mind.

can't here-

hear

did you lose your?

mind.

running through

empty rooms 

and time and time-

lines.

painting walls

watching monsters

stalk though-

walls.

barriers of false

assumptions and radial

dials, tocking-

ticking.

one hand to two

momentarily dissolving

memories of other-

days.

towers falling 

empty buildings 

and kissing under-

bridges.

walking through parks

talking, pursuing 

true lies and mix-

tapes.

soundtracks of years

forgotten somewhere

maybe here-

hear-

here.

did you lose

your mind?

fallout

fall
out

like a bomb
fighting through the throng
of the wrongly
broken-hearted
half-healed
true believers
and surreal
non-believers
who say
if I may
interject
reject
and inject
reproducing momentary
awareness of time
sinking and creating
ending and resuming
just a thought
throughout the universe
timing and expanding
without much in the way of verse
you have to wonder
don't you wonder
if there is any
any place left to run
as the bomb
fights through
the wrongly
accused half-hearted
non-believers
and surreal true believers
waiting and waiting
for a oratory
of hope and glory
just a big gory
end
at the edge
destroying and multiplying
deciding the dividing
while adding the sum
of all regret
as they reject
inject
and interject
books
and looks and all the things
we idly have done
and none of the ways
through the day
though they say
there is no place left
no place left
to run
as the universe
omniverse
and multiverse
decides and invades
all the thoughts
like a bomb on a bridge
burning and damning
creating and destroying
stories and theories
science and faith
on the brink of truth
when there is nothing left
to save
and no place left to run

fall
in.

two minute poetry on the back of a card

she gave me her number
started with a 7
ended in a 6
somewhere along the way
she may have said
this could end in sex
but this wasn't through a text
and just like that she flashed
a lash
and with a wave
not a goodbye
she passed me by on the wayside
looking for another starry-eyed
broken fool
or a tool
looking for a number
that starts with 7
and ends with 6.

Phoenix

And so we watch,
the sun burn away
all the years and all the pain
Peeling back,
Running down,
Time in this town
is just a dancing clown
wanting for a crown
To maybe run,
Maybe turn,
All the days,
All the nights,
Flickering like a torch,
into someplace
with just a touch
Of renown.

---

This uses a lot of another poem I wrote called "Politician".

Christmas Mourning

He wakes with promise
Eyes open wide
Anticipation creating
Perspiration falling

He knows he's here
He can hear him down there
Filling stockings with care
But does he dare?

Creep and silently wander
To the edge
Where he sees
Just his father

Kneeling
Like a predator
Preying
Setting each gift with care

And like a snap
The boy he sees
That Santa is just
A bit of a myth

A man,
His dad,
Isn't that jolly?
And never Saint Nick

And then he's gone
Back to bed
Off to sleep
Maybe to dream

Of a time
Just one more time
When Santa was here
Down the stairs

Near the edge
Kneeling
Though never praying
Setting each gift with care

For the morning
When with anticipation
The boy goes running
To his last Christmas mourning

---

Thought I'd jump in.

Sad Reflection of Dead Ambition

Never really knew the time,
Washed up memory
Ghosts of yesterday
All creating shattered realities
Shallow visions like prophecy
On the edge of sanity

Waiting for a slip
A stop to start and end
To wake to the sound
Of car alarms
And crying dolls
Dressed for daily circumstance
If not coincidence

Happenstance
And second chance
Third and fourth
Like a chant
Down and out
But never for the count

One, to
Two
Never three

Strikes and then you're
Out
Just before the lights
They flash
And the night
It breaks

Like a wave
Don't we have?
Another and another
In the mirror

Images of youth
And age
Needles and spoons
Bottoms of bottles
And denial

Maybe just systematic
Automatic
Promises and near
Misses
Going through the paces

Just sad reflections
Of dead ambition.

bang, bang

i saw this kid today
he held a gun
and he went,
"bang, bang"
as he ran down the hall

he was fighting
invisible villains
hallway horrors
memories like shadows
of nightmares had

he ran and ran
shouting,
"bang, bang"
gun in hand
a little warrior
fighting evil

"bang, bang"

like an hammer striking
a man appears
the hallway darkens
"little man,
little man,
enough!"

anger and fear
the man looks
he darkles 
grabs the boy
by the arm

the boy, still armed,
points the gun
"bang, bang"
he whispers,
"you're not my dad"

too late
too late

bang
hit
bang
hit

bang.

jesus, man

jesus man
hanging nailed
promising absolution
solutions without a motion
or a notion
of what it means
who it demeans
all for a dollar
a little donation
for a nation
maybe a ration
just a smite
just to spite
shake a fist
point a finger
reactionary
revolutionary
a chance at redemption
resumption
perhaps revelation
always assured salvation

Time is a Glass That Ran

time is a glass that ran
heavy upon the floor 
where all the noise broke
upon a dusty shore
of memory and regret
sorrow and thorn
torn apart in a void like storm
where the voices of ghosts
sound so much like those
who live on high like gods
looking down at those far below
in an eden soon shattered
upon a dusty shore
where time is a glass that ran
heavy upon the floor

New Year

10,
they said it would end in 12
9,
memories of yesterday at the bottom of a bottle
8,
broken little moments of tomorrow
7,
hoping for some way out of here
6,
just out of range of hearing
5,
screaming secrets no one remembers
4,
just so maybe i could dismember
3,
all the images of reality
2,
staring back coldly
1,
at the dawn of a new year

A Broken Love

a broken love
at the speed
you're going

you're lucky
you can still tell
who you are

a broken love
at the risk of knowing
it all starts
so you can feel

so you feel
so you can feel

a broken love
at the speed
you're going

you're lucky
you can still tell
who you are

a broken love
like a cliche

you can take
what you want
but you can't have it

a broken love
at the risk of knowing
it all starts
so you can feel

so you feel
so you can feel

so hit the ground running
at the speed you're going
you're lucky

you can still
tell where
you're heading

a broken love

a broken love

like a cliche
you can take
what you want

but you can't have it

so hit the ground
hit the ground

running

a broken love
like a cliche

you can take
what you want
but you can't have it

so hit the ground
hit the ground
running

'cause you still know
you still know
where you're headed

so hit the ground
running

a broken love
it never stops
so hit the ground

take what you want

hit the ground
running

you can have it.

politician

like a dirty clown
waiting for a crown
you're looking for a way to drown
all the sorry let down
little frowns
in this broken rundown
small town
just so you can wear
a pretty ball gown
or a suit made by someone of renown
to a place uptown
where you can become
a perfect pronoun
and win this showdown.

on the bloc

my head is full
of white noise
static screens
of television dreams

i sat here
lamenting pasts
and circumstance
just a chance at resumption

or halfhearted redemption
upon which i could reflect
all those radio nightmares
just outside of radial hearing

so here i am
head full of white noise
static screens
of television dreams

waiting for
just a bit of a chance
to get out of this place
and off this bloc

a fight in faith

a fight
in faith

a little
sanity
in truth

a disaster
waiting
for it's master
in time

a promise
broken
before us all
just a token
in tune

a lie
told
just a whisper
in confidence

a little
insanity
in truth

a fight
in faith.

Mess of Confusion

never trust a
cop
or robber
or just a little
boy
or girl

teacher
or preacher
you've got to wonder
if they're just wanderers

never trust a
politician
or a optimistic
optician

if there are such things
after all,
blindness is, well,
kinda cynical after all

never trust a
cop
or robber
or just a little
boy
or girl

a butcher
or maybe a poacher
they're in it together
looking to take bets
for the right cut

just selling skins
and shiny shins
together little bins
full of sins

so just never trust
it's a must
because all we are
are pessimistic
mystics making mistakes

little give or takes
without concession
or confession
a mess of confusion
in unison.

Pick Up Your T.V.

pick up your t.v.
it's blasting you with x-rays
mirror images of reality
filmed in a backroom factory

the crowds raged
a naked teen raved
a priest prayed
and they all said,
"it's only entertaining"

so pick up your t.v.
it's blasting you with x-rays
mirror images of yesterday
filmed in a living room

the team won
a bomb blasted
another man lambasted
and they all said,
"it's only entertaining"

so pick up your t.v.
it's blasting you with x-rays
mirror image wanna-bes
filmed from a circus stage

the room exploded
a quiet cry sounded
another day wasted
and they all said,
"it's only entertaining"

only entertaining.

Lord of Winterfell

i just laughed
given that i surmised
what they obviously missed
that there were always the books

although they were never hidden
in a nook
if only they had
given a look

literally,
if they were just
a little more
literate
it would have always seemed
deliberate

the lord of winterfell's
"untimely" demise
was not a desperate ploy
nor a way to play
an audience of drooling
mindless zombies
it was always right
even if,
what the heck,

he was cut from the neck.

In (Sane)

look, i may not be
exactly sane
but who are you
to say i am

wait, wait
look, i may not be
exactly sane
but who are we
to say what i am

i am one
or two
personalities
clashing

flashing
wait, wait
look, i may not be
exactly sane
but who are they
to say, who...

all these voices
dishing and fishing
for attention and
words are nothing
to you

or me, they're nothing
to us
once i was a knight
or a robber

cop?
coping, complying
you get this message on
your machine
are you?

look, i may not be
exactly sane
but who are you
to say i am

laughter and
crying
remember when?
second me
third
fourth

fifth place?
i don't know this place
breaking
down

who are you
to say
i am exactly
in

sane.

Myths in Fairy Tales

walking paths

to find pasts

where you were

the one you never wished

to be here

alone 

in the dark

waiting 

to make your mark

upon broken histories

of no real

significance signaling

a future where

rubble strewn cities

are full of little children

screaming

for mothers and fathers

brothers and sisters

gods 

are waiting and laughing 

stalking the believers

with a fearful

patient presence

that's just beyond the bend

on this path chosen

that leads to nowhere

real 

just a myth in

a fairy tale.

Three Pigs

three little pigs
built houses
made of hay, sticks
and of course
bricks that click

the Wolf
he comes
and with a breath
and a chomp

say good-bye
to Hay
and off he runs
this wolf to Stick

Stick he cringes
but Wolf
with a breath
and a chomp

breaks with a squeal
Stick is just a pick
for Wolf and he runs
off to see Brick

Brick laughs
Wolf doesn't stand
a bit of a chance
and he throws a brick

Wolf, he's hit
but never forget
he is quicker with wit
as he leaps

Brick, he sees
as wolf, he seethes
and with a breath
on his neck

Brick, he knows,
what comes next
a chomp and quick
hey, it's death
and it sticks.