passion in the middle age?

can we freeze time, then
and while we're at it
ourselves
on ice
in an embrace
not so much passionate
as understanding
or forgiving
accepting
and
after all
isn't that passion
in the middle age?
betrayed
by too much
time
wasted
noise
distractions
making plans
oh yes
and we've found ourselves
lost
in spite of everything
in spite of us
and the best intentions
conceived of love
of passion
forged from youth
in all of its incompleteness
and yet
perfection.
we were idealists once
but to freeze ourselves
in a moment
in time
in youth
could never hold a candle
to the flawed wreck
no one could ever call perfection
but is love
our love
our one and only.

running scared

you are beauty
made visible
something to touch
wrap my arms around
whisper
i love you
more than myself
i'll give you
all of me
if you just love me
back
and yet
when i open my eyes
you are gone

the f*ck up

are you free
if you don't know it?
are you free
if you don't know how to show it?
she came to him
like a rapture
on the descending side
of his middle age
light years away
from the start
of the descent
propped him up
to see
for the first time in decades
the beauty of hope
and of possibilities.
he followed her
as if she was a guide
for the blind
believed her words
of compassion for others
and endeavoring to heal
universal suffering
like he was twenty-something.
he was a sucker
and he knew it
but he didn't care
willfully blind
in hoping to gain salvation
if not love
heal others
to heal himself
oh
but the day she left
like a cool breeze
vanished
he lost his tenuous faith
in everything
in himself
he was clutching at substance
desperate
but when he leaned down
he rested on shadows
and she flew away
like a bird
with a higher calling
he is
as he always was
free
but then why
does he f*ck up everything?

stillblind

she breathes
in my ear
then giggles
sweet somethings
that open my eyes
yet still i see a blur
poor vision
to obscure the dark
inside of me
or is it all over
starts
ends
what matters
beyond the smile i offer
my gift to you
appease you
"i love you"
but from within
i know they are laughing
"you fool..."
they slap knees
and bob in their seats
"give enough
to get what you want,
you fool..."
dressed in black
on the inside
i open my mouth
in the mirror
to shine a light
make them go away
but she giggles
sweet somethings
i feel nothing
"say you love me,"
i say i do.

the violent hour

her dreams
in a trickle
out the corner
of her mouth
sleep may take her
places
where reality is stretched
but it is never broken
the inevitable reflection
will steal her glance
sneer
"you are you
with nowhere to run"
here comes her man
again
the one to ignore her
lost in his thoughts
that never amount to anything.
the thought on a friend
who never calls anymore
"life gets in the way"
says the friend
and "i know you understand"
but she doesn't want to
she never wanted
to give in
she just got sucked
hard
and down so low
she can't get out.
it's only age
flushing down behind her
rushing down to take her
further and further away
from all hope
all that was held
sacred
by her years as a child
her apprenticeship
that turned out to be her life
her only life
that amounted to anything.
she coughs
doesn't cover her mouth
f*ck it
she spits phlegm
into her pre-arranged plot
in the cemetary
you know
the place beneath the neon sign
"where memories rest in peace"
even if she'd sooner die
than remember
any of this.

the ground beneath one's feet

the grass
was never asked
to close its eyes
to the sun
as it was being buried
by the falling leaves
in time
the grass
would live for its memories
as its breaths
would grow shorter
like a winter's day
the grass
it did clamor
toward the blades
still kissed by light
as a proud mother
to her child
but in time
the grass
grew weary
and began to collapse
living
then slowly dying
in the agonizing expectation
that one leaf
then another
would soon fall
to cover its wistful eyes
first one
then the other
slowly die
without even knowing it
slowly die
not living
not loving
not laughing
afraid
of the inevitable
paralyzed
made a vegetable
picked
from the earth
a leaf
raked then bagged
grass
mowed and mulched
never really alive
oblivious
just used
like toilet water
like people

the rules of the game

she sits
sketching
something
by the window
darkness overwhelms
the conceding light
and so she sits
sketching
something
in darkness.
she could win
hearts
applause
or a firm position
in the machine
if only she knew the rules
of the games.
she could win
if sitting
sketching
by the window
were not an option
infinitely more inviting
and less demanding.
she loses
in the eyes of everyone
but she never even entered
the game
she sits
sketching
a life more lived
than her reflection
taking form
on the window
like morning dew
compliments of night.
she could win
but she doesn't want to know
what that means.

this is where i get off

i get off
when the world stops
spinning
hitch a ride
with a girl in the moon
free
like wind
of destinations
of ends
that are only beginnings
of the same cycle
again
let me feel
anything
something to sustain me
beyond the moment
i get off
in my dreams
but i never remember
the feeling

flesh for fantasy

in the haunted mansion of her mind
her beauty is rapturous
she thinks so
because this is what men tell her
with mouths wide open
one hand in their pockets
the other useless
like men
heads spinning
in the rush of desire
and dominion
she is sadder than happy
and happier than sad
all at once
a victim
tormentor
a waif
dominatrix
different masks
to suit their wants
her needs
or their needs
her wishes
and yet
to the horror of all
there is no face
behind any of the masks.

you alone

on the day
your wandering eyes
fall silent
for want of a stimulus
so incapable of boring you
i will learn
for the very first time
the color of your eyes
blue
and if you can be trusted
enough for me to bother
with even talking to you.
until that day
should it ever come
i will stand silent
waiting for you to stop talking
with your eyes
telling me
in every possible way
like a preacher man
condemning his congregation
to hell
you are so in this
for you
alone

cowards

on the eve
of the last dawn
you nervously pace
may as well be miles
from the birth of the child
try and save face
for the start
of the end
the loss of you
the start of him
and you just know it
you always told them so
as you smile
not through the cloud
of cigarette smoke
in the lobby of others
likewise expecting
dare you say dreading
the inevitable
but in the doorway
halfway between the beginning
and the end
you are smiling
for a memory
when you were the child
all eyes were on you
and you could just be
the shit
you always knew
but others were too slow
to know
what you knew
until now
the eve of the dawn
on which you would be exposed
curtains open
spotlight
cheers
the new father
the old boy
one
and the same
but now revealed
naked
flawed
still clutching
for the dark
as the baby screams
and the lobby of men
applaud
it is not them
yet

suffer no more

when words
no longer conceal
the acid
bitter
and sad
that are your trinity
unholy
you look way down below
to think
can you do it this time
do you have it
deep down within
to spare you the laughing
open mouths
dismayed
by your cruelty
unkind things you say
arms flailing madly
head starts
to smoke
then spin
like a top
the sun in your eyes
all eyes on you
or so you think
(you always do)
fingers pointing
invisible hands reaching out
to save your children
suffer them no more
and as you seethe
you realize
even in your rage
you have no purpose
you have no reason
no justification
no north
and so there is nothing
in your hands
to offer
other than your hands themselves
around which cuffs
are better suited
needed
to sustain the man
the host of the enmity
the enemy within
to protect them all
suffer them no more
god save them
yes

years ago

she blew
smoke rings
not to dazzle
those gathered there
to worship her exquisite form
over shoulders
of the ones they are with
but just because
she left her cellphone
at home
and felt obliged
to look occupied
aloof
to her solitude
inner turmoil
in some other way
the worshippers preyed
upon her
with eyes
boastful
ridiculous
chatter
like monkeys
high fives
oooh oooh
aaah aaah
ha ha
ho ho
the only things she hears
as she wonders why
she even comes here
year after year
to torture herself
in this way
how the tears have long dried
in the desert of her emptiness
how her fears
have overcome
her essence
like waves over shorelines
ever since
her love died
in this
the very place
she agreed to marry
those years ago.

into the laughing

ha ha ha
comes the voice
from the closet
it isn't pretend
how could it be
cries the boy
he hears it
like he hears
the wind scrape branches against his window
or the sound of footsteps
engulf his shadow
then devour it a little more
everywhere he goes
i am haunted
he screams
why is someone
something
laughing at me
and why is no one here
doing anything to stop it
the noise
the ridicule
the evil
and the fear that ensues
he yells back
into the laughing
finger pointing
his parents to the closet
when he turns
to see
his parents in the closet
laughing
ha ha ha
laughing
at his beliefs
that together
they could ever protect
ever serve
because together
was ever
a myth.

stranger

give it up
in a hammock
close your eyes
the hell with the world....
'til the clouds come rolling in
again
to block the sun;
ruin your moment.
you could have been happy
you could have been beautiful
seventeen again
if only the sun
could be left alone
to steal the day
from today
leave you be....
but it's not the clouds
and the sun
it is you
stranger
so estranged from yourself
that leaves you limp
in a hammock
lifeless
seeking life in reverie.
so this
here ...
the distance
between you
and yourself
is to blame.
still there is nothing
in your blackberry
nothing
in your iphone
nothing
to remind you
of your appointment
so long overdue
with yourself
and your obligations
the ones that really matter;
the ones about which you care
a little less
every day
like passing clouds.
another one goes down
the horizon....

words mean things

get it out
all of it
cough
spit
are you okay?
i don't care
i'm just being polite
for appearances sake.
just because i know
right from wrong
doesn't mean
i buy into choosing right.
when i do
it is only because
i am selfish
and think always
of myself;
what i can gain
by my choices
on those rare occasions
when i actually make choices.
words mean things
and so i bite off the clips
then toss grenades
hoping the shrapnel
of so many words
that mean nothing
may amount to something
not because i care
but because i know
you do
and i kind of figure
i should throw you a bone
every now and then
to get what i want
somewhere down the road.
words mean things
so i despise hearing them
i stare at lips
instead
are you lipless
untrustworthy?
do you speak with your hands
to further obfuscate
meaning?
do you spit
as you speak?
should i mention
you are now
spitting at my face
in your excitement
to get across
your meaningless ideas
through your lipless mouth
giving thanks
to me
for saving you.
should i mention
it was really nothing;
it was really nothing
you wouldn't have done yourself
if the tables were turned?
words mean things
and so i am a liar....

smoke from the chimney

he died today
so he wouldn't die
on your birthday
i know
there was nothing left
for him to say
no deeds
for him to do
it had already been a long while
since conscious thoughts scattered
beyond his grasp
like smoke
from the chimney
to the west wind
but in those last hours
all the people gathered round
to revise their own personal histories
to suit their needs
and wants
to leave their souls in tact
and their conscience clear
someone swears they heard him say
telepathically
i'll die tomorrow
so i won't die
on your birthday
and all the people gathered round
deep in thoughts
consumed with contempt
for all the people gathered round
did nod their approval
for him
the one
about to leave us
like smoke
from the chimney
to the west wind
for him
the kind
the giving
the sacrifice needed
for unmitigated hate
to dominate

the widow's song

through the hole
where his picture hanged
on a crooked nail
she peers
into a void
maybe inches
but maybe a lifetime
she built a life
on appearances
and so there were monuments
plenty of them
maybe memories of places been
but maybe ideals
the way things should have been
the day she realized
she could never have his heart
she bent a man
crooked
the way she hammered a nail
the only way she knew
and so she revered monuments
trinkets
no
not so much for memories
even ideals
but of conquests
exercises of dominion
more bricks in the yellowing wall
of a facade
for show
like a rustic wine cellar
in plastic suburbia
like remanufactured gifts
regifted
and ever so intended
that their worthlessness
cheapness
would be understood
loud and clear
message delivered
message received
she wiggles her butt
as she gargles wine
spits it on to the shag carpet
kicks the dog away with her slipper
sings
"hail to the victors"
as deep as she can go
the only thing
she could think of
patching holes
on a sunday afternoon

saved by the bell

the first time
your breath seizes
skips a measure
the audience gasps
in turn
"could this be the end,
can it really be the end?"
... in every possible way ...
you glimpse an image
dark
like a haunted film
in black and white
raises one arm
opens its mouth
whispers
"enough"
and you just don't know
are you scared
or relieved
so many things left unsaid
undone
is there a bell there
he is ringing
to save you
the beaten boxer
from doing the things
that need to be done
saying what needs to be said
but couldn't
didn't
relieving you
from making choices
really living
or maybe
he is only holding a sign
with your number on it
and it's just random
meaningless
"come on in ...
into the void"
you think you hear him say
or maybe not
maybe it's the medicine
talking again
when you only prayed for silence
for peace
but for the audience
that is gathered here
this day
into night
into the 'morrow
rest assured ...
it is meaningless

the hypocrite

breathe in
then out
again
now cover your eyes
better?
good
now wake up
you were only dreaming
you could ever escape
this building
with but one exit
your name
above your tomb
no matter what you do
or don't
there is a light
at the end of the tunnel
yes
and like an insect
you are drawn to it
like home
after a long trip
safe
the end of running
the silence of screaming
but so too ceases
your hand
in the love you've known
and your hopes
against the bloodrush
of time
and distractions
to make things good
better
a do over
if only you could freeze
time
like a song you knew
pause ...
now breathe in again
come up for air
the world is waiting
people care
you are special
you are valued
loved
but not really....

retro

a candle flickers
in a window
a picture
alive only by your half smile
surrounded by a wreath
like a crown
a memory rises
like smoke
from a cigarette stub
every now and then
when the children stop
yelling
or i find the time
somehow
to trace a life
by numbers
passing out judgments
like bible brochures
to brothers and sisters
but not by birth
the years divided
the thin line
that held us together
in the place of love
pride
and conversation.
slip away
unto the good night
after night
like santa
from a chimney
like love
when love is nothing
more than a word
slip away
like life
oh yes
because you know it doesw
you know it will
and then i will become you
finally
in the end

the drinks are on me

undoes his belt
out flops a belly
soft
like a lazy sunday
full of sweet
nothings
ho ho
bellows the man
in the mirror
that judges
without compassion
at the memory of the man
before the mirror
fat
where ambition used to be
and a red and white suit
sticky
with sweat
and flashbacks
of dreams
and screams of children
that made his day
lying
in a heap
on the floor
like unfinished novels
beside his bed
ho ho holds his liquor
better than ever
a job that pays
on days
of so many smiles
and so many cries
pleasure and pain
he deals in
pleasure and pain
screaming children
stressed mothers
the hot clothes
the sweat
stained beard
the hours waste
like a lifetime,
"hey you,
in the mirror,
the drinks are on me...."