footsteps

Footsteps die against the hustle of downtown
serve their forward purpose

A body passes through the crowds
The cold wind and colder rain
Have no chance against his dreaming
Of better days ahead
Forgetting a past behind

The campus smells of new and old
Promise and fulfillment
Life beginning at whatever age
The only opportunity left in such a world

Those footsteps carry him off the campus
To the job he depends on
The dark he confronts
Hopeless and dead end
The wasted existence that pays the bills
Provides the tuition

Others have parents' monies
He has dirty hands, sweat, and dreams

Thoughts of that campus
Will keep him alive all day

right

The right friends to have
err.. I mean connections

The right car to drive
designed for millions like you

The right neighborhood in which to reside
safe, secure, and away from people

The right balance
of compassion and ruthlessness

The right things to say
to the right people

The right amount to invest and save
for retirement that may not happen

The right employer
to sell your labor cheap

The right girlfriend or boyfriend
that will be proper

The right relationship
it’s all spelled out

The right amount to drink
just enough to be wild

The right years of abandon
to leave a broad smile in memory

The right religious service to attend
to fit in

The right tone of voice
that shows where you rank

The right looks and clothes
that convey normalcy or rebellion

The right information to digest
to think like all the others

The right books to read
to be exposed to what you are supposed to

The right experiences to convey
that fit your role so well

The right emotions to share
like everyone else

The right thoughts to have
let others know they’re not crazy

The right interests to pursue
to build commonality

The right events to attend
see your connections
err.. I mean friends



These are musts
to convey that you fully embrace

All the normal things in life
like death

Creativity, sleep, and sex

Sometimes it just isn't going to happen.

Finish (great poem by Bukowski)

"We are like roses who never bothered to
bloom when we should have bloomed and
it is as if
the sun has become disgusted with
waiting"

Charles Bukowski

another night

The hell with it all

The bold and low force against walls
Taking for their pleasure
Paying no mind to consequence
Stripping off clothes
Penetrating deep inside
Taking all the worth
Getting theirs
Against the will

And they get away with it
They always do
Whether it’s a person, government, or business
No matter the victims
Number, beauty, or worth
They get it all
And then we worship them

Meanwhile the kind, decent, and gentle
Get punished and beaten
Pay for the sins of the bold and low
Because they care
Because they do right
They are shit, and treated as such

The hell with it all

so little

The aftermath usually comes later
when I am too drowsy to know better
She left early tonight, unfulfilled
A last dance was had though;
jazz moved us
even as neither felt well
Making the most

Nonetheless, she left early
too much to do, she said
Leaving me with nothing to do
no one to hold
Empty, dead, messy apartment
combined with insomnia
The vacation of her presence over too early

I lose myself in wine and writing
of time long ago
cut into short chopped sentences
few words that say so much
Pouring myself on the screen
honest with faults countless
My next project takes form

The wine comes too slow to dull
aches of absence of the missed
while a creative mind maps ways
to cut what I know now
into short concise sentences
that say so much
and patch so little