stacked and fueled

it feels like the end of the world was yesterday
and today doesn’t know what to be
if feels like i forgot who i am
but doesn’t matter because who is counting, anyway?
feels like nothing will go right
so right has to be wrong
but then what became of wrong?
wrong is the nothing
mired in forgetful nonsense
on the edge of the universe….

it feels like a swirl of chaos has captured my feet
and i have no knees left to pray
it feels like everything i liked is a shadow of stupidity
like the next pass is the last chance
and no ring is going to fix this ride….

it feels like i told you a million times
…life is what you make it
but what if we run out of legos?
there is cream for the coffee
there is coffee for the coffee
roof is not leaking for a change
and i ran out of excuses

in the dark
overnight
life is a swirling vortex of might-have-beens
it feels like the last scoop of ice cream
that’s not even homemade

it feels like i will beat every demon
because there aren’t any demons
it is all here
all an essence of

just me
sitting in my chair wondering
why i bother to hope

and what has hope done to kill
action
it all turns around right
thank God for a Keel
i am not ashamed and some day
living with that will count

outside of how everyone feels…
best is yet to come
right around the corner we have deliverance
but it’s not mystery
it’s not something never seen before

repetitive betterment
it’s the mundane
the everyday wade through piles
of memories and designed regrets
it feels like no amount of wishing

ever got me more wishes

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for the better need

memory is betraying me
short term madness
yet i don’t worry
and i don’t know how to explain why i don’t worry
it’s about being practical
seeing a little bit beyond my own
grand image of what i was supposed to be
be be be be be be be
goals that never fit me quite right
statues
the impressive model for a role…
was always about planning to not measure up
yet not so much about shooting the foot
as it was about measuring the holes

i was curious long before schoolhood whys were drilled into
the neverending battle for comprehension….

before it was sad to play all by myself
collecting dandelion seeds
or walking from school and picking honeysuckle

i was me, then
as much as i am me, now
what makes that different is that i cry
when i think of all that being me
over all this time….

it’s like a rock in my chest
so i fight around that and take another breath
my throat closes and i can’t stop crying

i don’t think it’s because i want to be a kid again
part of it is losing that childhood
tragedy
but then i wipe the tears and sigh

my eye’s mind turns back to looking forward again
and i know who i am

i know what i was supposed to be and never did any of it
and what i’ve done that nobody thought could ever be accomplished

and i was better then, but i’m better now
if you asked me what i fear the most
i’d say i fear this world
the gears turning
people everywhere following their lines
yet mine are simple and always the same path

some of us hang on to the self of each past
the stages in growth are all a single thing
yet it’s different
than not ever growing up

more like you were always grown up
like memories are stored to always fit where you’re at

i don’t worry too much
on sadness and how it’s hard not to be lonely
(i like being practical because hands-on bursts
with so much delight of knowing)
it becomes wider portrayals of how everyone is seen
alone is assumed to be hopeless
dancing with despair ….and
i suppose smiling to myself IS kind of a waste…

but not so much
i always managed to find myself staring back

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anticipating twist

so the quiet.  no stomp creaking back and forth to the bathroom at all hours.  the human body always amazes me.  accustomed to preparing for erratic bangs and noises, so that now with silence the tension in my body builds.  instead of relaxing and enjoying the reprieve, the body is still awaiting that next boom or delivery of noise and angst.  trying to tell my muscles to relax doesn’t seem to help.  it also doesn’t help to think maybe he finally had a heart attack, maybe he ended his life.  like when my roommate, Brian — ended his life and i sat in my room writing a letter to my grandmother.

it wasn’t that i didn’t care, but it was that i was tired of caring.  why does everybody else’s problems have to become my problems?  yet friendship — there was friendship and i truly mourned that loss.  i think that is one thing that people can’t fake, is that sense of caring or concern.  when someone like that dies in your life, the empty hole they leave behind is palatable.  you can taste your own sorrow.  this quiet now is a vacation, but i wish that my body knew that and would release the tension.  it still waits for the next “boom.”

i was a child
but then i learned
i was unknown
but absence burned

the night was dark
the days were bright
but yet the silence
thrummed to fight

until i held
a soft reprieve
next gray steps
a leap for me

upon this day
will wake to find
yet more of me
inside my mind

but that’s ok
life nothing less
than bold remorse
and shy redress

for i was weak
and then i’m strong
days are short
and then they’re long

it’s all a mix
to turn and spin
with frowns that lose
for smiles to win

don’t hold time close
pushing vortexes away
don’t regret all your kindness
that will come out to play

i was a child
but then i learned
each day ahead
only a past returned

find sense in hope
that makes no sense
true dawns arise
after night is spent

suffer a child
for even a child knows
that to hold onto life
is to say that’s how it goes

we will waken or sleep
we will laugh to design
but when all is decided
not a one of them binds

in the thick of the day
in the thin of each night
time will drink in the quiet
only to breathe in a sight

so don’t forget where you’ve been
hope throws nothing away
calm respects quiet beauty
even souls that would stay

haunt the hills
ply the ethos
stand with freedom to weep
oh my child has its answers
and the hope that remains

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comfort round

no rest for the wicked
yet only love will worry
fret
strum the day into the next

there was a time i slept to wake
part of the furniture
fading into who i was

the ceiling is dark
the window of the laptop, bright
every turn i move
one more twisted grace
postured for the night
to close eyes and leave

oh to remember far too much!
faith wove it late and wide

to plan –nothing
the now cupped in a hand
folded and creased
do you win or lose?
i think the wicked also rest
belief

is what it is

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