aimless

keeps telling himself one thing

and doing another

nothing fun about the thoughts

that pound his face

from the inside out

keeps telling himself to find something

to keep his mind from these thoughts

keeps waking up to think

waking up a little more

on the inside

a reality speaking with random

phrases thoughts scattered

quite possibly aimless

somewhere there has got to be

something out across that field

opening day without a cloud

spring has arrived

or so it seems…

darkening the faded line

spun from the wind

blowing ideas around

the parking lots

of trash and no one

seems to mind

the mess created

a portrait in the sand

drawing only last so long

the tide pulls at their short life

never makes sense with nickels and dimes

eyes on some prize not promised

nothing guaranteed

change as he turns the corner

and is rejected again alone

morning rain turns to snow

it's April it's New England

those who live here know

only his words scattered thoughts

overlapping the edge of nonsense

and onto a field few stand by and watch

words fall never taking serious the idea

everyone do what they want

no seal or stamp of approval

disapproval in decisions made

want to hide too long

never knowing how strong

wind stands hair on end

winter what happened to the thoughts of spring

warm air breathing as much as a lung can hold

it's cold and the wind drives crazy the mind

traces memories darkening the faded lines

constantly avoiding any signs

running directly into the wind

flipping thought after thought

may have reached a few

turns out no one really hears it...

perfecting the swing

one more cigarette

no more voices

from across the room

to breathe

the air is getting thin

king again for a day or two

much smoke in one lung

out the other

day he saw a ghost

reminded him of himself

not long ago

wish on an empty star

could have been the one

to take him away from the madness

sadness drags him behind

hitting every stone with his head

somehow knocking some sense

into or out of sleep stolen

from all those around him

there is no one thought

two million all at once

there was an empty heart

filled now with love for self

can’t think of why

it always turns out this way

or that pit is what he avoids

daily swinging and missing

and missing the point is

perfecting the swing

and soon he will hit the ball

head on doesn’t matter how far

it goes as long as he puts it in play

the game may never

end unless of course he quits

when he is ahead or behind

it’s all the same…

jesus drinking tussin

can’t get them to quiet down

screaming out loud

inside the confines

of a mind gone numb

not so much pain

just plain confusion

tangled web of voices

all with their own demands

looking around he wonders

what brings everyone here

including himself

they stare and they ramble

out loud to themselves

and stare at him where he sits

his mind rambles on enough on it’s own

doesn’t need this nut house scenario

to pull further into the insanity

still can’t make them stop

one coughs so much

that he drinks store brand

tussin cough syrup straight from the bottle

another gives him a prayer card

as he tries to think it’s nearly

impossible spinning the web

and the smoke induced coughing

can’t be cured with the over the counter

store brand cough syrup

he needs something stronger

who is he talking to…

tires and falls

and fears don’t control

they simply seem to stand

in the way a bit

why does he think

he has the right

fears don’t control they

just get in the way

some kind of catatonic

state never saying the right words

anyhow will he explain

his way out of this one

and into another

puddle to soak

his dry foot hopping around

in circles like a fool

dancing here and there

he goes again babbling

on like a river

moving until he tires and falls…

night gets older

the path he left himself is blocked

by a huge stone and he is lost in the forest

he has no map and no idea how he got

to where he is at this moment

there's a light far off

but the closer he gets the dimmer

the light gets and there is no way

for him to realize the direction of

these thoughts

he might never understand the meanings

anyone else might find

he wishes and fails to realize

his weakness what strength

why don't they courageously

stand aside and let him pass

without conflict and the path

is blocked and the stone

grows bigger as the nights get older...  

invisible man

it's as if he's invisible

except when needed

even then he puts

everything else on hold

somehow beaten to the line

by a pretty boy with nothing

behind those eyes

stays invisible on a night

raining it would be easy

to crash but harder to burn

who is watching anyway

assuming no one

he hides in the corner

shivering because he is cold

and the embrace is still hollow

and timid even a hint of fear

all of a sudden visible

wishing he could do something

to be seen in a new light

still doomed to be invisible…

crying babies & stupid

three booths filled today
two adults and a baby
all three are crying
it could be driving him insane
the man in front of him
has been on the phone the whole time
this too might be driving him insane
maybe it's his own thought
that drives him or maybe he's making it all up
again for no good reason
or maybe trying to achieve some sort of sympathy
maybe he's just stupid...

sell the ticket - get out of town

trash the plans

forget the ride

sell the ticket and

get out of town

finished another master

piece surprised

to have lasted this long

no one really wants

to be a part of the change

it just happens like that

everyone seems happy

in their separate miseries

HST will offend them all

whores, hill-billys

& any commander-in-chief

his presence would be welcomed

the year two thousand

has arrived and there is

still no morphing

that we know of

orwell didn’t know eighty-four

would look normal

to the readers of his vision

even if they were afraid

in nineteen eighty-three

fuck them for not understanding

and fuck me for praising his work

he knows it’s importance

no matter how many people hate him now

KV said life is a crock of shit

and I would like to believe it is

something more

but no one to vote for again

leaves me to believe all three

visions in one way or another

prophetic…

420 automatic

the air

can feel it rush

the place

where no one cares

to know the name

how long should he wait

it’s two thousand

four twenty shouldn’t that

mean something

to someone

somewhere

no one sees him sitting

still maybe he is invisible again

no thought until ink starts

flowing automatic as the shrinks

say but he will tell you otherwise

of course it is random

explosion into thin air

or thick waking

with an irie eye or two

many emotions

to stay hidden

wanting to be discovered

here there or high in the tower

alone and sure it might be automatic

at times it is thought

either way time will never cease

the spin and here he goes again…

it's been raining

it’s been raining

now for three days

he can’t tell

and wishes for

summer sun soon

late night beach sit

under moon and plenty of stars

late night warmth

tower porch might

be the only option

at this point

any warmth will do

it’s been raining and cold

even the going outside

has been slowed by the cold

wishing for a break

in the clouds

not just the ones in the sky…

he is serious

even those who bought it

don’t take him serious

need to understand

need an explanation

need something

he just wants one

to see the point

wants someone

to see separate thoughts

pieced together

where might he have been

when thoughts came together

and understand he might

not understand the thoughts

anymore than the reader

when he put them down

what’s the final score

even the buyers can’t pass

the simple quiz

wouldn’t that be fun to watch

need an answer

but none are wrong

a little feedback

he doesn’t need a reason

he will keep it up

anyway just wonder

what these thought

make them think about…

round trip uphill

he didn’t think anyone would mind

if he stared at the painting

a little longer than a glance

appreciating the beauty

inspired by beauty as of late

his confidence failed

fighting temptation

to communicate

losing a battle

in a round trip

uphill both ways

going to who knows where

he didn’t think anyone would mind

so he did look longer

so he says

those eyes caught him too many times

today making the day pass faster…

proud of something

heart beating through two shirts and a sweater

keeps getting caught on a nail or anything sharp

turn and he is back at the beginning of another thought

it might lead to nothing new

it when he woke again unrest-ed

he checks to be certain that no one else is there

the alarm clock in a dream is a fire alarm

everyone's running for the door

awake he is the only one really moving

from one side to another

dream picks up where the last left him off

the hook the phone makes that annoying sound

dreaming it's a child crying

for mother or father

and both are proud of something...

should be sleeping

should be sleeping

up since four am

asleep barely by midnight

must be insanity

new twitch under

the left eye

emotions left like mud

relieved it wasn’t

twenty-four year voyage

leading only to deeper division

jumping from one ship

to another doesn’t seem

as bad as once thought

don’t get the wrong idea

still a high wire tightrope

made of razors underfoot

splitting right up the middle…

what would it take

what would it take

so much left unsolved

wonders whether he cares at all

half a cup of coffee down

thinking on four hours sleep

barely anything to eat

the family near by

what would it take

mornings will never be the same

no good memories

worth looking back on

the heap of trash that came to be

and between two immovable objects

the physical plane

has always given him the most trouble

not a pretty picture

behind the eight ball

from the get go

what would it take

to undo the wrong decisions made

two years ago this July

blood boiling in an empty heart

in August he’s alone again

expecting less each day

and surprised by every letter

or phone call and after

all the bad times this spot

is still visited by many

what would it take

some sort of division

splitting of a feeling

missed more than anything else

no one understands his ramble

that’s probably the point

not far behind at least

what would it take

what color would the sky have to be

and the pigs flying or whatever

they say now

maybe it’s in what they don’t say

he doesn’t know

he simply wonders a lot…

it's got to count

it’s got to count

for something

not cutting ties

much less than

hoped for

much more

than expected…

and it might

who can explain

that cold wind

in through every window

opened because of the warmth

of the day sudden lack

of light now lack

of warmth as well

questioning what he does

wondering what he might

do this time

a cat pokes it’s head

around every corner

causing mischief

to promote attention

and it might get lucky…