Cans

poetry

there’s no good reason you
can’t keep your whole life
in an aluminum can.

Mostly, things you can can
are really not worth canning,
while all the things you can’t can
need to be kept fresh in dry-
storage anyway.

But there’s still a few things that
need canning.

Make a bigger life,
get a bigger can.

Life After Music

poetry

Some evenings after
songs are finished
ringing in my ears,
I tend to wander
towards the cafe
where the young hip
kids all sit and
smoke their
cigarettes, while always
asking questions that
mean nothing, though they
like to keep pretending
that they’re learning more
about themselves and every
other thing around them,
painting up a better picture,
just so they can finally
sleep at night, But
I know better. With
the songs not finished
ringing in my ears,
the whole damn world is
crystal-clear.

indecision, perfection, treadmills

poetry

i just can’t make it
twiddling my thumbs all the day long
like a dopamine fiend
picking up boulders and putting them
back down like a modern day
sisyphus, or something.
thinking
re-thinking
doing and then
un-doing
stopping
starting
stopping again,
to start, one
last final time
(this time
i’ll make it
right)
and i am going to rip these
cement feet right off if
i can’t go see the sunset
tonight.

Supply Chain

poetry

no good reason to
sit this one out, it seems
all of the time spent
on spending our money
has caused us to greatly
underestimate many
values determined by
supply
and
demand,
though all of the spending
leaves everyone feeling quite
spent.
God,
Damn it, why is life
so sweet at 3.a.m, yet
so sour at seven?

An Impassioned –

poetry

I’ve been spending a lot of time with someone
spending a lot of time with someone, late while
all the rest of us have run on off to sleep,
and while histories and jokes abound, I
can not help but fight the thought of feelings
moving upward, though they linger just beneath.

And in some respects I feel a baby sitter,
and in others, I must be the third wheel,
though there’s always four of us, all things considered
And anyway, what the fuck do we just
sit around for?

There Are Words I just don’t use in public, and despair is one of them.

poetry

Alas, I feel beset,
both with the swelling urge to
write, and the swelling
urge to never write again.

The latter, it does not take
hold so well. The former, it
often stays not long enough
for anything to come of it.

So, as all such evenings end,
we (I, specifically) are left
with another ill-crafted, rambling piece
that was meant, at first, to
prove that things can still happen,
and yet it only serves to highlight
all the bits that havn’t happened yet.

A Poem About A Beautiful Fall Day

poetry

A ripe Saturday afternoon,
perfect in it’s postcard beauty,
dead leaves shining in the warm-enough-to-wear-a-sweater sunlight.
The wind blows just enough to prove
that wind can still blow on a day like this,
wile the coats and hats we left
on the back seat of the car are forgotten, a passing thought lost
to the momentary respite of a fall
that can’t make up it’s mind.

Under these conditions, all things
are love and life and beauty. Under
these conditions, Everything is a miracle
if you squint your eyes, just right.

Fates

poetry

There are worse
Fates
than doomed and damned
to live a life of apathy.

Those fates include,
Eternity in Hell, lethal
injection, drowning, cancer,
and having to go every day
knowing that you’ll never
amount to anything.

…Oh, wait.

the civil war that depleted all the soil of the soul

poetry

the worst part is
i’ve got nothing to say to myself
let alone at all
the colors of fall
they blind me with apathy
coat me with meloncholy
stifle me with uno

rigi

nali

ty
clog my veins into a syrupy
oil so thick it’s
not to be used by
farm tractors

let alone human beings
i touch the brink of a
thought with the tongue
of my mind and then it
withers away in the
laziest way
the craziest way
how can an artist ever
get payed this way?
i mean,
how long until i chop
off my ear?
or
will i even ever chop
it off?
that failure, too,
is the worst part.

Livliehoods, and things complimentary

poetry

It’s a rough life out there,
listening to alt-rock records from
the nineties and wishing things
could be they way they used-ta-been,
before you needed rent money every month.

And the coffee you drink doesn’t
percolate, it’s far too fancy for
such Americana to allow. And while
there’s nothing high and mighty about
foreign cars, there’s certainly something
cocky about some of them.

Look, I’m not saying you should
break the law, I’m just saying that
not all dumpsters have locks on them,
and not all the unlocked ones say
“Do Not Occupy.”

Find yourself a new place to stay
if things are so damn difficult.
Dig?

Waiting for the Waves

poetry

Let’s ride this wave
Out
Out
Out
But watch for the undertow
And let’s ride this wave
Way
Way
Way out
Until the golden sand and
Colorful dots have disappeared
Let’s hang ten until the skyline
Is undulating tides and peaking waves
And we’re riding this wave
Out
Out
Out
And we’ll see what’s out there
And we’ll see the lights
And we’ll see the world
Let’s ride this wave
Way
Way
Way out
And see where it takes us
And when we’re finished
Hope the current brings us back