Drop.

2/26//11

Drip.Drip. Drop.

My ears prick up at the passing sound.

Where have I heard it before? I recognize this round of syllables,

the rhythms the same.

I send neurons like shock waves, a million scenes fit the frame.

It matches the product of sunlight and ice,

a desperate spear, crying, clinging, begging for life.

Wants to keep on stalking from his chimney ledge, his melting that bangs on the sidewalk like a boom.

Drip. Drip. Drop.

Inevitable that spring must bloom.

Then again it sounds an awful lot like your sweat on my skin as you hover above,

keeping pace with me making me quiver not once but twice back to back

with your face to mine

deeper in and we sing to imagine the luck

Yeah it could be the product of one awesome...

Fast forward, the source may come after

as a tear escapes into the dark blue carpet.

But that probably muffles the pound.

Not loud enough for this culprit,

that Drip. Drip. Drop.

Streams down my face barely heard through your snoring.

No come to think reminds me more of a titled bottle,

contents pouring into glass followed by fizzy giggles.

A Caribbean heatwave, make it a double, triple, octuple just multiply til we're sick

Numbers melt with each shot glass and equal up to a fifth.

This lullaby, this enchantment, a merry-go-round trip to anything but vacation.

This Drip. Drip. Drop.

Eventually the bottom comes up.

The sound isn't this lost,

it's more like a tidal wave, direct and headstrong.

A wave tumbling out of an above ground pool as chlorine water makes a splash.

Unwanted yet trusted the wound seeps like a gash, turns this tide crimson,

diffusing around us til the pink barely tints the drops that run wild.

Those Drip. Drip. Drops.

Innocence of a child stolen.

No that doesn't connect to this cadence I'm hearing

as I walk past the post office steps on campus, making my way back from class.

This music I'm recalling all comes from my past and THIS.

This is more like a yet-to-be.

Made of familiar rhythms but beats new to me.

Less fearful and dark,

less rushed and impatient,

not the feet tapping timing of earlier places.

Yeah its more honest and peaceful- music filled with grace.

This sound isn't one of falling but of refusal to stop.

Drowning out other memories that may come to mind.

Its a kind of rebirth

in a Drip. Drip. Drop.

Collision (Unfinished)

1/14//11

Our kiss was always violent.

A blush pink pile-up playing out in flesh

the collision that was guaranteed when our souls were in the room,

when our thoughts were all consumed with the together we couldn't reach

and the names we didn't dare to speak...

Mr. Blue

2/17//11

Mr.Blue descends the stairs as the bus door folds open,

Pressed gray suit, jet black hair

slicked with grease from that morning's breakfast

(Don't knock bacon fat styling gel 'til you've tried it).

His Rolex reflects that glint of sunlight

peeking out from a week long cloud.

His grin is born from the stuff of angels

if you allow demons into the category.

Recall that once their glory was considered holy

'til someone held a trip wire then insisted they'd fallen.

What's fair in war proven even in Heaven.

Time to put on the shades as his pupils dilate to tiny,

he doesn't like to limit his sight,

hates when his body reacts without his permission.

Biology assuming its right to rule,

putting a guy like Blue in an unbearable position as copilot,

with no hands or controls,

spectating the dials and praying the whole thing won't explode.

Same goes for heartbeat acceleration,

pacing metronomed by an unseen keeper

whenever that girl is in his atmosphere.

An unseen force increasing the speaker volume of his blood beating stereo.

Fight as hard as lightening but its a flood

and poor fools levees are paper.

Ink on green cotton canvas with heads of dead celebrities who won the vote

His money can't keep down the swelling,

the lump in his throat gaining life force of its own,

threatening to cut his off completely

unless he calls out her name.

GOD, fuck biology, hostage crisis, to him they're the same.

Blue adjusts his aviators

ready for takeoff, shakes his head just a second

then remembers who's boss of this journey.

The guy in cowhide shoes calls the shots.

He's got a wallet full of power and to him that's enough to feel confident.

Just be careful not to notice

when your honeymoon anthem is whispered from the radio.

Or when the cashier's perfume matches you know who's...

But sure, you've got this one, no worries Mr. blue.

You've got it all figured out.

Nothing touches you.

Happy Random Dead Roman Guy Day

2/14//11

Roses are red, isn't that how it starts?

Our impression of romance cookie-cut from Hallmark

in the Valentine's Day aisle, painted pink and white,

a sea of hearts oozing affection and lace,

these colors mean "I love you," so does italicized font.

Cursive says it better than homemade confections,

so ante up and bid on your lover's desire

to maybe return the sentiment if you look the part.

Gotta match the heartthrob from that movie she loves.

Strap on a McConaughey smile and some Clooney charm

cuz Cosmo says this and that and blah blah blah...

I'm not a cynic, honest, I love this day too.

The universe is my valentine and it doesn't want

heart shaped balloons, or a typhoon of roses.

No boxes of promises or kissing teddy bears.

Don't gotta make it a Bolton filled mix CD.

The world doesn't care how I say it, it just knows that I do.

Wants me to open the door,

call just to say "hi."

Smile a little more and give less to worry,

trust that it'll be handled.

The universe doesn't want dinner lit by a candle,

just wants us to give out everyday brotherly love.
So open those arms wide

I'm giving free hugs!

Happy Valentine's Day :)

Backseat Mass

2/9//11

Breathing down my neck in the Lincoln Tunnel

your hand slips into mine and squeeze, pull, scratch.

Struck like a match its chemical all over us.

Visceral within our guts.

Fingernails in my back sliding hard, digging trenches.

A foxhole romance, duck and cover, put on helmets.

Fireworks of shrapnel erupt with a BANG.

Bombs away into blackness.

Brace yourself for the rapture.

The cherry on top of my Sunday night

is when I find religion in between your thighs.

Say goodbye to Hollywood and hello to stardom.

Fame awaiting within a girl's crave.

Hit this nail on the head and a savior is made.

I'll take communion while your leg muscles tense,

pressure on each side of my head,

a vise holding in place your saving grace.

Can't contain a grin while the baptism flows harder.

Prayers, calls to God, all growing louder

with each lick and lap,

each twist of my tongue.

Every inch deep another hymn is sung,

screamed out in ecstasy with bells tolling backup.

Slow down just enough to bring you to madness.

See your body rise in the final hour.

Time to devour whats left of our souls,

in a heat even hell couldn't sweat through.

The Devil himself impressed by our passion's proof that

Heaven on Earth is gifted behind zippers,

wrapped up lace, opened by fingers.

You clasp around mine and let loose a battle cry.

Finale found finally under noise and streetlights.

The fight for salvation won and done.

I slide back up you drenched in sweat, spirit numb.

Time to kneel at the alter of exhaustion - just listen.

Our breathing says it all.

With this kiss i christen you reborn under this overpass.

Pure at last.

A saint forever cleansed,

by our backseat mass.

Amen.

Alleyway Ranting

2/7/11

It's still in the air, the drink from that night
she held my hand, but not for love.
It was to keep herself from stumbling face first down the stairs.
What romance, huh?
Yeah, whatever.
I guess affection is close to liquor
when they are rolling hard in your gut.
Could barely tell which was my own
let alone read her store bought bones.
Now it just pisses me off
(which is quite an improvement, trust me),
reminds me of turgor pressure and osmosis and all that sciency-geeky-stuff I find poetry in.
You probably don't get the metaphors but just go with it,
cuz I don't understand half the deep references she made but GOD
her voice rang loud and deep.
Saccharine and something else
offset the sweet.
Lowlights to the sun
outlined and intertwined with her tongue and my imagination.
Does it count as inventive to toss the past at a wall of future?
See what sticks and fill in the rest,
like a doodle book for kids.
"What do you think this line could be? You decide! You guess!"
Yeah, that's for kids who get sick of coloring in the lines
but can't start from scratch,
(Blank paper tweaks their fragile minds)
who need a concrete project instead of barbie dolls.
Me? I was busy shaving heads.
Blonde wreckage in piles on my carpet.
I'm still cutting hair with scissors in the pale lamplight.
You like the job I did on her? Could've done better
but back to the point (18 metaphors later).
That night, each after, and each in between
had a bottle and biscuit - she wielded as swords.
I held mine close, shielding from the parts that stung,
praying for a reward for being a good boy,
bracing blow after blow, reality thrown full speed.
Merciless but honest and I was neither.
Made a bed there out of boxes - like my blanket of newspaper?
I'll fetch one for you if you care to join.
We could build a home in this street,
just ignore the piss filled gutter and coughing neighbor, Joe.
He's harmless (I think), I'm the one you gotta avoid.
Who wouldn't want this paradise?
I'll hold you when it rains, protect you from rats,
provide all the substance you need to pretend that
this is a happy ending after all.
Wait what? Whats wrong?
Why are you shaking your head?
Why can't I call or text of even whisper your name?
You say you don't want this? You say you don't want me?
La-la-la-la let's see what doodle I can make
from those two lines, "loved you" and "while it was, it was great."
Puzzle piece a romance, subtitles and all.
Sounds much prettier muted,
easier to fall for the masquerade.
Welcome to the insane creator's alleyway.
Pull up some cardboard while I spin tales of dragons and a princess,
forbidden love, villainous madmen
with braces and acne and 10 pounds too much gut
WHAT THE FUCK could he have pulled to come out on top?
Ahem. Anyway.
Care for some rainwater tea? One lump or two?
See this one time she looked at me by her locker and I could tell....
This other time she held my hand a second too long....
and um... how about the other time... when she, um...
wow.
Even Joe thinks I'm loony, my words finally strung out
a bit too far - I can see the holes,
hear the thumping of buzzards wings,
Feel my resolve let go.
Grab my flashlight, put in a pack of double A's.
Adultery Addiction Awareness Amen.
Shine a light on the past and let it just glow,
Put the bottle back on the shelf and pick up a pen.
Time to turn off the treadmill and open the front door.
There's a world out there screaming for play
and when you walk on pavement a destination awaits.
Alright, whatever, I guess you've made your point.
But can I bring the sports page with me? It might get cold.

Treadmill

1/31/11

"This is what I'm running towards.

Right here, this moment now."

Light shone on this notion when I was busy, caught up in you.

A waldo in the crowd

that my eyes refused to give up hoping for,

searching for,

maybe this time or next.

I finally threw my body to the ground,

back to grass,

unclenched fists

and let my face feel the sunshine, pressed pause on my marathon run.

That was the problem all along, how hard it was

to keep up with a girl who never noticed that I was sweating,

out of breathe, face plastered red

from making sure my strides could match her steps.

The fear that you'd forget me if I wasn't in your way

pumped adrenaline to try and fight the fire in my veins,

the pain in my muscles as they cramped and screamed for rest.

I couldn't let you leave me be. That would mean

I was worth forgetting.

that the obsession was one sided.

That it made me crazy, straight jacket lullabies

playing soft in the background.

A haunting suspicion that the first hand I loved

may have been on a mannequins arm.

An unfeeling limb modeled of plastic and paint.

A stoic illusion taking the place of the dictionary I left in my locker,

I forgot i would need it, forgot to use my words.

Let blindness be armor and left swords at the door.

Didn't think i would need it...

guess that's why trust leaves me panting.

Got my tap shoes on but my tiny dancer

wasn't praying for me, just awaiting a better partner.

He came along in August, gently held her fingers,

while effortlessly increasing his lead.

I picked up my pace.

This race was one I could never finish,

took twenty scaped knees to accept it,

feels so good to throw the towel in.

Good riddance.

I'm laying face to sky and all I couldn't notice

while sprinting after a shadow hits like lightening.

A firework of color, an alpine glow of emotion,

a runner's high effect coupled with the freedom flag on my lips,

the smile even God couldn't take,

the beauty in the break that eluded me for centuries -

It's oxygen sweet.

I'll let her go without me, start a walk of my own

where I pick the path, the pace, the playlist.

Cant hardly wait to begin.

But for now I'm happy to soak my bones

in the relief of being anywhere thats present.

Satisfaction finally.

Hey world, get ready-

This one's bound to go places.

Bound to breathe easy.

Bound to smile like i mean it.

Yeah, this one's bound to be.