sugar high

green bottle afternoon sugar high

above the busy street

and car alarms blare

making sure no one is sleeping

this afternoon the sun plays chase

around and through the clouds

here one second gone the next

time you hear the sound of the wind

pause and see into your thoughts

green bottle and a little smoke

turn the afternoon perfect

as the sun shines down like the first time

this year has much to offer

but what do I do but waste on the porch

looking down who's got anything to say

everyone in their little circles waving back and forth

trying to catch a glimpse of when the sun shines down

into their lives for a change of scenery

do they even know what they want

green bottle and a phone call to make...

way out there

it can be hard to understand

the other side might be right

away he is wrong

move from the edge

in a voice too scrambled

to hear or there might be

another side as well

with someone who is right

in front of everyone who will look

into an eye opened at all times

are going to change if it’s allowed

enough for all to hear

and now slightly proud

what’s been put in print

words no longer remain

only in the brain sealed

the mind might change

if given the chance

to sit in the sun

burning through the morning clouds

they don’t stand a chance

when it comes to what

is said and heard repeatedly

making stories out of thoughts

and things might make you want to freeze

actions until further notice

every bud in the trees that hang

from overhead to over heard

like the songs that the birds sing

from way out there…

reached deep

reached down deep

blue above wind all around

as if in water

still dying of thirst in the mind

headstand just to straighten

things out number nothing

getting them here remains the only

problem unsolved like a mystery

amusing on lookers like a traffic accident

without purpose writing with what comes out

pay no attention to how

and don’t ask why it won’t make sense

still common enough

to make one read no audience can hear

where he sits only cats and birds

can comment with song

that’s if they can read over his shoulder

it’s quiet out in the sun no relief

cool breeze blowing smoke back in his face

the other direction is slow

and his fingers can’t stand the cold

air in April an oxymoron

like living the weather in New England…

died in San Pedro

all the words get lost

when snow returns to April

showers too cold for most to handle

his head could nearly explode

with information how many million

situations seated squarely

across the table set for one

might show him he is not always wrong

way down the one way street

he knows too well been stuck in the headlights

he hasn't moved an inch

someone will turn him the right way eventually

going back to where it might all make sense

probably not as he rethinks his path

stopping as his lights dim

in the presence of another

sometimes it is not supposed to matter

it it makes sense

it's just life and people just don't seem

to care about the words

scattered dying in the streets of San Pedro

rebirth in the east at nineteen

unknowingly choosing the pen

and smoke over bat and ball

how many are really disappointed

possess the painting

sitting on the floor once again

no eye contact

what could the thoughts

be after all this time

only visiting a painting

place once called home

maybe not long at all

or long enough

he knows the song

well enough by now

everyone else is going

here and there

and he remains stationary

still sharing a laugh

from time to time

is it the goal to possess the painting

he doesn’t feel the same

about the sculpture he sees

can’t get eye contact and

no one allows him closer

than arm’s length…

two different faces

how does it make sense

when you step back

out of you for a second

see him and don’t ignore the thought

rapid return and two stories unfold

one on the same side of the table

once heard saying he was

favorite writer or something

yet never a free moment for the friend

he is not trying to accomplish anything

and probably doing a good job at that

seen both of the faces

not even sure if it is known…

should have known

417/2001 420pm


he's right in thinking

it's amazing he is still here

the wind blows

from all directions

seeming to point to the end

of his pen forgetting he could never

take on responsibility

within a structure

that has so many cracks

and loopholes to get lost in

the shuffle of qualified persons

forgetting he could never

be taken serious

on any level the playing

field any questions to those

who really give a shit how many dollars

the store can make

it's as if he

might never make it

in the cruel business

world with nothing

to lose he closes his eyes

to the future dreams

within the dirty walls

thought to be thick

with everyday people

doing everyday things

and this should be enough

should have known...

more than he thought

it’s late and he’s not really here

he musters some energy

makes a call

he says hello

the reply says everything

he feels it might be

excitement he hears

so far away

possibly dreaming

back to when everyone

right around the corner

now everyone is gone

the shadows trick his mind

into thinking it’s not too late

he is more awake than he thought…

on the death of your father

remembering what
was it
made me think of you
might lose a step or two
much on shoulders
give me some
times the strong must be weak
to be strong too long
time since you rested
your head in the bed
it must seem surreal
life stretched out
like a puzzle
enough missing pieces
the full picture is hardly ever seen
thoughts resemble
dreams resemble
memories and tears
might flow for no reason
or they will get stuck
behind eyes caught in a stare
climb to the top step
bring it all close and let it go
every time you think you might burst
from the inside filled with sadness now
remembering what was it you said to me
when feeling lower than ever thought possible
don't despair hold head high in the air
too many around can't ask what is fair
nothing is
imperfection stumbling and getting right back up
even when you are down
not out in the cold alone
never alone always in our hearts
connected endlessly...

it's official

wild and free
like the winds of change
straighten things out
but they still look strange
absent
but the sky is still blue
a cloud here or there
or maybe even two
years without
sun in eyes
listen close
might still hear the cries
down below
but above his perch
need some fire
peel pieces from the birch
tree white unlike
the other trees brown
so far above it all
how can he be down
to earth
with real sun artificial
he used to race with the rest
he's done, it's official...

on the roof too long

breakfast alone never tasted so good

with it could

everyday his head pulled out from under a hood

it keeps him warm

sometimes straying far from the norm

thoughts like bees swarm

creating pages

subjects ranging in ages

healing herb some think sage is

irie is this eye

catch one when it's dry

cloudless blue or black sky

Orion stares down on him from high strong

and some nights he is on the roof too long

waiting for the song

be the right one

when calm he knows he might have won

this time under bright sun

no use for a gun or knife under a coat

hating the water he is out on a boat

having it all wouldn't make him gloat

to make a point

keep it moving with a funky joint

no new guru to appoint

he likes the one he's got

whether others see it or not

a deep desire to go where it's hot

frozen in time and space

won't even recognize the face

these thoughts he can't erase...

living dead breath

halfway across the states

brother sits lotus and waits

anticipation in a homeward flight

dark dreams still in dim light

new morning rise with the strength of ten

men part of him fell picked back up again

how many times before

shoes off raining got him standing at the door

what's he waiting for confused under the wrong sign

waiting in a long line it's eleven thirty he got here at nine

where's the wine wait he needs a glass

pick up put down fell back on his ass

mumble a sort or ramble

lost at sea still willing to gamble

up late night he doesn't know the mind well

everything worth holding onto fell

deep into a pit wishing it was a well

with a bottom he could see

doesn't know who he is supposed to be

what's he got left

when is his body going to let him rest

everyone hears that living dead breath...

twelve days

morning until night
irie his sight
swirl through the day
quick stops he won't stay
in one place too long
before the end of the song
night becomes morning
without some kind of warning
completely off guard
to forget would be hard
to imagine or realize
first set of real eyes
he's seen in a while
never-mind the smile
no matter how far away
or how long it has been
somehow knew there would be a return
so many more things he must learn
morning until night
irie, his sight...

silently stayed

some say they write with only emotion

a pain driving force just like the ocean

throw back a drink as if love potion

put it on heavy fair skin and sun tan lotion

always by the same window pen ready to go

it's the same old street whether rain or snow

seeing some things they may never know

stagnation won't set in it will only grow

as the short day's light will fade

forgetting all the mistakes made

can't even hear the song played

instead of going somewhere silently stayed...

so many years, by the minute

can't imagine what he looks like today
up all night thinking and breathing
deep into the dark nothing around
to quench his thirst nowhere to direct
his attention nowhere except up
to the pre-night purple soon to be black
as the inside of his eyelids
can't imagine the feeling not knowing
who's who what's what
who he is for that matter
what insanity whirled quickly
under white hair for fifty years
exhausted from standing knowing
it's what he is supposed to be doing
can't imagine being on a minute
to minute capacity to process information
he lived his life by the minute
for so many years...

shoe city of champions

wind blows street sand

and he's got a cut on his left hand 
him the pen and don't say when he can flow

when they don't even know

which end is up or down

chillin' right here in the shoe town

or city which ever they choose

so many dunkin donuts 
and places to buy booze

not many shoes 
stores still around

and as far as champions 
only the local kind found

himself on route 24

don't know where else to go
anymore of this same old place

can't go anywhere and not know a face

in a new direction make the correction

leads to resurrection of the self 
and who he might be open 
all his eyes with third eye vision sight see

a peaceful end to frustration

sudden blue lights
license and registration

merely a profile if you don't fit the mold

no discrimination between young and old

a new brand of a stone illusion

same state of near confusion

still balanced toes right on the edge

push him harder won't fall from the ledge

and into dark night only two floors up

he has had enough but give him another cup

for the road he sits pigeon toed

on the road and then it snowed

never as much as they say

anyway more days off for kids to play

remember then to way back when

he is fine where he is at no need to do it again

only dreaming no sights set on making millions

no need got it all living in the shoe city of champions...

extra couple of miles

then there are the days
when he has to go an extra
couple of miles away from
the scene of his life
made up of so many situations
sometimes the music doesn't
fit the mood he can't see how
they thought it would
somehow fix itself
for their sake but
thought has no choice it's there
only choice would be to ignore
how many can say they do
not go far enough
to clear the mind
just far enough
to sweep all the confusion
into one big pile
at least now the day is not
so cluttered thinking
and wishing to be further away
knowing it is not possible
at this time...

eyes cross

eyes cross everything thumps
like a headache approaching
full speed flipping over cars
like a movie star stunt double
take two then pass it on
keep it going and share it
with everyone yes blur then steady
enter dimension ten
if it exists and weathered the storm
rumbling below an immeasurable
amount of weight
stop pause then continue
fix eyes with new colors defined
in a book no one has read
does anyone really need my prayers
or an invitation to join me here
with crossed eyes and circle
the point to stress significance
position matters least of all
the sky always puts on a show
around this time around this neck
nothing hanging down
doesn't mean anything
except time to relax and stretch out
put out the flame burning
differences into minds as negative
differences only reveal positive
eyes cross and that’s all....

those nights

and then there are those nights

when I don’t feel like going anywhere

or doing anything

sitting in a cold dirty restaurant

about all I can muster

the wind chill outside

makes it feel like thirty below

and my face might feel

like it might crack

and then there are those thoughts

that I can’t explain

and no one I know is around

if the train would stop

I would jump off

feet first tuck in roll

or something out of a movie

like standing in a lit hallway

waiting for some door to be open…

forced freeze

how many ideas will it take
confidence built and stored up
for the battle of words
when someone challenges
the thought
how many days
alone tired
after waking too early
can barely lift the arm to move
how many cold windy nights
will he be forced outside
to freeze under the starry sky…

how many now?

can’t quite

grab the understanding

reading one sided words

turning something beautiful

into a dirty lustful ordeal

that only has one purpose

granted it should be guarded

not forgotten or forbidden

can’t quite

see what is supposed to be seen

in words only thing they have done

cause confusion in a mind bent

on understanding

another school of thought

been close to it before

decided to broaden the scope

of thought continuing

to add ideas to a list

of how many now?

back-flips off the keyboard

so much thought then

nothing at all to follow

without direction

lost when eyes are closed

one month ago

no idea I could have

made any of the stories real

life drawn out to the extreme

middle of every road

winding around corner and down

the straight and narrow paths

laid before him stopping

in the middle of a thought

to jump to another might swing

but he only hangs

gravity becomes the invisible rope

that pulls him straight down

into a depression created by one

of his many idiots

he has them all employed to perform

certain tasks during which time

he tends to the fire

in his mind spinning

with so much thought

and most would watch it float by

with no reaction

some grab at it and pull it close

and for one reason or another

they are internally

instructed to put that thought down

and forget that it exists

a swimming pool overflowing

and he’s doing back flips

off the keyboard…

take your time

got no interest in politics

but when something’s wrong

it’s wrong and politics shouldn’t

be an excuse to justify what’s wrong

leonard and mumia still wait for

mr. president to address the issues

they sit and stare at stone walls

and steel bars for twenty plus years now

and the leader takes his time

luckily it’s all they have is time

the leader will never address these

important issues

innocent men living in cells

for their beliefs

for their thoughts

and the actions just can’t be proven…

inside and still

the mind is so blank
it's painful
plenty of noise
and the muse may wonder
if the pen still moves
how could the mind wonder
at a time like this
less likely to understand anything
now where has all the thought gone
who has stolen the inspiration...

look the same

want to get off the ride

want it to stop

and let me off

it is too much for me to handle

at this moment

the thoughts

don’t even sound the same

or look the same

for that matter…

run their course

1209/2000 445pm

said to have rejected god

what does it really mean

to let desires run their course

rather have them put in a cage

out of respect for the will of god

being passionate

somehow signifies openness to lust

and not compassion and caring

said to have rejected god

somehow if he lets his passion

run wild somehow this

doesn’t make sense…

no opposites now

spinning the top up from the bottom

stares as if it has got some purpose

what time is it really

thinking out loud at times only harms the balance

someone might fall back from the edge

ready to go and night won't slow it's approach

no matter who is ready and who is not

spinning the top off the table and back to the floor

less distance to fall is he is already there

where everywhere and nowhere are both lit

ends of the same candle

there's no one here to hold it steady

and light the darkened path

spinning on top of a layer of ice

forming on that which dry only days ago

sliding from one side to another

no opposites now as everything seems the same...

plenty of noise

the mind is so blank

it's painful

plenty of noise

and the muse may wonder

if the pen still moves

how could the mind wonder

at a time like this

less likely to understand anything

now where has all the thought gone

who has stolen the inspiration...

failed with words

[failed with words (lost in
translation (stumbling over
temptation (feet first can't keep
his balance (his mind detaches
itself from the rest (failed with
words) and just like the rest)
swaying before the fall) frozen
in time) trying too hard) to create
the perfect song]
[failed with thought (the rain drenches
all of us(pounding thoughts
of sunshine through the thick gray
(voices needing to be heard above
all (bellowing through the 8th ocean
(failed with words) guidance brought
to a high point) from where silence held
a hand) staring upward in a cross legged
sit) still as a statue, inside moving
outside) trembling as the cold wind
moves through light clothing]...

one thought buried

[one thought (inside another,
aside (thought breaking—interrupting
myself again (tornado twisting everything
(branches from the same tree (one thought
buried) falling over and over) I thought I had
straightened it out once and for all) as long as
I am awake) break in some action) surfaces]

[seems strange (the muse (desperately
seeking the furthest star (looking for
answers (underneath it all (one thought
buried) we are all confused) flipping over
rocks)tar covering my wings, slowing
my flight) doesn’t see me) pushing for
the impossible to exist]

[return to the long hallway (wish he could
stand closer (inching away for fear
(totally paralyzed by the eyes (doesn’t
want to speak (one thought buried)
up to his neck with thought) crazy neck
feeling) it might be screaming) heart thumping
so loud he know it can be heard) he pokes
his head out to say good night]

[darkness arrives (with no hope
attached (cutting gravity’s fingers
(re-living memories for a glimpse
of total happiness (got it bad or
hopeless, just plain sad or
romantic (one thought buried)
descriptions received) laughing
at the thought) escaping) just a
simple end) too soon]