Running headlong into Winter
The cold air forced inside my lungs
Stopping abruptly at the end of the dock
Arms out, catching a snowflake on my tongue
I ran out of land again
Isolated out here with my soul about to freeze
There’s no place left to escape
Shanghai’d again! My fate lies on the high seas
Oh, where does our journey end
Or begin, as it so often might seem
Futile attempts to erase the past
The unknown details of our dreams
The open road panders to a false escape
The mere opportunity to rewrite a sojourn
Jesus perambulating with Uncle Walt
Debating the path; perchance to learn
Shaky prospects in apportioned time
Manifest destiny teases Ginsburg & Kerouac
Further roads leading to ornate wisdom
& we keep it concealed out in the back
Thoreau mocking society with his solitude
Knowing alone is the greatest we could ever be
Thoughts come to us in gentle waves
That perhaps our visions should become the sea
A reinterpretation of westward expansion
Route 66 cross-contaminating Highway 61
All roads have never led us home
Emily tempting Death with her life left undone
The growing wisdom of our consumed space
Emerson’s penning pre-revolutionary blues
Introducing our souls to unrefined grace
The Good Lord providing Her unfiltered muse
Feeble humanity; lost across the tracks
Original sin that we’ve taken on the chin
Sifting thought; we might be welcomed again
But knock off the Devil’s dust before you come in
Mornings naturally rise
Catching sunshine in my eyes
Distracted by the obvious glare
Misdirected like you really cared
Left feeling a bit obtuse
Never in pity, what’s the use
Taking a moment to feel low
Then return to what we all know
Be smarter, don’t get deceived again
Or merely rewrite it all with your pen
At this point, there are no rules
Ignore their taunts, the damn fools
Karma will get them in the end
52nd layer of hell is for fake friends
The illustrious words of Hunter (the elder)
We ante’d more than our parents’ share
Broken cups of mottled modeling clay
Abstinence leaving you lonely & bare
Chanting Yeats without a voice
A rye smile at the lively night’s end
Cocktail girls when only a wife will do
Looking to the heavens to make amends
Time is failing on a tractional level
Bleak mornings to come calling back
Needing to move without giving notice
Resurrection only possible with coffee this black
Celestial bodies writhe
She may not be an answer
But perhaps she’s the key
At the end of the Earth
You’ll find no more ground
Dust falling off the coast
Sail around for awhile
Nurture love & freedom
Return to find me here
Within her, I find truth
A value to be upheld
Know the stark secret
But the machine will keep on rolling
Until we end the tolerance of systematic lies
This is the only chance we have here
Life is not lived if it ends in a tempered sigh
Daylight creaking up over the Atlantic
First light’s rays struggling over the sea
My bones seem to have a bit of rust
Better lubricate with some more coffee
Dancing upon the shores of the St. John’s
We don’t need carpets; red or otherwise
We only need our bare skin to touch
Ending with me whispering between your thighs
Unfolding broken dreams
The distant & diluted flow
Our hopeless choices astound
The truth? We still don’t know
But we can never give up
Clinging to the last of our visions
Memories cultivated on dark nights
Leaving us exposed with obvious incisions
How do you translate a morning
When your soul bears undiagnosed pain
Scars from a life well lived
For in the end, disillusioned cannot remain
thinking nostalgic thoughts
on an empty stomach
rediscovering grunge tunes
stuck at home in a pandemic
remembering the pain of high school
couldn’t fit in anywhere
reliving dark moments
where it could’ve ended
remembering lost loves
& how warm they made you feel
but you know it wasn’t real
leaving you cold & alone
abandoned until life truly began.
Textured mornings
Sitting around waiting on the French press
Remnants of dreams & pleas
Filtered through a truncated dress
Beneath lies details
Of scattered lace & bows
But in the end, emotion far outweighs my prose
Those matchbox fantasies
Gunmetal grey panties with soft pink polka dots
She placed a stiletto on her wooden leg
Character assassination plots go all for naught
Unassuming by way of distraction
She’s hiding a switchblade under that dress
She’s dangerous down to her core
A beautiful woman – you don’t want to mess
Beware of their corrosive accolades
There’s no exoneration in the line of fire
She’s insolent about your theoretical love
In the end, she’s killed you with her underwire
I poured you copious amounts of wine
Frank was singing ‘The Lady Is A Tramp’
We danced until you went home on the train
Your dreams ended up being quite damp
This is it
The end of where I care
You won’t make me cower
I won’t return there
I’m going to dance out loud
I’m going to rock that kazoo
You can’t make me regret
I’ll shake my tush like Baloo
Sitting here dissenting all forms of gov’t
Looking for answers in these coffee grounds
Uncovering more & more hatred, with less hope
These political ovations do nothing but compound
Society has gone astray, Jesus take the wheel
We’re all being watched by a perched black bird
Incoherent shrieks & mumbles of “Nevermore”
Universities stacked with all the quotes they misheard
Where are the heroes to protect democracy of the republic
In the wake of fraudulent saints & a presidential pretender
We must devise a prophecy to overtake our future
Lady Liberty’s hem is ablaze; with no elder statesmen to defend her
We’re led by fools, fractures & frauds
Finding ourselves at crossroads armed like Checkpoint Charlie
History won’t be kind to the weak or evil all the same
Needing a guardian like Justice Ginsburg on a Harley
I’m raising a small army of Lost Girls
Feminist soldiers marching – in all but the name
Seeking love, peace & equality for all the people
Hindering harmony will leave you squarely to blame
We all have our differing loyalties
But truth will prevail when time comes to an end
Our trials will be but mere footnotes to antiquity
Faceless angels guiding youth; they shall forever be a friend
*previously posted, but I think we need to come together and stop fighting amongst ourselves.
“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
― Margaret Atwood, Bluebeard’s Egg
Flipping through magazines
Trying to find my darling girl
She’s been gone awhile now
She left to see the world
She’ll be coming home soon
& we can end this silly game
My God, I love her so
But she doesn’t know my name
Captain Q 