on the morning you failed
by Roger Mugs
i awoke to find
the toaster on
my bread all burned
my cereal stale and
my thoughts in a bind
to you i turned
i find i fail
i awoke to find
the toaster on
my bread all burned
my cereal stale and
my thoughts in a bind
to you i turned
i find i fail
Steely Dan humming on a stereo
somewhere, while we
lean back in our comfy chairs and
ponder, ever-cautiously
Three minds a-wander, way down field
without a place to run to while we
make a day less dreary while we
lean back, ever-ponderously
They said tonight was pouring rain
They said tomorrow, sunshine
I hear Wet on the windowpane
We hope the news was right this time
But no promises
cooling bath water
drastically diminishes
after you step out,
dripping onto the tiled floor,
reaching for a fresh towel.
Stick ‘em twixt a baffle
and a really loud P.A.
let their brains and banter foul out
the’ve never anything nice to say.
i heard myself say
and more surprisingly
i knew myself to mean
as i looked at the plasma,
gloriously clear,
seemingly larger than life,
and sickeningly priced,
just out of my reach
but close enough to tempt;
close enough to make me love America
and want to save her from herself.
choosing between two
perfectly acceptable alternatives
leaning to the right but never
knowing which way right
will lead because i feel the need
to be committal without knowing
how to commit
and the ground, like my thoughts
slips slowly out from under my feet
as though i’m not walking down this
sidewalk but its moving under me
I’m just about
this close
to fight another
fight, but other
issues have arisen,
causing me to
stay at home
and lock the doors.
when we wake up
eyes open wide because
we can tell merely by the stifled light
leaking through the curtains
and the miserable muffled staccato of
ice scraping drifting through
the walls
that it’s going to be
a great
fucking
snow
day
i forgo my normal hobbies of writing incessantly
living the life i imagine will probably make me
more humble than my prayers had intended
then i pound my feet into pedals basked in
glorious sunshine i forgot existed anywhere in this
barren polluted populated overrun populous
where i find my home, my love, my passion, my people
and when the sun hits the back of my neck this time
its as if to say ‘you belong here’ and the thoughts
of not going home creep into the back of my head
nagging at the horror of the 3 year program in which
i’ve just enrolled in the city of eternal gloom
finally realizing my retreat to writing and basking
in internet lame fame is due to a lack of the glorious
heavenly host as though through iV dripping me
vitamin D throughout my day hoping life isn’t
quite as meaningless as this city i love and these
people i love and this language i cant get enough of
but knowing where sunshine is, i might just as easily
fall in love with these tanned and leatherly [sic] people
today i wont gasp for air; for everything within me
knows its only a matter of time before these mountains are
not my vacation
but home
Spent countless hours
of countless nights
polishing the words he’s
written down in
a battered pair of notebooks
Stepped sheepishly
to the stage and
took up, with great
caution, a
microphone.
Then carefully,
whispered the words he’d
coveted so long
so that anyone in the room,
who was listening,
could hear him.
Too bad no one was listening.
Sticky little red rocks,
Hana’s parting gifts to us
Hidden in our shoes.
in this barren wasteland,
wherein we selfishly
keep each other for ourselves
and the only constant
is the uneasy juxtaposition
of the worst of society,
i dig my feet into the
ground and keep my head
into the clouds.
the natives now perform
the hunt of the white
man, trailing dollar
bills like bait through
the streets. tiny bits
of data containing complaints
from the scholastic elite
on instructors, classes,
how they are totally lost
and confused swimming through
the mediocre course lessons
that hold two car garages
and mini vans above their
heads, and plans to consume
alcohol to throw their bodies
around with,
fly from metal tower to metal tower.
i am unlearned in the artistry of
the vapid.
similarly, the frozen tundra sits
in the distance
teaming up with the
sun’s hard unforgiving rays
to suck whatever life you
had in you into the dead
grass and plants where
young tribal humans used to
live and die. now a backdrop
for the disgusting play of the
American day.
There is a beautiful land
small and poor
being alive there was such a miracle
staying alive pure magic.
Sorrow and hope were for free
A little blue bird grew up, flew away
Only in dreams does it wander back
to the broken hills.
Clouds of familiar faces comes a rollin’
soundlessly, endlessly in a black and white scenes
Don’t let them shake the bird of that tree
Even if the glory of dawn comes and goes
the fruit, unripe and sour, longs for more light
We’ve got a lot of work to do
so grab yourself a shovel
and we’ll dig
dig
dig
dig
and when we hit rock bottom
we’ll start carving out a staircase
and we’ll climb and climb and climb
until we’re right back where we
Started.
I hope we make it out in time.
this drum hit
at a steady rhythm makes
the walls shake and
the air vibrate
releasing a call
releasing a call
releasing a call
that waits for a response…
oh i know that you don’t know
wanna fuck my past and don’t it show
found your name on the back of your pants
i’d use it if i had the chance
mrs. princess pants
wanna break the rules wanna break the walls
i got the will but i aint got the cause
i probably could but you know i can’t
gonna bury my head in the sand
mrs. princess pants
you’re hindsight walkin’ down the halls
streaks in your hair and push-up bras
i know you’ve no mind to break in half
but all i wanna do is break your back
mrs. princess pants
the cool
like
ocean
apathy
or the cool
like
omnipotence
like
jazz
or
treble
raindrops
the cool
complete
sentence cool
comfortable cool
like
in the
pocket cool
but
at
my
fingertips
yet,
still.
She speaks truth with every breath
and cuts through each discrepency
He fears he may be talked to death
but takes in stride each plead and plea
She whispers of their glory past
and says she’ll see them rise again
He whispers good things never last
he turns away to hide a grin
The fire’s burning lower now
the hearthstone cooling more and more
She stokes the last log, wondeirng how
She hadn’t noticed this before
Large, icy circles
Feign a sense of cleanliness
Down Dirty River.
i’ve never been one
who’s got to have it
now, Now, NOw, NOW,
but temptation is strong
and giving in is easy
and even sweet, bitter-sweet
(like good dark chocolate),
passing through me
like an aphrodesiac,
sweeping me away
in a whelming flow,
washing away my conscious,
along with the dust
of a fractured soul.
the fragrance of rose buds in bloom
the fragrance of my kid’s poo poo
the way you smell after a plane
the way you often stink of shame
the fragrance that you smell when all
your friends quit smoking and you
pressed on to be “consistent”
missing all but your contentment
knowing smells bring back that shame
knowing music does the same
missing the smells of your first high school
the one before people knew the real you
knowing you can never go back but
never forgetting that fragrant smack
inside my hallowed spine
there are worms and things
of much naivity
inside this spine of mine
is a spreading disease
killing everything
inside my rotten spine
hides everything i am
oh how can i stand
having such a spine
where things die
all the time
inside my hallowed spine
simplicity tastes like
vanilla cake and
white frosting
and sprinkles.
And green icing
with words written:
The Cake.
Simplicity is.
Delicious.
write it down all you’d like
lose your self and your
face in the crowd
or sew your mouth shut;
the buildings yet to
be knocked down
blocking out the sun,
the gray clouds holding you
down like giant nets
foreboding and advancing.
sleep like a slow moving semi
carrying solid lead bars
still hits you pretty hard
should you choose to tarry
I cannot yet forget my fate
the one I’ve forced upon myself:
to fight from being over-rate
to stay alive despite my health
But if I am to die too soon
promises broken, boons unkept
I’ll do my best to make amends
from the other side of the Moon
i marked the
inauguration with
feelings of trepidation
let’s remember that
“change” is not a magic
word made of sparkles
and dust, rather one
spelled with sleepless
nights, burning words,
and blood
let’s remember that
the “Dream” is not
a finish line to be
crossed, rather a reality
we must construct
first in our minds and in
our lives
and let’s remember that
our leaders cannot be God
sweeping down from the clouds
(or the White House) to pluck
you from your own troubles.
in a lifetime
you meet that one
who you lost
so shortly after finding
they were there
Sleepless days
call for
long, restful nights
In theory.
We can only hope the second part of the second part is true.
