Slow Your Roll

I don't want to slow my roll.

I want to stay on it 'til fatigue takes its toll,

Then wake up to an early alarm and caffeine.

I don't need a life out of some magazine.

I'd gladly take bag-toting eyes, extra pounds,

To keep thinking ideas up and writing them down.

I know you can't stand who I'm trying to be,

But I can't stand the things you keep wishing on me:

The pension, career, the big house and the wife,

The two-point-two kids and the rest of your life.

All I want is the last five minutes,

and the next five minutes,

and ten more years of this.

Zombie Zoo

Imagine being swept along by an invisible hand,

By the flushed flesh of your own urges,

By the hordes of others who would be just like you,

By the hordes of others whom you would be just like,

To the perfect place for so many to congregate

To a bacchanal feast of all that's tempting to the senses,

Consuming whatever you feel, whatever you will, at will,

Consuming whatever you feel, whatever you will, without will.

If you can still read this, there may be hope for you.

An Army of Fools

An army of fools in service of a queen

Who does not rest and does not breathe

Descend as a living panopoly

To pillage in lines orderly.

'Tis a terribly fascinating thing to see,

But there's one thing about it that haunts my sleep:

That used to be me.

Maladjustment

I was watching football.

I was tossing to baseball.

I was listening to music,

and of course I was writing.

I was revealing a dark truth–

To myself–for the first time.

My last five minutes

Just flashed before my eyes.

Your Diamond Smile

Your diamond smile,

Ageless and unfading,

Dazzles when unhidden.

You are judicious

With that display piece.

You could sell tickets.

The way the sunshine

Called to earth by your smile

Plays off your verdant eyes

and the black forest of your hair

(Which your finger takes

On a roller-coaster ride to nowhere)

Is unintentional.

It cannot be interpreted

As a sign.

To Queen Fragg

They told me to say “one nation under God,”

But it's not right,

Because I don't look around and see one nation.

I see Steeler Nation

and Red Sox Nation

and the Blackfeet Nation

and AWOLNATION

and the Nation of Islam

and if there even is a God,

We're all way, way under.

Nature vs. Culture

All that is really our lives,

The unalienable,

The things that make from matter selves

Is made prologue and epilogue to production,

But I think the genes had it right

When our humanity set the stage

and then got out of the way

For reproduction.

The difference was one syllable

Two families

and infinite pleasure.

The poetry was also better.

Why I Write, part x+226: Truthsayer

The art of comedy began with the jester,

A daredevil whose act went two feet in the air,

Speaking truth to power, and surviving,

But what do they call the sort of person

Who just speaks truth to everyone,

and only for his amusement?

Crack in a Bell

The call rang out from the halls of power,

Every hour on the hour,

and the people have come out of their holes

To take their turn at the polls,

Gone home and left the powerful a mandate,

This one the kind that cannot wait.

The people have spoken. They said, “Give me Liberty,

Or something to distract me,”

and the powerful have agreed.

Why I Write, part x+225: To Disappear

I can write anything I want.

I can write anything I want.

Some will praise it, take the excuse

To explain the advanced poetics I employed.

Some will lament it, wax sympathetic as they

Point to distant, biographical pains behind.

Some will point to it as a Freudian excuse

For any rout, reverse, or regret from my past.

Some will point to it and say, “nonsense.”

This will happen any time I write,

No matter what I write.

This will happen every time I write.

This is what happens when anyone writes,

Because everyone who reads is a writer,

and if everyone is a writer,

Then there are no writers at all,

and all we can read is our own minds,

With fair-to-middling comprehension skills,

But hardly a hint of understanding.

I can write anything I want,

Any time I want

To disappear into your mind.

Enjoy!

Two Great Tastes

I remember dancing to the one's beat

In the basement of Club Hell,

If only to get out of the heat.

The other played the soundtrack to my youth.

I never did mind the complex chords,

Because the lyrics sang the truth.

Never let your disparate favorites

Sign to the same label.

Hear how they collaborate

As they're best unable,

The half-songs they sing

About two different things.

I don't know what kind of music

They're trying to make,

But it's definitely not peanut butter cups.

Deadbeat's Last Stand

There are things to be eaten,

Glasses to be raised,

Games to be cheered for,

and people to be watched.

There are couches for sitting,

Recliners for lounging,

and couches for laying down on.

There are missives to be composed,

and manifestos to be scrawled.

With so much nothing to do,

You ask me to consider this

Fascinating philosophical quandary:

Is it worse when celebrities show skin

Or cover that skin with the same clothing

On two different red carpets?

At least I have the pride to do nothing right.

Is Inspiring Inaction a Form of Leadership?

Why do today

What can be done tomorrow?

If you can't quit while you're a head,

Quit before you're tired.

Don't put in your two cents,

and it's two pennies saved,

While one minute saved

Is like cheating death itself.

Low-hanging fruit taste just the same.

Higher branches are for the birds.

Unrepentant

I'm sorry I upset you,

and that's all I can say

I could hide,

But that's just a slow-motion lie.

I could leave,

at least if you're tired of me.

I'd apologize,

But this is part of who I am.

I wouldn't change it if I thought I could.

It's been ages since I tried.

DMZ

I suppose he wonders why

I don't even acknowledge it,

Why I won't meet him halfway

Or send him away in defeat,

Or perhaps the already suspects

That I need that kind of drama

Like a fish needs a bicycle.

I suppose she expects me

To do everything, to be everything,

To swoop in, sweep her off her feet,

That whole fairytalestorybook bit,

But that's not my kind of relationship.

I'm not looking for a princess,

Just a friend.

Princess Charmin

I'm not sure when she stopped telling me

What she thought I wanted to heart,

Only to begin telling me everything

She wanted to hear herself say.

She tells me that it's real this time,

That she would never leave me,

That she could never hurt me,

That she was a different person back then.

(Oh sure, only once, and never again.)

She tells me that if she won the lottery,

and anything in the world was within her means

She would choose only me.

She is thirty years old, and still plays make-believe.

Cabin Fever

If I got any more sick,

I would actually admit

That I'm congested,

and not just stuck in my head

Without my headphones

Unable to think out past

The tip of my nose

Or hear anything beyond

The waterfall roar on the sides of my face,

and I wouldn't have come to this place.

The Road Less Trifled

It was not his words,

Nor his way with words.

It was not what he said,

But his way of saying,

and his way of saying little.

It said a lot.

He had an air about him

(and he displaced a lot of it),

The air of a man rarely trifled with,

So I trifled,

and it has made all the difference.

In a Place Like This

I know exactly what a girl like you

Is doing in a place like this.

A bar is a place people go to lie together

Before they lie together,

and you'd be a fool not to know I'm lying.

You should feel free to walk away.

But I wish you wouldn't.

After One Night

I know you underestimated my persistence.

I may have overestimated something more tangible.

I don't know if you overestimated your resistance,

But I didn't expect the results to be so forgettable.

I am sorry for the confusion.

I am sorry for the things I said.

I am sorry for the things you said.

So Was Red

I didn't really kill you,

So I didn't really go to prison.

I just lived the next year

Someplace I hated even more

Than remembering–or forgetting,

Though I didn't do the whole year,

Or a whole lot of living.

Still, you and the time are both gone.

Both of us are free.

Brooks Was Here

I am locked away behind brain-bars

With mindset for a warden,

With habits for guards,

and like everyone, I have my days.

I, too, have a longing for escape.

I imagine that I could somehow run away

To normal, where anyone can hide,

and then I realize

That the only place worse than inside

Is outside.

Sometimes/Tonight

Sometimes, facebook is a slog,

But tonight, I'm liking pictures of dogs.

They always say that time flies,

But tonight it has slowed to my pleasure,

The better to develop and write,

and it seems that God made sure

The heat went out with the light.

Tonight is a good night.

Faith

In her youth, she was a gymnast;

She wanted to fly, and that was the closest.

I could plagiarize, and she'd excuse me

As a fine eye for finding found poetry.

She's the only person I know who thinks

That skunks are lovely and noses stink.

I couldn't stay with her

Because she believed it would work.

Lost

You know how to put one word behind the other,

Bragging that momentum made a molehill of your mother.

You can tell me to finesse that flamingo flam, fabulous,

Because we don't need to make sense to anyone but us.

The rest of them can get on with their gam-gumming gait,

But for me, you may have to translate.

Instant Sherlock (Just Add Alcohol)

I lost my short-term memory,

But I wish I could say

That I gave it away,

Because now my entire life is like living in a Doyle story.

My brain's at work, too pressed for boring,

Examining, with my magnifying glass and eyebrow raised,

Everything anywhere near my personal space,

Using everything around as clues,

Piecing together what I meant to do.

A Time to Rend, a Time to Sew

The future racing in to meet us

Was always going to defeat us.

To each, the other will be gone,

To each ourselves will soon move on,

To break up, and yet not to break.

My heart now tastes of lemonade.

I think less about why my future is lonely,

and more about you, my limited-time-only.

I rejoice to have known this woman I know.

It's unthinkable that she will be mine tomorrow,

and never again.

This One

This morning's alarm was an early one,

To get to a trail that's a burly one.

In the morning, the climb is a shady one

Above the dog paths where the ladies run.

This morning's climb was a MILFy one.

(This poet's mind is a filthy one.)

It Isn't Better Not To Know

I don't know what it is about you.

I may never know what it is about you.

I don't know why you do this to me.

I will never know what you've done to me.

I don't know how this started.

I can never know why it will end.

I have read jailbreak blitzes.

I have read middle screens.

I cannot read you.

I have come out the other side

Of the party's dark tunnel,

The meat grinder and the half ton of trouble,

All of it to run into you, the shining light

On the front of a locomotive.

Pain in the Ass

You are a pain in the ass.

I don't mean that like it sounds,

That you have your own mind,

That you speak your own mind,

That you shouldn't.

I'm not sure why I let those words out,

To complain about something

That I only sort of mind.

You are completely adorable.

Being you is a thrill ride

Through a botanical garden

On leather seats,

and I have no idea what it means;

I have no idea what you'll do next;

I have no idea what you're thinking.

You are a pain in the ass.

Why I Write, Part x+224: Transitions

I am unprepared.

I was never one to take notes.

I'm bad with transitions.

I could say it's the writing,

That a novel of introductions,

A novel of conclusions a year

Is all that a man has in him,

But I'm just bad with transitions.

Change and I are at odds.

The universe and I are at odds.

It's why I write in the first place.

Can't Stop

Because I could not stop for Love,

She kindly stopped for me.

The carriage held but just ourselves,

Quite inconveniently,

No room for hobbies, older friends,

Or reasonable doubts

Until the carriage had to stop

and let me jump right out.

Bitter Afternoon

The wind woke me whole, like a good woman's breath.

It playfully nipped at my face and my neck,

Enlivening me, softly cooling my head,

Pushing newfound awareness to the ends of my flesh,

and I went out, eager to put right before left.

That was the day I found out she was dead.

Adolescent Escapism • Concentrated Strength • 100% Pure • Dilute Before Consuming

People live plotlines all over my brain,

Protagonists, antagonists, characters minor and main:

Outer space aliens and their earthly contacts,

Lovebirds with their lovers, teens and parents to match,

So many pairings. There are detectives and perps,

Coaches and teachers, lawyers and lawyers,

Legions of mages and demon hunters,

and fictional football teams, down to the punters.

The stories I tell in my head are embarrassing,

But the breadth of the stories in my head is astonishing.

Summer in Montana, Pt. 8: The Hot Ones Are Always Crazy

Today, I met another hot one.

I saw it darken,

and I heard it talk about its feelings,

But it refused to start crying.

Never trust a thunderstorm warning.

Why I Write, Part x+223: Minutiae of Belief

My first novel hacked a path for all those after

Because I believed in the character.

The second time, I believed in the story–I've lived it.

Now, I write because I believe the message in it.

Perhaps, in this novel, or the next, or the next

I will gain the experience to believe in the process,

and perhaps after writing many more,

I may even learn to believe in the author.

Happily Never After

Relationships are like razor blades or cubes of ice.

They are best when they are new,

While everything is still interesting,

Before thought enters into it.

The first overthinking is the beginning

Of the end of raw, fond rememberings.

I don't want to say you've grown dull,

and I can't say that you melted me at all,

But I would never let you pull me

Into slippery ever after.

How Assholes Say Thank You

I aspire to be more animal than man,

Voraciously ripping and tearing,

Heedless, mindless of your clothes,

Which everyone with television knows

Is what a man wants from a woman,

But even after, I could spend hours basking

In your aesthetic being.

Unjust Words, Just Words

I have heard the words other people use,

But I have no illusions about the things we do,

Or, rather, the things I have done to you,

All of the things I'd still prob'ly do.

I'm cloudier about the fact that you still care for me today.

It makes it worse and better, both, that you will go away.

Go Back, Pt. 2

To get dressed in the morning or strip off day's lie,

To talk to my brother, seek laughs or advice,

To look over what my folks would say I shouldn't have bought,

When I wanted to do things without getting caught,

When I had something private to say on the phone,

When I was just sick of being anything other than alone,

All moments of need led to one destination.

My room was my library, lair and vacation.

Go Back, Pt. 1

The world (for western academics) turns

From springtime leavings to fall returns

When students must go back to school,

and I half-wish I was going, too,

Back to friends and classrooms safe

Where real life sits outside and waits.

What's keeping me away from them?

Fear they won't be the same again.

Pull Away

I have never preached forever. This is why I don't believe.

It was natural I'd push and you would pull away from me.

I try not to think so much on your affection for me waning

and more about the time with friends I'll shortly be regaining,

But living all my favorite memories foreshadowed, in reverse,

Should leave me where I started. This somehow left me worse.

Stubby Love

I love how you're short, stubby and small–

Not like you're thinking, or physically at all,

But intellectually, where you're sure in your ways,

No room for frivolities like experiment or play,

Even when that's reductive, and even when it's wrong.

In fact, those situations both keep my love strong.

Extradovial Biological Entities

Bacteria might live their lives in dog's bowls, drains, or doves,

Worlds that fit inside the pocket of a baseball glove,

With a universe of life outside they cannot hope to see,

So why shouldn't we?

No Love Without the Glove

I know that I am a fan, not a player.

I know that the catches I make with it

Don't make me anything other than mediocre,

and I know that it doesn't make any sense

To take it everywhere I go.

I know that Honus Wagner never had one just like it.

I just like it.

From the Hearts of Drug Addicts and Christopher McCandless Everywhere

It's hard to decide: should I love or deplore

The thing that I'd give up anything for?

What gem is so bright, to make all more seem less?

Many demand payment in liberty or death,

But that's so dramatic, so 1778.

I say give me liberty or give me a risky escape.

Almost

Today, I almost slipped again.

I almost screwed everything up.

I almost said something I almost mean.

I almost made the biggest mistake of life.

Today was almost utterly horrific.

Sometimes the most comforting thing in the world

Is the fact that “almost” doesn't count.

What Have We Done?

We did what we do best.

We did what came to mind.

We did what came naturally.

We did what we thought was best.

We did what we had to do.

We did it the easy way.

What have we done?

What Have We Here?

I have my orders;

I have my reasons,

and I have my ways.

But I have ideas of my own.

I have a mind of my own;

I have my work cut out for me.

Take Two and Call Me in the Morning

In the black no man's account belongs.

Every record's red with wrongs.

Regret's the soul's sole cure for sin,

So take it twice, for everything.

Regret is head-turned-back hindsight–

Emotional, thus no more right

Than backing into a telephone pole,

and haste like that will bruise the soul.

Time heals, but teaches lessons, too.

Regret can be thus used, as a tool,

A map to life's best neighborhoods.

Moderation's almost always good.

It shouldn't hinder, block your eyes.

Just keep it near you as a guide.

Death Imitates Life

The movies play dramatic songs,

Send doomed characters out righting wrongs.

In life, such things are rarely seen–

No warning, time, or energy.

As life went, most times, death will go.

Fate conducts no rallentandos,

So live a life you're proud to leave,

If nostalgia-bound-regretfully.

Life Advice That Also Applies to Card Games Three Quarters of the Time

To cure a life that's less than art,

Romantics say, lead with the heart.

That's no good way to be a man.

It's too squishy for a batt'ring ram.

It isn't to be done for show.

The heart's all blood and veins, you know,

and not a thing folks want to see–

A mess, best left for poetry.

Little Tin Goddess

You used to star in so much of what I'd write,

But lately your star has faded in my eyes,

and though I will admit that it's still here,

It's the worse for burning fuel at both ends these years.

It was all looks, I hate to say.

You can't compare to yesterday.

I thank you for the foolproof cure for infatuation

(Because even a fool can't keep from aging),

and admit that I'm nothing like easy on the eyes,

But I say, and with no hint of pride

That the loins desire without art.

The senses speak before the heart.

The Storyteller

I am the world's foremost expert on Sherlock Holmes,

As well as half a dozen more obscure and ancient tomes.

I am not a secret agent with a thrilling double life,

But I'm not free to discuss consulting

That I do from time to time.

I write a book a month when I get going.

Thanks to a wonderful invention

Known as Orexin-A, I do not sleep.

Thanks to a wonderful invention

Known as testicles, I do not weep.

My name is not my name.

I am Ezekiel Ali Smith.

My action figure's accessory

Is a past he's trying to get away with.

My name is not my name,

Because I am five different famous authors.

I exist at the pleasure of the Universe,

So it's fortunate, for me,

That the Universe finds me so pleasing.

I am the greatest storyteller of all time,

and you are the audience who kept listening.

Why I Write, Part x+222: Cadillacs and Funny Hats

Poetry is the thing that marks me out.

It is my Cadillac and other peoples' discomfort,

My pride and other peoples' shame.

I can throw it around, and play silly games.

I can throw it right into someone's face.

Poetry is a lot of things to a lot of people,

But to me, it's mainly my funny hat.

Mutually Assured Destruction

It took me a while to admit we were through,

and more than a while deciding what I wanted to do,

and I'm not really out for blood and revenge,

Nor do I want to unfinish our end.

In truth, I just want to follow you around

and tear everything you leave behind you to the ground

So that the world knows the truth about you, which is this:

Everything you touch is the lesser for it.

Living the Stereotype

I am so expressive

That I would tell you exactly what I'm feeling

Except I don't know the words for it,

and I'm not really feeling anything at the moment.

I am so well rounded

That I haven't thought of sex since...

...Whoops.

I'm so good at making commitments

I've canceled half of everything I ordered on E-bay.

I'm so good at taking suggestions

That I netflixed eight seasons of The Office

Before I figured out that I needed to get a job.

I'm so straightforward

That I have never written a sarcastic word.

This was meant to be an apology,

But then I realized I only meant it as an explanation,

Because I don't think I should change for you.

I don't think I should change for anyone but me.

I Like the Drugs...

Anger is stimulant.

It squeezes the mind,

Heats and shapes it

Into razor-sharp focus.

It rages all else away.

Anger is anabolic.

It is a rubber band

On a launching pad,

Putting up more of a fight

Than even our greatest heights,

and once we stop holding it back,

There's nothing we can't attack.

Anger is medicinal,

A one-way ticket out of depressionville.

It stubbornly demands a response

Beyond days spent in bed

and extreme eating habits,

and there's something poetic

About the way smiles you have to fake

Twist, contorting into rage

Starting just before you turn away,

But my favorite thing about anger

Is that it fades.

It's Not That I'm Not Here...But I'm Not Going to Answer

Have you ever had one of those days

That turned your mind into a caricature

Of Charles Wayne Dahmer,

Your hands into a caricature of Rocky Ali

and your face into a caricature of a steam locomotive?

Have you had one of those days

That made you crave to be that person

That even when you were at your very worst

You were terrified of becoming?

So yeah, maybe ask again tomorrow.

On Attraction

She has eyes of a color

So rarely seen in nature.

She has a smile.

Oh, she does smile

When she's not so conversational–

Her vocabulary is sensational,

Because she reads all the right books,

and I swear it's not all about the looks,

But whatever lizard lives inside me

Reaches up from below

and wags a finger back and forth.

He says no.

I want to like you, but I don't.

Quoth the Gov'mint Evermore

They say that it's the smart and the progressive thing to do.

They say the founding fathers would have done it this way, too.

They say that not to do it would hurt our economy.

They say that it's for national and world stability.

They say “only while we need it,” and promise that's not long.

They say “you should agree unless you're doing something wrong.”

They tell me that it's justified, 'cause we're under attack.

I say give me Liberty or give the statue back.

That's What She Said

Nice to meet you.

That's really interesting.

Yeah, I guess I could eat.

I look forward to seeing you again.

You really do write a lot, don't you?

Oh, that feels so good. Please don't stop.

It's perfect! I can't believe you actually found it!

He's your best friend. Of course I want to meet him.

You're a better listener than my ex. And other stuff, too.

We don't have to go out every Saturday. I like staying in.

I think we should get a dog. I always wanted to have a dog.

Hawaii? Of course! I'd love to go. I haven't had a vacation in ages.

I'm always talking to my parents about you. They really want to meet you.

You don't have to worry about looking like a nerd. It's interesting, and I love you.

I know he's your best friend, but can't you even go a week without seeing him?

I can't believe I'm dating a man who thinks Picasso is just “okay.”

Why are you always watching those stupid detective shows?

Do you have to spend so much time writing?

How come we don't go out on Saturdays?

Why can't you dress like my ex did?

My friends don't like you.

It's not you, it's me.

(“You can keep the dog.”

That's what she didn't say.)

It's Too Hard to Act My Age

I can still taste that fateful kiss,

The distinct scent of disappointment,

Or maybe it was just stale beer,

The natural flavor of adolescent memories

Dismissed, discounted and discouraged as a matter of course.

I have tasted worse.

Keep Me Waiting

I never said there's anything wrong

With keeping me waiting.

Modern live is close to becoming

Just a series of lines we acquiesce to standing it,

But now that I'm openly wondering

How long I will continue acquiescing,

You tell me.

How patient can you afford to be?

Eyes Meet

Sometimes eyes meet at an intersection

(Hopefully not literally; that tends to be

Sort of a train-wreck, but with cars),

Passing so fast that they don't so much meet

As coincide,

Which is not as bad as when they linger too long.

That makes me want to cover my eyes.

Sometimes, there really is no meeting.

One turns away too early, and the other too late,

and sometimes, it seems just right,

and it seems like more have met than just eyes,

But no matter how it happens, I always wonder

“What was she thinking?”

Matilda

A first bear is a confusing thing.

When you find it twenty years later,

And it almost fits in the palm of your hand.

The first bear is for the time

When it doesn't look much smaller than you.

I don't know how long mine was my favorite toy,

Because I don't remember a time

When it was a relevant part of my life.

The musical movement still works,

It just doesn't sing to me anymore.

Keep Your Friends Close...

This world is full of whimsical woe,

Like the flying needles to stick me while I mow,

Two and a half kingdoms of life than can fly,

and quarter-ton steel sculptures that will eat you alive.

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough,

Owing to my lack of trust.

Shared Hangover–Humility and the Walk of Shame

As I water my heart with the fermented grain,

It trickles down but not up–reaches low, not high brains,

So that neither sense nor amour grows, but only appetite for fall.

It seems I don't water my heart at a watering hole at all,

and having for one night supported you on drink but no food,

For a second, I wonder what I nourished in you.

The Comedown–Radical Humor Coincident With Humility's Return

I drink to descend to the civilized world–

In essence, to play well with most boys and girls,

But it turns out that as my brain gets wetter and wetter,

My capacity to fake normal takes an injurious fall,

So that spirits help me understand my own delusions better,

and do not bring me closer to the greater hive, at all.

Written Before the Hangover and Humility's Return

I don't drink to get away, honestly.

Escape is why God invented TV.

No, I drink to walk away from myself with a swagger.

What I swallow as sauce is humility's dagger,

and it slows me down, 'til my brain works like regular folks',

So that we get along, and I laugh at their jokes.

Delay, Deny, Evade and Avoid

Delay, deny, evade and avoid

Are my motto, and also my rules.

Delay, deny, evade and avoid

Will get me through the day.

Delay, deny, evade and avoid

Gets you out of more work than to

Concede, confess, expose and accept,

and who knows what else you might get to do

While you delay, deny, evade and avoid?

Conservative Playcalling vs. the Quick-Kick

I've watched the clock

Spin my workday

In endless concentric circles.

I've marked time to the end

Of many an elective class.

I've gone into halftime

With a four-touchdown lead,

and run the clock out to the end,

But never before had I chosen

To run out the clock on a relationship.

The Corner of My Eye

I was walking by the river,

and you caught the corner of my eye.

You apologized all the way to the hospital,

Because you're a better woman

Than you are a fisherwoman,

and together we learned

That the quickest way to a man's heart

Is through his bloodstream.

The Dangers of Using Conventions On a Poet, Pt. 2

Watch yourself. You can't just sit around

Staring at yourself in the mirror all day.

Enjoy your chair while it lasts,

Because pretty soon, you'll be out on your butt.

You gotta grab the bull by the horns,

Because if you mess with the bull, you'll get 'em.

One Foot Out the Door

With one foot out the door,

I make sure you're behind me,

That you're still there with me,

Leaving to stay together,

In a rush to make new memories

So that we have something to share,

Or something to take with us.

Never, Ever Change

There was a time I could not picture thirty,

and another time I pictured myself

Worse for the wear and better for it.

Now, I picture thirty as a lot like thirteen

and a little bit like three hundred.

I may have grown a bit inside my skull and waistband,

and shrunk a bit inside my knees and boxers,

But I have never, ever changed.

But What About the Woman Wearing It?

The hat is two sizes too big for her haircut.

I don't know what color it used to be,

But now it's a light shade of fallingapart,

The little I can see between patches and buttons

Which hold it together and speak for it:

“12th Annual Farm Festival,”

“PETA: People Eating Tasty Animals,”

“Mean people suck,”

“Bush/Voldemort '08,”

“:)”

It lost all its seams to be falling apart at.

It is better than new.

Lame Walking Dream

I walked from task to task with no memory.

It was better than work, but a lame walking dream,

and now it's time to clean off a long day's grime,

The stains and the stubble of twelve hours' time.

I stand at the sink, half awake or still dreaming.

It doesn't seem like my hands doing the cleaning.

This thing could be sublime, and it might just be weird,

But that guy in the mirror would look better with a beard.

(F)utility

I am waking up and rushing away,

Off to mark time 'til the end of my day.

I'm working, just to make money, just to spend it,

and borrowing more–there's not enough to lend it.

I am pushed, pulled, and put off, harried and dismissed.

I am the workforce, wondering if this is all there is.

Persistence, or The Crawl Less Traveled

First they asked, and I said, “nah, I'm busy.”

Then they asked, and I said, “no thanks.”

Then they asked, and I said, “I'm going out of town.”

Then they asked, and I said, before walking away,

“I think I'm already over my legal limit of fun for the day.”

Then they asked, and I said, “sure,”

and it has made all the difference.

Not Even Boyfriend Material

Promising forever, to have and to hold

Always struck me as boring and old.

I promise that I will never say the words

“Don't look up.” I'll stare in another direction

Until you start staring the same way.

I promise you'll ask “what are you staring at?” a lot.

I promise that I will not bring my chainsaw

Inside your house or apartment.

I promise I will never put money first,

Second, or under anybody's mattress.

I promise that I will never read your mail.

Sometimes, I may choose to read mine.

I promise to tell every joke I make

Until I know that you heard it.

I promise to keep my eye on the ball;

I promise to keep my head in the game;

I promise to keep my hands to myself,

At least when I'm playing non-contact sports.

I promise that if you rank a day's two weirdest questions,

That I will have asked both of them.

I promise that I will forget things,

But I'll probably forgot I told you so.

Why I Write, Part x+221: Maunder (Again)

I remember the day when I was looking for The One

Who could satisfy multiple needs,

Who could be both physical and intellectual.

You were there, and you were perfect,

and I hope that you stay forever.

Sincerely,

Your Insane Poet

We've Met

She walks around the back corner,

Where I always sit. She says,

“Oh, there's something sitting here.”

I suppose she's new here.

Two hours later, she leans over my desk,

and asks “

Strange that I met someone today,

and I could say we haven't met.

Colorblind

I used to tell people that I was colorblind.

I won't say our backgrounds are no different; that's not right,

But people around me always talk about people as black and white,

While in my experience, they may be dark or may be light,

But they are always brown, just samedifferent enough to delight.

Just Don't Over-Oil It

In the wrong hands, it is soft and smooth.

In better hands, it feels like a notebook

An old one, the cover soaked in butter,

Knowledge and natural smoothness,

What I once thought love would be,

What I wish I could be.

In the right hands, it only feels like nirvana,

Universal truth.

Oddly Enough, Made from an Herbivore's Skin...

Flexible and supple in its cocoa skin,

What a beautiful, powerful predator,

and clever.

It merely sits back and waits

For its round, white, faster prey,

and once the predator finds its spot,

Prey has an odd tendency to fall into the jaws.

That Time When I Wasn't In A Crowded Theater (No, Really)

This is fire.

This is fire that I need,

Fire with purpose,

Artist's fire,

Fire.

That fire is a little bigger than I intended,

Fire too big for its purpose.

Fire.

Fire.

I should run.

Run.

It's funny that I can't feel the fire.

Run.

It's funny that I can't feel the running.

Fire.

Run.

Fire.

It's funny that time is moving so slowly.

Sink.

It's funny that I can't feel the cold water.

Fire.

It's funny that my hand is green.

My...

My...

MY HAND IS GREEN?!?

Control

Avarice is our society's fuel and engine oil.

It has a tendency to grow the economy and spoil

Every last inch of our souls and insides,

Making people spend their lives on the things that they buy,

So I trained myself out of it eight years ago July.

Living the modern definition of desire got old,

Trading my life away for my means of control,

But I didn't quite manage to get away,

Because you influence my thoughts of past and future from today,

and I would gladly accept you as my ball and chain,

Hopelessly enamored with my constraints.

It's The Middle Things...

We drive in half-measures–with the wheel in one hand,

With one foot on the music, eye on lemonade stands,

Until a car the other eye missed leaves a texting hand shattered.

Driving's unkind to those who forget that it matters,

Like the weather–could strand you in rain wind or snow–

Like just about anything done in a boat,

Like that friend you take for granted, who doesn't know you don't want more

Who spends years getting less, back to even the score,

Or lightening, or riptide, or the height of your roof.

They argue for attention using people as proof.

It's not the little things that kill, nor the grandest regrets.

It's the things that, whatever their size, you forget.

Lost Minutes

Your bossy's less in what, but how, to do.

It's funny. I've watched people just like you

Lose minutes blown out the window,

Out of your grasp, daily, out on the road,

You drop second after second on the ground

Wherever you stop and go and turn around.

He who lives by “a little bit at a time”

Will lose years off his life, being nickel-and-dimed.

My kind of moderation is the average of extremes;

Long lines of wild stabs affirm diversity of dreams.

Failure's part of my existence. I simply had to choose

Failure writ spectacular on time I'm bound to lose.

The Adult Diary of Amelia Bedelia

Don't break the seal if the contents are shook.

Don't judge the cover artist by the contents of the book.

Don't buy the cow if you're just here to look.

If you think you fit the line, then don't bite the hook,

and never, ever stick your emotional investment in crazy.

...But Horsehide Does Not Smell White

Leather even smells brown,

Bashfully, perhaps, but big,

Not like the dirt, the earth,

Which is everywhere beneath us

and hardly smells brown at all.

It's a Different Fashion Statement If You Wear Them Out Yourself

Someone told me the jeans I wear look pretty good.

It's my argument that they probably should.

They work hard and play hard: no fussing, no whining.

They don't dent or scratch, like a human's bed lining.

Ten years treated so tough you can't say that it's love,

'Til they fit like my own past, like a good baseball glove.

(The best of both are near unwearable right off the shelf.)

It's still a fashion statement if you wear them out yourself.

Linguistic Engineer In Transition

I've heard governments say that they “neutralized” a man,

So what? They somehow turned him into Switzerland?

When people have to go, they go numbers one or two,

and don't people pass on when they've just finished passing through?

Nobody's dying anymore. They're just seeking palliative care.

They're economical with the truth when they describe what's really there.

I've heard people “spending more time with family” complain about it.

I've also heard of people in “adult relationships,”

Which just sounds like an acquaintance with anyone adult,

So if I don't get your meaning, I don't see how that's my fault.

Say That I Remembered

I could never say that I remembered every detail;

A lie I could never commit

Grew from truths I could never admit,

But the details, elementary as they are,

Are the sharpest, and they cut.

I remember the way your eyes and face changed,

Ran to the extremes of the spectrum

Whenever I said something that you liked

Or something that you really didn't.

I remember that your lips were hieroglyphs,

A hundred shapes that meant two hundred things.

I remember all the places we used to go,

and that our hands, also, were travel buffs.

Oh, the places they used to know.

While I know that we can never go back,

The mind knows many more directions

Than are imagined in all your science.

Do What You Want

You can do what you want and refuse what you don't,

and I'm free to argue, to ask why you won't.

This is no proposition enstringèd, no date.

It's just an excuse to relax, stay out late,

Somehow separate this from your six other days.

You'd do best to get out, since you can't get away.

You see all of the drawbacks, and none of the rewards,

Or maybe I'm just bored.

Love, Factually

Love is about a person's flaws.

Love is like having a superpower

That is actually a dangerous disadvantage.

Love is about disregarding rational thought

While making permanent plans.

Love is having a ready-made excuse to relapse into self-hatred

After doing anything interesting or impulsive.

Love is about compromise, forged by quiet desperation.

(According to the Gospel of House,)

“I love her, therefore I let her keep her socks on.

If that's what love is about, I don't want anything to do with it.”

...And Spit In The Other

I wish I remembered our how-to-be-friends.

I wish I could just randomly see you again.

I wish I remembered where I remember you from.

I wish I had more to say to you.

                                                Guess I'm done.

When I Was

I remember when I was intense,

Rather than indifferent.

I remember when I was prolific,

Rather than pedantic.

I remember when I was prodigal,

Rather than pedestrian.

I remember when I was fun,

Rather than forgettable.

I remember when I was creative,

Rather than coasting.

I remember when I was hoping,

Rather than moping.

I remember when I was hungry,

Rather than gluttonous.

I remember when I was rounded,

Rather than rounding.

I remember when I was gallant,

Rather than galling.

I remember when I was someone

Rather than nobody.

Those days had their moments.

When You Were

I remember when you were eccentric,

Rather than ecclectic.

I remember when you were inquisitive,

Rather than an inquisitor.

I remember when you were spontaneous

Rather than sensible.

I remember when you were sarcastic,

Rather than enthusiastic.

I remember when you were interestingly unconventional,

Rather than interested in the mundane.

I remember when you were cute

As a habit, rather than an occasion.

I remember when you were fresh,

Rather than frozen.

I remember when you were mine,

Rather than his.

Those days had their moments.

Liar, Liar

Lies are not the sovereign territory of words,

Nor are pants the only habitat of fire.

Indeed, I can feel my whole face burning

As I exert all of my strength

Endeavoring to smile like I mean it

In an attempt to laugh like I used to,

Testing the depths of my depression

and failing.

Why I Write, Part x+220: Maunder

My fingers maunder over keys

Or pen and page, which'er I please,

On pathless paths, in time's due course,

'Tween dusty, distant metaphors,

Or, if lonely lusts irony, then I bring together,

With whapping and womping, my horsehide and leather.

I suspect my doctor'd think it best

To give my restlessness a rest.

Awkward Situation IV: Recipes for Mixing Metaphors

My pen bleeds, and in lieu of pain

Cries that all the world's a page.

So, most unplagued by inspiration,

Instead, I'm sickened with frustration,

Which, having youth dilute with age,

Grasps at substitutes for rage.

To be paralyzed by punctuation

Makes an awkward situation.

Words Fail Him

I am the writer whose words fail him,
Socially illiterate in many situations.
I would give you a handful of mine,
But they always slip through my fingers
To dissolve in a volume of wasted time,
and I seem to have been born without a filter.

13 inches – Superior design – full grain leather

I do not, as the rule, use the word “love,”

But in this case, a cow gave its life

(and did not save its hide),

Several strangers in the Philippines gave their time,

and an unlikely row of sewing machines

Gave needles and whirrs and an overworked wheeze,

and now, when we play rough, you sound like perfection.

You're just (in)animate enough for a connection.

Thin Red Line, Pt. 2

There is a thin red line

Between being dead and alive,

Although that line has to be thicker

If the direction isn't right.

Thin Red Line, Pt. 1

There is no thin red line between love and hate.

There would have to be a canyon, not a groove.

Well, actually, there's two,

Because friendship is the undersea vent

Between silence and agreement,

and enmity is the vast, dry expanse

Between unreasonable and indifferent.

A Pack of Pretty Lies

They told me I would never be the same,
and I don't think this is what they meant,
Because most days, I forget how to be different.

They told me that this would get easier,
But it only takes longer to recognize
When I look at something, and see her.

They told me that time heals all wounds,
But I don't think I've gotten any better.
It's just that no one plays our song anymore.

I Am Bender. Please Insert Girder.

Science is slowly sliding to the conclusion

That free will is nothing more than an illusion,

and I suppose that I might agree with them.

Every time I kind of want to do something against my nature,

My brain goes into vapor-lock, and I just kinda sit there.

After about the first twenty minutes,

It starts to get slightly less hilarious.