philosophy

Where No Ones Been

Where No Ones Been

When nothing seems to matter

And no one seems to care

Love leaves no trace

Autumn unfolds, naked and bare

What was it you said

As you turned and looked away

Come with me

Before we fall, and time fades away

Empty rooms

Empty space

No matter where I go

I always feel out of place

I know your scent

I know your skin

I know your touch

In those secret places where no one’s ever been

I swear I can hear your heart

I can taste your breath

If you’d only let me

I’d find you again between this life and death

Wherever you’d go

I’d follow you down

Through darkest of streets

Of the loneliest of deserted towns

Are you broken like me

Black and blue, painted sad

Letting go of all those little things

We could of had 

I know your scent

I know your skin

I know your touch

In secret places where no one’s ever been

Twilight

Forever forgotten
an empty chair 
at silent dinner table
China ware frail
Showing tiny fractures

Pious Stained window
from the back pew
of a prayer worn church
contrition on aching knee’s 
Quiet sobbing in the dark
 
midnight cars meander
rolling by in the distance
aimless forlorn headlights

The lonely bark of a dog at 3:05 am
The measured ticking of a incessant clock
Flickering starlight 
from Dying stars
forgive-less moon
chasing Blind skies
Waiting on a tardy sun
birth of twilight 
Shadows cast from dim windows
across dark silent bedroom walls

Rain drops against window panes
endless November nights
They say the world spins
But I don’t know
What to believe 

We are given no reasons
Holy books and funny papers
Knowing, that there is, no-knowing
What’s reality, what’s illusion
What’s it matter
we all must walk through the fire
And we do our best
To carry on






Soul Muscles

I wanted to be 
Understood
To be irreplaceable
But even the mightiest of loves
Is adrift between illusion and fantasy

The chasm too wide
The silence too deep

You wanted me to be whole
You wanted me to be confident
You wanted me to be stable
But I’m none of those things
I’m vulnerable, kind, sensitive
And there’s nothing worse then being gentle
In a world stilted on false bravado 

The world rewards 
Angry bitter people

Such people
Wear me out
Drain me
Suffocate me

I’d prefer my solitude

Ya see
To be a poet 
It requires that you have
Muscles in your soul

You told me to grow up
But I said why
The world’s full of fucked up grown ups

The road becomes too long
Time blurs
Love’s a vapor

I let it all go
I let you go
I was being dragged
So, I let it all go


Teller of Tales

a crazed woman cut my heart out of my chest, she then carelessly disassembled it and put it back together all wrong, it was slippery with blood and hard to handle, so she shoved it back inside me where the organ for caring and giving a shit use to be…..these days I compulsively take my pulse in search of a rhythm, but all I feel is an occasional spastic fluttering in my chest, like a bird beating its wings against hurricane winds—and when it gets dark, it stops all together—

come closer to me, go ahead, lay your head on my chest, I’ll whisper, cause others may be listening—-at night those blues come stalking me, they peer through my blinds like some nefarious wide-eyed peeping Tom, leaving foggy predatory breath on the window pane—-the bleakness of it all tramples across the nothingness of another specter ridden midnight—I can feel my heart go still, like an unworn love left hanging in someones dusty closet, an addiction traded against a corrupted souls collateral, broken people warehoused like damaged goods, young kids with no fire in their eyes, an old guy going in circles on the metro for an as-semblance of company, the scent of morning rain on dirty pavement, damp leaves smoldering in the drizzle, the stench of alley piss—-time is blurring by like a whirl-wind whooshing past my car window on a Sunday drive to nowhere in-particular—-once again, I’m tired of me and how things get all twisted, I’m left staring into the futility of a gray weather beaten morning, realizing I’m no longer running from something, nor running to something—-I’m slowly being crushed under the ache that comes with knowing there’s got to be something better than this—-someplace—–somewhere—-cause this life is way to long to be miserable and far to short to be boring—its time I set that caged bird free, so lets get on with it boys—-

there’s too much pain in the world to believe I’m immune to it, or can hide from it—–or selfishly fear that I’m the only one being consumed by it—that would be a righteous sadness, the kind of sadness that beckons the lugubrious to replay a heartbreak love song over and over again.  Real sadness has no soundtrack, no words, no explanation—-its like tree sap that mysteriously shows up on your hands and can’t be washed off—-

people always ask me the same question “Was that story true or made-up?”   To be perfectly honest, I’m don’t know anymore.  Most of the stuff I once thought was true, ends up being a lie or an illusion, and what I thought was fiction (made-up) is just an alternative version of truth or reality that I’ve failed to grasp.  I’ve come to believe that what’s true, and what’s made up, is a predilection reserved for the teller of tales. 

but I do know this, one day that little bird trapped inside us all will be set free—-

Where You Are

We are all pilgrims, individuals on a journey, making our way between point A and point B.  We are not just travelers, we are solitary seekers, looking for a reason, a purpose and most importantly someone we might be lucky enough to call a friend.  The price of friendship requires that we reveal our secret flaws and hidden vulnerabilities in the hopes that in spite of these things, we will be accepted and understood. Because, to be understood is to be loved, and that is why we take such foolish risks—-Experiencing love is our reason and our purpose—-these things are beyond words, they are born out of fate. 

Where you are meant to be, is where you are.

Take the body, the mind will follow

Lately I’ve been thinking about tears. There’s a variety of tears.  There’s the garden variety sad tears. There’s angry tears, mad tears, frustrated tears, tears of laughter, broken hearted tears, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. But the worst of all tears is the ugly tears. They come at night when hopelessness surrounds. They come in the hollow hours of timeless time, like a collapsing bridge between being to late to be evening and yet to early to be called morning. It’s the hour of shadows creeping though darkness, black on black. 

Ugly tears come from a dark retched place deep within ones crumpled soul. These tears come out with this god awful sound of great despair and unspeakable sadness. It an ache that’s inescapable like a jagged knife ripping through bone and tissue. It’s a bad night that knows no end. It causes the face to contort, whence then wrinkle into a clenched fist. No words come out, just a high pitched sick whining sound, like a coyote with it’s leg caught in a trap. It’s the sound of someone choking on raw suffering. Everything is stifled and muted and of no use. All that remains is a wounded indescribable wailing.  Salty tears trace down your cheek, strings of slobber drool from your lips.  

It’s sick tears, its trying to not “let go tears”. Maybe it’s like puking your guts out. You heave and gag and feel your skin crawl. You feel yourself covered in a cold sweat. Why is it so hard to let go of the broken pieces?  

But after the dry heaves subside, suddenly you feel relieved. Ugly tears wash the hurt away. Sometimes you have to put your finger down the throat of your soul and empty yourself out. There’s a knowingness that things can change. But ya gotta hold on. The sun is peeking beneath the horizon. You’ve made it through another mortal night. No more waiting on the sunrise. They say take the body and the mind will follow. Make no mistake, we all must fight to preserve our sanity.

Take your body to places that nurture goodness, kindness, a place where smiles incubate.  Don’t be ashamed to shed your tears. To be alive is to touch all the emotional basis. Don’t be one of those who stifles laughter or hides their tears.  Feel, Feel Feel.  That is what it is be alive. Take your clothes off and sit in the sun and let it’s warmth and light replenish you. 

Buy a harmonica or a Kazoo. Learn to play a ukulele. Be a storyteller, who surprises you with an unexpected punch line. Cause life is a punch line. Roll down your car windows and play some John Prine on your car radio. Let it all go, the laughter, the tears the brokenness. Lean into the day and wake up slowly letting the day quietly unfold. Enjoy your own company, be your own best friend, Most importantly is find reasons to smile=====take the body the mind will follow. 

Hero’s


Hero’s

And this is how it feels, now and again
Wet earthy scent after a rain
A sky destined to never return
Her warm breath whispering in my ear
More sensual than a kiss
Excavating lost passions 

Outside the traffic snarls 
Horns and sirens are unrelenting
Other peoples lives and troubles
Intrusive noise gives birth to city chaos 
Strangers stare back
At me, through me
We’re all
worn-out
Heros

Misfits, lost in another days meaningless commotion 
Revisiting past houses once lived in
The walls retain specters 
Trespassing on frozen memories
Like a favorite movie playing in the back of my mind
Hearts pierced, souls tattooed 
Everyone uniquely the same

Real life goes by undiscovered
Nothing matters anymore
A head full of shitty poems
Empty words dredged from the ether
Ashes filling my journals
Everything becomes
A reprieve
Or a lost cause

Sad Farewells

We leave little pieces of ourselves behind.  And it’s those little things that comprise a lifetime. The days seem slow but the years go by like a hurricane, sweeping the days away like a zephyr. Time is a train with it’s dark tunnels and clattering steel rails. It rattles and shakes over bridges suspended between then and now, here and there.  Leaves me wondering where am I going? Where am I meant to be?  I’m a weary traveler staring out my window as time flashes by in a blur. The whistle blows, new passengers climb aboard, while others suddenly depart, unexpectedly leaving us behind——mumbling sad farewells. 

Sweeping vistas lay across the countryside, cityscapes fall by the wayside.  The sun tight ropes the horizon. The scent of damp fields filters through the open window. Oh, to behold the beauty of life. There are those who sleep thru the entire sojourn, drowsy and uninterested. Some choose to complain the entire trip. For them, nothing is a miracle—-they’re in a constant hurry to get nowhere. 

We don’t always choose who is seated next to us, but be kind and considerate. This is how we make friends and find connections and compassion.  People come and people go, love is happenstance, so keep an open heart.

We never know when the conductor is going to come down the isle and ask for our ticket. We don’t know when we’ll be reaching our last stop, our final destination. It doesn’t matter if you’re in first class or riding coach, we’re all on the same train, we are all riding separate yet together.

Some believe that the train track is circular and goes on forever. But the train track is linear and goes forward on a straight line. It keeps going forward undeterred, it continues, with or without you. 

We are all passengers, moving through time and space. And the trip goes by oh so fast. Don’t waste a single moment. Before long the whistle may be calling you home.