think of something

staring as the day ends

sky is as beautiful as ever

almost forgetting that I am driving

hope no one can tell

someone is bound to notice

just wish I could keep driving

into the sunset

never able to catch it

can’t drive fast enough

to see a constant sunset

constantly wondering where I am going

someone told me to get going

then I was hated for so many reasons

and loved for still others

what could it all mean

what can I say

three days of silence won’t do

only thing to do is enjoy the rest of the sunset

and I am sure I will think of something…

only place to be

what will they say

when the day arrives

no warning all of a sudden

slap in the face

all the names called

himself a thinker

of random thoughts

at times crystal clear

the way as he rides into town

nothing to prove

he already proved it

to himself the thinker

who mostly sits alone

with nothing to lose

a little bit more fun

last time around

this time last year

what will they say then or now

for that matter

the unresolved one

cold and alone

always thinking what’s ahead

behind and right here and now

it’s the only place he should be…

all is well

all is well and watch

as it ends such a vibrant

soul he can’t catch it

hard he tries

time and time again

all is well

then now whenever

it’s all the same

different eyes

wishing he could find that practice

emotions keep him far from center

all is well he thinks

and could then try to understand

smoke catcher being gone

like the smoke itself

before it even comes out of the mouth

throwing up his hands

all is well somehow

it has to be…

orange spoon

stuck in between two thoughts

neither is completely identifiable

no good can come from words scattered

what is it he wants

why has everything become so foreign

a cramping in his hand

madman and his pen

his thoughts burning holes

thoughts he will never forget

they never question the drunk

art accepted as such

but his irie eyes draw the wrong

type of attention never positive

someday it will be accepted

spinning out of control

no end in sight out of mind

his own of course

who is that sitting across the table

a year has passed…

too early to think

too early to think about

knowing what is right

or wrong we are all the same

style with different words

for different occasions

bring new thoughts to mind

the early reminders that the day

will be warm and will

be gone before it even begins

turning and turning over again

in my head spin from side to side

hope to continue hiding

a week long thought

knowing now that the call

probably won’t be returned

apparently more thought

on this side less from

that bright town little bit north

at least they got their copies

nothing much more than

autographed thought…

instantly dark

actually hard to stomach

the music Saturday night

lonely diner

no one here

the day gone

before it even got going

spent spinning circles

sunset behind gray sky

the light doesn’t linger

like those clear nights

instantly dark

vision distorted until

adjustment arrives

silence eating the evening raw

two days since news of misfortune

silence eats everything

in it’s path

the end of comfort

temporarily not knowing

where to put the weight

dropped on shoulders

burning under the enormous weight

the most impatient

always seem to wait the longest

no reason to stop moving

moving without direction

the patient ones think the most

trying to enjoy solitude

even though loneliness creeps

met with more thought

to burn one up in the air…

complete strangers...the conversation kind

complete strangers

speak with him on a regular

basis making them strangers

no longer not quite friends

not enough time for all

the strangers he will admit

welcomes the “hey how are ya?”

and he has a few of his own

one particular strange

no sits across the room

in a booth all alone

he’s at the table in the corner

coffee pen and smoke

stares over the diet cokes

and two occupied tables

first conversation welcomes

and then it becomes two

then too much everyone

in the room one conversation

from corner to corner

nothing wrong with this

we are all in need of a little

human contact—the conversation kind…

regretfully somewhere else

believe it or not

he still wishes he could

wipe out sadness

if it’s not his own

he will make it his own

to wipe it out completely

meant all the words

no matter how different

things get and have to be

everyone leaves

big better things obviously

regretfully somewhere else

far from this spot found

believe it or not

might actually make him

give it all up and go

leaving all the rafts behind…

gray like the sky

wishing the book

wasn’t gray like the sky

and someone said he seemed depressed

and what do they know

assuming they know thoughts

all prettied up for others eyes

not edited for all audiences

real life is raw

and ugly at times

and no one really

escapes some form

of the ugly side of life

there seems to be meaning

hidden every where

even in the ugly

even when it doesn’t sound right

words clashing

like opposing fronts

during a storm

high above the wonderful city…

four feet don't reach the floor

sometimes you can tell

the feeling you get

by the way they say your name

other times you share the space for months

and still never know

he talks too much

and wants too much

as if he's selfish or some

shit only wishing for someone

who will share this thought

any happiness he happens to feel

told me a story once

about a woman

and her eyes alone say so much

radiating beauty

warmth welcome

not quite an open book

always things and thoughts

that go unsaid unheard hidden

another story

feelings that reassure him

of a purpose as he stands tall

then lies down on the big green couch

wanting to reach the other side

none of the four feet present

reach the floor so no one's going anywhere

thoughts may be scattered

in more than one place

all at once remembering

the details from a dream

never a face just a feeling

sad and that's all he has to go on

thought for sure once

even though he never truly knew

taking that chance

dreaming while awake...

suddenly empty

a constant pound

from outside

through the windows

suddenly empty

on the inside

nowhere to hide in here

hardly enough room to breathe

a cloud created

and eyes can’t conquer it

as it starts to move up the walls

the constant pound returns

inside the mind

no volume control

the bass continues to pound

no sleep tonight

no effort left

all thoughts unfinished

interrupted by the constant pound…

just change

silent night

screaming out loud

from below the clouds

frozen tears falling no hurry

slowly everything is covered

silent night turning white

as the sky goes dark

with gray and orange

time won’t freeze no matter

how cold it might get

wind whirls snow

in every direction

high in the tower

the silent night air

trails into morning

arriving silent

night shatters

no theme music

no introduction into change

just change

silent night no more

what if the walls could hear…

live in Somerville

tonight so much like the others

none of them

join him where he sits

almost staring

nothing there

he is alone

same old story

told again

white blanket time

in this fine city

how many champions

really live here

wonders through

the silent night

again he failed

to make the trek

sitting alone tonight

by choice

but he still wonders about

the sounds forty minutes

away from here

live in Somerville…

such a rush

watching smoke

pour out of his nose

some sort of bull

he has got to put up with

and there is never enough time

to properly think here

at this place where everyone

is in such a rush

where are they all off to…

on the train

on the train again

heading into Boston

town late night

return nothing too different

except train bound

catching eyes

in another car

wondering might be going on

in that other mind

going in the opposite direction

train ride takes

it’s toll as eyes get heavy

arm slips from support bar

and head snaps forward awake again

and not a moment too late

or too soon travelling alone

has it’s positive aspects

no one to share

all that is seen and heard…

tentative

must have been hungry

not a word spoken

less than five minutes

food in front of face

now it’s gone

what do you think

what’s the next step

a day in the life

can’t forget

most will disappoint

almost immediately

after letting guard down

might as well

figure every plan

is tentative…

no mail today

contemplating

what choice does he even have

it hasn’t arrived

hardly scratching any surface

until it arrives

something to say

maybe somewhere to go sooner

or later depending upon

when it actually arrives

holding no promise

of truth or anything

only a step

in the progression

of who he will become…

screw loose or not

everyone’s assembled

in different places now

the stage curtain is drawn

all of the actors have retired

the light are still dim

only the spoon reflects

what little light is left

he realizes he is alone in the theater

this coffee remains drinkable

not as refreshing as the first

five a.m. in the car breakfast

does anyone else think this much

if not what’s wrong with him

a fool to think anyone might find him here

away from all of them

last straw drawn

lines in wet cement

will be there forever

in his mind

screw loose or not. . .

thank yourself(mi hermana)

spin back this way

back to when the days lasted

hours longer the older we get

shorter the days seem

until a point is reached

we actually control

how long they are

might not catch the fever

as often as he does

as the pen won’t stop

at times still have to force the hand

until an empty mind is reached

and a level head felt again

trying to justify inaction

while putting down all these words

time flies no matter what is done

sit down and burn one down together

out west not soon enough

keys jingle and lights flash

someone is taking pictures

eyes meet lens and he looks away

as if he has somewhere to go

he doesn’t

in time find time

to make time for you

you will thank yourself later…

too many words

can’t even identify

sometimes the phantom

moves fast

where did he go

off with his horns

wailing from miles away

two o’clock higher

and downhill by seven

everyone has changed

no one spends the time

will tell he or the phantom

telling too many stories

all inclusive once

this masterpiece incomplete

inch by inch and book by book

too many words

or else stuck in the head

he thinks as the phantom reappears

new tales and winding trails

darkness of e.b. roads at one a.m.

phantom daylight

sitting and empties his head

down to it’s final cell

splitting and recreating

what once was only a dream…

spent like this

so much to say

second day

fourth month

how many more

nights will be spent

like this

undertow pulling

all of a sudden

back to the shore

ranch house

where the horns

were kicking

wish to be there

not in the same old place

over the field high above

dreamed about it again

who is going to stop the spin

halt the ride

determining what’s what

and who is who anyhow

still he will stare

with something on his mind

what can he say now

his mind spins

the phantom fades

in and out of the picture

blurry at times

and full of laughs at others

blasting away tonight

shiny shirt and all…

put down a thought

in this life

there seems to be

a constant struggle

to be noticed

recognized by someone

there has got to be a point

five minutes passed

in this life

nothing’s changed

and everything is always

different

changed the channel

many times and called

negative again

an old friend

how pretty is she really

does her internet boyfriend

know what to think

that adds new eyes

to the idea of a blind date

can’t seem to get one either way

blind deaf dumb forgotten

however it happens to work

the next day still comes

bringing more thought

to survive no matter what

heads this way or that

in this life

coming into where its warm

up high standing waiting

on a miracle of some kind

in this life

pick up a pen

put down a thought…