Look Who It Isn't

A PICTURE WITH SOUND
the sky should be so unbreakable
the day should run for miles
and i should be so lucky
to hear that voice

have i been good enough?
have i been that good?
does this make a shape complete?

is it sufficient enough?
am i redundant enough?
i do question too much
i forget to believe

where there is a frequent lie
a lense
though not to see

protrude illusions
jut into the eyes

you'll wait a long time for perfection
and you'll have a glimpse
and it will vanish

you'll make someone's day
i'll make your day better


IN MY HAND I HOLD THE PEN
i have had this experience
of creating
i present

would this idea float
or be made too tangible

the second should be brought
to its unique point of urgency
when one brand of stupid
isn't any worse than any other

when no tragic light is being shed
where light should not be shed at all

when a lack of cohesion
only preserves

and the moment falls

its your choice:
do you become drunk on syntax
and fill your plate with semantics
or slight your only sensation

you can beautify this;
draw lines from the first frame
to a final immage

but is this word final?


HUGS AND KISSES FOR YOU DARLING
anger is popping
snapping in my house
i am learning to love

and now
it's an all-night
rager
and you have a new pet
so play nice
and be gentle

you have spectators
sitting on this fire

we're all so
quiet
used
tired
ashamed

we see the boundary
and beyond it
we wear beautiful
but captive between its walls
we strip
we are curious
but ugly
and we all know
nothing cures ugly


OUR HOUSE BY THE PARK
the hour is among us so
apologize me this
in a room
so ill-lit for the occasion

trap the moment
make it wait
eternity frozen in space

as each speck falls
on fake granite
another speck down

as each breath holds
on frozen sky
another breath out

to make a better point
scream at you
screaming at me
another breath in

a midnight robber
so accusing of such

we can suspend a year
created in a hell
and never return to it

how convenient for you
but how it still
tuggs on me

cause it's not mysterious
its my turn

a year lost
on you
another year in the bag


MIDSUMMER AFTERNOON COUNTRY DRIVING
two mile and far away
after all the things i've done
never
have i seen such a beautiful day

the road was new
the clouds were few
and the sun floated
high on the air

i'll never see
another day like this
i'll never see
the light of another day

but i hope someone notices
the seventeen years i've put into this

cause overhead stood the tree
just as alive
as i am now

fresh
yellow
black
clean

has just been stained
deeply
stained

in slow motion
i saw it
one
two
three

then i screamed

as they cover me
a man talks to my family
the sun mocks me
from behind the tree

the man speaks
slowly and clearly

i know its done


PRETTY LITTLE BEGGERS
in the end of it all
we were fools
who were over-estimated

and you are the one
who lead us
to our
amazing
sharp
decline

now look at what we've become:

second-story rats
in our own home

a burden
only by association

poor
not in money
but in all we
could've done differently

we were held
so fragile
and small
and we were trampled

and that was not
just last night
or the night before

or this week
or last week

we are small
and now
all too worthless

we pull
all of the weight
our
weak
whipped
bruised backs
can cary

with the faux-freedom
we present
to the world outside of our chains

we don't belong:

we beg
and cry
and we don't belong

we climb
and fall
and we don't belong

nothing is the way
you pretend it once was

and noth can replace
that kind of happiness
once its gone

who knows where it started?

all i know is
its over

and isn't that where
everyone loves to be?:
at the demise of something
that was
beautiful in its prime