Black and blue

 

Cumulus mountains drift by my window

Pushing the first cold breeze of the year

In the small open crack

 

It is fresh and tangible

And forces change

And so is to be embraced

 

Everything within has become like paper

Words fading away with the fall of each evening

Every morning a reset to zero

 

And what do we do to maintain

But try and steal away some order

Where none can live

 

Because our madness is a liar

And good at it too

As we revel in our own deceit

 

Nothing has changed because

It never does

All these rules are merely presented as new

 

But you know

As do I

That they can talk and talk and yet

 

While they dictate that all must be

Either black or blue with no third choice

Their words are written in sand and made to be kicked

Away.

 

 

 

Jab, jab, jab, jab, jab

My anger is boring

And old like me

To stand apart from the scurrying creatures and

Comment upon their insanity is not the writer’s job

It is not my job at all

And I am losing interest in doing so

 

But of late the world has decreased in size and

Ergo my world almost has become a fishbowl

I am unsure even as I write this

On which side of the glass I am

 

And so there is nothing else

External with which to distract myself

Innerspace has once again failed me

Empty as a pint glass stuck to end of a bar

Ignored there

As heavy doors are bolted for the night

 

And my disdain is tiresome

And tired like me

All I have is a stockpile of love

And ghosts and demons to keep me company and

Keep me from going just that little bit too far

In the wrong direction

 

To stand apart is to stand in shadow

In quiet and self-reflection

What a horror show

So I turn to madwomen begging for drug money

To dogs chasing children in the park

Men cursing from large cars

Ready to kill over an amber light

 

And my anger is boring

And old like me

But the sky is still there

And the air and the sea and places other than

This

Guitars

Dragonflies

Good mezcal

And at last to sleep

Just to sleep.