The Navigator

A stormy haze covers my face
I stumble through streets
Not drunk but another drink would do me in

the world is still, no wind blows,
my mouth is parched, my eyes colorblind,
our pictures are gray and blurry

the cameraman moved his hand
or we were moving then,
more than now, more today than tomorrow.

i swallowed your words and kept them in my head,
i vomited my words everywhere to everyone,
hoping that i might begin to believe them.

even now I’m undecided, unsure,
I’ll love you always and your blinding light,
but it will be my fault. It was from the beginning.

Now nights spent sleepless, aching for sleep,
left with ambiguous emotions for me to navigate,
not suicidal but another word could do me in.

The Blizzard

An evening storm sets in on a city,
a glow of lights seen in the sky,
small shadows rushing home beneath.

One of the shadows, Charlie Daniels,
a gray suit, and somewhat gray character,
he shivers through new winter’s wind.

A stop off for a drink or two, then home.
A goofy grin crosses his face as he stands tall,
his stiff black blazer buckles with each burst.

Bearings gathered and a brisk walk,
twenty minutes is all it will take,
Charlie Daniels will be warm again.

A glowing wife waits for him at home,
their uptown apartment had a natural way about it,
and reminded him of a forest he once visited.

Quickly inside, the broken door seal went unnoticed,
the silence did not, and was unbroken except
for the sound of quick footsteps and intermittent cries.

Abby was tied down on their off white sheets,
flesh had been torn from her back as with a whip,
the deep crimson stains of blood were already dry.

He untied her ravaged wrists and turned her over,
her limp body slumped on his own, he glanced up,
there through the bedroom window, snowflakes fell.

The Tide

I want to be alone and feel lonely.
I want to be dead and stop breathing.
I want to be reduced to nothing.

At times my only keeper,
is the steady flow of air,
unconscious and unaware,

it wades in and out of
my body, like a tide coming in
and going out, never stumbling.

It’s time for my incessant breathing
to meet an abrupt end.
It could be in an accident, down the stairs.

I could do it myself,
with a knife, or a noose.
I keep smoking to settle the issue like a man,

reducing my lungs to nothing.
Then, the moon will stop in the sky,
the ocean will stand stagnant.

A Preview

These thousand moments together.
Soft kisses, a solitary moment
shimmering ribbon draped on one wall,
our reflections dance in the ripples.

Your bony shoulders lit by low light,
and your smooth skin reflects
the full moon light slivers
slipping in through blinds shut tight.

Compared to a wealth of others,
you are no temporary lover,
one with staying power.
Like home, I only leave when I must.

That Normal Thing (edit)

That normal thing,
walking to a destination in constant dialogue,
where your mouth never opens.

All around you, black suits in a quarantined
discourse. Some calm, others frantic;
all wishing the train would go a little faster.

Every face you wisp past transparent,
stop and meet them or pass them,
not till next monday will you see such dreadful, sunken features.

Except one young woman, smiling at ones who will look,
her aristocratic skin and a dark blue dress, like a composition,
the movement of her hips a melody of propriety and pace.

Her face plants itself, not too much make up,
in the front of your brain, I think she was carrying books,
she must be a student, maybe she is reading Cammus.

You arrive at your destination, a grey building,
maybe it was blue once but faded with age.
Regain your focus, elevator, 16th floor.

Things That I Love

Don’t Let Them – Other Lives

I’ve started a new writing exercise which I think is fun and wanted to share it. Basically what you do is come up with things. It could be Red Things, Things to Die For, or Things that You Would Never Eat. The first one I did is Things that I Love. Then I wrote everything that came to mind. If you want to do this just come up with a thing and write it out somewhere. So here we go.

Things That I Love
-The 1st cig of the day
-Pancakes
-The moon
-telling secrets
-buying clothes
-tall buildings so I can feel my insignificance
-good metaphors
-sitting in a park
-making out while watching a movie I’ve seen before
-staying up late
-getting a haircut
-getting buzzed
-feeling the relief of my undeserved righteousness
-a brisk wind
-morning dew on grass underneath my bare feet
-air conditioning
-listening to my grandmother talk about her young adulthood
-watching football on Saturday morning wrapped in a blanket
-drinking coffee on the way to work
-catching eyes of girls
-finishing a book
-milkshakes
-sitting on my balcony
-loud music
-reminiscing about college with Ches and Casey
-dancing at concerts or alone at home
-Sharing obscure memories and experiences
-Getting into mischief
-Being appreciated
-Being dorky and cliché
-Eating after midnight
-getting letters and writing back
-road trips
-Wes Anderson movies
-playing the tuba
-buying flowers
-getting teased
-giving people a hard time
-cleaning when im in the mood

and thats all i’m posting your list doesnt have to be that long but you can make it however long you want with as much detail as you want. ok happy thinging.

That Normal Thing

That normal thing,
when you walk through your mind,
everyone around you, walking next to you.

They stay quarantined,
a quiet place, meandering
block to block, street to street.

Every new face transparent,
the last time you’ll meet,
meet them or pass them.

Come out of your own oblivion
introduce yourself, niceties.
Hi, I’m unoriginal.

This One

The mist glows
as bright as the sun on clumsy coney island
that accute sound sang sand in my ear
if only i had still been seeing that
teacher you might have though twice
about giving me that look
really when im on my own
i wont last that long
Your stone fortress you call skin
stooped under a castle falling asleep
count down til the rollercoaster dives
down the train tracks its stuck on
it doesnt matter where its been
cause its always coming back here
down derilicte desperate for death
missing summer
on coney island sleeping with a cart full of glass
shut your lips about this one

Romance at the Touch of a Button

I believe in opening doors,
giving flowers on the first date,
and chance encounters, light glazes your plastic skin.

Lets get physical
your wet lips pursed on my own,
then open, its been so long since I’ve done this.

In confidence, am I a good kisser
what else would you say
your eyes long for my infatuation.

Lust for another cliché
movie after movie, book after book.
Lets pretend,

we’re at a fancy ball, tuxes and gowns
empty champagne glass after empty glass.
We dance, a waltz or a ritz, its formal.

No pretense, no false obligation.
My mind never wonders, it is steady, stoic.
Captured by your toxic fumes.

Coffee Shop

I took a picture,
a moment framed, flash.
Mother and son,

in the pages of a book,
torn out by his grabby hands.
She pries his fingers back,

peeling each layer with gentle
caution, careful, careful now.
A whimper crescendos to a whine,

then a cry; grimacing faces glance.
She sighs, crinkled paper reunites
with uncoordinated fingertips.