Books:
[the alchemist]
[cat's cradle]
[dune]
[ender's shadow]
[the flowers of evil]
[the haj]
[its kind of a funny story]
[the iron ring]
[the rebel]
[slaughter-house five]
[veronika decides to die]
[warrior of the light: a manual]
[poetry]
[lonely nights together]the night spreads out comfortable darkness
to ease blinded eyes, to slow the blood,
to cool emotion,
the night lends mystery to the artist.
minds fall slowly into dreams of day,
leaving souls to guide alone.
connections made in the night are deeper,
walls fall to comfortable silence.
crowds may be saved for day,
solitude can be unsatisfying.
nights are best spent with another,
to keep eyes open, to keep blood in motion,
to save each feeling's warmth.
to make sure the mystery is returned
with the dawn,
wake the mind up in the morning,
to drag each other out of dreams,
letting the sun pull itself up
the night's anonymity gives life to the dreary,
softens the edges with a sigh,
night is quiet, night is always.
other lives begin with the setting sun,
braver lives, savored lives.
no night will last forever,
but with eyes wide open,
the day doesn't last as long.//
//[the bay]the city thrives in darkness.
the city lives at night.
when the sun says its last, sinks into the sea,
it smiles knowingly at the city, this shining city,
so deeply in love with its own shimmering reflection,
glistening in the waters that thunder in the open sea,
that rush into the bay,
only to see the glorious city and lose their fury
so they brush against the shore,
with all the fury of a sighing lover.
//
//[cities die too]oh unreal city, you seem tired,
of the blur, of the rush, of time.
your streetlights shine in swaying lines,
your skyline is cold and vague.
i can hear your weariness, oh city,
i can feel it in my lungs,
and with every sigh you slowly let out,
the air becomes harder to breathe.
but you try, my dear city, my beloved city,
the trying just costs more these days.
and slowly, so slowly, some never notice,
gently, your glimmer dies.
i notice, my city of music and dreams,
the melody is softly played;
it sounds of sorrow for a dying age
i can hear the looming silence.
it waits for you, oh unreal city,
just as it always has,
to gently close your eyes in sleep,
as you gently breathe your last.
i feel the spreading chill of night
i see my breath and yours,
growing slower, weary unreal city,
growing softly still, my city,
together.//
//[subway strangers]the evening slowly fills the station
filtering in through high overhead.rays of shining darkness
stepping in and out of screeching dreams
strangers with more in common than they know,
packed like secrets in the dreaming minds of children
only vaguely
attached.
held in webs of unspoken conversation
imperfections in the tracks
imperfections in their dreams
they all dream of home, where their dreams are comfortably cool
and silent.//
//[mustangs last a while]i sit on the hood of my grandfather's mustang, listening to the dying day.
sitting on layers of rust and faded paint, taking in the evening.the breeze whispers through the pale blue wildflowers as i watch;
the reeds around the pond sway slowly.
this place, my place, is a haven, a patch of summer that autumn has not yet touched,
a last bastion of warmth, of peace, of life with a shade of green that remains,
only in this meadow,
only around my mustang.but night settles in as the sun sinks beneath the trees guarding my meadow,
and the sweet breath of summer turns to the still of fall.
grey twilight spreads over the field.pull my knees up close to my chest to keep out the chill, the frost i already feel coming.
i watch the grass dying, the tall waves becoming crisp in the cold,
and i can hear the silence rolling in.the wildflowers curl and wilt in the darkness, the grey.
the haven is dying, it died in front of my eyes.
but autumn has its own beauty, a grace in the silence.
winter will bring true solace to a frozen field,
until spring smiles here again.
the mustang remains, as it always has,
the cold hard metal under me, the caress of the evening air.//
//
[master of poets]to the poet, all is open, all is at his hand.
the fears of his home, the loves of his friends, the utter truths of his soul.
he is free, incomparably free.
the poet is part of the world as no other.
to the poet, all is open, the only doors closed are those he has shunned.
he has shunned greed, divided himself from his arrogance, breathing deeply the fresh air.
smoke never touches him; he smiles at mystery's mirrors.
he has forsaken his own role as hero or villain to truly live.
the poet is killer, victim, and knife; he is no longer himself.
his image shifts with each breath, taken as if it were his last.
and it is.
the poet dies and is reborn, as often as he blinks. the world accepts his sacrifice, and welcomes him home.
the poet sleeps waking, his dreams of dreams of life are his canvas, and he paints as only he can.
to the poet, all is open, all is at his hand.//
//[hypocrisy]you are a hypocrite.
trying to help them all find themselves when your own soul remains a mystery.
a maze you've never looked into.
you hide, you block it, you cover it up.
you refuse to speak its name.
you pretend you have things all figured out, but you know.
you don't.
and night and day, they're the same.
but why search for those secrets of your soul, those gentle glades in the forest of your mind?
you could dig your way through your heart with a knife.
it feels the same as searching.
oh, your art is something to see.
your roles are all well-played.
you can be anyone you choose.
but I know why you wear the mask, why you long to get out of town.
you'll create a part, repair your heart, and bury your secrets, glades, and maze, you'll bury your soul in the ground.
//
//[the city sighs in stereo]cities breathe happiness
exhale smoke.
the skyline slowly rises
slowly falls
pulsing off a million heartbeats
a beautiful rhythm, each life born in time
if only we could listenthe city sighs in stereo.
indifference rising from concrete skin
making distance shiver with heat.
the sprawl hears the tired optimism
coming from a dusty radio
coming in static
faintly.
tune in.
listen.
as the city closes neon eyes
moves half-conscious
as the city listens carefully to the park
as the city
sighs
in stereo.//
//[being simply]find a place where you will simply be,
simply.
not far from all, but inside the blur
be still, be silent so,
listen with your pastel soul
the river smooths every stone
and
pause
youll be perfect
after a while
and smooth
so when you step back into the blur
it wont hurt so
pity those who dont know how
to find a place
to be
simply alone
simply.//
//[we're all strangers]every other is truly foreign.
the walls around are too high, too thick.
every man is a city,
sharing walls with every other.
neighbors are friends, waving arms,
shouting from the towers of their hearts.
lovers scratch at the cracks in the wall,
crying.
how foreign are the thoughts of others,
even between lovers!
those who love truly are patient,
they whisper through the walls.
their whispers will burn holes in the rock
faster than anything.
even stone sheds tears for them,
and pities man, who is born a city, walled.
if only every man, every woman,
would whisper, then the walls would crumble,
the dust whisked away with the breeze.
a city is sufficient enough, but no man
is strong enough to be sufficient
forever.
so whisper and love,
the walls will crumble one day,
and the stone will cry no more.//
//[prisonbreak]the skin of my soul is slowly thickening
each cut is a brick
each scrape is a stone
the walls around are nearly too high to climb
the skin of my soul is solid
it used to keep it all out
now it holds everything in
armor is heaviest when theres no war to fight
when sleep is broken by only silence
ive boxed myself in.
something will come eventually soon
to shatter my pressurized dreams
whistling like a train in a tunnel
screaming like the damned
to break down my walls
bring them crumbling around me
so it all rushes out with the rising tide
ill be free from the prison i built for me
and my soul will empty of nothing
ill strip off my armor
piece by piece
leave it to rust in the rubble,
ill walk, any direction away from those walls
still, it was a beautiful view from the top.//
//[the cure for everything]the sun is as dark as the moon.
dawn is the same as dusk.
colors are tainted
with that familiar grey,
as the days begin to blur.friends all wear the same blank mask,
their voices lose their warmth.
the car in the next lane is a streak of light,
even thought the dask reads sixty and rising
like the tide at night on the ocean's edge,
standing alone in the sand as the water fills my shoes.the long walk home,
barefoot down the road,
watching the streetlights dying.
the clouds gather 'round but its already dark.
it rains but im already shivering.
the steps to the door are cold,
leading up to a house that seems colder.
so i sleep in the yard, in the grass, in the dark,because nothing is the cure for everything.
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