Off 57.

The sun's heat radiates off all it's surroundings

and for a moment I can actually feel.

Off to find a burnt cup of coffee,

in some shop off 57 by my folks place...

For a time I can slump in poor posture,

relaxed in my chair.

Gazing off to the interchange in my periphery...

and feel all right about this entire situation.

I haven't mourned yet,

all I've had is this anger

vascilating with

a strange since of relief.

But I'm waiting for the mourning.

I know it's going to creep in, to

replace the twisted since of betrayl

that weighs time to time in my gut.

 Anything is better than that.

It has to peek it's head out sooner

or later, no?

If this was my last day on this fine earth

I'd prefer that my life was full of love.

and not anger for patterns out of my control.

I've regret for how long we languished.

As well sadness about the delivery of the end,

it should've been

not needed.

But I'm greatful for experience.

As it's time to go on, on my own.

Still no Regrets

There wasn't a better time.
There possibly could've been
worse.
Ways for this to end,
worse.
Could've been further on down

You could've wasted 12 years.

I don't feel the last 4 have been
a waste, and things have been off
for quite some time.

But I knew better, I knew the intent.

I just wish we were both more clear.

Me for how I felt, you with your plans.

It's funny, when did this stop being about
"Us" and more about our seperateness?

We are creatures, we are timely beings.

But the world keeps on spinning, doesn't it baby?

I've still no regrets.

Ancora imparando

It was one of those days,
warm beyond comfort.

Those days that you're glad
that it's the opposing train
bearing down on you, so that you
can feel the rush from the tunnel.

Earlier in the day I was talking to a friend
in Ani DiFranco laced thoughts - we can hold
a mirrior up in front of our beloved ones till
our arms get tired, but until they catch
the reflection, and see for themselves -

there is nothing to be done.

It's time to hold that mirror up
myself.

I hope you can do the same.

molto molto vero

I once knew a man.
I once knew of a man.
That could feel the ocean
lap against his thigh.

He'd walk most anywhere
from the forest to the sea.
With thought of circumstantial
nature in his head. Or of his
present worries - to be honest,
I dont know what he thought of...

I'd like to think it was something original.
And something of importance.
That was entirely to important to say.

I wish he would've stayed near,
He probably did as well.

Imagine to take a sneak
into that penta-prisim,
and hope it helps for you,
for us, to keep perspective.

Of what was, and what is to be.

Street Sweeper.

I watch the street for the street sweeper,

every Thursday morning.

I sit on the front couch,

and stare like a hawk.

It's a finger drumming event,

pulling my mouth's one corner taught and

then again releasing.

Eye stretched all rubberband'd.

Once it scrubbed and varnished my car.

And left me a note with demand for fifty dollars. 

As such an old man with burred hands

and old tee shirt for a rag reached

at my dress shoes in South Station one day.

I'd like for it to not happen again,

I'll keep an eye out.

Just remember to keep watch, I do.

Keep thought that light moves quickly.

Faster than the speed of sound.

al niente; marcato!

I have a dream,
one where I take
a new stand.

One of; dollars spent
and of a girl that draws
a girl under trees.

I have a voice,
that grows gravelly
after hours of sedation

and nights alone on the couch.

to a calando
of a whisper under
that same tree.


I'm ready for step three,
for better or worse, it's
for the better.

I'm no worse. If you'll
still have me, I'm ready

Unbelievably close

still evenings brought me here.

to love this time, in the night.
When it's dark.

I like simple. I like your hand,
and mine. Close together.
unbelievably close.

I miss that.

Especially right now, I miss that a lot.

I love you.
And you know that, too.

here’s the folk song, here’s the jazz song

i draw myself a spear
on a blank sheet of paper

and a bulls eye in the corner.
It's a spiral bound notebook,
and the page is ripped out.

all sorts of curley ring bound
paper tears...

I'm supposed to be writing
something that has this great
appearance of myself,
but that's all I have down.

I'm feeling old and spent
tonight. I'll wait for her to get home
and try to breathe something
new in.

Or maybe just hang about
and listen to the storm
gathering outside, the
evening's wide open.

I think that’s my thing.

I have no experience in:

bird watching, but I've talked
to a lot of them. It's one of my
weirder quirks. During the day
on the street, smoking a smoke.

Seeing little grey ones and those
with the white and blue specks.

They come up to me to give
a closer look. I just say hello
and let them fly off.

I hope that their day is good,
just as I hope that this winter
will soon be done.

I have no experience with plants,
except the aforementioned
cigarettes. But those, dried as
my humor.

And this jade
that the girl I'm gonna spend
a couple six decades with
gave me for Christmas. I give
it one cup of water a week and it seems
pretty happy. It doesn't give me a lot of
flack.

I know a little about a lot, but there
are thing's I know nothing about.
Besides the obvious. I cannot wait
to continue on my quest, to learn
and experience as much as I can.

I think that's my thing,
that's what I'm working on.

Fire When Ready.

We can stay here,
if you want.

or

attempt to run straight ahead.

It's up to you.


I can go into detail
about all of the awful
things that I've done in the
past.

I could even talk about
the positive things I've attempted at
and succeeded...

It would mean anything.
It isn't me.


I will stand here
with who I know
I am,
and where I want to be.

I won't hide, or obscure my
anything. I've deflected from it
long, long enough.
Ask all of your questions.

It's all back here, waiting.

I know there's no undoing
it either.

It is in my past, I try
my best
to be better off
today
and the day after that.

Ask all that you want,
fire when ready.