Month: December 2015

When the ball drops

Two more hours
and another year
fades away.
But really,
what has passed?
Just another day…
one more day,
like the one before it.
We give it a new label
but it carries no more
significance.
What a colossal waste
of our collective energy…
pontificating on the meaning
of a variation in the calendar.
But in 1:45 millions will plan,
to the best of their capacity,
the rest of the year….
it will have all the weight
of a drunken whisper,
or a whores praise.
Happy New year,
make this one
the first one
without any lies
to yourself.

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Today it cuts deeper

Southbound I-5
Christmas eve,
and hidden,
in plain sight,
several tents;
one-after-the-other
under the northbound lanes.
For a solid minute
my inner-rhetoric
goes silent:
all logic aside,
rational criticism quieted,
no one should live like this…
at least not today,
not tonight.
In two more days
my resolve will stiffen
and my patience will thin…
but not today.
today is Christmas eve.

It’s only just everyday, that’s all.

A homeless man stands
at fifth and Olive
and gestures to the curb,
like a man giving hand-signals
for a vehicle backing up.
But it’s just an argument
in his head
we aren’t privy to.
I don’t know
what madness is,
though.
He is caught in a loop
that is clearly marked off
as troubled…
but the line is fuzzy and vast
and I think we are all on it, too…
somewhere.
His loop,
his obvious broken nature,
can be observed
as I pass by at thirty miles an hour.
But we all loop.
Seen from afar
I look manic
and broken, too.
My day repeats,
my week follows…
and then a year…
and then a lifetime.
For what?
I gesture to no one
and wave my arms
as I break my body
for a paycheck
and little else.
We are all mad,
all fractured,
you just have to watch us
a little longer
to see it.

Recollecting through the fog

It seems that life
is just a cruel arc
wherein the euphoric moments
and indelible memories
will later cast the shadows
of nostalgia and melancholy
on every delicate frame.
The glorious recollections of the past
become a bitter-stinging slap;
a reminder
of what was once delight,
joy,
excitement
and passion.
So all new endeavors
carry the risk
of deflated expectations
and unattainable hopes.
The taste may fade,
but the urge to keep eating
drives us to gorge
on feelings and dreams
long-past their sell-by-date.

Changing the unchanged

I am now an old man;
this cannot be argued…
however,
in my mind’s eye,
I am still a young man.
I do not know
when this delusion
will end.
I listen,
with confusion,
to songs,
such as
“Father and Son”,
by Cat Stevens
and I still picture myself,
in that narrative,
as the son.
I fail to recognize
that I have moved,
quite clearly,
into the realm
of the father character.
At some point
we must embrace
this shift, this change.
When?
I am waiting.
My son is waiting.

Night passes

The night hides,
the night shelters.
Even now,
with dawn
approaching,
it is dark.
A darkness
as deep
as any night.
Most people
fear the night:
not as in terror,
but in discomfit
and worry.
I have never felt that.
I liken the night,
the dark,
to a blanket.
I wear it as a cloak,
or a shield.
The dark pushes
the world away
and leaves me
isolated
in happy solitude.
The sun will rise
in less than an hour
and I will begin to feel
the pressure of the new day,
even though
mine began
hours ago….