Those Ebina slums are more nervous
Than a pair of skinned cats
I don’t remember you warning me
But you couldn’t have known that
In the end, these experiences
Won’t amount to all that much
They’ll dissipate with the wind
Gone with the ghosts & such
You may struggle with a rose
Striking hard against your bone
Sunshine guides your dreams
Days encompassing your unknown
*poem written circa 2008
*photo taken circa 2022
I don’t speak of the dark times
For I don’t know how to describe
Numb from the constant rows
Beating my head against the tide
All the while, I’m trying to keep in step
Attempts to parry everything exterior
Concurrent remedies do nothing
Resulting in the residue of the inferior
Intentions to escape these trappings
Quietly absconding along the coast
Ambitions to enliven another day
& thus a creation of a ghost
It was a one-eyed kind of morn
With evening’s festivities going awry
I scrawled out all I could remember
Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy
Slight images of a lovely form
Olfactory sparks upon my brain
Sketching the party’s guest list
But no new faces could remain
Racking my skull for a proper memory
Writing down every & each detail
Compiling a list to rediscover
I’m trying to think, but it’s to no avail
A faceless gown with affectionate gloves
Somehow my mind is able to recall
Cognitive fragments begin to linger
Clouded out by last night’s alcohol
Scenes slowly begin to return
I believe we’re out on the dance floor
An embrace of smoldering desire
Yet I couldn’t figure out any more
Scraps of notes spread before me
No identity to place upon the truth
Scant reason to be shy in my search
Basking in honesty of my lapsed youth
Cobwebs have been sparsely lifted
Won’t think of her in the past tense
Her ghostly touch encourages me yet
We shall meet again, I firmly sense
To hold her with determined spirit
Seems fantastical at this sad rate
Yet she’s left fingerprints upon me
Remaining until I succumb to my fate
Dissipating quietly on a warming shore
Seeing lightning strike off the coast
A subtle snapshot to something more
I think I’m free, but still haunted by her ghost
There’s a storm is coming this way
You can feel it heading from out to sea
We’re gonna get a bit of a blow today
Teeth to the wind; no place I’d rather be
Taking time to reside in detail
Coaxing ghosts off the Sunshine Coast
A temper & a crooked smile
The truth when we needed it most
Knowing differences of our secrets
Diligent with passing the changes
I’m fluid in these manipulations
But for her I am, keeping me strange
Reading cracked-spine paperbacks
Wandering by; gently grabbing her waist
Creating space & sending archaic signals
Standing proud, knowing silence accustomed to taste
Scars last when everything else fades away
A juvenile memory from the long, soft coast
Only those remaining with a raspy voice
Remind you they don’t make homes for ghosts
You don’t see me when you look my way
Like a ghost – I just don’t seem to appear
Faded into the background of life
Unable to compete with all you hold dear
My kind smile & open arms aren’t a reality
Merely static in your fashion-conscious day
I’m over here trying to catch your eye
Yet my shadow is not even in your way
What more can I do to attract you
The uncool of America
Not enough flash
Eagerly & quietly industrious
But we’re still short on cash
You’re out here ridin’ high on your horse
I’m down here with my heart broken
You’re clearly oblivious to my existence
I wonder if you’ll ever be woken
Disturbed themes & distant thrombosis
A hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for tea
Transcendental visitations
From dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality
Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotion
Gentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thought
But truth doesn’t cure our limited capacities
Bare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought
We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked libraries
Leaving fingerprints on memories we loved the most
We maunder through our raging debates
Knowing full well they’re all books about ghosts
Darkness creeps in on our musty resolve
Syntax prescribed with an utmost surgical query
Descending by the light of our candelabra
If we survive, we’ll be counted amidst the weary
She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire
I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind
Crisp ocean force winds
Gentle fresh citrus scent
Lost upon the eternal sea
Forgot where beauty went
A treatise of delicate love
Evidence of a ghost
Smile your sweet smile
I’ve left for the coast
Sound of muted voices
She’s a little too cute
Allowing no more secrets
Down through my roots
Our private thoughts remain unimpeded
Keeping the ghost light on those theater steps
Daily life can become a sullen drudgery
Yet still remembering when my heart last leapt
Ghosts in the library – off the rack
Where truth far outweighs the prose
Tender voices of passed miracles
Remembering eventually that’s how life goes
Lost in a deteriorating moment
What more can we do to be free
Close our eyes to the darkness
Tiptoeing quietly, down to the sea
Searching franticly for the answer
But the obvious truth is often a ghost
False memories are unruly traipses
Inclinations leading me, down the coast
Is there a way to be clean again
To bathe in the ocean’s gentle roar
Hope against hope; possibly a way
To find sunshine that might restore
Just because you’re the inspiration
Doesn’t mean you’re the intended
Taking what life gives us
Even those not comprehended
Just because you’re the muse
Doesn’t mean you’re the truth
Finding open sores upon the soul
Lingering there since early youth
Just because you’re the source
Doesn’t mean you’re all that real
Gone once my fingers close
You’re merely a ghost my heart can feel
Chasing time down a rabbit’s hole
Knowing there’s no way to go on back
Don’t look that way, it’s a mirage
Ghosts aren’t known to be tracked
But we seldom heed our own advice
Reason vanished into our past decisions
Demons try to cling, but they don’t exist
For these antiquated memories are mere apparitions
Captain Q 