Buy me a coffee?

the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired

Purpose is driven from the pursuit of purpose. Though I see no purpose here in the city beyond the daft university. Perhaps this is unfair. There are pursuits in the city— ones I greatly admire: the pursuit of apathy, the pursuit of companionship, and the pursuit of happiness. They gain euphoria by rolling up their sleeves pinching the vein, and dissolving in the fact that they have no future plans, and their defiance of chasing of that illusive and transparent, fictional love. This is my city. The people could not care less, and they are easily moved by wit and charm and the mere hint of a smoky escape. They are beautiful: tall, short, black, white, Asian, hippie, DJ, hobo, pregnant, gay, straight, bi, stout, skinny, stoner, philosophy majors, and the one man band. I salute you, you masters of happiness. You have had a larger chunk of sorrow, and we, the boring planners and the ones planted in the past, can but stand by the river and wave as you sail on.

It is my body,

this plane of sadness and fear,

that you call your home.

Inebriated Bordeaux

A hopeless cause, their mothers said,
whining instead of rearing
and absent whenever needed.

A chilly night.
The moon was spinning
in their eyes.
Those eyes that would set
on a bedding llama.

Their new friend had a name
though they too careless
to inquire.
The boys of the night,
born in ignorance
and accepted by the young.

Cascading falls of alcohol
will lead them down
the tube
where a megaphone will alert the presence
of officers aplenty.

The boys board a second train
to their inevitable
arrest,
but soon, very soon,
their feet will lead them
back
to front porches,
knocking on the
womb.

Inspired by: http://now.msn.com/drunk-french-teens-allegedly-steal-llama-from-circus

False (A parody of Paul Auster’s “Pulse”)

These lies recede
from the tongues of us,
ebb and flow in the day.

Accusations: I love most, 
of the false variety: and deceit
fills every depth of us.
This charade shall never cease,
we, too, become a lie,
even as lies 
die
in the face of heaven.

Wondering eye
in the presence of truth.
Where we will never 
take part. A lie
will be the end of us
and also the beginning,
says the mouth of fate.

A lie is all they know of us.
A lie will change us
another day.

-

image

She

She,

In all her wonder 

And splendor,

Does justice

To no one.

She,

Enclosed by walls

Herself had built,

Allowed none.

She

Never talked

And rarely smiled.

In every way

Solitary.

She,

In all her wonder

And splendor,

Found loneliness

Contrary.

Kindred Spirits

Kindred spirits,

Once we were.

An unbroken pair,

Now just a blur.

Am I speaking out of line,

Or do you miss it too?

-

Oh, the past erases the future,

If only the opposite were true.

I would take our past mistakes,

And paint over them.

But how could we restart

What tragic lives condemn?

-

Sorrowful, dreadful, tears.

I cannot face another dawn,

Without you, my friend,

To help me carry on.

Unengraved

I know of a secret wood

And of a great towering tree,

That God wonders after.

-


Then one fine day

You said to me,

Let us carve our love into the tree.

Yet frightened I was

To desecrate God’s tree,

But once a kiss bestowed,

A foolish lover I became,

And I submitted.

-


The tree grew taller and grander

Bearing lovers’ marks

And then you quietly said,

Let us friends be

And forget foolish marks upon a tree.

Never, I said,

But go ahead,

Both heart and tree

Will bare your name.

-


I returned to the tree

And through the marks I saw,

Streams of blood.

I wept, I prayed

To one day find,

An infinite love,

Unengraved

Upon a living thing.

Our Love is Like a Fire

Our love is like a fire,

That burrows in the soul,

Consuming, with it, the heart.

Our passion is no wet match

But, instead, a torch

That lights the way to happiness.

No other woman,

No other girl,

Could ignite such a blaze in me.

For you, darling, are my tender,

My kindling,

My fuel.

And with you

My fire, my passion,

Will never die.

Armistice

My love is like a bomb

Undetected, until the blast,

Taking many.

And though I cried,

Peace! Peace! Peace!

I secretly foretold the end.

Then the tragedy that always befalls,

Leaves you sad and dying.

Yet you forgive,

Hence the armistice.

I hate, I hate, I hate,

Me not you.

The bomb explodes again,

Your mercy tested twice.

And so I die,

Not by my hand,

But by yours.

Her face is aglow

To all those who know

That God, she would never beseech

Because beauty is never out of her reach.

~The light of millions~

The light of millions

Shine at midnight.

Different passions,

Concealed in fright

Of daytime watchers

Peering in.

Only nights

Can hide their sin.

Beacon dreams,

Safe from sight.

The light of millions

Shine at midnight.

~Blameless agony~

Knuckles clenched

White

As the snow

That covers her grave

Vengeance, anger, fire

I feel

Only because 

There is no one

To blame

~Telegram for you~

I am very lonely STOP

On this train ride STOP

From home to brief work out-of-state. STOP

My only thoughts are of you. STOP

I met a lovely stewardess STOP

And talked to her about you. STOP

I miss you. STOP

My only fear STOP

Is that you’ll leave me STOP

While I’m gone STOP

And that when that happens STOP

My only thoughts STOP

On the train ride home STOP

Will be of you. STOP

~Beacon~

I am nothing.

You are everything.

To express it simply,

With no other connotations,

I want you

And nothing else.

In this dark

Cataclysmic world,

You are the beacon of hope

That breaks through the shadows

Of my fractured self.

~The wanderer~

The Monotonous creak of rubber against concrete

Where lost is the void between

North and south

Up and down

Home and homeless

A wild right takes you to

West End Avenue

The Slums

Hell

You’ve seen these things, these places, many times before

You are a wanderer

A drifter

Forgotten by the desolate city you inhabit

Home is not home

Hell is not Hell

Dreams are not real

And loneliness shall haunt you all the days of your life

This is not the path you’ve chosen

But it is the path you travel

Your journey ends when you end

And the dust you leave behind will rise and join

The smog above the streets

For summer is coming

The first summer without you