season of change

Never had a bad intention

I just always made some bad decisions

that usually got way out of hand

and discredited my good intent

though looking a bit harder now

I guess I was just angry and confused

and figuring it out the best I knew how

given time, place, and circumstance

I mean I was just 16 then 19 — 23 then 25

now 31 doesn’t feel so old, in fact

I feel much younger than my former self

ready to dive back into that season of change.

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Kyle’s Camel

Kyle’s

Camel

cigarette

smoke

lingers in the air

creeping in my window

wishing me to dare

take another drag

see what you’ve been missing

though if I did decide

to have another kissing

I’d like to think

it would be mid winter

jangling down the streets

of New York City banter

admiring sleepy windows

with a stranger I barely know

after leaving the Wreck Room

now long since closed

and wondering if she feels

the same way I do

taking a long hot drag

while

trying to seem cool

knowing nothing about her

yet desperately wanting to

and they would taste like Brooklyn

they would be Pall Mall Menthol

crisp and clear and clean

like ice on the verge of thaw

we’d be cracking up.

strangers to ourselves.

My eyes burn

with exhaustion

scanning the airport

for any sign of life

though heads down turned

there is none

just a few lone stragglers

who look around

the same as I

unwilling to accept the courtesy

of pleasant conversation

we remain

strangers

and

strangers to ourselves.

that lone bird this morning

My friend is back

that lone bird

this morning

he’s brought a friend

and wouldn’t you know

here I am

barely awake

and jealous of him

though not to spoil their party

I ear my headphones

stretch and bend

It’s got to be 60 degrees

and while I run

I think of them

happy among the trees.

What I couldn’t say in person.

I can say I failed

Or

I can say it worked out

just as it was supposed to

And

her and I can move forward

knowing our paths weren’t meant to cross

Again

the past is all we had in common

and well, the past must be laid to rest.

Sleep well my friend

until then

I wish I hadn’t been so mean

But

I wish you only the best,

even though I’m sure that’s hard to believe.

rhythm of words

constantly tinkering

toying in turn

churning and yearning

and combing inward

what does it mean

I haven’t the urge

just sort of liked

this rhythm of words

poetry is spam

A large portion of

poetry is spam.

But I don’t eat that stuff,

at least not until I get to see Hawaii

then who knows?

I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.

When in Rome, you know;

when in Rome.