Friday, January 21, 2011

It's a new age in blues. It's hidden under fluorescent stars and rafter skies. Where the concrete spouts light posts and parking meters. The rain makes everything look new. The headlights stare back. It's in the deep sinking feeling you get right before you say to yourself "Aw, man. You know this bus ain't coming. Are we gonna stick this out, or are we gonna hail a cab?" You hear a lonely trumpet playing in your head. The cab driver makes the wrong turn. "Right on Richmond, man". Drowned out by the AM radio stations. That lonely trumpet playing in your head.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

My words hold water, and drift further apart.

Friday, December 25, 2009

I'm purging existing memories, watching suns rise from trolley stops along empty avenues home. My chapped lips tremble in pain with each gust of wind that finds my face. Giving personality traits to inanimate objects, I blame them for mine. There's a comfort that warmth doesn't offer. That winter is the most loyal season. Loyal to disappoint and hurt.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009


I'm leaning against the telephone pole and watching the mist dance with the street light. Humming along to the sounds in my blown out headphones, I catch eyes with the cars that drive by. They welcome me back to my past and show what I've missed all this time: The comfort of cold air, wet asphalt, and late nights. The purr of a bus just started up, the smell of exhaust and rain, the possibility I'll miss my next bus on my way home. There's a beauty in these thoughts. There's life in our past that we sometimes forget.

Friday, August 7, 2009

whiskey bender

a nervously given frown. she looked up and smiled as i bought another round. she pushed my hair to the side and said she'd never seen such lonely eyes. i remember what it felt like to hold her hand. her fragrent hair upon my chin. the touch of her lips upon my cheek. the embrace of her arms around my spine. my eyes will never be this lonely again.

Monday, May 18, 2009

5496 3971

My age fights my interests almost everyday. What can bars offer that can't be offered by back yards and public parks? Either way, the condensation will wrinkle our fingers. I guess I'm jaded on getting wasted and forgetting faces.

no subject

I'd rather die alone than live with an understood vision of love.