lost

Self illuminating

Becalmed 

and rowing 

into these doldrums. 

Lost

but heading

to distant shore-lights….

They never grow closer,

these markers, 

these lights,

the lights

of pride. 

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Music drifts across and informs

So…

what is it

we are chasing

anyway? 

I know what I like, 

what I love…

and here I am

wondering

what to do….

Shouldn’t I know? 

Why am I asking you? 

Rhythm, 

meter,

time signatures…

all

already

worked out

long before

I first drew a breath. 

Here I am,

Like a fool,

grasping at the fringe;

still asking the darkness

to show me herself,

and explain to me

what to do. 

Man…

I am lost. 

Backing out.

Strangers
shake my hand
but friends
turn
a blind-eye.
I don’t want
a hug,
just affirmation
that they see me,
hand
outstretched.
I like the corner,
I put myself there…
not to be ignored
but to guard myself,
and watch.
Maybe they have forgotten
that i am here
at all.
The outstretched hand
has gone to my pocket,
or the drink,
and i have dropped
my gaze…
indifferent,
now.

Here there be darkness

I have an awesome
singing voice,
but only
in my own head.
I’m an engaged
listener
but only
to my own ideas.
I am good,
even excellent,
at a great many things,
but only
from my very narrow
perspective.
How truly awful
must I really be?
Worse;
I know it.
Singing in the car
and taking pleasure
from such terrible noise
and wondering:
Is this analog
to the rest of my life?
Awfulness
that I take pleasure in
while others suffer me?
Why must everything
point towards
some personal failing
of mine?

Ruined… wreckage

Oh my God
This fucking routine.
All these days
look the same.
Even the off-times
are plagued
by a repetition
and a droning
like a nattering
insect.
And yet they
are too few.
It begs for a changing
but any change
will be fought off
furiously
by my own fears.
So let’s count the pattern
and do for tomorrow
nothing that threatens
the reverie
of keeping this time.
If I lose count
I am sure to be
ruined.