I suppose its something like repressive and emotive and I wonder sometimes whether I truly understood was I right? did I fight the good fight? or was I the one slashing the tires? And it's a wonder that I escaped alive from the bitter memories the heartfelt emotions where did I go wrong? what happened to my love song? did it drift away or get stolen by some stronger man? So I present myself a songless man to this doubtful choir in hopes that I could sing again.

Our lives are caught up In so many connections, branching from us, treelike in their motions We wonder, each day, did that branch grow That one shrunk, yet another withered away A snuffed candle of life And we wonder, some days If the connections Are all worth it in the end was setting up the lattice really worth all the trouble? With all my wisdom of these scant years I will tell you; Yes. Yes. Yes, these people, these ideas, memories They are worth living for, Dying for...

She made me cry She made me fall, to the side Her beautiful smile, made all the boys go wild and she chose me. I understand good things can't go hand in hand I wish they could But she made sure that they can't and she chose me. It was like feeling whole and right for the first time (maybe only), in my life. And now, utterly broken, I stand before this jury, sigh awaiting my fate. This broken time, this fated life, It was romantic or was tragic, whatever you like I know ...

Lost in a marble bound sarcophagus a crumbling fountain, wind parting the lonely tourist couple staggering from the weight of it all lost in the billowing wind and pizzaria dreams I find him, a towering collossus, ready to find his own following. He can not. Instead, he cries cries cyanide tears, bitter black records of time well forgotten. The sky has never been a deeper blue, and I find, to my surprise, that in the city of the ancients, all the ancients weep.

The night - If it is a window to a soul I am not quite sure I can see through the blurred lines; and if this port contains my history, your future some random being's path then I stumble with the code I need to understand it with. I am ignorant of the truth of it all. All I can see is a darkness that quenches all the light except that of the stars and the smile on your face.

I will get up sunrising in the morning to be able to see outside the window itself not an abundant branch lost for little larks. To hold in hand tomorrow and have in heart yesterday to keep in mind today's sunrising when the larks refuse to sing. They sang songs of sunrising but do not anymore sonnets of the week are replaced by words of tire squealings and exhaust fumes choked out drowned out And no amount of tears can make the songs of sunrising make tears of min...

The crying eyes of a gentleman catch tears within my own and I am lost, so lost again and struggle, struggle, struggle to keep the smile turned on. Hymns and gospel songs combat no anger, no sadness and lost memory can not overcome the depths that faith can go I see the gentleman crying his tears well up my own the wedding bells played this for the wedding and arthritic wrinkled hands hold up tufts of wild white hair propped up by wheelchair arms as he struggles in vain ...

If you could sing, sing If you would play, play and if love is in you make music. Because life is an acoustic set whether you like it or not you have to make the music so make the music softly loudly out of tune, on key For what is life without love? Just notes and lines on an unreadable scale one easily dismissed and easier forgotten.

Beauty lasts in places where finders keepers no longer exists because the home-front finders can't decide between honeysuckle or Heineken where the mistakes are made in brush patterns on the floor, boldly disseminating all the hell for all to see where tractors plow fields sown with dreams of glorious anthems based solely on the discreet and powerful words of a preacher or a poet where things aren't what they seem, hidden thoughts behind realities when Frost comes to min...

Remember that nature hates a vacuum so do something anything before you implode.

It's clear to me as I watch this play watch the actors droop across an almost to clean stage It's clear to me as I see them sing and dance and play their worn out songs up and down vocals and chords It's clear to me as the curtains drop that these people, these men and women as good as they may be They do not matter in this play They are one memory away from extinction but the art they make, the story they weave makes all the difference in the world.

Progress through the prologue and forward to the meat of the chapters fill yourself up with beautiful words and meaningless phrases Poetry will be your scapegoat Poetry will be your release And you'll write incessantly, only to fail and write more And soon you'll find that the Muse, she is a fickle lady and she gives love when she wants and she'll always be on top. But someday, if persistant You'll make it to the ending of life's beautiful book and read the perfect line ...

We open the door and throw off the sheets of a smothering air from dirty laundry baskets, the subtle wafting of vomit from the bathroom down the hall wondering how we'll make out I look at the both of us and what we've done, and from where we've come and I seem to remember all these people these wonderful people my friends, confidants, loves, beautiful faces, smiling and I look to my left and all I see is a game of video poker fake million dollar pots and a silent cell-phone. ...

When we began this little masquerade I felt that I would never be one to keep moving I thought I would stall out a engine full of sugar break down quick and never run right. I suppose that's why it amazes me that while I've made it this far, you've left me all alone. I suppose if you "outwit outlast outplay" you end out one lonely bastard.

This shambling half-awake naked, pale sickly world needs faith. Not faith because of grace, but rather the thick, unadulterated whole-milk faith that moves mountains and makes men walk on water. Can I be the giver? Or will my humanity get in the way? I ask myself this every night before I go to bed trying just to slip into blessed unconciousness.