Thursday, May 31, 2007


Compact cars
careening bacwards
down narrow roads.

Vodafone, Frank & Bennies,
The Soak.
All tucked in between
endless streams of
red brick and
white paint.

Brommies and Muslims.
Side by side.

What a peculiar place.
Pakistani pizza.
Villa Park.

English through
and through with
a bit of everything
else thrown in
for good measure.

And the rain.
Trying to ruin
a sunny walk.
But not succeding.

Now to change
my wet socks.

Saturday, May 26, 2007


Well lets start with a light note. Weddings remind me of a circus that is sometimes controlled by the animals. Evey little piece can be set in place and ready to go but one small thing can set an entire place in an uproar. Not that i've seen that happen, just that i really like circuses but I only seem to make it to weddings. I've always wondered why rainfall somehow foreshadows your mood. A short shower when you cant stop thinking about someone. A downpour when everything seems to be spinning out of control. And just like always, it stays away when things look up. Maybe rain is just a way for God to vindicate our feelings and show us He really does know, and care about whats going on. It was a short shower today followed by sunshine and then a downpour. Maybe no one has ever made it to the end of that tunnel with the bright light but I think if they did, all they would find was another tunnel. Maybe the light would be a different color so they would know it was a different path. There's something about coffee that can make everything seem just a bit more distant. Whether it's a mocha or a cappucino, the aroma tends to just push all your worries, cares, and heartaches aside for a short time. I wish goodbye wasn't so hard but I take solace in the fact that if it wasnt then hello wouldn't be as happy as it is. I still hate goodbyes.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Just Outside

Everyone says move on.
Time heals all wounds and certainly this cant be worse then last time.
Does anybody even know exactly what time is?
A unit of measurement?
What makes you late?
An excuse to buy a trendy watch?
Certainly it can't have anything to do with love.
Love is a cardboard box full of happiness, thorns, and pillows.
Destined to bring two people together only to make them want to slash their wrists in the end.
How can time have anything to do with love?
I loved my baseball card collection when I was a kid.
Just because the time has changed doesn't mean I still don't love holding a Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card.
So why all this talk of healing and space and time.
Isn't love just love.
Watered down and broken into categories, isn't it still the same feeling every single time she walks into the room.
Eyes like Broadway.
Lips like New York.
Hair like Jersey at night.
Or is this just the chemicals mixing in my brain telling me that I should travel.
Strange images forced into my skull of long nights and days I wish would never end.
Love is nothing but the opening and closing of your eyes.
Try hard, but you can never erase what's just outside the lid.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007


The summer sun
never sets fast enough
to erase her eyes
from the horizon.
A glaring light
over the tops of trees
and the crests of waves.

I've never been one
to notice nature
until her eyes
pierced my daylight.

Now the sun doesn't
seem to want to
come out

Friday, May 18, 2007

Misconceptions (Safety)

I used to think that safety
was in numbers.
Caught up in a whirlwind
of people moving down South Ave.
Pushing forward
with nothing to lose.
A self made mirage hidden
in a mob of followers.

I used to think safety
was in numbers.
Until the day you walked
into that concert.
Hips swivelling
feet shuffling
hair as black as love.
For the first time
I felt vulnerable
swayed by the rock & roll
and the midnight
in your eyes.

I used to think safety
was in numbers.
A tight mathematical haven
for me to discard all my worries.

I used to think safety
was in numbers.
Then there was

Thursday, May 17, 2007


I keep killing myself slowly
on a clean, white keyboard.
Each word a small part of my heart
seeping onto the page
in tiny green bubbles.
Covered over by current news
drowned out by the silence of a stereo.
I keep killing myself slowly
in a different way
every time.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Young America

How strong is the voice of young America?
As we yell at our XBOX, trying to make friends with an alloy heart and artificial fingers.
Softening the blow of a crumbling economy as it falls on our head like Baileys into Guiness, losing it's form and calling itself our government.
Instead of standing up and making our own war, we're content to sit and grumble as others wage it for us.
Treating our lives like a condom, pleasured one night and flushed the next morning with the rest of the vodka.

How strong is the voice of young America?
Have we become a generation of tabloid heroes, living our fantasies through Lindsay and Paris?
Stuck on a ledge, four feet up, too scared to commit to a bruised knee.

How strong is the voice of young America?
How long 'till we yearn to be old?

May 5, 2007

Everything can be broken down
Words, compounds, books, football.
Always say what you want,
but only say what you need.
People don't want to hear how you see life,
they want to know how to live
and living isn't about keeping someone
so close they won't leave.
Its about loving someone so much
they'll never want to.

Auburn ........

Find me, slowly
Running after.......
Chasing after nothing.
Goodbye, moonlight
I got an auburn sunshine.
Losing myself
Here with ............

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Back Row

Sip your coffee in silence.
Life on the backrow isnt that bad.
Watching culture change
in small increments.
Girls constantly playing
with their hair.
Perfect, manicured nails
in a sea of auburn strands.
Curiously wondering if her profile
is as alluring as the soft
skin on her neck.
It's breaking up on Valentines Day.
Chocolate covered strawberries
alone in a restaurant.
The safety of a warzone,
a cold hug on a warm day.
So sit quietly,
dont change a thing.
One day my seat will
open up.


Sometimes I envy the blind.
Never judging by
physical appearance,
fashion faux pa's
or designer deities.
It's like trading a
disorder for a disease.
Curing AIDS only to
contract syphillis.
Its the dawning of America
deaf, dumb, and obese.
Living each day on a diet
of porn and pessimism.
A society of critics
starving for something
to attack.
Life laid out before us,
a buffet of acceptance
waiting to be chosen.
Sometimes I envy the blind.
They cant see how ugly
I am on the inside.

Monday, May 07, 2007


I feel more important on Tuesdays.
Like the way a baby feels
when you say it's name,
or a rose on Valentines Day.
There's just something special about it.
Maybe it's the music.
Does Dylan feel accomplished
when he hears
his own songs?
Did Shakespeare cry
when Romeo
kissed Juliet?

Maybe I was born on a Tuesday.
A perefect mix of sunshine
and coffee right
before a blizzard.
Not Tuesdays child,
just it's biggest fan.
I really wish it
wasnt Monday

Warm Hands

The nights changing so fast.
Warm, like your hands
on the back of my neck
asking me not to go
I do.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Like Spring turning into Summer.
Trees, leaves,
and dreams made of ice cream.
Kids flying kites and
dogs playing in the the park
Still I sit.
Warm, in a cold apartment.
Clutching to the memory of
your hands on my neck.