Afterglow

I have already seen the afterglow
But the natal glow
Is yet to be known by my eyes

Its too late to play
The drums in the living room
But play them anyways
So we can camouflage the words
That make sound ugly

I prefer not knowing
The pasts, but they keep showering
Them upon me.

Take your fire hose of woes
And place them gently in your room
Take the key and swallow it
So we can revisit that place
In a few hours

In the interim
If the silence is prodigious
Just know the word you chose
Was the wrong one

I know not what the future holds
But I know it glows
Like soft coals in the summer sun

I have seen the afterglow
And it burns
Like a thousand suns

Pure Waters

One breath to speak a word,
Two ears so we can hear it.
One man to change the world,
Two eyes so we can see it.
We are not permanent,
This world is transient.
Though hope is everlasting--
In these cool waters.

If I am strong I can,
I can believe in being.
If I am smart I can,
Discern my own hearts meaning.
In times of confidence
Your smile is so appealing.
But when I'm down I miss--
These cool waters.

If I had fallen down,
If I was sullied crying.
Would you be there for me,
Though I be dead and dying?
I have no certainty
If what I say are lies though.
I am truthful in--
These cool waters.

I am whole
I am strong
I am.
I am whole
I am strong
I am.

Hold on to love she said
Hold on to what that smile means
Hold on to innocence
Despite the pain your feeling
You are not decadent
You are not the earth you live in
You are pure and whole--
In these cool waters.

good man

For Matt:

1 good man.
2 value self man.
3 in time grow, stand
4 tall like tree, land
5 spans between seas and
6 in between smiles, between
7 salt pans and oasis, between
8 the exits - miles.

1 good man walk.
2 value far walk.
3 walk through years, age
4 begets wisdom, stage
5 is life's play and
6 in between parts, between
7 mercurial homes, between
8 lovers - hearts.


1 good man smile.
2 value real smile.
3 learn self mind, style
4 selfs life , guile
5 as a recourse and
6 in between labor, between
7 blood and sweat, between
8 heavens - favor

Something to Hold

Ohh the pink lipstick disguises
The frequent black words
And the hiccups - she hides them.
 Lush like the forest of words in her mind,
She struggles to rise to her feet. 

Chorus:
The setting sun puzzlebox up in the sky.
Twinkling pink letterbox catches my eye
The elephant schemes as I pray for some dreams
My eyes just spin like their stars.
Were all just some dogs chasing cars.

Oh call me forester out in your woods
Struggle through jungles searching for truth,
If our minds could just grow intertwined
Maybe you'd make it to me.
Just show me the way it should be.

Chorus:

Paint me a picture with words I can feel
I know I can't drive myself home - I can see.
Were not all so sober - but fuck it I'm over
I'm looking for something to hold.
That girl in the pink fits the mold.

Chorus

Crocodiles in the Nile

Bittersweet sun, lost summer hopes and smiles. Tan like the backs of the black crocodiles. Sadness is a sickness best served in the cold. So the air conditioning runs till the sweaters unfold. I looked out the window and saw the last weeks. Craggy interior - ascents to new peaks. So let freedom uphold till the Fall collapses. I'll survived this winter too, like death and taxes. If the meek should inherit the Earth, let them wait until spring. I'm searching for something thats worth sacrificing. But I'm always looking for that summer smile That makes me wade up to my chest in the Nile.

Storms Change

Once upon a time the sun was setting in the east
The purple rays unfold like the violent breaths of the deceased.
In a torrent words release and they vanish like the beast
Until I wandered off again, to escape the point of peace.
At a razors edge, Occam , simple as a simple mind
Intrinsic positivity, the sun is shining, shine in kind.
Each day my recompense, to be completed in the morn
But this evening let me mourn the storm that is finally being born

Name him Hugo, Name her Wendy,
Name him William, Lee or Bailey.
In the alley, black Mercedes,
Alexis, Porschia and Stacy.
Praying during birth so I named my daughter Mary
Intercede and save the summer from Sam, Suzie and Haley.
Let the names vanish into the Autumn fog.
Cant change your life by the hair of a drunken dog.
Tighten up the meter then
Feel the winter creeping in
Feel it tiptoe over the breaths of sleeping men.

So it woke me up,
Cold breaths shorten up strides
Make a run for a change and take growth as a bride.
Thereby ascend on a ladder to defend the point to sacrifice
In the sacrifice of preceding greater men.
Lowly, but not Kafka-esque and besides
Not lowly, like the gaze of servants eyes,
I mean lowly, like the word humble but disguised
Like holy men, walking through the street unsurmised.
Until ever breath, every step every beat decides
That this Earth turns with a purpose greater than our lives,
That each fight turns with a purpose greater than its spite,
That each candle burns with a purpose greater than its light.

Until my world stops.
In an instant I can see
The words said were just as much for you as they for me
And the clarity of a transcendental moment
Can make the sun rise in the west
And I can own it.

Throwing Stones

My gaze skims across the surface of the trestled waves like a stone skipping across placid waters. Each bounce neglecting the existence of the water below. My sight propelled by the kingdom below and the white backdrop above. In the crisp Fall air I think, between the interruption of raindrops: there is beauty in things made to be beautiful; there is also beauty in things made to serve.

As I rise to make my reality one with my vision, I search for a stone among the brown pine needs and shifting shore waters. I wonder, which beauty I am.

I wander through the fog and rain of the sound and happen by shattered weathered glass. No longer jagged and clear, it is smooth and opaque. The glass no longer shimmers as it is struck by raindrops. As i pick up a piece and deftly toss it lightly from palm to palm I gaze at the waves. The glass lacks the weight to carry far into the waters of the sound. I toss the glass straight into the air, turn around, and walk past.

The shoreline extends eternally ahead of me; the rain grows more intense. I walk inland to the shelter of the pine forest. The musk of wet pine needles muddles the fresh salt air. I meander through the maze of tree trunks and happen upon a clearing. The remnants of a brick fireplace are all that remain of this old cabin staring through the treeline and out onto the shallow waves. The bricks splinter and turn to dust when I try to move them. They have been here too long. They crumble under their own weight.

I venture back to the shore and back into the rain. The shore of the sound opens into a rivulet. From the sea clouds come and to the sea they return. I follow the rivulet and kneel at a small eddie to take a drink. As i cup my hand and bring it to my face I see what looks like a perfect river stone. The clear cold water chills my hand as I reach into the eddie to retrieve my prize. I run my hand over its surface: flat and smooth, sleek and weathered. This stone can make it to the other side of the sound. I take the stone and walk to the shore. I stand, breathing deeply and admiring the mix of rain, ocean and my fogged breaths. I ready my throwing stance and cock my arm back and... I know better. I turn around and place the stone on an upended log. The stone sits, staring across the rain and fog and waves. It sits confused and relieved. Someone will make a beautiful throw from that stone.

On the other side of the rivulet sits a large grass clearing and a concrete foundation. Rusted steel rebar extends from the foundation like hands longing for their better half. The rust has stained the concrete to a dead blood red. An old truck sits intently as if admiring the quietly lapping waves. The rain tings off of the old truck as each headlight looks across the foundation and out onto the sound. The tires are flat. The trucks load: a slate roof never to be. Inside the truck sits an old razor and an old pipe. The drivers seat is stained dark brown and red. I keep my gaze down and want to leave this place. Glistening in the grass i see an ovular outline. A shattered slate tile sits black as a cold forest night. I reach down to dislodge it from the grass and weeds. This is sharp and ragged. This has the weight needed to push through the waves. This is strong.

As I walk back to the sound and stare at the fog I wonder how far it is to the other side. Perhaps I could swim? A silly thought. I ready my stance. I smile. "That which I was, to that I return," I whisper without knowing. I twist my hips, cock my shoulders sideways and breath as I hold my body in tension. Release. I stand and stare as the stone skips again and again until it fades into the white fog between the shores of the sound.

A beautiful throw.

Raindrops falling, but the pitter patter of my bloodied hand still resonates as it falls to the pine needs and soil below. The slate will smooth, and perhaps someday return. My hand will heal and go on searching for jagged stones. Someday I will callus. Someday, the fall rains won't taste me.