mind wanderings

how will anyone

relate to all this thought

mind wandering

no stories

just random thoughts

ramblings of a fool

who writes it all down

should’ve probably been

an accountant by now

or something time is wasting away

survived many nights of loneliness

emerging stronger each morning

with a little help of course

working alone can be impossible

or strenuous at best

constantly overcoming obstacles

and he will fall again

never as hard he says

lesson learned

unlearning those destructive days

in the cold nearly insane

nights that would never end

high in the tower

how can anyone relate

no one has this kind of time

to spare it’s what he wants to do

no fame just a little recognition

someone related in thought

his situations not heroic

or dramatic

or anything in particular

for that matter

what will they say

better yet what do you say

what are you thinking

no one has any time…

call it what you want

call it what you want

you have them too

everyone no one excluded

ever wonder what they are thinking

ever ask

don’t know reply

why is everyone so afraid

to reveal their thoughts

we all have them

is it a fear of confrontation

never wanting to admit

where the mind might wander

everyone is silent or bored

or getting hammered

or trying to get laid

what’s so wrong with thinking a bit

everyone does it

just so happens I write mine down

call it what you want…

chosen in front of me

it unrolls itself

in front of me

as if someone heard me

guess it’s all about patience

waiting for the right moment

then bang

it all falls and falls fast

for now it seems

to be in place

still must realize life’s

great instability

unsure but confident

this is the direction

that should be chosen…

the Rasta man

the Rasta man

giving this one

so much hope

in a world where it is

really merely a word

not a true thought

everyone merely surviving

this one living

with little or no worry

but how

angry as hell

but a peace loving

warrior with words

and music the sword

cutting deep into

the depths pf Babylon culture…

my super bowl

it’s Sunday and everyone

is buying more food

how much is enough

and when will it be too much

coming into the warm day

five minutes standing in line

other brothers and sisters

buying snacks for the big game

football and I don’t even know

who is playing this year

when I ask I am of course

the fool not knowing

not being a fan

not picking side

not caring enough about

some sports event

rather enjoy my irie meditation…

phone will ring

phone will ring again

someday and possibly

nothing to say

how can one forget so much

phone will ring again

will be answered

what to say

who cares

what is the point

in any words

phone will ring again

sure of it

lost in the wires somewhere

maybe trying

not to be found…

never guess

in the middle of blue

mud and dread locked mind

cutting the strings that choke

cutting into a throat

swollen with more to say

no one hears

who can relate

to the pound of the mind

no one sleeps in this

state of mind and thought

first and second floor lights

on all over the neighborhood

not alone for now

but you would never

guess it by looking…

nothing concluded 101

another death

brings a lot

to mind

more thought

as if he's got room

two children

he knows

many more

weep for grandpa

gone now

they need to wonder

what comes next

what they are taught

might not be

enough

one holds his

head down

trying to smile

the other

video game distraction

what thoughts

do the young minds

come up with

wanting to hear

their thoughts

the cancer

stole the body's

ability to move

onward in this life

again nothing concluded...

twenty mile an hour laugh

the snow falls

and Babylon shows

its panic side

someone pushed

a button

everyone scurries around

and worries

how much of a problem

is it really

lightly covering

signs and stores

places where trees once stood

reaching for that winter dust

this Babylon turns the white

into a brown winter mess

laughing while driving

twenty miles an hour

and faces can be seen

all in their own metal box

everyone is so frustrated

still laughing while driving

twenty miles an hour

stuck for an extra five

or ten minutes

but what is the rush

the night is still young

why is no one else

laughing as they drive

twenty miles an hour…

in the mind

someone hears my thoughts

relates maybe understands

someone sitting close to the window

waiting for the snow at 5 am

the sun seems to rise brighter

after a snow storm

well not really

but the sky is still super bright

details need to be created

in the mind…

where to go

across the continent

and back never been

most of them here want

to go back again

facing a wall staring

in a dark room

collecting these thoughts

in a book shaped vacuum

locking in the flavor

or whatever it holds

smashing the mirrors

not fitting their molds

or whatever box

they try to put him into

he might not have told

you what he saw but he meant to

positive is here

what makes the world spin

if negative spreads to the core

where will he be then

he stands with a strength

that might be brand new

looking at the rain

on the window he might think of you

wants to help anyone

expelling their pain

wiping it clean

like a window in the rain

how did it get there

he might not even know

he wants to get out of here

but doesn’t know where to go…

strings to the past

what and where would it come from anyway

the answer correct if he was to say

the days blend together no color too bright

it’s dull all day and then it becomes night

so dark all around he can barely see

it is a shadow or someone in the tree

shadow of life hanging in the wind

under the weight of something pinned

relief finally enters him whole

and back to the thought of what the night stole

wants change now he is screaming with no voice

waiting seems to be his only choice

until he packs up and travels out west

he is doing fine but average at best

just a word trapped tight inside another

heading out west to see his only brother

still close yet he sits entirely too far

thinking about everything as he looks to the stars

three in a row like a belt he wears

realizing more recently that no one cares

to sit really close or take a walk with no time

got a big pile of thought connected in time

might not make sense the smile might not last

sometimes the only thing to do

cut those tight strings to the past…

milk in the fridge

deeper

into a pit

but far from it all

longing to be

where it once was

not in the corner

cowering as if waiting

to be beat into submission

as rage explodes like rain

onto everything

smashing pieces fall

like a colder season

when everything starts to die

it has been dead now

for some time

kicked from end to end

it will no doubt expire

just like milk in the fridge…

will not be bent

once it starts moving stay out of the way

can’t say you haven’t been warned if you choose to stay

smile on the face of the darkest dread

twelve months already without a bed

without a moment in the highest space

after all this time he was no ace

but a joker again or a mismatched hand

one half of the glass still loses its sand

standing there watching can barely get by

somehow not asking the simplest why

or where he keeps going without a word

no sort of response that can be heard

and seen as if it’s a judging eye

constantly watching like a government spy

agents sent to trip up those standing strong

proved wrong even when he knows he’s not wrong

fighting the demons as they became friends

drawn out to the edge and then to the end

of this madness he might not reveal

might let it subside to let himself heal

in the midst of it all under a pile of thought

still he is better off alone then to get caught

without knowing and with little to say

facing his fears must fight or walk away

not strong enough not enough time alone

needs to harden that surface like a stone

or some metal that will not be bent

and he needs a heart that will never dent…

thinking in circles

thinking in circles

going back one year

how could he possibly

fill the void created

looking up to the sky

the darkness might predict

the next year just a larger number

still and oppressive

materialistic society

breeding the isolation

that he too has not figured out

how to escape

who holds the key

who will unlock all these doors

for all those broken and lying

face down no hope

for any return on investment

no gold but once it was to him

the heap grows bigger now

can barely see to the other side

where he stood proud one day

never knew how weak he could be

now he sits in this isolation…

thinking like him

flipping quick

through a few numbers

he can remember

the faces he hasn’t seen

in quite sometimes

do they remember as well

or at all for that matter

staring into the center of the sun

reeling in pain

doesn’t know which way to look

who would look back

with interest anyway

flipping back into another

mode one of silence

and screaming

for a moment

knowing no one

is around and no one

is thinking like him…

on the porch

wherever

and he doesn’t always

know where he stands

how much solitude

does on person need

how much can one person take

wherever he goes

he goes alone

when he returns

to the tower he is alone

and it brings him

to his knees some nights

overlooking green grass

what’s in the other side

he wonders what might

make the time pass faster

wherever did he come from

where has he gone

and why is he standing

on the porch freezing again…

another one gone

never knowing now

never caring

the pen moves

with no motivation

hating the words

blasting with malice

no one tells him when to write

void created nothing to fill it

live with it when he gets

to where he is going…

what I swim in

day after

darkened night

sealed a fate

no one wants to admit

failure

what I am swimming in

night after

shining day

when everyone

realizes I wasn’t wrong…

like a snake

voices on either side

watching as the battle begins

any moment now

smoke is rising

six in the morning

mistake made

correction

five hours

and sixty degrees

wondering winter

is this what was meant

peeling off layer

after layer

dead skin like a snake…

waste another day

will he ever escape

the hole he has climbed

into and out of

all around another spot

waiting for further

directions

another smile

trying not to waste

another day…

needing to forget

wish the memories

would go as well

things that simply

need to be forgotten

snow in April hot chocolate

in the basement

all those things remembered

forgetting the smoke catcher

and the cat in head lights

shadows dancing circles

and a cramping hand

racing to the end

of another page

for no particular reason

not going anywhere soon

or later as the night ticks away

with all the memories

fragments or words

still resonating in the mind

trying to understand

what it all meant

knowing mere forgetfulness

can help now blocking

the flashback happiness

slide show featured in the theaters

in the mind…

confined to a spot

confined to a spot

dust in the corner

piled neatly next to a star

wished on it once when he was young

same he confined by no one

thing or person or event

a record that will not play

he is a fool stagnating

and selfish same he

once compassionate

and now what has become

of the dust pile gone

with a light breeze blowing

out how many candles now

at what point does it not

matter anymore or is it

all important

someone should let him know

looks like he doesn’t care

don’t be fooled

someday everything

will appear a little clearer…

smile at the weeping tree

what could it be

sitting unravelling

trying to understand

when he lost control

hearing the pathetic cries

louder by day

always trying to do something

even nothing has become a chore

don’t know him any better

than on the first day

rain on the mind

Isis in his ear

saw a smile under the huge

weeping willow

holding a flower

half expecting him to eat it

watching him drift

at the river’s edge

sinking slowly since then

floating from the edge

still cuts him every time

questioning any and all reality

pushed in his way

he can’t find words

to describe the mess

no one ever sees him eat

says he eats alone

still walking each morning

little more numb than the previous

anesthetic trying to make sense of that

tried with no luck

where is the justice

no one has been close to him

in a year or more…

dunno anymore

conversation still intense

after all these years

stacked up higher

never thought then

what it would be now

as it is good as any other

who are we to complain

tired of it all

but I still sit at the old spot

and shoot the shit

seven years

do you feel old yet

probably haven’t even begun

the journey of life

surface not even scratched

feeling that itch now and again

sitting in the same old spot

and not giving a shit

what anyone thinks

thinking enough for all of them

how many more will there be

anymore or less negative now

and night has taken hold

a grip crushing

a mind once neat and organized

now filled with chaos

moments of stress

leaning hard at times

holding strong

and supporting all the weight

and whatever I say

nothing is or is not

what matters most is the smile

and the realness of the closeness felt

a soul older than any number

who knows

let them try to figure it all out

back to our conversation

never puddles splashing deep ideas

from side to side

trying to connect

and re-connect

whatever it takes

seeing that bright light

shining and appreciate that…

nervous

wonder what wouldn’t

make him nervous

wearing the carpet thin

in spots from his constant

spinning when will his

emotion be healed

his head is constantly loose

and struggling to

keep it together

wishing to fall

lose his grip at work

hit the tree

something

to shut him the fuck up…

every smile destroys

once held the sun close

too dark to make out

any of these faces

what does he get out

of the raw deal

nothing materialistic

will compensate

what he lost daily

and at night that security

tight connection

once held the sun

and it didn’t seem

forced held for so long

could probably heal

without words

holding that sun one last time

even the embraced

forced now as well

meant something once

or not no one knows

impossible to hold the sun

hungry people won’t starve

stomach won’t leave his mind alone

his heart wide open

nothing is the same

and words probably meant

nothing as well…