Old friends will sadly remain so
they will only remember
the times that they already know
they will meet for coffee and laugh
but the humor will always be of the past
they will share a dinner a week
commenting on the one before
before retelling the same sad stories
they will laugh and cry as hard each time
for the Truth will never change
Old friends will sadly remain so
they will never
once again
be friends.
Monday, October 31, 2011
What shall we do, my love?
What shall we do, my love?
In this now late afternoon
Shall we take a walk around the block
or stay inside this small tight room
Shall we go see a show
and catch the matinee
or start off the hour happy
and drink the night away
Shall we stay in...
never leave each others eyes
and make love until the evening
when we find ourselves past
time for dinner and end up
making a modest meal at home
flirting half-naked in the kitchen
laughing at newly made jokes,
critiquing our bodies kindly
Shall we have our friends come over
the ones we already don't see
too often or often enough
Shall we play games and drink box wine
and forget about work in the morning
Shall we make it a night we will
remember ourselves by
a night our friends will mark up as
that's them, as usual
Shall we attempt to do the opposite,
and run away from nothing
just board the train until it stops
just board the plane that we first see
on the checker board departures.
If we do, do we do it because it is fun?
Or because we are otherwise done?
But yay, they say
we fit like a hand to a glove
O whatever shall we do, my love?
In this now late afternoon
Shall we take a walk around the block
or stay inside this small tight room
Shall we go see a show
and catch the matinee
or start off the hour happy
and drink the night away
Shall we stay in...
never leave each others eyes
and make love until the evening
when we find ourselves past
time for dinner and end up
making a modest meal at home
flirting half-naked in the kitchen
laughing at newly made jokes,
critiquing our bodies kindly
Shall we have our friends come over
the ones we already don't see
too often or often enough
Shall we play games and drink box wine
and forget about work in the morning
Shall we make it a night we will
remember ourselves by
a night our friends will mark up as
that's them, as usual
Shall we attempt to do the opposite,
and run away from nothing
just board the train until it stops
just board the plane that we first see
on the checker board departures.
If we do, do we do it because it is fun?
Or because we are otherwise done?
But yay, they say
we fit like a hand to a glove
O whatever shall we do, my love?
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I sure was lonely (short)
I sure was lonely
living alone
but even when they asked me
I said I was not home
living alone
but even when they asked me
I said I was not home
Drinking in his gin
Drinking in his gin
you are none the wiser
proving yet again
the genius of the guiser
He holds your hand in his
at the trough of this abyss
He denotes how you despise her
the composure of the miser
The senseless shape
of his shadowed cape
clouds the cluttered thoughts
you cry to make
Begin again, void a friend
Searching hopeless for the end
He'll give you no news
nor the faintest of clues
Just the dread of those
deepening blues
The clearer it grows,
the more obfuse
The slackening of his hangman's nouse
Cold and curled
Marble fingers unfurled
around your slickening throat
A scuffled scream
straight from the dream
sounding still that sickening emote
His horrible laugh
straight from the past
or present, future still
the lowering of your will...
you are none the wiser
proving yet again
the genius of the guiser
He holds your hand in his
at the trough of this abyss
He denotes how you despise her
the composure of the miser
The senseless shape
of his shadowed cape
clouds the cluttered thoughts
you cry to make
Begin again, void a friend
Searching hopeless for the end
He'll give you no news
nor the faintest of clues
Just the dread of those
deepening blues
The clearer it grows,
the more obfuse
The slackening of his hangman's nouse
Cold and curled
Marble fingers unfurled
around your slickening throat
A scuffled scream
straight from the dream
sounding still that sickening emote
His horrible laugh
straight from the past
or present, future still
the lowering of your will...
She took the train
She took the train
down the tracks
and she never once looked back
and I never went to look again
I just stayed with my boy
who just plays with his toys
but he used to smile more often
down the tracks
and she never once looked back
and I never went to look again
I just stayed with my boy
who just plays with his toys
but he used to smile more often
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Vincent Van Gogh
Vincent Van Gogh
tends bar at my local pub
He diligently fills glasses
checks tables
flirts with women
And plays with his beard when he gets
a moment to himself
His eyes lost past the dark mahogany
Pastel paint dripping through his thoughts
He laughs with my mates
sharing stories and scoffing at love
He nods his head in welcome
when you thank him for your
fish and chips
He cleans each glass with care
And pours a perfect finish every time
He hears poorly even though
the place is never terribly crowded
You still must shout as he tips his head
to one side and squints his brow
His eyes never seem to listen
even if he may hear you
He says he lives nearby,
in passing conversation,
but I cannot imagine him
existing outside these
dark and framing walls
Except that once when
I saw him in San Francisco
He seems to confirm that he was there
but shows no memory of having been
Whenever talk leaves the
warm atmosphere of the pub
He brings his shoulders together as he shuffles his feet
He busies himself with anything
often dropping a pint or two
He changes topic maliciously
and always mentions he will be closing shop soon
even if we are already well past that time
We leave curtly and I tell myself
not to refer to such subjects
when next I see him
But in a drunken daydream,
a twisted inebriated curiosity
a pissed passion of knowing more
Always strikes me
and next I see him,
Jolly and Jovial,
as if I never angered him
never struck a chord
that painted him the wrong color
tends bar at my local pub
He diligently fills glasses
checks tables
flirts with women
And plays with his beard when he gets
a moment to himself
His eyes lost past the dark mahogany
Pastel paint dripping through his thoughts
He laughs with my mates
sharing stories and scoffing at love
He nods his head in welcome
when you thank him for your
fish and chips
He cleans each glass with care
And pours a perfect finish every time
He hears poorly even though
the place is never terribly crowded
You still must shout as he tips his head
to one side and squints his brow
His eyes never seem to listen
even if he may hear you
He says he lives nearby,
in passing conversation,
but I cannot imagine him
existing outside these
dark and framing walls
Except that once when
I saw him in San Francisco
He seems to confirm that he was there
but shows no memory of having been
Whenever talk leaves the
warm atmosphere of the pub
He brings his shoulders together as he shuffles his feet
He busies himself with anything
often dropping a pint or two
He changes topic maliciously
and always mentions he will be closing shop soon
even if we are already well past that time
We leave curtly and I tell myself
not to refer to such subjects
when next I see him
But in a drunken daydream,
a twisted inebriated curiosity
a pissed passion of knowing more
Always strikes me
and next I see him,
Jolly and Jovial,
as if I never angered him
never struck a chord
that painted him the wrong color
I've seen my days and plenty more
I've seen my days and plenty more
and if I watch my daughter die
I'll have seen too many
I beg of You,
not for god's sake,
but for mine
Spare her life
even if it means
the expense of mine
for it isn't any expense at all
without the value of her in it
and if I watch my daughter die
I'll have seen too many
I beg of You,
not for god's sake,
but for mine
Spare her life
even if it means
the expense of mine
for it isn't any expense at all
without the value of her in it
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