Do you remember?
You know, that time?
Deny it if you have to, but we know
That when our visions snag across the room
We’re both thinking the same thing

I wax poetic usually
I’ll wax my boots instead today
and while I’m scrubbing leather
with the toothbrush that I’ll
prob’ly use on teeth again, I’ll
understand the value
of water-proofing boots
before my feet get wet

Well, we’ve only just a bit
of snow this season, unlike
other places, and even though
it’s frozen, at least the sun still shines.
But if you find yourself in Iceland –
four hours of twilight’s all you get –
just call and ask for sunshine
you can probably borrow some of mine.

all things considered, I
do most of my waxing night-times
anyway

yea thats right i rode my
twenty year old bike built
by your commie forefathers
to your commie car dealership

yea thats right the guard
to your gate makes a commie
ten dollars a day and you
drive a commie bmw

you red bastard

tonight i await 12:20 for
their arrival
perhaps 1 before i rest

i cannot help but wonder
how as a college whippersnapper
i regularly made 4 with little problem

at 7 my peejays slip on
by 8 i’ve opened a beer
9 comes and i’ve gone
10 is only just in the way most nights

so the thought of staying awake
3 hours further
makes me want to rest

Why’d it have to snow?
Of course I’ve never heard that voice before
but then, I’m almost certain
what it means

Alcoholics in the breezeway
and the fuzz just wan’dring here and there
Of course I’ll hold your sister
and try to keep her from screaming

There’s never any blame, they say
though don’t let him get put away
it’s tragic,
but of course they’ll sleep it off

with sheer iced roads
and she, a wreck, there’s absolutely
every chance that things could get much worse.
A shame it’s not a dream

clogged up 20 hours into
a 36 hour trip they re-routed
you for 36 more hours testing
the very limits of mental sanity
because this is a quality
dutch airline and thats the way
they see customer service

Moist soil tears up with one stab of the shovel.
Grass and roots and everything beneath.
All the while whistling reassurance to myself
That in time, everything will be understood.
I’m digging myself deeper
But I swear I have the best intentions.
And right now, about waist high,
I can climb out if I need to.
Want to?
Have to?
It’s just that one of these days
With no way to escape,
She’s going to peer over the precipice I’ve created,
Saying that “it’s time.”
And I won’t be able to stop her.
With walls too steep to climb,
The weight of the earth will come tumbling in,
Suffocating us both under my negligence.

Going back some places
you remember why you never
planned on coming to some places
anymore, but now you’re there,
and all the people you remember
being people once upon a time
aren’t really those people any more
and haven’t been that way in ages.
Though time has always had a funny
way of making ages seem like
just a T.V. Special on a late night
in another town, when all the lights
had been turned down, and even
all your friends that had been
partying and throwing down are
piled in another room, and
sleeping.

its time to clean out our trash
baggage we love for
others carry the weight

its time for renewal of some
spiritually refined sort
water to wash and renew

these pews are getting dusty
(a generous description of the
one remaining in the pulpit)

destroyed by fire. tried by starvation
parents eating their own children
hoping hunched backs of malnourishment
somehow beat death

its time to clean out our trash
wearing your old shoes isn’t bringing
back the glory days you never had

you never had

There’s a street way on the East side
with a blue house on the corner
where all the people ‘in the know’
direct their closest friends to go
for things the normal place in town
does not often carry

The man that sits all day just in
the den, with a small TV on
takes visitors at gunpoint
(though they don’t know they’re
at gunpoint) while he hears
just what they need, and
with the furthest thing from speed
I’m sure he calls the guy that
takes care of most everying

No one much complains about
the rather large nominal fee, as
when service is rendered, there’s
no customer left unhappy:
the dirtiest of work is done
the laundry taken out, it seems
and no one needs to know a thing,
so shut the door tight
on your way out.

the greats they had
books and
therefore had to guess
and second guess themselves
lacking the luxury of
publishing every little
(later terrifyingly deserving
of regret)
naked thought in all
its
never looked in the mirror
to examine its beard
glory

It’s not the cold makes you shiver,
shaking up your very soul
but the whole world always seems
to be sleeping when you need
a bit of warming up. and though
you haven’t tried it yet, you know
the blanket on the couch
is just not gonna cut it.

want to feel
murakami’s writing?
step into this foggy evening.

There’s sterility
it makes the world so falsified
and no one gets to see
the hard parts or the dead parts
and everyone’s a afraid
to run out in the mud a bit
as everyone is made
to think it’s best to head inside and sit

but when I hear the scream
of a guitar on a real live show
and have to move the tuner
on my shitty little radio
And untuned voices singing out
the realness of their very soul
I’m thankful that sterility
has not claimed all my rock and roll

Of many things I have thought while thinking of nothing
Of peoples and places seen many times, few, or never
And never to be seen in a world not my own
To exist only in the confines of my limitless mind’s eye
To traverse country, and across continent, visiting kings and caliphs
Of these I know and find a location for them among the many others
That know not where to begin or where to end, or if either have ever
But more likely will never have conclusions to begin with
These circles of notions and plays on reflections
Outnumbering galaxies of stars and beaches of bleached sand
At moments, to vanish but only for an empirical time
And once their disappearing act has concluded
There is no mourning as I am capable of waiting until they recur
But should they tarry or abscond, here burst generations anew
With expectancy to outmaneuver and surpass in every way
Though not from a distant ship flung as a helpless babe
Nor extend myself past the boundary of abilities
For risk in exceeding the limitations of my undertakings
I have but to do as I see well and without any constraint
From none but that which binds me and bears my name
If when I should reach sought shores may there be no restraints
Opening my mouth in jubilant rejoicing as I please
Opening my arms to embrace, opening my eyes to behold
Yet should I clench my jaw in grimace let it be so
For without this there could be no conquest to direct
Without this there would be no loyal armies to lead
Without this there would be no triumphant homecoming
But it exists and lives on with blessing and adoration
Blazing pathways to sights unimaginable and equally realized
For now it is with resounding voice I assemble to say
Confidently among myself only this: drive on
Through shadows and solemn streetlights, drive on.
When after all has come to pass, the end will be known
More than in any other moment known it will be apprehended
All these, together on the precipice of everything attained
Will still straddle the white dashes, too many to count
Beholding that somewhere, someone is hurt or dead or dying
But with purpose they pioneer, weaving to roads unseen
While destinations and unfulfilled visions wait to be grasped
Where they will flourish at long last by everlasting fanfare
Before their return voyage, back to lands once remembered