suicide king

found a suicide

king of hearts no less

in Mexico City Blues

borrowed and never returned

over twice in sleep

found myself trapped

between desolation

and angels wearing black stompers

this is all very serious

forgetting the writing thing

for now it is useless

the bird above is singing a song

and it mixes well with the traffic

below and the Hendrix machine gun riffs

moving him nowhere fast…

didn't know

confused again

smoke out pouring

and they will say it is bad

what about

the false hopes

self-esteem lost  

at the starting gate

didn’t know…

to all a good night

how many conversations

does he have going on

upstairs his attic needs a good cleaning

this is probably common knowledge

by now

anger and rage directly connected

to already spent emotion

that doesn’t matter anymore

finally got the nerve

and no longer welcome mat to all

those around a middle finger to all

and to all a good night

there has got to be a reason for the madness

footprints cover his back like

the color of his shirt and insanity

fits him like a glove

finally taken too much from who he knows he is

emotions ruling his every waking hour

cleared the room with his thoughts

so negative at times positively hating

every minute entering with some plan

in mind the business being handed

to him he hands it back

with a middle finger for all

and to all a good night…

waking at last

not enough time

on the ride home

to explore

and absorb

the previous

twenty-four hours

how could he possibly forget

waking in the light

of a beautiful sunrise…

waiting patiently

waiting on another shipment

his thoughts packaged nicely

guessing not as messy

as when he gets the scribbles

or whatever he chooses

to call it now

waiting as the tide

still rises no ebb

can change his mind

he is moving

out of the water’s murky grip

and onto dry land

an island with a beautiful mind

have to be patient

can’t create the moment

it will arrive at the right time…

break in the clouds

break in the clouds

literally speaking

a little higher each day

the ground it seems to matter

less with every evening passing

had he gone away

he would have missed

all the chances

and other breaks in clouds

with smiles

like birds singing

despite the cloudy day

they don’t care

so why should he…

will he ever know

possibly still unsure

a moment

might never know

chance taking

still unknowing

might lose

possibly the thought

on the other side too

painting might do better

to do beauty justice

in any sort of description

no brushes or paint or talent

like that only thought

possibly the same one

at work until five

only the time

reading possibly more to it

untangled blues

day by day

a little help

and everyone disappears…

looking around the room

three balloons

poking their heads

above a fake wooden wall

ceiling tiles stained

and ready to fall

how many times

do I take the time

to notice all the imperfections

of this place hanging lonely

with the pictures on the walls

and they aren’t even good ones

don’t know if the track lighting

can be trusted got a feeling

don’t know where the words went

behind three dirty booths

one occupied the furthest

from the back of my head

some sort of green table

only the cushion is my companion now

and it’s really not that friendly

one cup of coffee

just looking around

nothing to see here…

number the pages

nobody knows why

the pages are numbered

they will someday start to yellow

and a thought might turn

a bad situation wondrous

days don’t offer enough time

to change his mind again left alone

for now but he will stop at nothing

can bring him from his cloud mind

made up to completely confuse

slick kind words it’s all right

he understands what he can

given the tools he found

long ago it seems maybe

it was yesterday unforgettable

a smile he has never seen…

pinball king got caught

sometimes no thought

and then it won’t stop

thinking about different

people leading somewhat similar

lives but they wouldn’t know

never would have thought it

classroom buzzing

teenage conversation saturates

the air all around

and he remembers

maybe not as obvious as

the pinball king who got caught

front of the class

then gone

always wondered

then wondering stopped

at the blackthorne

couple nights back

headstands on the floor

like some yogi clown

caught up in the tower alone

but looking down from the porch

everything looks calm…

stuck between cummings and dante

right between ee cummings and dante

what he would give to be sitting there

confessing selfish maybe

even if he doesn’t fit alphabetically

confessing only desire to be there

to be closer to her and words unseen

in the car as time flies

having fun time to go too soon

the clouds now paint the sky gray

his skies are still clear

the days mail delivered unexpectedly

welcomed like sunrise with windows

all around warming the chill

down a spine embraced the moment

not long enough

but the smile tattooed his mind…

lighting his darkened mind

the things he notices are not

the most obvious

if she was to catch him staring

it would be a rare occurrence

he notices everything

and will not be caught staring

how hard it will be when he

notices the smile lighting

his darkened mind

how long since

who cares

enjoying every moment

not thinking about the next

not staring into all of life’s what ifs

rising then falling back like low tide

exposing stones and sand

admiring the beauty of a new ocean

amazement crazy enough

uttered some words

didn’t even understand what was said

sounded like where did you come from

and it was his thought exactly

was it only his thought

or vice versa not wanting to let go

of the hand as she walks away…

silence and the storm

combined mind
how is it so
confusing to know
what another might think
they could they don't
only silence and the storm
who will remain
once it passes
he hopes it will rain
all night with
out the cold air blowing
ideas from one side to the other
mind combined finishing sentences
and conversation goes on for days...

pin drop

he always runs back to the statement
words do not do thoughts justice
as soon as words written thoughts changed'
doing the best he can anyway
putting thoughts down 
with no practical purpose
what would the poets think
would they pass him by
or stop to read a little
both tonight as rain pounds the window
knowing he will sleep well
he stays awake and scribbles
until the mind goes blank 
he is still going as if 
he still sits under the painting
laughter filling the room
like air once so thick with confusion
now it's calm no sound
hear a pin drop as they say
it's silent what else can he say...

chipping paint

that would be nice
breeze blowing smoke back into eyes
staring directly into sunset on the porch
the neighbors are all inside
no one has to say anything
to say that would be an understatement
to say something when there is some on the mind
and it won't come off
like chipping paint
under where he sits
doesn't matter who would notice the changes
as they happen
to catch a finger in the door
shuts the light with a strong wind
blowing idea into lungs
like a shotgun blast
or into the mast of this tall ship
sailing out of view
until the bottle is turned around
nothing blocking an exit or entrance
into another thought would have heard
by now everyone is gone
back to where they think they need
to be somewhere else
might look better but what's inside
what needs to change how strange
thoughts get printed
and sometimes there is a mistake
or too many words cluttering
up one mind left unopened
a can of confusion
simple not plain
the story never ends...