Lackadaisically we
found ourselves submerged
within the folds of our
own self-indulgent malaise.

All confidence aside, we
faltered all too willingly
into a sultry – if sordid –
Non-movement.

It’s the worst thing we
could do to ourselves,
but damn it,
sometimes,
it feels so good.

When last I checked
I’d heard you’d died
when last I checked
you’d lost your way
when last I checked
You had escalated your
situation, and it’s
up to you to
redefine what ‘died’
really means
between now
and when next I check

I wonder
what my cold fingers feel
like
scraping on your skin
like
ice?
like a strange and
unwelcome touch from
a specter?

Am I a ghost?
yes?
Can I be your ghost
at least?

And so I sit
remissly weathering
another evening
after spending the day
so carefully on
nothing in particular

It’s raining.

four-thousand dollars worth
of expensive electronic equipment
to be moved from one building to
another with a car that
doesn’t have the best weather-
stripping in the world
and it’s raining.

There’s a brown paper bag-full
of empty cans and I
never quite know what to do with them.

They’re worth some money,
I’ve been told,
but I often wonder if all
that money is really worth
the effort.

There’s a brown paper bag-full
of empty cans. Know anyone
who knows what to do with them?

He’s never exactly sure why he
always forgets to check when he
starts to change lanes on the
highway

He hopes it won’t end with a
fiery explosion and a
lot of pointless casualties
but still, he leaves the driveway.

And even behind the barricade of
a double-paned glass window, you can
still hear the wind blow down
the half-deserted midnight streets.

And you remember the cut and sting,
the twanging bite of ice-cold air
seemingly pushing itself
straight through you.

And it makes you wonder
why the other half never deserted
in the first place.

And it makes me wish
you could remember why we
only ever wanted to be
stuck out there
forever.

Raise thy hackles up and hiss!
We’d never dreamed it’d come to this!

They’ve got us they’ve got us they’ve
got us they’ve got us they’ve
got a lot of gall, trying to
get us here.

I don’t know what they think we are
but we won’t be so soon to fold
so if you see them wandering
raise your hackles up and hiss

And kill them.

well I got an orange crush
and I got an orange faygo
and I drank one on the way home
and it tasted oh so good

I got home and started resting
and the resting led to sipping
on the one I hadn’t finished
and it tasted oh so good

So I stopped, tried to remember
which orange soda I liked better
but I realized altogether
that it didn’t really matter
because when everything’s said and done
they both taste
Oh so good.

Pulling out the
scratch-pad
to take notes on a
passing fancy
takes too damn long
to bother with,
despite the fact that
that’s why we’ve got ’em
any damn way.

But we’ll carry
the thing
everywhere and
whenever we want to
look important or
look too busy to bother or
look like
we know
something
that we don’t

Out it comes.

Sometimes with a
fancy pen too.

it just becomes so hard
to not throw in the towel
I suppose, but I
don’t understand
how anyone could
bring themselves
to do it.

you’re throwing away
a perfectly good towel,
after all

And me and Rob
would go driving on
two gallons of gas
with no where to go
we didn’t have a phone
we’d just drive and hope
that something
would happen
to keep us
occupied
for a couple more hours
until we got sick of
wandering around the middle school
and looking at instruments
we couldn’t afford
and finally had to
head home
where we’d sit in the alley
’till the cops came and
threatened to arrest us
if they saw us there again.

Those were the days.

First time for everything.
Don’t slip and fall and die.

But then,
there’s a first time for everything.

I’ll drink the orange juice
from the jug
and I’ll eat too much
cheese on my sandwich
and I’ll probably leave
the bread bag untied
and open on the counter

but I promise
I still love everyone.

We assume it’s only damaged nerves
but there’s no good way to be dead sure
just stick your hand back in the fire
and tell me what you feel

So if it burns you’ll be alright
we’ll only keep you over night
but if you don’t feel anything
at least we’ll know the deal

But if all the things
you ever weather
end up less then
fair,
consider me your
foul-weather-friend.

And I’ll tie me to
the mast with you.

Scarcely do I find myself
volatile enough to spew
ichor from both my ends
at once.

Usually, it’s only one
or the other.

But recently, i’ve
been paying attention to
your technique.

Watch this.

I can walk in to
the same damn
conversation
three days out of
the week,
but even after
hearing the same
stupid arguments
over and over and
over and over and
over again,
I still have no idea
what we’re yelling about.

“I thought I heard an aeroplane
it must’ve been just the breeze”
And that
Thought
Worries me.

Just the breeze. Just the
single most inherently
powerful thing that
touches us every day, but
we don’t even know it.

In the breadth of a single
instant, it could simply
decide to knock a car off
a bridge.

It could blow me apart.
It could blow us apart.
It has blown us apart.

But why worry so much?
“It’s just the breeze.”