I Play a Mean Cornet

It's a bit longer,

Life than I'd hoped,

Out here running down,

Something I really don't understand,

But I've got a sly smile,

And a way about getting through,

That I may just get out yet,

Around the corner behind the nursery,

There's a group and some music and some talk,

And we think we're on to it,

Probably next Saturday,

We'll throw some heavy clothes on,

And take it somewhere else,

The view doesn't seem to be changing,

Not that our attention is low,

But I don't think you're really hearing me,

The view doesn't seem to be changing.

Headdesk

If you have anything to say,

Ignore me,

Could you point me to the corner?

I think I could use a friend there,

Oh it's not you darling,

Or your darling,

I just feel a bit out of place,

With other talking moving things,

I'm going up and around to bed now,

Where I can swim and fly and brood and die,

Come back and raise a family,

You tilt your glasses back bacchanal,

I'll bring my patience.

What I Took Away from the Reunion

Well,

I tried to be there,

I even stepped out of the car,

Felt familiar night air,

Now a bit foreign though,

But easy enough to recognize,

Crowded around the front,

I saw you with your son,

Just as you said he looked,

Cute in a little man's suit,

And the words off your lips,

Something of giving your best,

Living to some paramount,

And passing it on like it wasn't a curse.

I'm sorry I couldn't come inside,

I spent the evening in a heated seat,

Bent over the wheel,

Remembering what we said,

And what we did,

Or better still didn't,

I'm the last person I could imagine to call you out,

But the look in your boy's eyes,

Do you know what you're doing?

I guess we're becoming parents.

I still have a photo of mine,

All bent and torn and like it should be,

I think I'll catch a sooner flight out,

After I get a bit gassed and tell you this,

And then I'll sit him down on my lap,

He's still young enough for that,

Like yours,

And I'll try my best to explain,

Why a lot of people seem like paper,

And don't make much sense,

And that'll probably make me a bad parent.

Every Vision

When you are no longer tender,

Cheeks worn with life,

As you lean against hardened red wood,

I will come to you,

And with coarse,

Old hands I will sweep,

And feel the youth once upon your face,

And your eyes that do not change,

And kiss your brown waves,

In the quiet of a summer day,

Feel your hands in mine,

Peeking smiles,

It all seems to shake,

Every vision,

As we get older and more fragile,

But you the more precious,

At no particular time to mark,

In this corridor we,

With friends outside,

Enjoy our existence.

Blessed Are Those That Don't Blink

I tried to contact,

A mystic,

And ask her to put me through,

Let me see the other side,

A different vision to tide,

Me over past this life and further,

Past all the weeping,

Gnashing of teeth,

And over the praise,

The clapping and embraces of forever,

To get me to that even edge,

Fine mirrored ledge to calm,

My aching nerves for a moment,

To sit and meditate,

Remembering Julia,

Who is over and done,

Like old hands,

Sliding over and under,

We will think,

Of each other so,

Much more than ourselves.

Histories

He's somewhere,

The old hermit,

And he's writing books,

You and me,

We're in them,

'Cus he sees all of us,

All as we cannot help,

And the furious pen,

Falling, gliding, marking,

To a furious smile that he turns,

And the one fire that burns,

To keep his paper hands awake,

One dedication,

To line the halls of eternity,

With all the volumes of mankind,

And your heroics will go second,

And your beauty will go first.

The Ending of Cold for Now

Kissing your eyelids, 

As you sleep in today,

Staring from inside,

At the diminishing white,

At the fading smoke,

On my hot breath,

The car doesn't need warming up,

Your joints no longer hurt,

The birds are making that annoying sound again,

And I'm remembering,

How it's all a cycle,

So big and so fantastic,

It's almost a heartbreaker,

Out on the coast here in Norway,

To think it was all,

All for us, 

You in majestic blue,

And me in a worn,

Frayed sweater from my past.

Little Puddles on Smooth Streets

"...Orion, the devil...."

Feeling like a child, Jerome stared at the black streaks across his vision, and the pale background that was his ceiling. He didn't move, but replied, "It's only a group of stars. I doubt they care at all about snatching up human souls."

"No, Orion, your dog. He just pissed all over the kitchen floor."

"Did he get the plant in the corner?"

Silence. Jerome didn't move, imagined he was invisible as long as he stayed frozen in bed, not even moving his eyes. Then the quick patter of delicate feet, the quick run that only a young woman can manage.

The bed sunk deep as Camille came down upon him, so much so he almost lost sight of the outside, after which he was sure he would sink all the way to China. Then his newly awakened body communicated the feeling of her on him, of her soft cheek against his stubble. Using the small push up that the springs tried to manage, Jerome twisted them both to the right, catching hold of both her wrists and raising himself up.

"A complete reversal of fortune, it seems, for now you are the one in the comfy bed, and I have to get ready for work!"

She notched her head to the side, watching him with smirking eyes. He went slack and lay back on his knees. "Shit."

Bursting into laughter, she tried to fight his grip as he bent back down to kiss her and then dismissed the scene in favor of the bathroom. He showered, shaved, brushed, deodorized, sanitized, and emerged with all sorts of clean flavors wafting off his shoulders. Camille was still in the kitchen, and he almost ran into her as he turned the corner, stopping right where carpet meets tile. 

"May I enter?" She said nothing and inserted a dry piece of toast into him mouth. He stood mock-puzzled, shrugged his shoulders, and went for his black peacoat, putting it on in one quick swoop around his shoulders. He opened the door, and looked back to see Camille expecting some sort of goodbye for the day. "Mmm-mm-m-mmm-mm"

"I'm sorry?"

He took a bite and held the remainder of the slice, "You have a sweet ass."

"Love you too, darling."

"You seem to have trouble following my conversations. We'll talk about it in therapy. Bye"

The toast was gone by the time Jerome reached the elevator, and he selfishly spent the entire ride down enjoying his therapy joke. They weren't really in therapy, Camille said that the day they needed it, she would just pay another man two hundred dollars an hour for a divorce instead. She was very fiscal. Outside, he looked back up at their apartment. It has just one ornament visible from the street, a bright yellow fake sunflower twisted around the balcony. He blew the flower a kiss, flipped up his collar, and started down the street. 

---

He stared at the black streaks across his vision, and the pale background that was his ceiling. Eventually he got up, showered, dressed, looked to see if there was anything of dire importance on the news (it would be horrible to get to work and find out you've missed a natural disaster, wouldn't it?), grabbed his peacoat and headed downstairs. Outside he looked at the surrounding buildings, and felt a pinch somewhere when he thought he saw a fake sunflower, way up high. Squinting, he determined it was actually one of the plastic apparatuses that spin interestingly in the wind. He laughed aloud, catching the eye of the man hidden inside the magazine kiosk. He didn't usually remember dreams that well, but then again, who could forget a Camille? Especially one like that. He let out one of those long, walking sighs that no one can hear outside, and allowed himself only a brief  few seconds to feel the real pain of only having a taste of things, then he walked on. He would name his first kid Noah.

(Sometimes we're just tired, God bless)

Frail

The wooden man,

Was built in mild August,

Given life by September,

And assimilated into the town nicely.

He helped everyone,

He carried groceries, painted houses,

Marched in parades as children,

Hung by his arms and sat on his shoulders.

When the storm hit,

And the medicine ran out,

He walked to the next town,

The blizzard did not take with it a soul that year.

As the generations bent forward,

Like a mother towards a crib,

He watched the skin wrinkle,

And marveled at his own steadfastness.

When his creators died,

He attended their funeral,

Stood testament to their genius,

And always kept their graves.

It was only when their grandchildren,

Were just coming of age,

That the first splinter came,

Fluttering off his thick arm.

His two yellow eyes,

Stared for a very long time,

Where the groove came in,

Deep in the forest where he lived.

He began to creak,

But could not find where from,

And the sound became very irritating,

And the children preferred to play inside.

In the forest the animals,

Attended and played the audience,

As the creation came down,

In the silence he was born with.

The yellow eyes began to fade,

As the wooden man sat down,

Slowly rested on the ground,

And felt his broken hinges.

The children found him,

Though these were too young to know,

And played king of the hill,

On a very strange rock.

Time covered him with moss,

White perennials and a gentle shaft of sunlight,

And the wooden man went back,

And he stopped being so sad.

And a Quickening Pace

It gives an infrequent change,

Like the first chord of a new song,

The foggy morning beyond my bed,

And I think how I used to be able to think,

And the smile is so wide.

And even as the heart begins to ache,

The muscles cry and the eyes open,

I am able to move on,

Because it exists somewhere,

Though possibly never for me again,

Somewhere it moves.

Demons

Self-doubt,

Excess,

Selfishness,

Me,

Screaming with,

Head pressed against the wall,

Screaming with,

All your friends in their homes,

There for you.

It'll all be better one day,

It just takes time,

Can you sleep?

For You in the Empty Apartment

Calling out,

With eyes so helpless,

No one will see them,

Gone with the closing,

Locking of doors,

Everyone else matters so much,

More-why are you being selfish?

Quit thinking of yourselves.

You beautiful pillars,

Show nothing,

Keep virgin love from their clutches,

And hold fast to your Bibles,

To your pasts and your minds,

For it will only get colder,

So you must be brighter,

You must never lose,

With tears and black clothing,

Free us.

I'm Ruining This For Me

In the dark,

I am ready for you,

Oh Sun,

Rising to wonder my dull eyes,

My unshaven chin,

I cannot uphold this commandment,

I cannot keep Your strength,

I feel cold red wood,

On the empty soles of feet,

I hear it swirling,

Beneath my conscious thought,

What are You doing where we cannot see?

I keep breathing,

Is it mine own?

Slowly, down the hall,

Alone in this wider space,

Bigger than You,

Her,

My entire unremarkable state,

If you are ever to read this,

On dried parchment in dusty corridor,

And imagine who I was,

Remember me!

I will have no part in it,

I will know not your tribute,

How many generations do we have left?

No one has told me the answers to anything that matters,

And I have not yet found out myself,

And I cannot make myself cry for the fact of it.

I will forget it all by morning.

Friend

You're dead now,

Run from eternity please,

I'm gone in the black desk chair,

I'm done in the wild wild west,

But the deserts persist, 

The dry air calling out my life,

It's a trial I'll have to suffer through,

It's a thing of the past,

My childish awe at everything,

You touched.

I'm Dying to Find Out

If it's nothing we could imagine,

Yet we so desperately seem,

To know what's going on,

The fear to let go rises,

The training to never accept uncertainty,

As it blares in the face of everything you've experienced,

In the educated drunkard the opinion rises,

That it is so much bigger.

I'm crying and ripping apart to meld with you.