5/31/08
5/28/08
R.I.P. Holden Caulfield
If you would have told me,
when I was a young man,
that one day I would tell you
(without laughing)
that I've learned more
from all the compromises
then any idealistic stand
I could have ever taken,
I would have called you
a fucking liar and a phony,
then taken a torch to the future me.
That's what I would have said and done
(back then.)
-Los Angeles to Boston - 5/25/08
when I was a young man,
that one day I would tell you
(without laughing)
that I've learned more
from all the compromises
then any idealistic stand
I could have ever taken,
I would have called you
a fucking liar and a phony,
then taken a torch to the future me.
That's what I would have said and done
(back then.)
-Los Angeles to Boston - 5/25/08
5/26/08
5/23/08
5/17/08
5/15/08
5/10/08
5/9/08
Ode To Irony
our shield,
our laughter,
our camouflage,
our public success,
our hidden tears,
our shining mask,
our deepest fears,
our passionate fatalism,
our sophisticated cynicism,
our war without peace,
our acceptance no grief,
our buy
and
our sell,
(write it!)
our lie.
-4/07
our laughter,
our camouflage,
our public success,
our hidden tears,
our shining mask,
our deepest fears,
our passionate fatalism,
our sophisticated cynicism,
our war without peace,
our acceptance no grief,
our buy
and
our sell,
(write it!)
our lie.
-4/07
5/5/08
5/1/08
Brattleboro Exchange
You had dreams
but they slipped away
so quietly
that we failed to notice
until we had stacked
them up in boxes.
Standing now,
years later,
along these tracks,
sun beaming down,
through the thin, blue air,
black birds overhead,
two of them,
slicing south
through the
north wind,
then landing on the
flashing crossing light
to pick and clean each other's
wings.
The train pulls in.
The birds scatter.
I board for you
to take us further.
Sitting with my back facing front,
wheels churning,
rust stained snow,
past lakes outlined in white,
past abandoned houses,
and houses that should be,
and all New England's playgrounds
buried in the ancient ice;
where have you been,
where once was your home?
What am I looking for?
Where you have been,
where once was your home.
Always following your tracks,
that is all I ever did,
Waiting for our eyes
to whisper to me:
where you have gone,
where once was our home?
A long time ago
we,
the deepest sleep beneath,
this always onwards,
though we only ever
sit facing backwards,
always will be my way home,
you.
~Burlington, VM to Amherst, MA - 2/96
but they slipped away
so quietly
that we failed to notice
until we had stacked
them up in boxes.
Standing now,
years later,
along these tracks,
sun beaming down,
through the thin, blue air,
black birds overhead,
two of them,
slicing south
through the
north wind,
then landing on the
flashing crossing light
to pick and clean each other's
wings.
The train pulls in.
The birds scatter.
I board for you
to take us further.
Sitting with my back facing front,
wheels churning,
rust stained snow,
past lakes outlined in white,
past abandoned houses,
and houses that should be,
and all New England's playgrounds
buried in the ancient ice;
where have you been,
where once was your home?
What am I looking for?
Where you have been,
where once was your home.
Always following your tracks,
that is all I ever did,
Waiting for our eyes
to whisper to me:
where you have gone,
where once was our home?
A long time ago
we,
the deepest sleep beneath,
this always onwards,
though we only ever
sit facing backwards,
always will be my way home,
you.
~Burlington, VM to Amherst, MA - 2/96
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)