Sunday, October 28, 2012

an ode to the things i didn’t do today

oh the time
down the drain
spiraling into a pool
of the simple deep sleep
of a hard working fool
and my body was a
medallion of raw meat
from the work of the days
and nights
of bullshit moneymaking
and the five hour show
no break
and no ‘slow’ songs
to dance to
we kicked ass like a band should
and rolled in so late since the
money was good
and in the slim hours of morning
i drank myself down
in my dim living room
with a sweet lack of sound
but the ticking of the clock
while my bones slowly shifted
into a shape where i could lay
in my bed just a little less twisted
this ritual here
of each sunday morning
the religion of a guitar man
as busy as this one
the quieter hour with my ears slowly ringing
in the dark space of a dark morn
just before the sun breaks in
and a few hours later
i woke out of course
because the rest of the week
has trained me of sorts
sat around nursing a sore back
like a boxer
after the prize fight
rocky on oxy
or whatever it looks like
here i am,
a broken superhero
from last night’s insurrection
slinging songs into the hearts of the
sweet single girls
hurt by previous lovers
looking for a pearl
of love
or lovemaking
whatever they can
admit to themselves
and i had them in the palm of my hand
my broken bruised
guitar fingers that were
storming like lightning
last night
so today i have done little to
cut down the list
and the guy inside is now shaking a
bruised and
battered fist
not another day with nothing done
but i saw the sun
and grocery run
and i prepared a feast of flavors
garlic and oil
broccoli and basil
topped with
pan seared salmon
rich color and flavor
which me and the cat
known as
“mr. scratch bojangles”
enjoyed immensely
so i suppose here
late after dark
maybe i’ve accomplished
after all
my back aches less
and my senses are full
a happy cat
and the house smells of
oh yeah
and i finally wrote
another fucking poem

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

number 3

why are there no
capital numbers
i’d like to write a song
and call you number 3
with a capital 3
but i am left with only letters and
T-hree just doesn’t ring so hard
you the girl i fell in love
your eyes
your hair
blah blah bullshit cliche’s
how about
capital eyes
so i could say that one real good too
so fucking blue!
and here i am longing for you
from this dark corner
there is no
on the horizon
all i have is this paper and pen
a fetal position
watching the world
to see if it’s safe to
come outside
and you live it so
damned hard
you with your fancy tattoos
and your flowing pants
hanging from those toned hips
and the slithering, sexy shoulders
i wonder
if you will have regrets
when you die
i doubt it is the man
with the pen and the paper
watching as you