mission cityFirst lines don't have to be perfect. And neither do I. That's why I'm here on a friday nightmission city
When the rest of civilzation is off being pretty, I'm here
in a dimly candle lit room watching shadows dance, twirl, tremble and finally step onto the stage Vanishing into the spotlight
Coffee houses seem to have an innate link to sympathy But the applause isn't meaningless; it just means something different
maybe down the street, they use their hands
to raise one above the rest but here we say "we are the same you and I
ConstellationsLate at night when the the light bulbs in my flicker and die when the loneliness melts out of the broom closet into a black silhouette and sits across from me at the other end of the kitchen table, staring when stanzas start to flick to my lips like slivers of flame on a piece of paperConstellations
then...
Then I put on my thick brown jacket
with the cigarette pack hidden in the inside pocket, leave a key under the welcome mat for when I come back home, and go walking.
I'd walk...maybe a mile? Two miles?
It doesn't matter. I don't remember,
and the distance isn't imp
ReverieSometimes, when it gets to be too muchReverie
When the thick folds of your corduroy jacket start to smell like smoke again
When you look up into a murky sea of dark, and the dying star in the tip of your cigarette is the brightest thing you can see
When the pavement beckons, calling you by a long forgotten nickname
When you lie down in the middle of the street and close your eyes a little too tightly
When projections of painful memories shine on the inside of your eyelids,
and the shadows in your mind's cobwebbed corners swirl into life
to sing a twisted ell
--
Easily amused... and easily confused
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--
"In this beautiful world of illusion, all you can ever really have is yourself-and even that will eventually fade."
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