Mind the wings, South by Southwest via BWI.
A toast to tail winds, left a contrail in the sky.
I’ll call you when we touch down, Goodbye.
No stock in turbulence, just bumps along the way.
Ignoring every warning the flight attendant has to say.
Waste of a wind seat, storm cloud gray.
Finally, direction in my life, I think I’ve got a hold.
I was the mutt, never did what I was told.
A new beginning, let’s see how it’ll unfold.
Make the most of love because life is a splendor.
Hem chest pockets, hold fast because the heart is tender.
Safe guard from cupid’s arrow with a pocket protector.
Past person’s leave memories, but there’s no need to fester.
(Dedicated to my mother)
Why does the screaming stop when I look out my window?
My dreams never end, I’m in a constant limbo.
Don’t hide from me just because the light isn’t on.
I turned the radio off because it was playing our song.
Shadows fade, illuminated by the moon.
Life should be black and white like a cartoon.
My pages turn, a crumpled up newspaper.
Things thrown away, lost it sooner rather than later.
Such a puntual death.
I hope to never know another life wasted by the needle.
I’ve never known that struggle personally but I’ve seen the effects.
Every high doesn’t kill but they are all just as lethal.
-R.I.P. Philip Seymour Hoffman (2-2-14)
candle lit calligraphy
& tape deck dominance
go hand-in-hand perfectly
in this world of tragic comedy
bearded men on bar stools
handling beer bottles haphazardly
trying to convince themselves that
their dreams aren’t fantasy
Liquor laps against my lips,
Like waves against the shore.
I find myself under the table once more,
Unable to visualize the night before,
Distraught by what today has in store.
A woman wanders through the bathroom door,
Her face distraught, frail, and sore.
She heads for the phone.
I call out but am ignored.
No dial tone, disconnected from the storm.
The love is gone,
No where else to explore,
Feeling numb but warm.
Falling to our knees,
A heap on the floor.