On The Heights

Oh, no. There’s no depression anymore.
All that despair, it’s really so jejune —
I have a lot to do, and I’m content.
There’s work enough for even a buffoon
To rise before the sun, and tame the moon.
Don’t look into my eyes, there’s nothing there;
There’s no depression anymore — I swear.

Oh, yes. I still hear voices, that’s just me.
But what I never talk about’s not real —
I am contented with my lot in life,
What isn’t mine to ever have, or feel,
Is just, you know, a thing, a minor deal.
A mortal starts whatever, then it ends;
I still hear voices, but — they say they’re friends.

I dreamed I saw a ribbon by the sea;
A highway full of peaceful, distant lights —
It’s rare I dream these days, or even sleep.
I’ve lost, I think, my battle with the nights;
But for that moment, I was on the heights.
I know that dreams are trivial. I do.
But somehow, what’s not real can still be true.

I wake to darkness, check my phone for time,
And lumber up, where no one sees or knows —
I cast a fishing line out on the ‘net,
But all is silent, as the river flows.
And day by day, a nameless something grows
Outside this room, in people’s thoughtless taunt:
That I have everything a soul could want.

But all of that is silliness. I move
Into the gears that grind throughout my day,
And show up at the place they pay me to,
And serve my minor truths up on a tray.
I stop to throw some words down, just for play:
They echo in my head, these little posts —
And all of it is silliness,
And ghosts

Polysyndeton

It’s life and death and love and hate
And staying up til way past late
And sleep and fear and stick and move
And sailing past a Point to prove

It’s matter and it’s state of mind,
It’s yet to come and way behind,
And time and space and grief and grace,
And joining things, well,

Anyplace

Love & Money

Talk it through.

Love & money have their problems,
They don’t always mix too well;
Any couple you can think of
Might just be afraid to tell

How they’ve fought on money questions.
So, when dating, talk it through:
Often it’s the last thing that you
Find out they like
More
Than you

love is only what love is

the rain touches her, and she, me –

love is only what love is

outside the realm of
resolute indifference,
she walks among the
clouds and stars and toast

but tells me not
to worry over details,
for it’s her essence that
she misses most

of rainy days and
stormy nights, says she,
there’s little left of
what was Givenchy

but round up what you’ve got,
and bring your graphs,
for heaven knows that i
could use the laughs

cinnamon or taffy

the boardwalk summer:
low tide and high feeling,

a helpful bit of sun
along the way,

and music, like a
soul-possession engine --

a tastes-like-cinnamon-
or-taffy day


a kiss behind the pier:
a running stallion,

a dancing mare
with yellow tangled hair,

a range of wooden slats
for many horses,

a galloping within
the blare and glare


a multicolored night,
a mini-vegas:

a taste, another taste,
a plunging in,

a space for two,
a tentative exploring --

a map of worlds,
that's written on the skin


a cinnamon or taffy taste,
a blending,

a play-it-off amid
the swirling crowd,

a hopeful kind of glance,
a sudden sorrow,

a private look
that's somehow said out loud


a day a night a gain a loss:
a growing

that no one notices,
and everyone --

a summer on
the boardwalk of tomorrow,

a halting start
that stops

but isn't


done

And, After All…

After a long day …

And, After All...

My head is sore with all the day has done
Around me and inside my teeming brain;
You walk in and you still my senses stun,
And, after all this time, it’s just insane:
To feel far past what I can quite explain.
I guess its love it’s love I feel – it’s nothing more –
And, after all, what else are we here for?