My Journey

I was once forced to travel

Through a long tunnel

Less than an inch in diameter

When I came out the other end

I was a minute, compressed self

I still hold the shape of the tunnel

Even to this day

And even though I'm recovering

I will hold that shape forever

The year was 1983

The day was February 22

My Birthday

The clock says 3:03, one hand shorter than the other

Framed and encircled in neon green

Face pulsing and melting to the sweet musak of 97.3

Easy Rock

It seems out of place

But so does the galactic wallpaper

And the two men talking in a foreign language to my left

And the man in front of me, his presence covering my reflection in the mirror so that only my shoulder is seen

Quietly writing, I too am out of place

But aren't we all

smile

Even if it means nothing

Everything means nothing

But try to find some meaning

Try to find some God

Rationalizing sucks

Smile!

Try to think of nature

Find the beauty in nature

Even if it means nothing

Nothing is what it means

Wait a second ...

SMILE!!

But I'm surrounded by nothing

It's stuck to my floor

It's stuck to my wall

It's stuck to my ceiling

It's stuck to my meaning

NOTHING

Than why am I stuck?

BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT SMILING?!

Of course

Because I'm not smiling

Obviously I've been misunderstood

So it begins and your flying

Soaring through the sky

Free of worries

Free of cares

Somersaulting through infinite time and space

Somehow you lost your grip

Somehow you fell

Plummeting down faster

and faster

and faster

BANG!!

You hit the cold marble floor of institution

But not hard enough to break

Somehow you grew

Or somehow everything else shrank

Time is now finite

Space is now limited

"You've gotta make choices son"

Fuck Off Bitch!

Searching desperately for the one

It's getting darker or your eyes are weak

Is it her?

Is it her?

Is it her?!

No

"Nobody will ever love you"

What?

"Don't worry though, you'll get lots of pussy!"

Oh ... Thanks

"Did I really say that?

It must have been the drugs!"

Your almost through now

It's almost over

Just need to make it through this quicksand

Corrosive quicksand

Pulling

Pulling

Pulling

Until the metaphor disappears

And all you have left is the pulling

The pulling into the ground

The ground the end

The End.

Monday's suck

especially when you have to get up early for a ride

Being 17 sucks

Too young to drive and drink and buy cigarettes

Too old to do anything else fun

Weight Training sucks

Just because

Everyday I run for miles and miles

And I get nowhere

Same place I was when I started

Just less time

I guess it's hard to get anywhere

When all your drinking is coffee

And all your doing is hacking butts

And Weight Training

And wait training

That's what sucks the most

The fact that your waiting

That I'm waiting

And for what?

I'm waiting for my real life to start

Waiting for two and a half years to go by in a flash

But the truth is that my life has already started

And its hard to realize that it has

When everyone keeps telling me that it hasn't

And that sucks, too

Because its wrong

And so is waiting

But I still do it

I have not been in love

Though I have walked its restless beaches

Tip-toeing around its tides and

Hiding from it my face and mind

I have not been in love

But I have seen it in the distance

A little further ahead on the horizon

In a haze of bright lights and music

I have not been in love

Though I have helped to make it

On those blind nights when we mix it with lust

And push it further from our eyes

I have not been in love

But I have written for it

fought for it

cried for it

and sung for it

In street-light microphones

And subway cars

I have not been in love

With it being in me

Flowing like hot magma

And drawing me towards her attracting love

With magnets in its eyes

I have not been in love

But I have dreamt of it

On dewy mornings when the air is thick and

flavourful

Tears fall then

and I

exhale.

...I need to write poetry, I need, its a need, I desire, I cannot not write it, it is inside and it pushes me in all

directions, it remains subjective to me, to my character, and I am pushed by it until I write...

...and then I am free...

...and I feel again, and I clear myself of all things inside, they all flow to the page with the ink, and I'm

home and real again, I'm whole again and I look my soul in the mirror...

...but it builds, and it breaks, it breaks like glass that shatters in those hot fires, glass shattering, and

melting, and heating me, heat builds until I scream like a kettle left on the burner, it gets hot, too hot, and I

explode and must write...

...and then I am free...

...and the hot kettle water pours over tea leaves, and the mood is set for poetry.

The Pope told me

He would give me a million dollars

If I would kill only one man

He assured me

That I would go to heaven

If I accepted

So I took the gun

And shot myself in the head

The Pope lied

A love poem

I love poem

Or rather poems

And that's love

Of a different kind

But still love

With its stages

And its falling outs

And ins

A love poem

I love poem

About love

Made of love

Or in love

Or out

A love poem

I love poem

The word I love

To use in poem

Or rather poems

Being in love

With poems

As I am

Life is hard

And when it hits you, it hurts

When life hits you, it hits your head

But I was prepared

I thought it would hit my thoughts and so prepared myself for thinking

But I find myself ill-prepared in these times of decision after decision, when all I want to do is nothing

And nothing comes of nothing, as Lear said, and this is true -- you must take a half step back in order to

take a full step forward, as Steinbeck said,

but I just say that life is hard

Life is hard

And when it hits you, it hurts

Not only in your head,

but in your guts, your balls, your mouth, your ears, your eyes,

and perhaps most painfully,

your heart

Because when life hits your heart, you bleed

As I bleed

My hand

on paper

on pen

with ink

writing now

I only lie

to my eyes

through the thick lens

of created intelligence

Rediscovering an old time

of breath in a rhythm

that appeals to reggae

for a choice of existence

against repetitive cries of anguish

a single clarinet plays free thought

plaintively

a jewel of a dying age

of wonder

Supple

tender

and yet her body screams for mine

as I think in a mad haze

of those dark times at night

when I think of only betrayal

to my own false preconceptions

of how it should be

and how it will continue to unfold

I am reading from a blank page

and my mind is seeing

what my eyes cannot

but this is not necessary

to the outcome

of this instant

and I cannot lie to myself

which makes me fear that

I am an asshole

I am stupid

and I am a failure

to my soul

I ve look ed

in to you

and see n

the blue

it made me

red

and angry

in the head

but now

I m blue

as I look ed

in to you

and saw the true

and the blue

too

enraged by an animal of most enraging proportions

the fur tight and tawny and wet with the sweet sex sweat

that only animals create in the true heat of felt passion

and puppet show sex thoughts of plastic dames and danes

and melodies play over and over to make it seem real

when it isn't

and the animal is stuffed and posed in an enraged position

in the corner of her eye where she locked the door

and threw the key into the ocean of her stretched pupil

enlarged pupil

she tells me it's real

but alas it is marble

bassline ripping through my wall

my room invaded with sound

molesting my ears

my sleep

my dreams

the rhymes just bleed the same

they don't sound the same

thunder

hunger

some fear

shear terror

no ability to move

my frozen legs

or eyes

and the ears are dead already

Ero$ion reache$ up

and tug$ on my pant leg

It a$k$ me for $ome change,

plea$e, if I could $pare, plea$e

And I reach into my pocket,

and drop meaningle$$ metal

into it'$ $weaty, upturned hat

$alting the earth, yet again,

With my dirty money

Dirt pours from hands and drips onto

desert floor where dust smoke rises up

to meet and breeze past one meagre offer

of erosive change to the queen of all change

And Mother Earth accepts graciously

The wind is unequaled

The white fire

The blistering cold

Licking it's invisible lips

And reaching it's tongue out

To taste me

The wind is unequaled

The fluid air

The mother's embrace

Reaching it's strong arms

Around me

And pleading with gravity

To hold me

The wind is unequaled

The Earth's love

The baby's breath

Searching with it's blind eyes

And seeing it's way

To find and touch me

And Heaven is a windy place

burning

the fire licks up the wood

caressing each splinter

with it's gentle tongue

heating

teasing

laughing

whispering sweetly

to the cords of pine and oak

I love you, it says

Touch me

Let me touch you

Lick you

Eat you

searing

scorching

the fire screams with delight

the wood gives in

crying

crackling

giving in

Take me, it says

Love me

Touch me

Lick me

Eat me

but the fire cannot stop

nor pause to listen to it's lover

for it has begun and is over

and the dying embers whimper

as the flames,

dying themselves,

scavenge the coals

before giving in

to destiny

Water
M
 e
  l
   t
    i
     n
      g
F	u	d
      l          i
I				
 m			
e		
l	
t
Un 											 shape
Reshape
S	h	a	p	e				l	e	s	s
Sinking
						Falling
										Into ground
Fusing 
Together
With It
Earth
Wind
Fire
Water
S	h	a	p	e				l	e	s	s
I melt,
and from my puddle,
my words
					    e and f
					s	         a		like
				     i			   l			rain
				r			        l		           drops

Dilemma

Love

She does

I do

But I'm not in yet

And she's been swimming for weeks

I'm getting ready

I'm bending my knees

I can see my reflection

In her rippling eyes

But I'm scared

It's cold

It's hot

I can't swim

I can't love

I can't ...

I'm ready!

I can!

I can do this!

Jump!

Splash!

Push!

Stroke!

Float!

Swim!

I'm here!

I can ...

But the pool's empty

Swimming hours are over

and I'm scared

I'm scared

I'm scared

I can't love

Her students all thought she was batty.

She'd read them a poem,

Through which they'd all groan,

As the prose was quite long and quite sappy.

She's from a small town in old Ireland.

She drinks lots of beer,

And her students all fear,

That her mind isn't quite on the mainland.

Her students are always remarking.

"When Kathy goes home,

She'll write a great poem,

But never do all of her marking."

She likes it much more then her fitness.

She'll down three of four,

And upon drinking more,

Say, "Starting, we're just, of this business."

� �

� �

� �

� �

� �

� �

� �

� �

� �

And away �

Away �

Toss it out �

And throw it in �

Catch �

Stick �

Pin �

Hook in mouth �

What fun �

Glory �

Catch me �

Stick me �

Pin me �

Hook me in my mouth �

And I'll yank it �

And rip it �

And fight until my cheeks bleed �

My tongue bleeds �

My lips sever �

And I can pull free �

And swim another lap �

Around this puddle of a world �

Or I'll give in

Let you win

Let you pull

Poke

Reel me in

I'll play dead

Breathe your stale air

And wait for your blade

Cutting

Gutting

Ripping me out of me

And into your frying pan

To feed your hungry desires

unsettled by your gaze

that craze in your eye

my my what a sin

we're sittin' in

for all we know

you could want this

need this

love to see me squirm like this

in this that we're in

where you watch

and I sit near you

and contemplate your eyes

the surprise I've found

can no longer escape

I find

your behind this

and I'm falling into your trap

this rap I can beat

your hold is loosened

by my being aware

your hair smells so gorgeous

I'm lost and un found

in my mind

where you sit across from me

and gaze at me

with those dark eyes

I've covered the corners

and seen where you've been

in a glen where the ice sits atop mountains like diamonds

in my pan of mud which is where my reflection looks the most real

in the dirt where I see the mountain tops that you've been living on

and falling from

and calling diamonds

and I lied when I said I have covered the corners

because I'm really scared of your heights

and find your mountainous realm inaccessible

and so I sit and stare at my reflection

in the lost hopes of my future

slime

dime

mime

crime

prime

grime

lime

rhine

dine

mine

line

dancing

thin

sin

tin

bin

kin

grin

din

gin

martini

bump

grump

hump

dump

gump

jump

lump

mump

pump

rump

stump

chump

change

jazz intends the cream of my crop to drop

and stop

to listen and tap

to the bap bap

of the rhythm of gold

and brass blasts

from my dreamed of past

as a player

a changer

a shifter of generations

and idolizations and

conceptualizations

that only the music will allow me

us

to think

and feel

really feel

can you feel that

the hype

the stripe on his suit

zoot

shoot me away

to some smokey lounge

where I can live

and give myself up

to the jello

the mellow

the quick

and the slick

just blow man blow

and let it ring forever in my ears

my beating ears

and jiving rhythm fingers

tap tapping to you

the one and only true and mad blue man

standing in front

in back

inside

and I feel it in my head

that sweet tempo

that sweet beat

that sweet ambrosia

that sweet jazz