocence, 
even in the staggering face of nostalgia. 
The smoke lingers like that 
look of disappointment, 
like cold coffee. 
Mentally I take a long drag, it 
tastes like honey and shame, 
I'm throwing this away,
crushing it under my soul, 
making sure, 
it is actually dead


Buried, under those broken things,
Held onto for nostalgia and repair, 
in a panoramic cavalcade of lost 
accomplishments and dignified failures that 
build bitter character and self loathing. 
I am a lonely wind singer 
left to set among the 
unraveled strings of the fates.
Have you ever been lost in your memories?
On those rare occasions when your past 
collides with your present and 
it feels like two stepping on a grave. 
Today I looked in the mirror and 
saw the me you see when you tell those old 
stories of our adventures. 
Sometimes I remember him, 
he used to believe in magic and 
weave spells with his loquacious finger tips. 
We drink coffee and talk, 
but only occasionally. 
He usually laughs at 
my foolish pack rat collection of memories and l
eaves me to chant 
my damaged incantations

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