My Existential Weekend

June 22, 2010

Darkness, and day.
and watching it fade away.

Sleep, so much sleep.

Changing my mind
at least
Three or four thousand times.

Asking why, so much asking.

Answering my own
because I rather like my tone.

I am an optimist, an idiot.

Weather, and rain.
and its climbing stain.

An early rise, too early.

No conclusions,
are illusions.

Time is electric.

I have no capacitance.

And too little resistance.

My Green Floor

May 16, 2010

look at all these notebooks
I have them scattered out on my green floor.
Weathered and bare in spots
scratches of age and movement.
Dragging and sliding
rubbing and walking.
I’m digging, you see.
through all this paper
and ink
to find something real.
Something that doesn’t just scratch
and rub.
Just something other than
Something more than a shadow
of a shadow of a thought.
Something better than letters,
Pens, and these God DAMN SCRATCHES.
The wood is bare
in places.
The paint is lifted
and my green floor is
a motley brown and green
Like a dormant lawn in early spring.

Someday (The Living Dead)

March 21, 2010

Remember when someday
was a dream
instead of an excuse?

Remember when you were alive.

Remember when,
before rigor set in,
and you could flex your knees?
You were flexible

you had dreams.

Before your eyes closed
you did things
that made you happy.
You were happy.

Before your heart stopped
you loved
and were loved.

You were alive.

Now you are dead.
Someday came,
and it went.

Lions and Cell Mates

March 21, 2010

What would I know?
What could I know?

Nothing, nothing nothing.

My spirit stalks
like a lion behind its bars.
You can tell he’s a killer
though he’s fat with ease.
His mane ripples yet his roar
is mute.

I hate the zoo.

I still know nothing of me
and nothing of you.
Nothing but the handlers
that feed me.

I spend time searching
finding the boundaries of my pen
and coming to know each inch,
I spend time making it mine
marking it —
claiming it.
But it is still a pen
and I am still in it.

I know nothing of lions,
come to think of it.
I only know exhibits
and cell mates.

There’s Nothing

October 8, 2009

There’s nothing in my head
that wouldn’t fit on a platter,

There’s nothing I’ve said
that I couldn’t have said better,

There’s nothing in my chest
that holds any magic,

There’s nothing in my soul
if there was you could have it,

There’s nothing in my liver
where the ancients saw life,

There’s nothing in my ear
save the devil’s advice,

There’s nothing in my smile
but teeth and lips,

There’s nothing in my eyes
but a fleeting glimpse,

There’s nothing in my hands
but knuckles and scars,

There’s nothing in my dreams
but empty desires,

There’s nothing to me
but tissue and bone,

There’s nothing to be
save Being alone.