What Means Anything Anymore Anyway?

I pump out these
"words"
all the time words but
they're hardly memorable,
just these moments,
points in time that point to my
current mood or
frame of mind.

If an eye could catch what
I brazenly produce here
I doubt they would even
comprehend it.

Am I so eager to set the world on fire?
Does it have to burn like I did,
as I flew home in shame
from what really just amounts to an unfortunate
disappointment?

At what point does one
simply come alive and
give it an honest try
out in the old
wild
blue?

I have to go to work now.
THAT is what is real.
THAT is the current reality of things.
Days in.
Days out.
Making the best of
an arbitrary
situation.

How about something to make it go down more smoothly?

I'll See You When We're Both Not So Emotional.

I was so afraid of losing,
F Line -
next stop Bergen ST.
You want blood?
You got it.
Walking home wind-whipped
wanted wide-eyed wanderer.
This is Brooklyn man!
I still walk around like I got it
dark and rugged
you know where I've
been.

Today I came out of the haze.
Live.
Life.
Now.

A Word of Thanksgiving

This time last year I
held in my arms a complication.
Left standing with my right hand
outstrectched I
found smooth skin
interrupted
by the ring of
another man's
promise.

But they say love conquers all
and eventually there was a man
who wept
while a woman collected her things and
moved them into my
apartment.

In February of 2012 I
arrived to find
my belongings neatly folded
and packed into suitcases
ready to fly south
like birds far away
from the north
and faked love
forgotten.

I wept that day too and
finally what went around
came around
and the difference between I
and the former man of my position
vanished.

History will remember me as a brevity
and she will remember if at all
that one day in November I kept her
fed and warm.

Is it possible to live
without comparing?

"This time last year."

We smoked cigarettes
ate and drank
this time last year,
and we made love
until we fell asleep
intertwined like soft
strands of
yarn.

Will This Day Be Remembered Down The Road?

Images of The City still haunt me.
Seeing those buildings (in stills) rising over the treeline
(What trees?)
burns a hole in my empty
gut.

Today I'm letting the sunshine in-
my little room is warm and mine and
sunlit.
Today is also a free day and I've packed it
full
as best as I can.
Still sober and
still maneuvering
around the voices calling from the staircase,
"Come with us,
Come drink and be
comforted."
Yet No Drink November continues.

Meanwhile, the buildings in The City still stand
and so do I-
to go upstairs and make
coffee.

The moral of today's story.

How Presumptuous, How Utterly Full of Himself He Must Be.

For something completely new
things are looking up.

Yet I find myself staring
down at feet and
counting toes.

We've walked countless miles they and I.

I look into the corner of my humble room and
contemplate footwear.

But I am a more clever animal.

This was on my mind this morning
so I wrote it down in the manner which follows:
"I see her like Sylvia at her window,
taking in the sound and swell.
She with her coffee
bathed in gentle,
fluorescent,
glow.
Tapping out the knots of life
trying to make them straight
with sense."

Let it be known
-should they ask-
that I seemed to always admire
fire.

Good Day Sunshine.

Coffee blood,
caffeinated veins,
another day in
paradise.

In the hall goes the suction
and blow
and scrape, scrape, scrape
of painters at their profession.

Nine a.m. and we are all in it
together man.
Sleep has left us -
replaced by scrape.

I sleepily smile in solidarity
and snark.
There are worse things in life
than a heart broken and
solitude.

The painters' scraping smooths our walls
and somehow too the bumps in my road.



Dance immediately.

Manic Mondays

I've been reading -
over the things I have had to say lately and -
I'm saying,
mostly nothing.

I think you get the wrong idea
here.
In real time I'm -
kind of super and -
this whole thing is making me


look,
I've got it pretty together for a guy -
it's not like I cry in the streets or
I mean, I don't give out hugs like candybars,
sometimes I just have some
- things -
going on from here I should probably try
to save a little
face.


Sing along

A Heart Hardened, HTML free

Brooklyn is under water. I don't care if she is alright. Does that make me a bad person?

Everyone lets you down. I am looking for another job because they let me down, I am living in a strange situation because someone let me down, I got a blues I can't kick because I keep getting let down.

When am I going to learn that everyone leaves? You cannot rely on anyone but yourself and just as you are born so you die: Alone.

I don't mean this in some existential angst sense, I mean it in the literal. No one will stay. Everything you own you've already lost and everything you love is already broken.

This should bring freedom right? Right now I just wonder if not caring about whether someone who I was completely devoted to is injured or in danger means that I've lost my humanity.

This is going to sound pathetic but how much longer am I going to hurt over this?