Winter Wonder Wonders

There is wishing, then more waiting
Wondering, before all out doubting
Anticipation has reached its peak
Peeking behind Christmas Orbs
Or Crystal Balls, whichever ditch works
Humor is spread on a cynical toast
As Jelly, On a bearded traveler's lips
Trust amongst children is give and take
Give them something tangible, Do
something before they riot loudly
Their breath comes to quake
A flailing generation amongst the mad
Even patient gentle lads rage so
Not against lights, but versus boundaries
Those who chase forever defy age
Any and all which lies suffer their case
To dream is their infinite spectacle
That their love story transcends time, Oceans
Understand ebbs and flows more accurate
Than a fool who waits on beaches
But fooling only resonates in hope lost
Found like cookies on a plate, Laid aside
Because not everything is a lie, No
Not all incidental truths are make believe
A baby in a manger back at the brink of time
Love for a forgotten world before morn
Every breath you ever blew counted, Bought
And still you search your stocking for gifts
Hoping your invisible voice becomes clearer
Yeah, much like that, candy canes and bows
Men who won't deny their flawed humanity
Chasing sleigh bells or a ghost late
Telling any who will listen, strangers too
That love is like a diamond, rough or otherwise
Lover's eyes, for all sanity became jaded
And a fool on Christmas is a fool in any light

Skies Only Fall in Movies

Speak

But I know darkness

Rasping as I choke

Order

Of things I once knew

When ships shored

Before

Melodies ended

On a dirty Sunday

Yesteryear

Yeah, I remember well

Champagne dreams, brunch

Because

I bought the world

Not just its problems see

Miles

Markers in a box

A place to count loss

Roads

Bent, Broken and Found

But I know a trick

Books

Spelling my way back

The end isn’t in pen

Clouds

A thousand tomorrows

To pick from in jest

Hearts

Mine is kept in belief

Nothing so permanent

Time

Cannot weather or destroy

Counting days in step

Chords

Music to sleep by

Or Write when I’m verbose

Fighters

Neither tire nor wander

Far from where they start

Belief

In what I cannot see

But tripping over my thoughts

Doubt

A grander state of dead

Forgetting to dream awake

Infinitely

The lost long for home

As if they knew it once

Taste

Everything ever known

A six second clip of sound

Tomorrow

Can never be a lie

It lives one step ahead

Frail

Spaces between our thoughts

Moments that slip away

No Path Untravelled Ends Up Anywhere At All

Life holds the most intriguing of things,
That only occur when you look away
Focus on some tangible conjecture,
And watch it float past on the wind
But I've come not to fret upon direction,
Knowing that gusts have returned again
That there's some balance sure,
In all the things that we're to ever touch
Wisdom or understanding or whim,
Some dreams are resilient even on pause
And no one knows the color of a home,
Lest they've been in its presence long
Not even a wandering dreamer,
Though I've tasted its many paths
North has always been north,
For as long as you can see your feet
And on those days you've stopped,
Sometimes an extra pair were there
The same dirt clung to four soles,
Reminding you that all life is a struggle
And If its ever to mean anything,
You might arrive home with unclean feet
But you can quit chasing forever,
Resting about on today's blissful sting
Or you can believe in miracles,
Where everything is different and still the same

The Things You Don't See Coming

We know what's good for us, but then we think it snows
In late September, when our temporal oceans swell
And we show up in places, first in line, for the first time
Caught off guard, People and lights, spares and strikes
Your tongue is your enemy, as you flounder like fish
Knowing what to say, but writing it down instead
I think we've been here before, at another peculiar door
Though the beat master and the computer haven't met
Telling yourself, knowing that this could end badly
But chasing your tail or tomorrow, whichever which it is
Hello, I like you, but I seem to have forgotten my name
Have you seen it on your way in, No well, that's just swell
No one expects much, but finds ways of hoping for everything
Or just little bit, Most people find they will take that too
Often though, we just like complicated, nicknamed adventure
Puzzles we cannot find the pieces to, but fail to throw away
Sometimes trapped in opposite boxes, You find your spare parts
Life is crazy like that, a chaotic, neurotic, enduring and beautiful mess
Of which everyone must survive, but no one knows quite why
To just be stopping in one day, to find that everything has changed

Summer's End

The birds know the wind, They've been here before
Rooftop preparations for a deliverance into Mexico
The beach is quiet now, If waves turn, it is not written
Lounge chairs have receded to their wooden homes
Planks upon barefoot, A reminder of that which comes
Long ago maybe scribed, Wind bends the pages to and fro
A sanctuary from sweat, Though I muse it temporal bliss
Summer Sun sets, bearing down on the empty beach
The last of its might a brilliant orange, it captivates
Panoramic horizon, no blank page is left upon clear sky
The end ebbs and nears, though not today, not this place
On the morrow, its version will reach the heavens again
And the ice cream truck will stroll sandy shore lines late
Children, building empires, They listen for its jingle
Sunbathers, unaware of the change state, lay out once more
The aging fisherman even, from pier 22 or perhaps 23
His long white beard waving in the wind as goes his line
The tide, it bends his fate, a reminder of dawning change
Some lost little pup, sniffing and yipping at everything
Forgotten temporarily, but never too far out from home
All of this comes into view from the corner lot of time
I was here last year, perhaps a little younger, no wiser
Faces will change, as do names, but never the premise
Mayhap a Yorkie and not a Chihuahua,  my eye stirs
Its the mixture of warmth and wind, eternity and temporal
A blend at the changing of the guard, a magic place indeed
There you will always find me, yet untouched by time
Where the wind blows, and the roads, oh how they bend
There you will find me, in the grasp of Summer's End

Examining Money

A man rushes to the latest race
Yells for coffee through a speaker
Pull around please, Wait your turn
The window goes down, hand goes out
He holds for Bubbly a crisp new twenty
Which she casually deposits, to the drawer
A rich man does count it at the full of moon
Drives it over to the local bank, at morn
And after, later: paychecks are cashed
A welder asks for twenties please
Some travel home, Others into obscurity
Gas for traveling, Cocaine to pass the time
Sitting in his lonely chair, at dusk or so
He snorts away his pain as like before
Twisted between his aging, shaking fingers
Mr. Jackson from Starbucks, neatly in a roll
At daybreak, cigarettes are traded for
By way of an unfurled twenty note
But leaving again just as quickly
As change for a traveling bloke
He who's headed back to Kissimmee
But stops off into the night
One room left, for sixty sixty three
Cash is fine sir, It's the American way
But the attendant has a problem
The bills just find their way in pockets
No cameras to catch, their pilfered state
Not a bad guy, Just trying to feed his kids
A twenty at the market, cereal and gallon milk
The clerk gives it swiftly away though
To a man with a much larger gait
And he who drinks away his worries
Does come across it with a grin
At the station the next town over
Its used to buy his car some food
Driving late into the night, vision blurred
He hits the car of the business man
The one who started with the note
Lying twisted, he dies in the shine of moon
Not knowing, his fate was but his own

No Mark is Permanent: A Wise Man Runs

Alone on the beach
Trudging through sand
Particles from grander pasts
Cling to your bare feet
Their weight upon your limbs
Slows down your pace
The ocean nears its mouth
Waiting for you, always
For the sand to halt you enough
Then comes the rain
Encouraging the waves' wrath
To swallow you
As your pace lessens, slacks
You are heavy now
All your baggage bends your knee
You flail to keep moving
When the current drags you deep asea
Seagulls cackle and swarm
The last dancing crest covers your head
Waves batter the shore
Removing the  print of your journey
The sand quickly forgets you
As the seagulls fly out for cover
Leaving behind a desolate, empty beach
Another evening, Another sunset

A traveler now comes at dusk
The wind whispers lies of the future
Your essence joins its chant
Now the sand wakes its slumber
Another captive approached
This one, He's more nimble
Outstepping the heaviness of sand
And though the wind whips
His knees rise to meet the darkening sky
His body is fluid motion
Shaking one thousand years from his feet
The moon spotlights his race
His desire, His drive
The sky opens its girth with violent force
And still, the traveler streaks.
His clothes sodden, his eyes blind
He runs through rain drops
Sand, waves, and wind
Cannot catch the fleetness of his soul
A dune appears in the distance
Over its girth he sails into infinite blackness
A solemn beach lies forgotten
Some seagulls return, cackling, searching
While the moon illuminates emptiness
Waiting for the Sun again

Staying Up Long Enough to Lament That I Get No Sleep

The sentiment of wanting
The wastedness of an unopened sheet
All the piles of dreams uncaptured
By all the miles uncovered, visibly seen

I know traveling in a four post spread
I know wanting from yearning to return again
And any which you do, do it ever well
Beauty is a sight you must close your eyes to see

Afterwards, there are always longing thoughts
Afterwards, though you chose to stay cognizant
When you would have rather breathed the deep
There is sun creeping the window, a reminder of misery

Still, given time, another ransom in each ending
Still, more chances for you to waste out in the wind
The world, for its part, perplexes, forces your eyes to see
The unopened sheet in the corner, the madness of infinity

Purple Summer

Sometimes I can't find the door,
Nor that road again in the rain
The place where words come,
Naturally on a course into my brain
Sometimes all I hear is scream,
From the muted silence of thought
Or some imaginary place I've been,
While traveling lost out in the sot
No one bears summer's wrath,
Quite like a locked and drowning poet
Angst and rage and flailing in the dirt,
Looking helpless into the violet Sky
Where riddles and rhymes are lame remedies,
To a dry man from an even drier place
The Sun just bakes away my muse,
And all I'm left with is this aging face

Snippets

Keep certain
Understand my flaw
I took every burden thrust me
An opportunity to self destruct

Though I confess
I found out much later
My defiance didn't sway the world
Tides went on twisting regardless of my game

I thought hard
That if I would tell it
Planes would bend to suit me
Humor now, In how wrongly I laid my spades

A hungry man
Must sooner or later eat
Lest he die the death of the insane
What man, tell me, solves problems with the same

Times changed
I got better somehow
Though I won't breathe my brass
Credit who carried wood up a hill, heavier than all of time

Soundless, Unspoken

Call it a whisper
Yet give it no name
Speak of it not
Or go recalling its pain
Ashes can not be born
Unto any such castles
Of which anyone is aware
And silence, It baffles

Fire surely follows flame
In all worlds known to be
Just as pleasure sought from pain
Promises hellfire and misery
Wading into those depths
Lends to drowning in salt tears
A dance that's grown stale
Shoes worn thin in passing years

Casting lots with shadows
When hope becomes unclear
Akin to jumping off of cliffs
When death becomes so near
Questioning the path by means
Of an unfailing and unseen eye
Counts all costs of reasoning
More sound than plan or guise

Slippery slopes promote travel
Even when falling seems safer
Lest left holding an invisible rope
Quelled to facing form in mirrors
Kettles run dry, tire of indecision
Find their own teacups, they must
Ending such bid for following dances
Showering histories with certain rust

At the Opera With No Coat

Seven and ten naming days of the clock rung,
Not in the cross hairs, Well early at forever young
Passions and innocence blend, Songs are sung
Amidst many miles, Many seas, The tide upon
Phone calls are made, Little hearts are drawn
Pieces of paper age, Time's only number is one

And if he knew now,  All of the future's woes
What which ways, How long the wind blows
Would reality be different, alternate or slow
Because shoes walk a boy, Before stands a man
Catastrophes and fortunes, A curveball of plans
Time touched his face, His eyes, A dream outran

Deep beneath the rust, A torn and fading box
The first promises of a man, An unlikely paradox
The contents speak, Words, They became clocks
To voice them anyway, To mark them  true
Because time was different, Lovely and new
Because a girl changes history, Surely they do

Even after four and ten seasons, A drift out to sea
Long after the last phone call, An ending of glee
Just a picture or some words, The past becomes free
Through a long driven wind, do travelers chase dreams
Through perhaps a future clouded, new ones will teem
The memories of a child, Unlocked prayers of James Dean

She said you came back, Though the clock strikes late
I promised I would, Sorry about the unending wait
Perhaps Peter Pan and Wendy, Suppose another's fate
Though reality never meant much, Time, It stood still
Long enough to look out ahead, Drive forward or reel
Staring at the open road, An opportunity left to feel

Of All Things

Of all the things I know,
Surely I must not understand this
Thing of trampled madness
The one that beats beneath my skin
Not far below protection
My mask against the world

Of all the things I've seen,
Surely I have not gazed its depth
Or how it glows, when it glistens
To stake my claim or place
I would need a guide, some direction
Understanding I have seldom felt

Of all things left,
Surely will come unearthed
A rightly marching parade
When my secret neither tires nor rests
And then I'll know I've found it
To glimpse upon what I've waited
For all the ends of Earth to see

Of all things not spoken,
This I must speak the least
For surely wrong hands lay all about
Them I've known all my passing days
But about this I'm not mistaken
That I must accord my all again

Passing Lines

Lines on the paper, Lines on the wall
Who is that drawing, Who's come to call
Some things that go unseen, but seldom fade
Like words from a time ago, brought back to wade
The ocean's calling, Its blur is dull and  not sharp
But lines make circles, and fingers pull on harps
Crickets sing their songs, but the phrases go unsaid
As whispers upon the wind, some chords are not dead
Though lines seek their sought, no heart dies unheard
That is the great mystery, The ink behind each word
Telling what one knows, one line feeds another
Some roads start again, The end is still much further

You Brought Yourself

You ran and ran
And ran and ran and ran
Away from such a mess
Such an inconceivable mess
Short of breath you slowed
Heaving on the sidewalk
What little you had by break
Now littered away at feet
Stuck standing alone near sea
Your heart brought itself
Upon an ever new place
Ferris wheels and rides
Pretty girls to take as wives
But, then you take notice
On a road along the boardwalk
One that rides along the shore
That the color is still familiar
Your hand It looks the same
As the feet which carried it
Away from all the woe
Of course, Of course
You had not thought of it
All the many miles running fast
Over all the foothills and turns
You're just around the way
On the corner of Nowhere and Lost
And all this time spent running
You were running away from you

Sifting through the Sand (Weatherproof)

In January, I had yet to walk down any paths
But, it was far to cold for venturing anyhow
And my feet were not quite made to push wind
By February however, I would scoot across the earth
Then still, I  had not glanced the many roads of pass
Nor would I know about the passing clock of time
March though, was a month made for progress
And yet, no dust did I leave on the doorstep
Tracks weren't declared beneath my traveler's foot
Sweet April , A time when I would leave the nest
Quite forcefully I cast out my wings to soar like eagles
A child with no proper know in the ways of the world
So by the call of May, I was lost as yesteryear once more
The astray seek their own to comfort their lonesome silence
Disregarding that your soles muddy akin to their own
Oh June, I was ever so sure that I had found it
The road that alluded me quite long was never more
A self made man-child of sordid goals and more so ills
That by July, I had arrived at my declaration of triumph
King of Calendars, the self-run master of my path
But Black August, It swallowed me in the whole of its gullet
I wandered through a wilderness unseen and of no end
Stumbling in darkness, because my candle sparked dim
Mercy rained all September though, washed my anxious skin
Afforded hope by that from which I come, Whom I call I AM
He made my eyes hold youth and my promises not quite late
Taught me not to search for October, who's wind is ever harsh
Who's call is perhaps ten days away or gratefully more so
Though wiser and more walked, I am more evidently tired
Perhaps by November, I shall understand time's meanings
The roads I walked headstrong into misfortune and joy alike
Their place in the history of all my endless wanderings
Then in December, I will have no road nor trek to cross
For I will have left my travel bag and pen far behind
That another patron will afford to mark his own place in time

Tunnels at Night

The earth spins
No it pivots
Falls into the ocean
Which is temporal
But only slightly
And there it rests
Mountains shaken
No they're shattered
And its dark
The Sun doesn't shine
Why would it
So it doesn't
The black space Is
No it isn't
Darkness isn't anything
See for yourself
Close both lies
Start over again
Dreams don't drown
Yes they do
They drown in doubt
The stars cry
Because its over
Or was it ever

All Men Fight Wars

All men must fight wars
After leaving childhood
They step into the storm
Some travel far and away
Others battling away inside

I've been with them some
Those men who lost it all
Still the sand I find in places
And often photographs of war
Tales of faces brave and scared

For some the battles still wage
Prisoners locked away at war
Their mind races with angst
At an enemy no longer seen
Men who forgot the way home

I'm not sure why it is I know
But all men must fight wars
Even those who never suited
Blast specters across their mind
Lost love, doubted faith, muted fear

Win or lose, and lose and lose
Demons await each sinking ship
The world has a remedy for pain
A price for which no man has cured
Though many die to play the game

War is not won or lost, simply staved
For each eye opening, another melee
Often I think about my brothers' fight
But so do I ponder about silent strifes
For each a price is being paid daily

But what calling is it to write their way
Though told,  I've walked both roads
To no end, another spit blooms, as  yours
Because all men must fight wars,
Headstones are but proof that they do

You Haven't Arrived at Your Destination Yet

They say that water seeks its own level
But dreamers, they seek the whole well
Whatever is unsure, unwritten, unspoken
There you will find the ageless idealists
Drinking deeply from pretty colored cups
They will trade you everything they own
For the possibilities beneath their minds

In their hearts reside but unfinished dreams
Bits of broken things fallen from the past
They collect hope much as a life collects age
The pieces spin riddles over memory and time
Blankets of such cover away the biting cold
While they toil away in fields left to rust
All a man is, are his thoughts, entropy swells

One such spent all day smiling at the rainbow
To be that no one knew his mind spoke thunder
Clouds of rain mirror those of passing passion
Until it is unclear where shapes are defined
Subtle lines of singularity often burst open
Spilling forth untold storms from endless color
The happiness of a man is measured in his sleep

Riding Ferris wheels to remain a step above doubt
They understand realism even if it denies them
Alas, the brightest minds are often the darkest
For who sees more than their mind can harvest
At the top of everything is another opportunity
One choice to lead, One more apt to follow
To flail or rest, The great undiscovered, unmet

Trying To Explain the Circus to a Man Who's Never Been

There's a circus nearby, just on the outer edge of town
Lots of lights, and foods, where  noises are always found
The ringmaster sits down now upon a funny little chair
And he looks quite mad, as though enough to pull out hairs
Don't mistake me now, his stated angst is not akin to anger
For peanuts and popcorns and elephants are dancing in the hanger
The show is soon to start within the hour and all have made to watch
Aisles have filled their seats quickly, No chair left in the bunch
What will the hatter do for tricks, tight ropes or something ever tragic
No, not the rabbit pulling kind, but he always knows some magic
His heart is jumping,, lurching,  thumping on his badly, tattered sleeve
And in his mind he races, to the beat of  his ticker's illustrious greed
Every summer's eve at night fall do the tickets sell out quick
A great tent bulging with folks from all each nook and crick
All to watch the elusive but spirited chap tame another headed beast
Each one has grown larger in size, some of them as well in feat
Such a sad little show displayed, like a movie played from spool
To discern the timeless riddles as they are spitten' by a hull
No not the peanuts, the ones that may be crumbling at your feet
But another form of shells, The ones that speak of broken beats
Or songs, depending on where you first did learn to speak
The show goes on for hours, or years its seems at least
 Until the circus man does tire or the last goer leaves their seat
That which happens first, does often vary from week to week
A sweat now pours from the master's coat adorned with ties
Odd recollections of his, from the journeys' of his life
Only when the lights go off though, does the circus ever begin
For who knows themselves better than away from all their friends
Love and work and fun and faith and life and death and sin
Who can balance their weight and not be trapped away in bins
A tired man just dying to hear his voice amongst the jungle of the crowd
Trapped once more in endless whens like a dreamer inside a shroud
Just before the last hour does one last ticket holder approach the climb
Standing back from amongst the crowd, waits his destiny in line
The years of salted tears though, they have left him all but blind
And alas he cannot see the rainbow's end just like every other time

Postal

Letters get damaged
Or perhaps misplaced
Not a job of theirs
To ensure security
They know nothing
Of waiting or doubt
Perhaps a dog ran by
Took a scrap of cloth
Chasing away hope
From little boxes
In the darkest fringes
Do words become lost
Or perhaps camouflaged
A study from the porch
would better discern
But the waiting is droll
Suns, Moons, rain, dust
Damp envelopes kill hope
Blurry ink dismisses intent
Confusing contextually
Until it was forgotten
How it all started again
Better to pick up a phone
Than to wait for the mail

Go Dancing When Asked

The rain was thick that day in its own dreary way
Thunder rolled in deafening waves of lost sound
You looked for me as you danced under clouds
But I was not any longer seen, Lost inside my hell
All you wanted was to be noticed, and dance, yes
But I couldn't see you, for I no longer knew myself
And my vision, what left of it saw only other things
I never meant to make your eyes match the rain
Lies fell like drops across your sweet, undone face
And I cried to as you left, Though you didn't know it
For the last of the good things had caught herself a train
No more was there a day that I would ever dance the rain

Retrospective Twilight

Evening on the river
The tree shade envelops
Paddling away and to
What unknown then
Now known and lost
Not long before fires
Long since the moon
Blanketed sandy decks
Abandoned musty tents
Miles measured by time
Further than the bank
Owls are heard clearly
Ghostly echoes seem faint
Twilight or some mirage
Laughter stirs dead air
Memory the mind's shutter
Pictures are often fake

Two Men Sharing a Truck Ride and a Photograph

Blue steel and yellowed paper

Wrinkled skin and settled thoughts

Their moment captured by me

Like the one before them so

They talk of the time in front of them

Back before the road they drove on

Static print and leather seats

Coffee breath and untrimmed whiskers

The one tells the other about her

And both men laugh and smile at youth

Inside perhaps they cry for longing of theirs

But today they just simply ride and share

Birthdays Are For Fools

Blow out your candles, Blow out your cake

Open all your gifts, Unwrap all your things

No time to waste, Few moments left to tick

Every year the same, What a waste of haste

Hurry to your grave, Other candles need space

Don’t forget to write, Don’t omit your name

Counting age is grand, Who speaks such lies

Forgetting to mark time, Your only saving grace

Live without a clock, Live for all your youth

If someone brings a cake, Sing to them instead

Fools celebrate age, Fools and all their “friends”

Unspoken Promises on a Back End Street

Waving from the street, her eyes met his

Her succulent youth swung devils overhead

His mind’s rage captured them in his snare

The eyes of a woman child promised love

While the pupils of a man disguised his age

She had yet to find a reason or road to travel

The man’s road though, It was already long

What she could give him would not wash time

And what he held for her could not buy her heart

Still her eyes promised him light from the dark

His own promised but warm sheets and sin

She looked at him fondly as a fawn to a crop

He gazed back, a man child in flames full ablaze

They knew, standing there at the end of spring

They were looking for the first and last time

He wanted to show her that more lied inside him

Not only the churning of his raw guttural song

So say she believed him, for she did extend a wave

Maybe he believed himself, If time granted rescind

An old woman will tell her grandkids about that day

While the aging man takes his last breathe miles away

Largely forgotten by the clock, his stare and her eyes

Notebooks and Lies

Such purple skies tell so much about mood
Yet thunder neither dwarfs nor dulls a memory
And rainy days don't always clean the walk
For the traveler's footsteps are often heavy
His baggage doesn't fit in the terminal of ports
But such cloudy days are well soiled for thinking
About gardens not planted before the coming storm
Suppose proverbial tales tell a story long and true
And perhaps your own rain drippings do too

What secrets do soggy boxes hold in wet paper
The yellow edges of some other dream or two
Sifting through contents like a befuddled child
Wondering about things a dreamer only understands
People are quick to speak about reality and logic
But their waning imagination seems to sell them short
No amount of logic, reason, or money has cured them
And their heartbeats don't always count for being alive
Just like spring plants set in autumn will not thrive

Coming again to this place so full of blistering rain
I did not expect you, and then only silence ensued
Your voice, must have been lost in yonder clouds or so
For no strength was left inside it to break any chords
Tired I supposed as many of us do along our path or trail
Looking for reality and finding that it left along with yesterday
Its why I come here I suppose if I were asked to say
There's nothing like the wind's wrath  to bring comfort to pain
Nor can anyone see if you would weep in the falling rain

Many oceans have surely rose with the ongoing rains of girth
Though rafts fortified on dreams rise above the stormy front
The man seated there with his bottle of hope is scared to sink
Though he needn't worry if losing only counts in the the end
Being somewhere in the middle and not seeing the road is rough
Or comforting, depending on the fellow's level of madnesss
He writes his silly songs wondering about places like Baltimore
Homeless men there covered with papers don't mind the rain tide
For it hasn't stopped falling since the days of Bonnie and Clyde

Pause

Re-control presumes collectivity has dated before
But past suns don't dwell in pockets and VCRS
No story tells anything new again nor could it so
Chronos gather more eyes than a woman's breast
Though no one is quite sure of which direction to run
Imagine a blur, mixed with voices, sounds, and light
Playing backwards like some carnival ride on tape
Morning coffee tastes like lunch and then evening calls
Phones ding with greetings from faces never seen
While fires are blown off next year's birthday cake
The mounting collections of dresser top trophies grow
Mostly gum wrappers, receipts, little bits of fuzz
Insignificance rewarded on the grounds of ownership
More needless shapes to show that life has come together
Except the people watching seldom care for such
Next the bus man is taking up all tickets down the aisle
The air is stale and the light is dusky, flies all around
Same tired expressions dance across each blank face
Once people knew where it was they might be going
However, now it is much too late that one should ask
Doors are shut, the air is cold, and death is never late

Sunset in the Afternoon

The richest man is the poorest soul I have ever met
I met him not so long before dusk on the wet road
He shook my hands though they were his that shook
The cold clamp of death did  meet him all too well

We sat for a spell that day underneath a dying sun
The last he'd seen sober no one could any longer tell
His drinks were tall and yet somehow perpetually empty
I asked him frankly how he won his seven mile stare

He laughed a mouth full of teeth discolored like the land
Though the sweet sound of humor did not meet his throat
His voice only now a whisper as he largely told his tale
It partook at the beginning of things long before lies and love

No one could see him in the earliest of his counted years
He walked through tests and time without incurring a sound
No shoe would fit his foot to make him quite an unlikely match
Yet certainly youth did afford upon him some type of shape

He grew older still and so his chin became coarse
Intentions that left his tongue were much like spittle
All of the many things he would do oh to be quite sure
Still caught in the ways of youth the boy lied to be seen

Fortune met his door as well did his beating chest thump
Though virgins make poor guests in the homes of men
He then walked quite blindly into some whore's trap
And there hetraded eternity for some musty midnight oil

That he said was the first time his drink changed color
The first sad tune his violin would play at the opera
Curious I asked what he quite meant by his song
He said its best to be bashful when asking upon the King

Determined he was to dilute his past with much fortune
The man set about to change the world without a plan
What next ensued some would call a chaotic mess
But the man before me said that all life is a quest

Days become shorter and one thinks they find a cure
Rather than looking forward they find a rear view mirror
Riches gain them much misery and less time to breathe
Instead of counting blessings they count disappearing green

These things and more this man told me from his stool
He spoke that losing everything had given him the world
That only experiences of great loss could produce a vine
And finding himself in the midst of broken places too

Having less he said than ever filled his pockets stitched
Granted him more than ever his dreamer's eye did see
And each hill and valley renewed his sense of time
The secret he offered but in a sullen daz-ed whisper

Seldom be sure about anything so to question life much
Don't waste your minutes thinking about what you don't have
Though neurosis will often cut you upon your path some
Fill a journal with anecdotes and riddles or pieces of string

There will come a time when all your rodeos find one fence
And thats okay because your shoes will long be worn
Time will have passed and eventuality will have risen to meet
But love is a funny thing that will kill you or make you whole

The sun did set as the man idled on the bar stool before me
Half of what he said later I would remember then as I do now
Bent paths crossed our direction to that tiny place in time
A crossroads where two half paths may meet a whole

And I could have swore that his eyes were greener than I
Though they drooped a little much that I could be so sure
I tried to catch his name before he stumbled off the stool
Though his old boots met the highway and he was gone

What Spins the Earth

Let all men come unharmed
Than to see your vile face
Each deserves your hope
Not your bitter, seething rage
For the world is cruel, yes
And tomorrow colder still
Wear a championed smile
Even if acting is not your game

Children see each face and learn
From the lines inside each grin
And all their fairy tales will fade
Sooner or later at summer's end
So don't disturb the chance, see
They may have at kindness' door
For tomorrow, they shoulder ills
Left behind, gift wrapped for free

When soldiers they come to pass
Enough pain and tears they find
And political games they join
Will show them the meaning of lies
Rest assured each face does rust
In the watering of the tired well
Each heart will surely burst
At the ending of another age

When old men become ancient
Their frowns are customary
Worn hard by their life and labor
Or mayhap they were left ungiven
The joy of another friendly face
The burst of laughter, peace and hope
Something ought started at chapter one
A smile on the face of another soul