Incline Soup (3/2020)

Incline Soup (3/2020)

Get me a beach.
Get me a fire.
Nice goodbyes to empty souls and liars.

Give me a pen.
Give me your heart.
Bloodshot eyes hear money made art.

Is this really for me?
I am just performing.
Undercover, talk to folks all night long
while my head’s way over there.
Like other places over there.
What I do.
What was your name again?

This thing picked me.
Am I what I’m supposed to be?
Unknowingly already knowing things.
Gets boring, what’s next? Write a new book?
A look back at all the soups life cooked up?
Parking lot calls, too many times.
Don’t worry about me.

Get me a tent.
Get me some water.
Sometimes I’m good, and sometimes I call her.

Get me some wheels.
Get me some wake.
You speak so loud, will you pump the brakes?

This thing picked me.
There is no supposed to be.
Amazingly just knowing things.
Impact lives unknowingly,
because nothing ever really gets through.

Sunshine and Silence (3/2020)

Sunshine and Silence (3/2020)

I’ve been collecting
all of my tears
from the last few years,
gonna grow something beautiful.

Sitting in a storm,
the sound of flakes falling
crushes the sound of smiles not calling,
swear it’s been over a year.

Sitting in a parking lot.
5am, I can’t say what day it is.
I wonder if snowflakes worry.
Seem so much like me.
Falling? Or floating? They’ll just melt in the sand.
Do they have a favorite song?
Can they admit when they were wrong?
Do they see pushing forward as moving on?
Do they feel the need to hurry?
Do they remember everything?
The things they said, but didn’t mean?
Do they worry?
Always coming down. Hanging. Coming down.
Flying or falling or floating.

Sleeping, keeping warm.
The shade from the sunshine caving
crunches white likeness while footprints pave things,
missed it for over a year.

I’ve been collecting
all of my tears
from the last few years,
gonna grow something beautiful.

Digging Moats (3/2020)

Digging Moats (3/2020)

Every sea I meet.
Don’t believe in apologies.
Crashing every time she speaks.

A wave.
Comes to leave again, just checking in
to dig the beaches in my head.

Seagulls prey on leftovers
while we walk on the beach.
We once drew lines in the sand,
never found a chance to finish them.

Old man white boy reggae man.
Lost little soul inside a van.
Saw you share your reggae song,
the water couldn’t help, but pass it along.
Felt I was done.

The sound of distance hitting sand.
Sand that’s slipped between two hands.
Crushing every time I land.

A bridge.
This way or that way, suspending the day.
Plays with my balance.

Lighthouse, pay attention.
Guide me toward the beach
where we wrote dreams in the sand,
for I’ve found time for living them.

Young man, old boy, artist man,
makes the day’s song as he had planned.
Water waits, ripples heard that man speak his word
and they were shook
and they were stirred and
she sailed off her beat.

She don’t believe.
She don’t believe in apologies,
and I guess that’s all I need.

Building towers, digging moats for bridges.
But she don’t believe in apologies.

Take The Time (3/2020)

Take The Time (3/2020)

Did a little doodle,
drew a purple you.
Didn’t stop to fill me in,
before I was pulled through.

Scratched a tiny scribble,
wrote an aqua me.
Scratching left a heartfelt word
that they will never read.

Now I’m up on a mountain.
I can’t see a thing.
Glass mind with a longing heart
and that look in my eye,
like the lights back came on.

What can you do but live?

Tipped over a table
looked for the last piece,
tipping everything in sight
to find that sweet release.

Slugged some mugs of diesel,
stayed up all year long.
Slugs said, ‘when you live too fast
things are bound to go wrong.’

So I went out walking, taking time.
Ignored all the talking, taking time.
So I slimed around for a while.
Walked for years before the lights came on.
What can you do but live?

Let’s Talk About the Cubicle (2/2020)

Let’s Talk About the Cubicle (2/2020)

Lying if he said he wouldn’t do anything
to keep it back around right now.

Plays board games by himself,
skips right past all the candy.
Finds boredom in bunches of people.
Turns up tunes and stays in.
Why talk about work?
How about, how was today in the cubicle?
You should do this in the cubicle.

Happy, but that heart’s not nearby.
Like an old song brings ten tears to each eye.
Throwing some rock on a wheel.
Spinning stops, slice, sponge, shelf, don’t steal.
Some time before they light up their fire.

Sings songs he’ll never write,
jumps right through the melodies.
Like lackluster lunches, those people.
Turns up tunes and stays in.
Why talk about work?
How about, how’d you do that in the cubicle?
Something’s too loud in the cubicle.

Flying when he said he couldn’t do it again.
Left ground, living down and way out.
Sings, some songs come back around.

Can’t hear that in the cubicle.
Need new things in the cubicle.
Where’d he go? Other cubicle?
Stay a little longer in your cubicle.
Please do this in the cubicle today.

Imagine Forever (2/2020)

Imagine Forever (2/2020)

Happy got stronger than sad.
Worry’s just praying for bad.
We got back to being glad,
while it began to spark fires.

Honest is leaving no doubt.
Lying sees peaceful and shouts,
We stood under an age-old spout,
softly drifted into sunrise.

Imagining morning wake,
old mug, coffee, freshly baked.
She stretches all four, smiles, I sing glory.
The story went, it all got bent but realigned
the other side of the coastline.

I could imagine forever.

Sometimes a second’s a day.
Minutes, for instance, decades.
We don’t let time set our pace,
so it’s come to mean nothing.

Wonder is wild with dreams.
Visions bring lions and queens.
Nothing’s ever as it seems,
until it gets said out loud.

I could imagine forever.
Rippled wake, freshly ground mistakes,
puzzled, wine, ‘til we sail
for the other side of the coast line.
I could imagine forever.

Thursday by Jesus (2/2020)

Thursday by Jesus (2/2020)

Jesus stands in a pot on a shelf above
my right shoulder.
Backwards head in a robe, couple scrapes
but he’s not getting older.

He once rode in a van on a road next to
a maniac.
Big wide grin on a face facing north,
the idiot brainiac.

Jesus, man, don’t lose it.
Just gave you a dime.
You walk way out there and lose your shit,
I’m swimming all the time.

Walk back from the ocean.
Grab yourself some sleep.
We’ll go to town and talk about birds,
or we can get real deep.

Jesus looks at an H on a plate and recalls
an old birthday.
Winters spent in a globe, a thousand shakes,
years, before love had its way.

He’ll get glued, on a bench, when his next time comes.
How’s three sunsets?
Body by a frame, head on a spring.
Jesus, are you done yet?

Let’s let this show start rollin’.
Let’s let us find our way.
Let’s let us relax and take our time
remembering how to play.