what the wave said to the shore

this sunset looks dismal
i should probably chase the dawn
and greet her with a wistful yawn
sleeping sounds unpleasant
ear to the ground lessens your chances of ambushed glances
from passersby dances
let me ask this:
how many times will the river bend before you're washed ashore?
icicles make grave diggers when the water takes your legs
hurry now the shallowness is sinking your days
may day parades and macabres are better watched from the stage
all saints had to die and all sinners search the sky
it's nothing if not a waste
i've been here before;
this path,
this door,
this place is no more
but the remanence of a shore

i ramble pt. 1

cruise slow through the streets to soothe my racing head drones
live in stereo, the mono creepin' in the head phones
droning on so as not to zone out
hand to mouth to stifle shouts or win the bout
all hail the victims of the inner city's clout
i bet you're nothing more than a quote out of context
stay vexed; for every sick puppy there's a vet
who noticed the paint job?
red was never really your color,
but it's more of a pink when the colors run together
stay under covers undercover of nightfall:
you call it mercy, i call it obsolete;
you say i'm worthy, i say you're just in heat;
you play the victim, i'll play my self-defeat...
'til we tally up the baddies and find the numbers left us weak
fuck a new leaf, i'm turning over forests to make my looseleaf
to hold my words when my teeth fail to hold truths
pick a suit: hearts for the lonely,
spades for the dead,
clubs for the bullies,
and diamonds get you into bed
now where did i put my glass?
alas, on the brink of insanity lingers drink
thinking of weather changes and open ranges
only distorts the matter
mad hatter comes to mind
that rabbit chasing time
all lickety splickety splat
splatter dapper draped in white
take flight on fancy feets
footwork lost in a game of double dutch
just trying not to trip isn't much of a fancy feat
survival of the fittest fit nestled in the tiniest of places
between over zealous and forlorn faces
much to do, not much to be seen
i believe i'll take my coffee black
as well as my lung stained nicotine

you love the way i say you're vain
i see that look on your face
no disgrace, just displace the hate and
make up your mind
it's cold the way you stare or is it
just too hard to bare me
being on your mind
take a second, watch the
time pass you by
maybe later on
down the road you took so long
to walk instead of run you'll
fin-a-lly find
a better way to lose
yourself inside your attitudes
when latitudes and longitudes are
lost on the grind
it's okay to say
you like yourself
it's all the same
to lose or never play the game
but play not in mine

this is, too

this is hope
this is change
this is indifference
this is a challenge
this is hard
this is awkward
this is old
this is moving
this is stagnate
this is growing
this is shade
this is glare
this is writing
this is reading
this is knowing
this is getting it
this is travel
this is spontaneity
this is direction
this is gusto
this is not a sequel
this is not a fairytale
this is not a poem
this is NOT real

this is.

just is.

this is

this is slow motion
this is ecstasy
this is believing
this is truth
this is amazing
this is real
this is beauty
this is reality
this is fate
this is life
this is right
this is crazy
this is being
this is sharp
this is just
this is cute
this is awesome
this is it
this is beginning
this is end
this is all
this is intuition
this is how
this is why
this is mountains
this is rain
this is wind
this is trees
this is cheese
this is you
this is me
this is us

this is love.

sotto la stessa luna

and if the sun had come up just fifteen minutes early, they would have missed it.
but as it rose, there they stood, rising with it, so to speak.
their chests sighing almost in unison and their eyes on the horizon.
as they felt the first rays of a new day's sun fall across their faces,
they turned towards each other and felt a warmth no dawn could replicate.
a heat, a fire, a passionate dawn of their own.

and they stood.
and looked.
and were as the sun was.

new.

crazy

it's crazy how it's not that hard
it's crazy how it's not that far
to walk across a country just to fall into your arms
it's crazy that it happened like this
it's crazy how everything is irrelevant
except the words on your lips
but is it that crazy to wanna give you the moon
and would it be crazy if i wanted until june
and is it that crazy that i would wait ten years and not a minute too soon
but if it really came down to whether you're happy or not
or whether or not you had to break out of your comfort spot
it's really not that crazy when you really look at what we got
and can have.

in homage or mockery

clawing at the seams of everything you deemed as perfect
discrediting the scene you loved for what was on the surface
you have to ask yourself honestly, was it really worth it,
to have all you ever wanted just to throw it to the servants?
so how am i to understand exactly what went wrong here,
when vox of old depress the cold and write a whole new song, dear
to sing, if not in homage then in mock of what once was
a killing moon may kill at noon, but dares not kill my buzz
i guarantee that in the trees lie secrets of the wind
the falling leaves may once have breathed, but will not breathe again
if changing tides in time decide the strength with which it blows,
then to change directions you need only change what you now know

shadow self

life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more: it is a tale
told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing.

enter a messenger

thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

- macbeth, act v, scene v

thinking without blinking

i think it's time for a change. my job, my friends, my life, all are becoming monotonous and without reward. i mean, my friends are amazing, but i don't think i'm in a position to utilize the friendship they offer. i need to be friends with myself before i can reciprocate how amazing my friends are to me.

there's a part of me that really likes what i've become, given my past and everything i've overcome to get to this point. then there's another part, a seemingly greater part, that hates the chances i've been given and my failure to take full advantage of them. i should be somewhere else, somewhere better, somewhere less...cluttered. i can't help but feel i'll disappoint, if not my family and friends that've stood by me through everything, then myself. and i can't decide which would be worse.

so i'm going to be looking hard for that something. something more. something else. i'm not going to abandon what i have or give up on where i'm going, but my first change to change directions (as long as it's not backwards), i'm going to take it.

believe that.

01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101

"with love in so many places, it's hard not to stand in the corner, your eyes giving away your position, glowing in the low lit center of my universe..."
he hesitates.
"if you realize love, it will be your reality. i've fully realized it."
he pauses, eyes fixed on the floor. he waits for her sigh then continues, still content on averting his stare.
"i've realized the love i'm capable of and that, as of yet, have yet to love more than i do now."
he practiced this speech over and over, for weeks he perfected it, but it wasn't until he started talking did it actually take shape. he didn't remember these words, in this order or at all. in fact, he knew this was what he truly believed because this was nothing like what he prepared.
he looks up and she's staring at the floor, possibly the same square inch he'd been seemingly fascinated with for the past however long. then, after a collective breath, she looks up and he says,
"now you realize why this can't work."
she did. she didn't understand, but she realized something. something that made it okay to nod at that moment and figure the rest out later. and she would.
sooner or later, she would.

three dates

I.
he clutched his bag and ran ahead of them. he wasn't scared, oh no. he knew better than to be scared of a bunch of big bullies who only made fun of him because he had better hair and a better head under it - his mother was very wise - no, he ran to catch up -
to her.
she heard his footsteps racing toward her and turned to see, not big bad bullies - her mother was wise, too - but that boy from english with the weird smile and the piercing eyes. he stared at her a lot, but not in a creepy way, no. in a nice way. he appreciated her and she liked that. so she slowed to assist in his effort to walk beside her.
and he did.
they walked beside each other until she split off down her street, him continuing down his. and it was then they realized they were holding hands. they let go, almost as if embarrassed - or excited - or whatever it was, they looked at each other, shy and apologetic for letting such a thing happen. but they knew.
they knew.

II.
may i?
she asked, reaching for the glass which was sweating in the sun. she grabbed it without waiting for a response and drank the remaining liquid. they weren't on the porch for five minutes when he asked,
is it really that big of a deal if someone has a weak handshake on first meeting them?
for a girl it is,
she answered. she tilted the glass upwards and let an ice cube fall into her mouth. she elaborated between crunches.
see, if a guy meets a girl and has a weak handshake, he's lame in bed.
okay, he interjected.
i'm not done. but if his shake is weak, but he pulls in for a one-armed hug, he's a sleaze. some women like that, i dunno.
he nodded. she continued.
but if it's weak and flirty, like rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, or letting his hand slip out slowly as he pulls away, then,
she breathed heavily before continuing,
i wouldn't give that man a day.
a day before what? he asked, but her mind was elsewhere. maybe on the events of yesterday. maybe on a cloud that reminds her slightly of alan arkin, but with more defined cheek bones. maybe on the fact that it was early yet and they had yet to do anything they had planned for the day, but still had plenty of time.
but maybe her mind was on then. when everything just was and this was that and nothing changed, but no one cared because everything was perfect. yes, that's where she was, though still sitting on his porch. she was there. and he was not.

III.
they were sitting at a table waitressed by a persian woman with a big cheesy smile and an awkward walk. she limped a little and they watched whenever she walked away after taking their order or bringing their food or making sure they were satisfied with their meal. they watched to see if she fell, silently making bets with each other, but both betting she would.
nothing really seemed too important as they chit-chatted and laughed and sat nonchalantly staring at the other couples, but casually glancing back to see if the other is staring at them.
she liked him. really. the kind of like that made her stomach tingle and her thighs ache and her head spin and heart scream I WANT YOU! but she was playing it cool. she had to.
her friends said - as she was leaving to meet him tonight, mind you - that she was letting too much out and not getting enough in. they emphasized 'in' so their innuendo was made clear. clearer than necessary really. she knew, but at this point, she didn't care.
he looked happy, she thought. no, not happy. content. content being with her, sitting across the table, not speaking or speaking or whatever, just being.
and so there, in the candle light, she saw the man she would sleep with, not just tonight, but for the rest of her life. it'd been a year and she was certain he was the one. and even if he wasn't, she'd always remember him how he was at that moment. and that would make it alright.

who am i?

who am i to decide your life?
who am i to indulge your pride?
who am i to invite the tide
to drown the condescending night?

who am i but a misread line.
who am i but a man by design.
who am i but a "keep me in mind,"
a celebrated metaphor for "please, take your time."

who am i to invest in your fate?
who am i to determine the stakes?
who am i to contribute to the waste
as an apathetic hero who arrived too late?

so who are you to give up on your dreams?
who are you to wake me up with your screams?
who are you to give two seconds to think
about anybody else but yourself and your team?

learning clowns to frown

i get bent to level out
embodiment of a rebel shout
talking shit to wake the dead
fed by a left hook, aching head
make time for no man
tell us what you told them
when confronted by the mob
an alibi blamed on a head nod
grab this sucker by the nape
set him straight, innovate
a new family outing
gauge the success by his shouting
i make fake bets with myself
to fool my bookie
never been one to forsake
the snake for nookie
my city fights for broken lives
'til everyone in the shire dies
'til every saint and sinner denies
the misread tarot card must lie
take the knife out of my back
and whittle down the interface
take the sticks out of the asses
of the nay sayers, call 'em splinter face
race to the finish
final lap with both my ankles braced
strapped, dripping sap
legs bent and wrapped in wedding lace
i accidentally made face
and set the pace
for all these clowns to drown
maybe now they'll learn to frown