Not For You

This song is not for you.
This beat is not for you.
This beer is not for you.
This laugh is not for you.
This dance is not for you.
This drink is not for you.
This street is not for you.
This house is not for you.
This kitchen is not for you.
These friends are not for you.
This room is not for you.
This bed is not for you.
This body is not for you.
- waking up your smile meets hers and you know:
This night was all about you.

Swirl

Out of a
swirl of voices
near and far,
abstract and crystal clear,
of joy, anger and
futility
a vague image develops:
Your mind.

ICE

tracks tracks tracks
tree!
tracks tracks tracks
tree!
tracks tracks tracks
tree!

suits racing
along tracks

work work work
free!
work work work
free!
work work work
free!

dig trenches 

through markets

buy buy buy

see!

buy buy buy

see!

buy buy buy

see!

like a deer 

in headlights

Heaps of Glass

Late September
wasps
parading around
the remnants of
summer's eve

Heaps and heaps
of glass
red wine
trickling down into
autumn day

D.

"C'mere, baby,
let me tell you how it is"
he said,
words spilling from
his mouth
like fishnets;
his lap a
landscape of regret,
reeking of a
stale, undead age.

Bad Influence

Every time I start to
think
I feel like I need a
drink
Maybe I should stop to read
Bukowski.

Missed Connection.

Couldn't hear you
on the radio.
So I came out
to play.

Clarity & Chaos on facebook

This little blog of mine now has a facebook page. I hope you like it - I do.

Dare

Ash fell
on the
D.A.R.E. sticker
on his
desk.

"Those were the days."
he thought
and coughed.

Troy.

Once
you stuffed them
into ships and huts
Reaping the
fruits of their labor
Denying them humanity.

Now
you stuff them
into blocks and jails
Reaping the
fruits of their labor
Denying them clemency.

A Dream.

Once I dreamt
of Jonathan Franzen.
We shared a sweater
and a cigarette.
Before I asked him
how to write
I finished my drink
and woke up.

Growing Up.

I was a father once
had silver-gray hair

then

I became a child
and finally knew
everything I would ever need.

Breaking Beds

we wrecked a
bed
in youthful
wrecklessness

from the backseat
of our fathers’ car
to the back of the
bus

ten minutes
to downtown
was enough

other kids’ stupor
(turning into an
adults stigma)
never caught on
to us

your parents’ basement
a practice field
tests without results

we painted our story
with all the colors
we could
find

Our world held
together
by three words
and a
hair slide

We joined in
fearless talk of a
non-combatant
future

Dilemma.

I want to see people
and I want to see lights
and I want to stay in.

The pleasure, the privilege
in a room
keeping me safe.

I want to experience
but I
can't stand experiencing

the hideousness that
lurks around every
corner

So I am
cornered in the
four corners.

All that is left
to see
is on a screen.
The light that never goes out.

All That Is Left.

That moment
when you realize

all you remember
is the way it ended

the thrill of the first kiss
that first hand on
your hip

replaced by

a goodbye kiss
and a shrug
between your house
and the stars.

Commune.

We wanted to
      smash the system
but ended up
      smashed
drowning in sips
     of sorrow
as revolutionary as
    a clean kitchen
with heavy hearts
    and averted eyes
renewing subscriptions
    for the cause

Morning

You wake up in
a stale room void of
 the smiles and cries that
lingered too long and left
 too soon.

Between empty bottles
and boiling coffee
you embrace the glaring
memories pounding in
your head.

You slowly return from
the depths of night and
 brace yourself for
another one.

Notebook

Engulfed by words
buried deep in my notebook.

Sweet noise on my
headphones disassembling
the world around me.

The only way
to deal with
reality
is to create anew
and pretend it is
your own,

You and Him.

You met
on a balcony
a quiet understanding
amidst rambunctious noise
scrubby skin on stubbly skin


You stayed
for the night
a shared moment
among raging hearts
empty cups and satisfied smiles.


You left
before daybreak
a restless head
in a waking city
returning and departing.

Outside a Kebap Shop.

The tomatoes looked
like February,
last remnants of
colors past.
Reflections of
glistening promises
in eyes so aware
of their emptiness.

Tuned.

I want to slip into
a song

cuddle up with
a melody

go to sleep with
a beat

and find comfort
note by note

and sing along
and sing
alone.

Word for
word

you realize
that

you will
never

write anything
good.

Soliloquy

Hold back the tears,
drop vs. drop.

Quench your thirst,
with memories
of silent woods
and solemn beaches
of first sips
and lingering laughs.

Let your chronicle
beat the chemistry.