I thought I’d had a thought
at least I think that’s what I
did last night
though there’s no good record
of what I really figured
and in spite
of all of the minutiae
of modern living
and it’s thrills
I’ve come to realize
that the size of a matter
doesn’t kill
the need for introspection
or the need of some dissection
So I hope I did my part
and I hope my thought was right:
I sincerely hope I
had a thought last night

take that dusty
beater
on down to the
Sparkle Buggy

it’s about time for
a change of scenery.

But if the scenery isn’t
ready to be changed
we can always

Buff it
to a mirror shine,

and it won’t be a
change of scenery,
but at least we’ll have to
face ourselves.

My favorite part
is the space between the
last song and the
first song
where all you hear is
static until the tape deck
pops in to reverse
and creates silence for
a split second

Those are the seconds
that I set aside
to think straight

All things
are just things
until
something happens
that gives
the thing
mean-ing

That tree is not
my tree
but someone
had their first
kiss beneath it’s
boughs

That bench is not
my bench
but someone
slept there every day
for an hour after work
waiting for the city bus
(and missed it
every first time ’round)

This tree,
though,
is my tree
This bench,
my bench,

and I’d tell you why
but where’s the fun in that?

I suppose that I’m cut out for
crowd control
being bigger, on my
own, than most of the
crowds that I’ve encountered

but I’ve never been cut out for
crowd controlling,
seeing as I
may be huge, but I’d
rather see the crowd do
their own thing

…but it does pay well

Oh God
there are bodies
everywhere

but so far as
I can tell,
most of them
are breathing

I suppose that’s
the difference
between bodies
and people.

Oh God
there are people
everywhere.

I’ve gotten sort of hung up
on this vessel kind of thing
you know?
Drinking vessels, sailing vessels
and even vessels for the immortal
Soul

And I’m very fond of
rhetoric, but not so much
Hyperbole
and though they can be
similar, they are not
necessarily

The Same

Even after one two many
no-one ever wants to
stretch out
head ’round back
and fight me.

Pussies.

Dirt and other
certain types
of sedatives
surround us
as we
contemplate the simple joys
of being above ground

And of laying on it
cock-sure that we’d
never have to contemplate
the horror of a world contained
within a cramped, yet
relatively roomy pinewood box

For all eternity.

everything’s come unraveled
but that’s hardly the point
everything is
done
it’s done
it’s done for
and nothing can be
done
to reconcile this much damage

Or maybe there is something
but we’ll need the largest spindle in the world

I drink my iced tea from a
Glass
that breaks when dropped
too forcefully

And when the pieces won’t
go back together, we
must sweep them up
reluctantly
and hope that no-one
finds one
with bare feet, and
accidentally.

Music to my ears
I swear it,
written like a lullaby

Strikes me deathly still
to hear it
bottle rockets touch the sky

Beauty to behold
and near it,
all the luster one could ask

though the night is cold
we fear not,
marching towards our final task

(Or just a sofa and a cask)

soul-searching
best left to the
not-so-faint of
heart, I think.

The question, though, remains:
how to test the faintness
of one’s heart without
a little bit of
soul-searching

And raindrops sing
a lullaby
I only find disjointing,
so close the window tight,
and one more thing:
Goodnight.

It all came
from my saxophone
but
none of it was me

Though I must admit
that some of it
was the best
I’d ever played

Of course,
I’m also glad
to take the credit

when the entire
part
worth remembering
hurts
this bad, I
know
it’s worth
remembering.

I grabbed Dad’s favorite rock
and I jammed it
in the loose earth
near the head of where
my dear old friend lay buried

and I thought I was done
Crying
then my brother came home
Early
and the whole damn family
gathered round and
had a cry again

And the collar’s in the shed
with the leash, it’s in the shed
and I’ll miss my dear friend dearly
underneath Dad’s favorite rock –
the one that’s actually
an ancient tree.

(Goodbye)

Only real friends
call your phone
at 3 A.M.
and expect you
to listen,

So listen.

Turn that damn light
off so I can
concentrate on
creating one
cognizant thought
without your dumb
questions and your
inquisitions
tearing in to
the last bits of
my sanity
at this hour
Jesus Christ.

Just let me Think
for a fucking second.

To find yourself at home at night
wishing you were elsewhere
is to hope to sleep, to hope
to dream of another place