Walk Away and Remember

How can you say i walked away

when you just stopped walking?

Side by side. Together. Remember?

Maybe it doesn't seem so now. As it

seems you've forgotten how we

found each other in that cold winter.

On that bad bed in that fucking cold room

as i was drinking myself to hell,

for reasons i could never explain.

still you found comfort in that drunk

and that bed, keeping warm flesh to flesh

as i scribbled words between sessions

as you slept soundly next to me,

so afraid to be alone,

but you always seem to focus on

that i had to escape in that hot spring.

Tired of sleeping on that floor. Still drinking

and in need for a way to get out. Be more.

So i replaced you with another place,

time and yes, happiness, while you

remained where you were. Lost.

But, fuck, anytime you want to have a

drink and talk about it. Call me.

i'll be there. Misery loves company.

Especially when it's worse than its own.

Especially when it comes from the source.

Especially when it can get up,

pointing fingers that probe into

two lost lovers broken souls,

touching us as a distraction

only to then allow us to sneak out,

walk away, while trying not to remember.

06.26.03

Weatherman

thunderstorms explode up

rising from the earth

as marching acts of God

lined across the horizon

erasing the sun

dissolving the skyline

with falling water,

flashing lightning and

the freight-train sound

of the tornado screaming

down rural streets

yanking trees out

by the roots

rearranging the front lawn

into the kitchen.

somewhere

above the howl of warning

horns mimicking the

sound of a terrified

child on a amusement

park ride,

that funnel keeps

spinning and touches

each life forever

and while all God's

people scrambled for

safety and pray for

God to spare them.

i'm rubbing my hands

thinking this

is all wonderful,

but what's my backdrop?

is the camera getting me

okay?

before i check my light

and makeup and lead-in

time wondering as

i read the copy if

the hotel has a bar.

5.13.03

writing books

i keep writing books everywhere,
my pocket, bedside, in my car, in the bathroom,
on the TV, in the kitchen,
like my words were so gourmet,
so incredible,
that they should
be everywhere because
heaven forbid this
pile of stinky shit in my head
doesn't get down on the page
for all my world to see what
a fuck-up i really am.

2.7.02

dreams

if only dreams were bottled
and sold in a store,
where they could be opened.
revealed. achieved.
and realized for all to see,
and breathe,
and hold.
if only dreams were bottled
so they could be given,
wrapped, and put under a tree.
in a box. pulled from a pocket.
and shown with a tear, a kiss,
a hug, and the reality of knowing
dreams are real.

12.28.01

Girls in Color Panties

'will you just grab me and make love to me now?'

she said to me as we met at this party
where everyone danced and drank in
their underwear.

her tongue was magnificent
in my mouth and i felt awkward
and wrong because all i could do was

hear those words echoing in my head
while looking around at all the colors of the rainbow
that paraded by me smiling

in thong panties and magnificent
bras that held such beauty.
my fingers stroked the underside of

her breasts and her breathing
grew faster. her tongue worked harder.
words still pounding with each pump of my heart in my ears.

while
the girl in the powder-blue push up bra
smiled and motioned with her finger

for me to come to her, but i couldn't
because the girl in a purple laced thong
walked by first and asked...

2.14.02

flaws

there you go,
hide in there
that darkness
afraid to show
your flaws,
afraid to face
your short-comings
terrified that one
mistake from
your past
will step forward
and reveal all
that is wrong
with you,
here, now,
and forever.
so go
and hide and
i'll act like
i don't see
you.
for now.

1.13.04

Because

because the illness has changed you,
there are no good days or bad,
all of them are mixed.

because you roll over and turn
from the day and hope that
the night falls.

because dreaming fills you with
who you used to be and then
your eyes open to what remains.

because being awake is a constant
reminder of why you fight so much,
you are known as a prick.

because you can stand in a mass
of people and still fall
into your dreams.

because that song you long for is
not as dirty or as filthy
as you think.

because you've fucked up and so
has everyone else around
you.

because you're 'sick and tired'
doesn't mean you have to
stop fighting.

because you are who you are
and people still talk
to you.

because your eyes hold
secrets as well as
your lips.

because tomorrow really
doesn't matter as much
as today.

because you never stop asking
questions or pushing
ideas, just

because.

12.11.10