hours of awake

  Posted on October 14, 2014 at 9:42 pm

tired in that way

I beat myself up over.

comparing use of time

in the way

super deep books state

one shouldn’t.

struggling not to insert

wanting to get this over with.

I’ve already run the course of that path.

fortunate me

has folks taking from time not guaranteed

to read what I share.

everything is honest and real, true and such.

written knowing

I may still be playing illusions

as substance.

so the body aches

in ways a mind could spend weeks figuring out

inert.

the couch be calling me, yo.

voicemail not listened to.

lazy luxury of purchased meal

a sign

in my debted state.

might as well note

the sun’s change of position.

false dilemma of indecisive.

pretending I can psychic my way

towards perfect next move.

waiting in the confines

for neuron spark

that will justify

sitting an eternity

(in my melodrama)

with this

mug of coffee.

the sun begins to cast longer shadows.

I can feel the conflict in the words.

all the teachings didn’t prepare me

for the challenges

of this patience.

in another life, maybe it was during the 90s,

I asked without knowing

the walking I’d have to do alone.

this ego still complains

about its invisibility.

though I long for comfort of practiced past,

the thousandth poem as easy to type as the first re-worded.

board games bear little fruit

after all probability explored.

I am but a child, tired of dancing

to the same song

with my hammer.

the time machine, thankfully,

is not literal.

striving for more than

onion layer declarations,

I work

to explore at the risk of

all that I fear becoming.

is this the poem?  strangers in the television.

is this the poem?  darkness around our confessions.

is this the poem?  readers stumbling through their messages.

is this the poem?  barking in the streets for pleasure.

is this the poem?  calling all from above to lie down.

the work is greater

than my want.

the will is more

than my claim.

the way is just, whatever.

I’d tell you about these connections,

but it would lack the right dots

for your brain space.

everyone who doesn’t allow me in

has to take a drink.

I refuse to die

in the cloak of perfection

and the excluding nature

of greatness.

2010

rushing to be creative

  Posted on October 8, 2014 at 2:24 pm

departure time too present.

estimated tax payments interrupting all flow.

the sun laughs at my assumptions

it will be here tomorrow.

phone calls put off begin to encumber

like too many items on my quest.

do you hear that fellow AD&Ders?

I’m shouting out our pencil modifications

in the custom online convenience age.

my stomach is uptight

that I haven’t packed or posted yet.

my tummy is angry that I’ve neglected

my core training this afternoon.

invisible ink is a mindfuck

of a literary device.

I read truths spread out in the void.

claim myself in parts.  connecting to what’s shared

without conscious knowledge.

I can feel the pain in a line’s turn,

in a subjects’ struggle.

this is an aside: the cure is telling me

to listen to their music

with my junior high heart

and let this push be.

the creditors are so clever,

making my debt concrete shoes

in the land of freedom.

didn’t have enough time to let my parents

talk about their garden.

there’s a huge list waiting for me in the future.

it thinks it’s funny to bug me now about

yet-to-be-crossed items.

haven’t processed confederate history month

enough to go there.

the tour I haven’t even planned

has gained another day of not being addressed.

email response guilt hits me now

and I’m a gangster stereotype

professing it ain’t personal.

while the insecure I believe hidden

wonders which relationships I fucked over most.

is my silent phone a signal of my wackness,

or my lack in giving

towards the paths of others?

if I let myself embrace the toltec book I’ve been skimming,

I’ll remember this is wasteful victim attitude.

if I invoke memories of physical therapy,

I’ll deal with this more actively.

still haven’t started scanning all them photos

I promised my family I would.

I hate red eye flights and connections and

acknowledge the luxury of these complaints.

I’m not trying to let you down, guam!

I swear I want to share on your shores.

tell the stock market the gold standard

the currency exchange

to stop messing with our ability to do more

than feed its hungry asshole mouth.

I loved witnessing the happiness

in another poet’s eyes yesterday.

ain’t really that all-over-the-place.  just not

as three act traditional trained as I been.

oh, I love where sci-fi has taken me.

pay the price of its allegory gladly.

knew I could get myself typing

once I committed to share.

where was this ability

to resist being consumed in over-thinking

when the judging blondes

were in the audience, taking notes

with their laughter?

if I haven’t tagged you,

it’s not about how we’ve drifted over the years.

at least my poop didn’t come out forced today.

2010