Walking

Holes in my shoes and holes in my heart

I've been stumblin around since adolescence

I stroll for miles down paved road or unmarked trail.

I stop to laugh with the trees and sit in silence along side streaming waters or flourishing flowers.

 

I scream quietly when I feel mysterious fires of passion burning inside my body.

Look up at the tunnel to infinity, as it reflects scorching light.

Comforts of the abyssful universe, it gives me nothing but itself.

A lukewarm blanket to cover your shivers of eternity.

 

I've been foolish and high wandering through bright skyscrapers that light up

the cities of many, as I head towards the sands of solitude.

I've been just as foolish stumblin through strange silent mountain towns

as those high hills of gods dirt hide in the shadows of moonlight night.

 

Still I promenade towards nothing, this gives me a unspeakable piece of paradise.

No answers to my heartaches, but magical nothings a plenty!

Doesn't matter where I go, main street or hidden unknowns.

 

 

Howling madness releases when I find myself with my angels of life.

Moments of silliness, we become bandits of the night!

Searching our insanities our togetherness makes our broken hearts ripe.

We have seen the uttering of the gods vividly in plain sight.

 

Alone again deep breaths escape my lungs that remind me of my lost soul

the glowing moon reminds me of my lovely angels,

comradery is a temporary feeling in their presence.

The fire in me flickers as my hearts holes bleed again.

 

I sit on cold soil next to a filthy local creek used for waste,

it whispers to me its sorrows.

Dirt smeared on my hands and in my fingertips,

the earths natural outter coldness makes me think of her as a grumpy old waif with a inner core of blazing secrecy.

 

I stumble on home or wherever I rest,

until I must wander again.

Before I walk through the door, I look at the moon once more.

My lovely angels look up towards that same glowing ball of our sky.

 

Then I look down only to see

holes in my shoes and holes in my heart.

Her Room

Marijuana made our eyes bloodshot red.

We listened to each other's favorite songs.

We talked about our dreams, fears, 

and ideas of how the world should be.

They don't teach this in any classroom.

To be high, to get lost in the magic of true attraction.

In her room everything was heaven.

The way she looked at me left me numb.

 

Light illuminating,

She became the moon,

me, the sun.

 

Outside her room

everything disappeared,

it was only us

when we were in there.

Misfit Piglet

Kids with guns,

it's lots of fun.

Til we get called in for lunch,

inhale the food,

so we can continue our war.

Til it's time to buy cheap snacks from the corner store.

We walk around to no where in particular.

Sit on the most perfect curb.

Post up on the porch as strange people pass.

Defend yourself if someone disrespects you,

it's what ya gotta do.

All those days wrestling your cousin in dead grass,

it's what you trained for.

When we bled it was a good day.

Wiped it off and laughed.

You still smokin' cigarettes to look cool?

Me too.

Misfit Piglet,

we were ready for it all,

but still pissed

when we missed

Saturday morning cartoons.

Under the bridge

Graffiti worth millions,

sit back, blow smoke to match 

smoke blowing out cargo boats smoke stacks,

trains trailblazing tracks above, the sound of heaven.

Gaze into the toxic Cal-Sag and imagine floating.

I had grand days under these bridges,

expressed love,

talked universes secrets.

Now it is my kingdom.

Where I find closeness.

Where I find peace.

Precise shadowed lines from the tracks above

run across my body.

Perhaps to remind me that I am still a prisoner.

Perhaps to remind me that prison and paradise,

are both only in my mind.

As the cargo boats drift away, so do my thoughts, I drink another drink, smoke fills my lungs.

Every time I reminisce

I find that I'm always older then

the last time.

Daydream Alley

 

Blue cloudless sky begins to burn gold.

Gravel, flowers, and potholes,

as the day, yet again

drifts away.

Our worries 

seem weirdly distant.

All around us are birds chirping

and buses stopping and going.

With all this

methodical madness

we decide to play.

Power to the chaos of the concrete playground.

Bloody knees and eyes that glow.

Our daydreams shine

with rocks in between our toes.

I sit and hold your hand.

The hazy hollow hallways

we have escaped,

our dead eyes come alive,

I'm glad that we're here.

Memories seem near

in daydream alley,

we trip into love by a dumpster

as the sky makes your face glow gold.

Misfit Paradise

Magical misfits grow into angels.

We often feel like we have no place to go.

Lost in a void that all of us know.

Bloom little flower,

follow the sun's light,

it will lead you to gold.

Out of place puzzle pieces.

We feel strange,

til we find paradise,

happy hazy hope.

It's better if you hold my hand.

What we are looking for,

who knows.

All we do know,

is no one we know

has found it yet.

Misguided past, unfamiliar future, depleted life.

Promise to love me forever,

that goes further than when we die.

TO BE READ AFTER MY DEATH

What good is a world

that buries

poet mystic bums

with hearts of gold,

divine dreams in our rotting skulls.

 

Poor lost souls

holding hands

with their kindred spirits

never finding the way.

 

Earth's surface

scorching heat

dried out landscape

all flowers

that once flourished

are now dead.

 

A perfect hell

will hold you near

while you have

visions of heaven

in your mind.

 

You may gaze

at all we have at stake,

as you dream

all alone.

 

Strangers and friends

once memories,

now ripples

of exhaustion.

 

You've got nothing but time

to break your own heart

but no time to fix it.

 

As long as we are here let us hope

we can keep glimmers of light

in our teary eyes,

as we march forward

to our destruction.

 

When new dreamers

look up at the glimmers of light

that once burned

in our eyes,

we will tell them

of all the possibilities.

 

We are undeserving

of this mysterious magic.

 

I write this

still breathing.

Looking for the heaven

I must believe

exists.

Hoping I don't explode too soon.

 

The light, the magic

is yours

until you burst

into the darkness.

 

Do you see it?

Do you feel free?

 

Run away with your light,

while you got it,

towards the horizon of eternity.

Once you explode,

you are only left in broken pieces

but your light lives on, to sparkle in the children's eyes.

Where is the Magic?

         

     I dream of my days oozing life, to be addicted to the passion. To create lovely and terrifying things, to laugh loud with fellow humans, to dance in the night. To look at everyone in a drunken haze and turn inwards to myself and walk off to howl at the moon as i see mad silhouettes of the night walking arm in arm, a tender frame with poisonous ingredients. To spill out intense and private words of fire to a lover as she lay naked next to me, glowing an angelic aura. This angel of mine, I simply cannot understand how deep her love truly goes, so I sit and wonder why she looks at me with a softness so intimidating all I can think to do is kiss her on the cheek. This lover in my mind reminds me the magic I feel is real.The magic that is inside of all of us, the magic I know of only by mornings spent running to catch a Lake Michigan sunrise as waves come crashing as I get too close, waves of last nights storm. The morning light warms my shivering body as pink rays begin to awaken the city. Or the nights I lay on the ground and gaze at the infinite sky. As a feeling so powerful comes over me I know that this fantasy life can be something for us all to share. All of us, the lost ones. Then I sit and stare at social media, wondering why people seem to not hear me. Trapped inside their loneliness and thoughts of comfortability. Am I the mad one? I begin to feel like a lost soul, with a tired message, trapped in a small wooden box, with sounds from the outside teasing my senses. Sounds of joy, sounds of peace. As I wake, I get ignored by yet another magical woman. Who turned out not to believe in magic anyway, who listens to me for a night but forgets me by tomorrow. When life's magic doesn’t go as you planned, what do you do? Why aren’t I talking lovely thoughts with my lovely lost muse? Or enjoying a beer in a hut in Mexico with my brother talking ideas of the future? Where is the magic as I scroll thoughts of my peers on twitter? As they are bombarded with so much fake, their light begins to dim. My ode to life, my only song, is passion, and to live it in every which way, any way but seriously, life is meant to be laughed at. To drink and laugh and get laid. To have a lover so great you feel the forces of heaven anytime they are near. To create a life of power and pain and to experience it, to simply be present. Surely, it is in the moments, the moments that will later be tender smiles on our wrinkled faces. Mistakes, kisses, walks, tears, whatever moments are meant for us. I want to live in the magic, even if I am screaming about it in the night to myself. As I go to the bar to have a beer and tweet about it, I realize I have never felt so lonely. What a lovely thought to live life magically is.