Year in Review

We
will
do
better
next
year.

Losing It

Do you know what it feels like
to completely and absolutely
lose it?
Imagine your head floating with the clouds
and your body trapped beneath the ground.
That's almost like losing it
except, when you do lose it, you forget

that you even have a head and body.

How Do You Do

How do you do?
Pleased to meet you.
But really, how do you do?
I wonder how do you do
while I'm busy being.

So I Picked Up a Pen

We hadn't talked in months. Living a continent apart makes it difficult to stay close. I thought of her that day. I started to write her a letter expressing how much I missed her. As I put my pen to paper, miles of oceans away she was taking one too many pills. My letter would never get to her. If only I sent it sooner, maybe those pills would go back in their bottle. My darling friend--I would never see her alive again. Years later I would write her another letter, once again telling her how much I missed her. This time would be different. This time I felt like she would get to read my letter somehow. Only in dreams and faint memories would she exist to me, but she would always know how much I miss her.

This Is What I've Got

I've got silence
stuck in my throat,
and only a loving glance
will get me talking again.

I've got trouble
circling my head
like vultures,
and only replacing those vultures
with a halo
will grant me a carefree life.

I've got dreams
committed to the page
while my body is committed
to a psych ward,
and only a world
that is a little crazy
will see more than a label
attached to my name.

An Excerpt from The Book of the Dead

If you're reading this,
you're already dead.

What I Learned

I learned so many lessons,

but I forgot them all

once I fell in love.

Then I learned other lessons

with my lover,

but I forgot them all

once I ended up alone again.

Now I'm just trying

to relearn all those lessons

and maybe learn something else too.

Disappearing Act

The world is disappearing before our eyes,

and all we can do is pretend we see nothing.

Soon there will be nothing left to see.

Proof of the Existence of God

Statements
1. Beautiful music brings your heart peace.
2. Powerful words make you think.
3. Profound movies move you to tears.
4. Love is the light that sees you through the dark.
5. God exists.

Reasons
1. It sounds like something from a better world.
2. They make sense of a senseless world.
3. They teach you things about yourself you did not know.
4. It grants you the guidance toward infinite joy.
5. You exist.

The Lost Stanzas of the Last Man on Earth, Part III

Lead a life
that no one
follows.

Plan for the worst;
strive for the best.

Make today
the last day
of just another day.

Greatness is subjective.
Did I mention I'm great?

Lonely, he sits and wonders
how he can afford
to give his love away
when he receives none.

Gather your thoughts,
then hunt for answers.

This is a trip.
Anything less
would be boring.

These City Streets

The man on the street bangs on buckets, interjecting his incisive political commentary between downbeats with concise sentences. The affluent streetwalker passes him every evening, happy that someone is willing to make music instead of begging. The man on the street performs as if he is the only show in town, eyes energetic with the city lights reflected in his irises. The streetwalker listens closely every day. The man on the street drums to the streetwalker's mood. Yesterday was upbeat after the streetwalker got to leave work early. Today was a slow jam as the streetwalker met a beautiful woman's glance, her long lashes highlighting the bright green of her eyes, her purple skirt low enough to dance in the wind yet high enough to leave men walking the streets pining for her. Tomorrow he will not leave work early. Tomorrow there will be no beautiful woman with long lashes and a short skirt. Tomorrow the streetwalker will have no soundtrack as he walks. Tomorrow the man on the street will stop banging on those buckets. The man on the street is now off the street, spending his time making money, becoming a streetwalker. There will be no music tomorrow. And the streetwalker will have to find a more lively route.

This Ridiculous World

This ridiculous world
leaves me sad and confused,
content and certain.

This ridiculous world
is an unwanted gift,
a cherished present.

This ridiculous world
makes me alone
in a crowd of familiar faces.

This ridiculous world
is so ridiculous
that it makes me laugh
with tears in my eyes,
it surprises me
with more of the same,
it grants me solitude
and togetherness
simultaneously.
How ridiculous.

The Lost Stanzas of the Last Man on Earth, Part II

I know I'm supposed to love you,
but you sometimes make it so difficult.

If I had a dream worth realizing,
I would remember it when I finally wake up.

There is a joy I will never know
because I am alone in this.

Hope melts in my heart,
heated by how wrong it all is.

I count my blessings because they
are numbered like my days.

I know there is something more,
but it now means nothing to me.

I'm so true to myself
that I'm forever alone.

The World Wide Web of You

The world will know everything about you.

You are not fine with this

because there are parts of yourself

that you just don't like.

Soon the world will know

what there is not to like

about you.

Hopefully, the world has different taste

than you do.

This Silence

There is a silence
that moves between us
with the strength and wonder
of meditative tranquility.
It is there when words
are not enough;
it is there when words
are too much.
We share this silence,
smiles on our faces
and eyes lit with thought.
This silence is knowing
that love and joy
are mutual feelings
often better left unsaid.

My Company

I am excluded,

but I do not mind.

I will take my own company,

silent and peaceful,

over mindless chatter

any day.

His Steady Hands

His steady hands have seen him through surgeries, reassurance of friends, and woodwork. His steady hands gave a man a new heart yesterday so he could live long enough to see his kids have kids. His steady hands stopped his best friend from crying after her mom died. His steady hands built a treehouse for the neighbor's kids. But now, as he stands before his wife, watching her frailty consume her, become her, a thin eggshell of a cancerous body, once radiating with life now riddled with radiation, he knows his steady hands won't do any good this time. She weakly reaches for his hands, his steady hands, and says so much without any words, her tears filling photo albums. This time, his hands shook in jitters. Life would never be the same.

Deep Breath

Fresh air
is Nature's
sigh of relief.

Relative to this,
our sighs of relief
are wasted breath.

Now
breathe
deeper.

Buried Treasure

I treasure what's buried within every heart,
and I see beyond sight to embrace
what most declare isn't there.
It is such a moving endeavor,
this seeing behind things.
If you don't believe me,
watch the invisible wind
make itself seen in the rustling leaves.

The Lost Stanzas of the Last Man on Earth, Part I

Wipe that smile off your face
before someone thinks you're crazy.

Applaud the jester
because he laments his life's work.

Break their hearts
before they break yours.

Say goodbye to those you despise
and farewell to the ones you love.

We will laugh about this
once we accept this as a game.

I got lost in her eyes
and then she blinked.

Signed yours truly
as opposed to yours falsely.

They

They believe in destruction. They don't care much for creation. Most creations are wastes of their time. They keep tearing things down because they know anything built up will be misused and abused. When babies cry, they scream, "Shut up!" Then they walk away, searching for silence. They only care about today. To them, yesterday was a mistake and the future doesn't exist. They will get everything they want out of today and kill away any sense of sustenance in this world. They live to see things die. And they have control of this world.

Birdwatching

He watches the birds fly away from him, knowing they are not interested in his interest in them. They've got better places to migrate to than anywhere he presents himself. He studies them. Their every move fascinates him. He feigns disinterest whenever they notice him caring. It's too much pressure for him to be like everyone else. He will be expected to do right by them. He has enough trouble taking care of himself. He is bound to have trouble taking care of himself and someone else. So he just watches the birds fly away from him, knowing he is better off as an observer.

Make It Up as We Go Along

I learned it all.
I mastered it.
And then I found out
that everyone makes it up
as they go along.
Now I will teach people
to be more imaginative.

It Is What It Is

It is what it is,
self-referential
and cryptic,
declared after years
of being defined
by what it is not.

I am who I am,
self-confident
and different,
offering no apologies
for defining myself
with enigmatic terminology.

There is no escaping
the nature of things.

No Complaints

He is silent. As the world makes noise compiling a list of complaints, he builds a better world by keeping silent and continuing life with patience, frustrated only by the incessant whining of the world around him. Many people have complaints to issue; very few are willing to resolve their concerns by their own efforts. So he keeps silent, doing what he thinks is best since complaining about it will only add to the frustration.

No Time Like the Present

There is no time like the present
except when you are living in the past.
He keeps more memories than friends.
And he's forgotten how bright his future can be.
He needs a reminder;
he needs a wake-up call.
He needs today
to be
nothing like yesterday.

Burning

They say I'm going to burn in hell
for believing in being God;
I say I'm burning with a passion
that lights my eyes and boils my blood
just enough for me to change the world
as if I were a sculptor or a painter
with the power of Creation in my hands.

They say I'm going to burn in hell
for knowing what's right in this world
is not good and true,
for knowing that love
is a renewable resource,
for knowing that there is really no
end.

They say I'm going to burn in hell,
and I say it's already getting hot in here.
I'm already burning and so are they.
They are too busy daydreaming of a God above
to put out the fire at their feet.

A Wish

I wish they had told me
when I was a kid
that my allowance
wouldn't buy me
a sustainable smile.

Reality Check

What we think is progress
is more steps toward chaos
as we regress, unlearning
everything that was worth teaching.
We cannot be forgiven
for this mess we've made
and we'll never be able
to clean ourselves up.
Now pass me the remote.

Language of Joy

I often wonder what it's like to look forward to each day. I even have trouble understanding people who do. I don't seem to speak their language of joy. If I did, I wouldn't be fluent. My joy is hard-earned and in limited supply. How they manage to be blissful so easily and perpetually is beyond me. Was I raised to be melancholic? Is sadness in my genes? Or maybe I think too much. Regardless, I'm still looking forward enough to each day to get out of bed In the morning; that's a start.

Killing Time

I'm killing time
making money.
I once spent my time
creating something
timeless;
now I just kill time,
wasting my talents
and intellect
on apparently useless
knowledge.
Yes, I'm just killing time,
but I'm really hoping
my time will mean
enough to me
again someday
so that I can
create something
timeless
before I completely
kill
time
dead.