Doing The Work

Doing the work

We first met each other
When we were both doing the work
You were covered in blood
I was up to my mouth in shit

Living within spitting distance
I didn't extend my hand
From time to time
We'd meet at the same impasse

Years pass amazingly
We're still doing the work
Bumping into each other
In a quickly moving current

Almost by chance
In front of the rapids
We enjoy a little picnic together
There on a rock by the bank

When the noise of the world Gets under my silence I bite my lip and think of you

When the noise of the world

Gets under my silence

I bite my lip and think of you

Overrun

overrun

guy reading on his cellphone 

while falling off a cliff

with no time to scream 

between thinking about 

how stupid he is 

and reading about two people 

shot in an argument 

about who pushed first while bleeding to death

 

no time to cry 

thinking of their mothers 

who would come to the funeral 

and what would they wear 

about their cousins 

in Afghanistan and what they did 

no time to ask before 

pulling the trigger 

taking these moments 

into infinity  

on a planet overrun 

with human ingenuity

Our Tiny Bureaucratic Lives

our tiny bureaucratic lives

addicts and scholars
devout readers, philosophers
political leaders and
stoned undergraduates

processing meaninglessness
making it their business
going deep in cabinets
just to understand it

lovers and soldiers
bankers and lawyers
homeless, slumlords
non-profit financial officers

shooting smack drinking vodka
talking early morning hours
to pin the tail on the business
so you don’t have to

how we wish we could just go about it
without the fuss of it

to keep things all automatic
like driving back home

that god would show his hand
and we could all be done with it

and the painters and sculptors
institutionalized mothers

zen masters and muggers
could just take a break from it

processing the meaninglessness
factoring the meaninglessness
it keeps a planet spinning
just by us guessing

More! More!

The woman screams at the departing rider with the large packages, “More! More! Buy more!" She reads the headlines out loud. Where does the line between loneliness and madness dissolve?

Writing Yourself Free

http://youtu.be/2Ca0yH8k6wQ

Space Junk

Space Junk

as if it was yours to own

it was only there to touch 

passing on to someone

who’s going very long

you're needing it now

it's never coming back 

It  must be given away

with no strings attached

missing home

missing warmth

people who loved you

are all gone now

we who never evolved

we who got stuck

our eyes gorging on 

that shiny space junk

Laconia

This man is intermittently rocking against

The thin interior body panel of the bus

My knee feels his every motion

It seems as if he just can't get settled

Something in his life leaves him restless 

He's dressed for contracting labor

His fleece jacket is immaculate his cap

Sports a jungle foliage pattern

Done over in a muted gray and brown color scheme

The label on the adjusting band reads "Yankees"

He coughs the cough of a drywall installer

The outer lobes of his ears seem to have particles blasted into them

He occasionally looks out the window

Then his gaze trails down to his lap

Panavision

Panavision

When we return to our heads
From the outside world
We feel gratitude to life
For its raw materials

Finished as thoughts
Desires, and attitudes
Continuing to work
On what we feel, say, and do

In rare occasions when we connect
With members of our species or sex
What we mostly feel is overload
The pull of a planet around a star

Under the gaze of another's lens
The way back is blocked
We're inside their heads
Without navigable craft, suits, apart

Returned to a moment in 1971

E-lone

E-lone

distance we inhabit 

is close enough to touch

mouse is a rabbit 

making clicking sounds

missed the diagnosis

off by a symptom

a real psychosis

I can’t tell the difference

when I pick up 

where you left off

you’d swear 

we were never gone 

everything 

we ever did wrong 

falls into a puddle 

and bites the dust

three strikes I’m out

no fourth rounds

we can never go back 

all sales final 

yet something moves

something’s still there

and it’s grown up

in the wild

I would never swear  

we were all wet 

but we got to get back

to that pool of sweat

I wouldn’t dare 

to cause you regrets

we just gotta finish

what we left undone

The Trouble with Being Real

the trouble with being real

half of you just aren’t real 

I had some trouble seeing how

but now that I know the trick 

I can get back to where I was

all of you know the deal 

some were dealt gift cards

rest of us are feeling like, “damn

how did my luck run out?”

half of you are just an app,

placeholder, or b-roll stock 

I wanna be just like you-  

being real hasn't panned out

Eternal Adolescence

Eternal Adolescence

I'm jealous of 

food in your mouth

shoes on your feet

pencils in your hand

air you breathe

capturing what you say

holding you too long

living in your 

subconscious 

writing your hums

work, time, money 

conspiring to keep 

you precious 

for all those reasons 

I really don't believe

senselessness

we keep in mind

draining out of our bodies

one touch at a time

adolescence

remains defined

rubbing itself against

the time of our lives