a little jig with the birds

I took all my why’s and what for’s one day

and threw em like confetti out the window

fluttering and cutting through the air

they just fell to the ground as the wind

picked up and the cars and people

mulled through the day dragging with them

my black confetti underfoot and tire

picking at em like stuck gum

confused in chaos

I watched just for a little as they disappeared

and the crowds dispersed with the morning

afternoon and night till all was quiet again

all but me shaking my unchained head

and doing a little jig with the birds.

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hills of Mulholland

How far West are you willing to go

she asked in the hills of Mulholland

Far enough I said, gripping the dash

Flooring it through winding curves

she closed her eyes and said

If it’s not over the edge than don’t bother

And that’s when I knew she’d never exist

Hitting the breaks and pulling over

I looked out upon the city

quietly

I was alone

a beacon

There must be something better

than living in this state

like a free floating feather

I must be on my way

it just took me some time

like Jenny on the run

through city lights, a heroine

to forest I have come

to recognize the stars

on a boat far out at sea

floating through the sky

my legs have taken leave,

and behind all of the people

I’ve passed along the way

is a shining light, a ray of hope

a beacon to this day.

I know you know what I don’t know.

I don’t know
which crushes my spirit more,

the heroin needles
outside my apartment building
or
the line of Ray-Ban wearing tourists
waiting for brunch.

I don’t know.
I
just
don’t
know.

A memory upon Mt. Whitney

Heavy
cologne
and
cigarette
smoke
are
gifts
from
the
city,
of
the
people,
seated
in
the
laundromat.

I remember it vividly.

Fresh
pine
sun
kissed
trail
the
gifts
from
the
forest,
of
the
land,
seated
upon
Mt.
Whitney.

I remember it vividly.

Sharing
a shot
with
Alex.

Morning musings.

In the morning
before the sun
when the birds speak
and the city wakes,
after a good night
of drink,
the cure all — water
by my bedside,
I listen
to the sweet symphony
in my guts.

Drunk in Cyberspace.

Everything, I wanted to do,
slowly drifts away.

Clicking here, now clicking there,
it all just looks the same.

An endless maze, of travesty,
piles on each page.

But I don’t have, the guts or tact
or sincerity to look away.

And each time that, I tell myself
tomorrow’s another day.

The calendar, it flips and turns,
yet I just stay the same.

Consciously, predicting that
in sunlight I will change.

Then by the moon, retracting that
I’m drunk in cyberspace.

If nothing really mattered
then I guess
nothing really matters
and so if nothing really matters…
Then why the hell do I keep on trying to explain?
Why the hell do I keep on
this way?

They tell me thanks, rinse and repeat
all I can do is laugh.

There was a time, when I was sure
there seemed, some way back.

A charlatan, a debutante,
perfection on a screen.

Deeper in, still deeper now
a web of misery.

And by the time, I’ve had my fill
and walking on a cloud.

The city lights, extinguished by
eyelids that do bow.

It’s not a curse or act of God,
that craves some kind of change.

But the terror dreams of darkness,
while drunk in cyberspace.

The cure, the cure is quite simple
the cure, the cure is quite simple
the cure, the cure is quite simple…

But.