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.

my pen can trace itself
these white lines symbolize
empty
what should you do with
your eyes?
who killed surprise?
this, our world, is like
a rock in itself
mid-flight
must you be taught
what’s a lie?
or sink till you
drown till you die.
(but, for a moment
i wish i could walk through
walls like a ghost
just to get what i’m
here for and leave.)

when all of our guesses
have turned out wrong
and all of our efforts
have produced nothing
but dead ends
and dark alleys
where our fears surface
and try to consume us,
whole or in part;

it doesn’t matter
when both are the same
in the end.

i am a stone
with the heart
of a bird.

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.

for so long you overflowed
with hope for the future
and assurance that things
would only get better;

i thought your optimism was bad,
hating your assurance
that this was the bottom,
and pushing for you to realize
that the good days were gone;

but then i heard your despair
and realized that was worse,
seeing your will to fight
dry up in your loss of hope
as all the cares
and all the problems
descended upon your back,
blackening out your son
along with your hope,
leaving only the black hole
of despair.

9:30
8:18
schoolcraft michigan
mount pleasant michigan
citgo parking lot,
my girlfriend’s apartment
the suns symphony
other people’s words
begins it’s finale
vibrate my bones
falling below the horizon
shaking my brittle
leaving traces of deep blue
spine
peppered behind dark clouds
remembering the time
once white
when i used to
billowy
talk loud
now ominous next to the moon,
and would kill
i save a fly
angels.

it’s time to go
our seperate ways
and leave the room
that we have shared;
the dream was nice
and it was fun
to live together
as if we were one,
but the weekend’s gone
and we now see
that the time has come
for us to leave;
so pack the bags
and load the car
and whatever you do
don’t say a word,
but let us go
on our own ways
and let us pretend
that our lives are still one
although deep inside,
we know the truth,
just as we know the lies
that we tell ourselves.

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.

i dislike your colors now
whether you choose to take
offense or know i’m not being
racist take it to heart
your colors are unenjoyable

i should have known
that they run you through
a filter every goddamn
day until you taste
pleasant enough to sip
’til you live dead enough
sit.

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

put the towel on the rack
let the steam create him
as a mold
contemplate space and time
and how he can never get
it back
wishes he could go back
just to watch or give
advice
wishes he could sieze
the day and practice what
he preaches.

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.