a sun & a moon
twisted souls
like a tree
we’ll see
what becomes of me
through leaves
sun peer
casting long shadows
by which well steer
(leave?)
no, I will wait and see
what it is
that becomes
of me
night sets
and moon free
cold besets
heavy breath
cause in these moments
you and me,
will come to grips
with what I bleed
and in my eye
you will understand
that part of me is man
and part something else
something else entirely
something outside of me
and if you will,
would to have me
you must comprehend
that it’s all me.
My Maladjusted Eyes
i feel it.
pounding
like a headache
approaching
like a bouncer
this thing,
this thing inside
makes its way
towards the door
and turns the knob
oh god, not now
and lets
a little light
natural light
in
you would think
the opposite
on my
maladjusted
eyes.
my maladjusted eyes.
God.
how long has it been?
how long’s it been
since I’ve seen the Coast?
The shore goes on
even though I don’t see it
Rhythmic
Undying
A thing that exists outside my control
but not yours
It’s been so long!
I feel it would pull me below
ankles in the undertow
over hands and brows
temples seething cooled
(why do I let it come to this?)
My maladjusted eyes.
Why don’t I see?
Or though seeing, unbelieving?
will be the End of me.
..and would that be so bad?
would I mind?
If I gave in
and let it,
Start over
believing
(Like a Baptism of sorts)
Could the old man die?
But a belief
that I would be brought back to life-
knowing
expecting it to?
Like the Waves,
Perpetual
Untimed, but rhythmic
My falls and woes
ebbs and flows,
(Something
you always knew would happen)
and I wouldn’t mind.
(If it was You,)
I wouldn’t mind.
river current turbine
Sometimes I wonder
whatthehell is wrong with me.
I have two modes
onward and recovery
anything in between
leaves me wanting.
and often misbehaving.
Whatthehell is wrong with me
Or is everything all right
and that’s just the way I work
An appetite that with certainty
will keep me moving
or imploding
but not…Still
a
river
that
flows
but not stopped
tur
bined
chan
neled
but never stopped
and I got to figure
what to do with
this current
blocked
end
the
m
o
v
e
m
e
n
t
o
n
w
a
r
d
missed connections
douche bag dudes
(with nice girls)
good hearted guys,
girls
with wondering eyes
when will they ever
get it right
?
next Halloween
halloween
next
year i know
what we’ll be
we’ll dress up
you and i-
hope-pair-pain
it’ll be the best
handmade
costume
they’ve
ever
seen
on television
or the big
screen
in scarcity
or in quantity
in plenty
in want
in need
it’ll be
you n me.
nights
believe it or not
there was a time
when your parents
would stay up
all night.
and then you
came along.
balance
Some people say
the goal
is Balance
I don’t believe that.
not in the way
people say
vanilla is not the
culmination of flavors
(Just because white
Light is)
Grey is not
the best color,
just because
you can mix
& mix
until you get
it
.
2]
Circles.
Circles as we know it
Are an invented shape
At least
in their perfected form
Those don’t exist
In nature
But seasons have cycles
and I believe in that.
Tree trunks have rings
and I believe in that.
Death and rebirth,
earth will compost
the very tree it helped
Become
a new one
Only the sun is constant.
(And it’s an imperfect
circle)
But even that,
Rotates into night.
(The circumstance
Change)
and we orbit on axis.
3/]
I believe in Seasons.
and seasons of the soul.
That we go through
death and rebirth,
Days and nights
Sowing and reaping,
Growth and destruction
There’s no scales in wilderness
just food chains
and supply & demand
And I think that’s what
we operate on:
hunger
and a desire to fill that hunger.
And that keeps us moving…
and that keeps us hungry…
and that keeps us moving…
and that keeps us hungry…
To The Bar (The Top)
I.
I’m about to go
to my favorite bar
And pay with
Wooden tokens.
How awesome is that.
II.
The difference
with alcohol
Is that
The room seems louder.
Even if it’s not
III.
The difference
with Academia
is
that they have
to do it
for the money.
I don’t.
IV.
The Sound
of the Cicadas
on the walk home
is deafening,
but oh,
so familiar…
25 years familiar.
#Gainesville
no help here
the way poets write
about bars
would make you think
they’re tired of em.
but they’re not.
(no,poets love
the noose
this bottle
is a muse.)