Out and About

Is there space,
in your closet,
for another coat?

A permanent space,
reserved,
for one you seek?

Or a space,
for someone you met tonight?

How worried,
about future plans?

Drunken poetry speaks.
Volumes to those who know.
Subconscious bound to speaking,
tells truth,
the conscious may never know.

Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It...

Step 1: Open Wine
Step 2: Sip Wine
Step 3: Listen to:



Step 4: ENJOY!

This is me - sung to Tubeway Army

I walk real fast,
but sometimes I'm slow to react,
taking a few leaps,
and a few steps back.

I don't feel alone,
got my friends,
but when I'm surrounded,
isolation sets in.

So here I sit,
reading a book to myself,
understanding more,
that I know less and less,
about me, about you.

So off I go,
down the hall,
off and farther down,
down another street.

What you may ask,
is the use of dreams,
if the time of waking,
can't dream.

thinking lullaby

Do you sing when you drink? A lullaby for what you think?
Do you know yourself so well, do you think?
That your words will be remembered past tha' drink?
Stumble home, all alone,
past strangers wary,
who don't condone,
your choice of drinkin'
all alone.
Yet strangers share,
through look and stare,
that feeling laid bare,
oh let them stare.
And make witness,
I exist,
if not now,
then when remissed,
and
thus I'll live forever,
though dismissed,
as strange,
a stranger,
passed and noted,
talked of remotely,
vicariously,
my dreams wished.

petri dish

I wonder if we were ameba,
How we'd travel in a dish,
I wonder if we were so simple,
What we'd seek, who'd we'd kiss.

Consume until we conquer,
Consume until we divide,
Consume what the gods have gave us,
Examining us on the slide.

Do they view us as we do ourselves?
Do we know they exist?
Observations through a scope,
Do ameba kiss?

Do we surround to love,
Or is our love consumption?
Or do we touch and become aware,
Of another's desires and functions?

Are we the ameba,
Or in lab coats?
Is love being observed,
Or only experienced?

Unaware of what we are,
Are the answers,
As important,
As our experience?

Odds Are

So what gets me,
isn't that you find me attractive,
and place kisses upon me

It is that we,
no longer desire,
kisses from anyone but us.

No casual sighting,
or furtive glance,
would put you at odds,
with me knowing,
I was first.

Never to be thrown aside,
for something better,
or to feel like,
I was something less.

1:51

One fifty one
time changes now
no more ticking of the clock
electrons dance
and i measure
time in visuals
when sounds have halted

Another minute done
time changes now
is even tick? Is odd tock?
take a chance
and in feathers
time individual
when thoughts have halted

pollen

How long did I wait,
for you to bloom,
when did the first,
buds grow?

Did the florist,
gather the buds,
hungrily lusting,
for the flower?

Or was the wisdom,
of waiting,
of knowing,
what was to come,
the building of joy,
in certain knowledge,
beauty contained,
for all to not see,
to busy,
with the forest?

I smelled the tell tale signs,
before I could see,
drawn to the new beauty of it all.

Now - late in season,
beauty gone to seed,
I smelled the musty wind,
of love's spoiled beauty.

Still,
seasons come,
and we may witness,
the seeds we left,
may yet need,
solitude,
to start again.

How old do they feel?
The ones knowing,
of the seeds before them?
How young,
the ones unaware,
they are seeds?
How comforted,
the ones that know,
seeds after them?

How long,
did will you wait,
for winter's passage?