I am gone
Hardly
The ghost waits
To haunt more dreams
And it seems reality
Has become the string
In which to sew
I am the hero
All singing and dancing
Alpha male
Kicking over
Empty water pales
The rain doesn’t collect
In death valley
I burrow in the sand
And we embrace
Soul to hand
And I invision
Big bands
As we make our stand
In a burlesque wasteland
The more I try to hurt you
the more it hurts me
and I am a shell of a the man
I wanted to be
drawing him in chalk outlines
across the stretched out
american highways
its all wasted gasoline
and road side attractions
that are unattractive
while I wind up out west
i wind down
till I am depressed
the hero is dead
and the more I hurt you
the more it backfires
worn rubber
thin on imagination
spider webs weave
them selves to me
at my slow speed
drowning in a coffin
of arrows
the sparrow sings
in the weeping willow tree
shading me
and its a most wonderful service
of bug chimes and bird chirps
dying to become fertilizer
so the shit show may continue
and its just casualties of war
to late to accept the accolade’s
or awards
its time to wake up
from the sleep
I counted all the sheep
all the way up to infinity
and I wake to the alarm
and I am a sad man in a song
confidence is a trick
I used so people thought I was smart
but I was really lost in the dark
stark raving mad
a lunatic who carries
sadness like a picnic basket
to downpours
they call me a narcissist
but I don’t even exist
i just exit
the highway man
as gray as the pavement
as dark as the asphalt
it is no one’s fault
but my own
and I own it
my aging skull
why must it
always feel the pain
all the blue sky’s
and sunshine
could not dry all the tears
in my eye’s
I tip my hat
and waiver
a mile high
on a high mile
my legs
got to weak
to stand
while I stopped
to catch my breath
woke up on the ground
with a crowd
bringing water
and cold rags
for my head
I was just trying
to get some lunch
at the Tibet Cafe
and would up
needing help
and I guess
that is why I am here
in these blessed mountains
with it soft air
that makes you do nothing
but focus on your breath
and you breath deep
every couple of feet
knowing that it only
gets deeper
and you go inward
bringing down the walls
as you go
everyone is equal
and unequal
we are all strangers
in a strange land
their are whispers
of a movement
but are we just dancing.
here I am
wherever the hell that is
between the something
and the null and void of nothing
i have seen things
and kept quite
just me
and the road
burning citys
in ruin
it was all so plesent once
when i lived off dreams
when life was spent
between the covers
of night
now it’s living
a million miles
a second
blurring scenery
the under passes are
are revolving nightmares
pulled between
the memories
and the future
stuck in the now
i am an abandoned
road side attraction
forgotten on the
what was of America
the shanty buildings
the tragic stories
of dilapidated homes
and sad drawn out faces
I don’t apologize to them
or have room
for the few hitch hikers
I have seen
in a world
where I was a hero
I am now
a blade of grass
on an infinite lawn
rolling along the planes
to receive my mountains
its just what gets me first
insomnia or hallucination
the illusion destroyed
broken bones
on the highway
outlined in sidewalk chalk
we talk but tuck
our heads
into our turtle shells
life has been hell
its also been heaven as well
I’m forgetting to breath
eat and sleep
hours pass by so fast
I don’t even have a chance
to catch up
out of gas
the one legged man
running a race
at a losers pace
and its ok
or I keep telling myself that
each day
is a new way
to make more
and if you go searching
what you seek
you wont find anything there
but if you live
you never know what to expect
im a car wreck
and then the ambulance
im the last dance
at the first communion
nothing is common
because its all strange
every day
every page
written deeper
without meaning
and I forget things
and look back
and get to know who I was
when I was
maybe Im not there now
but one day
Im going to make you
all proud of me
then you will see
what a road to ruin
I can make
So it has come to this
the precipice
of our existence
our holy eternal
impermanence
our Dia De Los Muertos
in the misery that surrounds us
leaves have turned
and legs have trembled
till your to weak
to speak
and what started as a limp
leaves you paralyzed
and the sobering truths
hang like an air freshener
while your drive
to the next destination
on a roundabout dead end
procrastinating
disintegrating
where the rubber meets the road
all the things
I have been told
turned to be bad advice
now I don’t think twice
or at all
going from ten feet
to two inches tall
so I pluck
all day
at my angels harp
while screaming
at the moon
my oldest
adversary
not to say
that the sun is my enemy
but it always made me sneeze
and I flinch and freeze
but you should never believe
when the lie is so real
its dimensional
and everything
seems irrational
and you ask
where did the passion go
what pill did I just swallow
while I wallow
threw three a.m.’s
listing to the whispers
of the birds chirp
and it hurts
like habitual hiccups
till we drift
listlessly
lost in thought
trying to translate
the entropy of fate
alone in the dark
to mental masturbate
about my date with destiny
but life
has become unfunny
my funny valentine
and the clock has run out
of time
so now
I must reset
to mountain standard time
and only me
and Dr. Seuss
know
the places you’ll go
Its all a farce
a sugar coated
watermelon flavored
giant jawbreaker lie
our masks and movements
static and stupid
trying to weave
webs of gold
always doing what we are told
guided by some moral loyal compass
when your own father
would whore your to the king
on a white whale
bought
before you ever went on sale
just a commoner
spinning stories
offering up
his own daughters head
instead of his own
there are days
he thought he himself was king
only to offer his kin
for his fabrication
he wasn’t counting on a miracle
to save him
never investing much
in salvation
sometimes strange daughters
spin gold
as the story is told
and a common girl
can become queen
but it is rarely seen
the cost is cautionary
and obscene
when the dream
was a wicked nightmare
and the first born
is promised to the midnight
dwarf creature
who gave you
your queen like features
the act of hubris
is almost humorous
to us on the outside
but their is one way
to keep your pride
if you can guess
who I am
and what I do
to live without sin
and satisfy the soul
on the razors edge
with no self control
you cant fill the hole
with imaginary dirt
you cant cash in
on what has no worth
we can not begin again
there is no mulligan
just our mistakes
and what we take
that makes
out guessing games
less of a game of chance
but a game of skill
where the objective is
to kill
pride and ego
how far do we go
to let go
and let the webs of gold
drown us
in our own passions
born into this
infinitesimal and pure
poisoned by a mad world
absurd to think
of the impossibilities of chances
my nature nourishing my neurosis
till I am metabolic soup
and all the worlds suffering
and Freud himself
wouldn’t be able
to untie the knot
the good parent
is the better liar
and life
was nothing
but gasoline
on the fire
all the worlds
a stage
like a prison
or a cage
this is why im full of rage
another page
unwritten
in an endless journal
of things i should have done
mistakes I have made
I wear like a cross
where I crucify my own ego
hanging upside down
like a sword
to keep away
the psycic vampires
maybe I have gone a bit batty
but madness
has always been my monopoly
don’t come searching
for your sanity
on some splinters of truth
it’s not about your virtue
as much as my stunning
ability to disconnect
while touching all things
like an essence
of a fragrance
buried deep in your brain
a memory
like a rubber stamp
at break neck speeds
bleeding a sea
of inconsistency
as regular
as old faithful
which is not as faithful
as it once was
we are both beings out of time
warriors without watches
painters without swatches
blind impressionist
improvising our impact
we play with explosions
in the midnight
to live hard
and die fast
I am all thumbs tonight
it has been the theme
of to many nights
im an artfull dodger
of my aspirations
my dreams are
kindling
for an ensuing inferno
but they dont burn
in the traditional sense of fire
its white hot gas
epervesing
from within
its the side
no one sees
the midnight
blue bird
singing for a hot plate
and leisure
but I have
the scars to remind me
and I play this game
with my self
to see if I can forget
till I fall asleep
inside the womb
of my spirtual estuauiry
where the masks
of ourselves
play in vivid
techno color
the morning comes
like amnesia
lost in perfect times
with death always
pecking at our heels
throwing our souls
around
why isnt it all sunshine and roses
who said we had to settle for
road blocks and white noises
the angst of youth cools
much like a cup of tea
kept at room tempture
and left to adjust
you might want to drink all of it
fixated by compulsion
you might only take a sip
with a less is more aporoach
but enough is enoguh
my selective amesia
made me forget all your names
your faces with diffrent stories
stappled to the back of your head
i walk threw my hall
of terocata warriors
in their rags
with type written pages
museing me to write them all down
the names I dont remeber
and the stories I can never forget
we have all since faught our heroic battles
and let the vastness of our riches spoil
we are the poor, the starving, the desprite
all reaching out
with our hands wanting weight
in some sadistic prayer
in a sea of me’s
I am
as you should be
my prophcies are my legacy
and I leave them there
free
and like most things truely free
it just wonders
looking for a hand to hold it
to sleep beside it
when its raining
and whent the thunder cracks
it squezes out of static
to say I felt it too
I let the puddles fill up
and stand at the edge of my own private ocean
Poseidon of the parking lot
wondering why all the lonley people
stare at the moon
when they are unaware of the company
they are keeping