Used to beSober used to be “normal”, but now it’s “not drunk”. Drunk used to be a destination, but now it’s a way-point. The shelves of brown liquor used to be an adventure, but now it’s a road map. The clock used to be fifteen minutes ahead, but now it’s as good a time as any. It used to be the future, but now it’s tomorrow.
It used to be a glass half-full, but now it’s ice. It used to be one drink, but now it’s another. It used to be a pleasure, but now it’s a tolerance. It used to be a cigarette, but now it’s a filter. It used to be today, but now it’s tomorrow. Used to be
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Imperfect MachineMaybe from the dust of stars,
which span from one side of the universe to the other,
you were conceived to be a beacon of hope,
with a guiding light, dissolving the darkness of human life
to see what is and what could be,
to help others discover their own internal benevolence,
to make the world a brighter place,
And maybe you were meant
to be above and unfettered by this reality,
to give the clouds their silver lining,
but you were dragged down to this earth
by one who did not comprehend or appreciate what you are
and, injured and confused, you lost your way.
So maybe from the ebb and flow of existence,
which spans from the beginning to the Imperfect Machinein For performance
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Free Coffee and Forgotten PensCoffee at the bar – I mean, its not good, but it’s free and that’s a helluva lot cheaper than at the café. Free, like this pen I found on the ground outside the café, and I’m just happy to discover it works. It works, unlike me, because I quit my job to be a writer, so that’s why I like things that are free, like dive bar coffee, and forgotten pens. But back to the coffee; it tastes a bit better then you throw in a shot of whisky. The whisky isn’t free, but hey, they don’t serve Irish coffee at the café – I mean, they probably from upon it, but they know me, and if I brought Free Coffee and Forgotten Pens
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I Love You, but"I Love You, but"
is an awful way to start
because it feels like the end
of the existence we've become adjusted to.
At first, there was "I" alone,
and eventually there was "You",
and almost instantaneously after meeting,
between "You" and "I", there was "Love".
It was a wonderful three-part harmony,
until there was "but",
and the music became dissonance.
I Love You, but
our realities cannot mesh
like our bodies and souls
in the heat of making.
The unity of our intimacy
is contrasted by the conflict and clash
of our philosophies and lifestyles.
I Love You, but
I feel trapped within this relationship,
caged behind the unyiel I Love You, butin For performance
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A painless perfectionWhen we started down this path,
we both said we didn't know
what we were looking for.
We were lonely, and tired
of feeling the breeze blow
through a hole we each had, which love
was meant to fill.
My hole was soft and flexible
and ready to form itself
around a new, wonderful reality
of womanhood, to expand
with the maturation of that entity,
and it never occurred to me
that, because you're a woman,
not a girl, but a woman,
tailored to an eleven-year establishment,
your walls had become rigid
in a way that only time,
if anything, could relax.
Maybe the timing was just wrong,
if it ever could have been right,
because you A painless perfection
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My CurseIt was my curse,
and it has become hers -
so she suffers for loving me,
and maybe, secretly, she hates me for it.
So I will go outside
to have a cigarette -
at this point, I cannot ask more from the universe
than the serenity of a fuming cylinder,
but I will push for blue smoke.
I have resigned myself
to a life with my body
becoming the host to a small guilt,
which dries my throat,
twists my stomach, and drags down my heart
and this office is so sterile
while I feel so filthy,
and the end of my work day is four hours away
while she is another hour and a half away,
and there's this hollow ache inside me
while I try to functi My Curse
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Jack and CokeIf ever you asked me
to compare your kisses to a drink,
I would say,
Jack and Coke on the rocks.
But not the room-temperature-2-liter-bottle
kind of coke,
or the syrup-and-seltzer-water-from-a-nozzle
kind of coke,
I mean the go-down-to-the-7-eleven-and-buy-one-of-those-12-oz-glass-bottles-made-in-Mexico
kind of coke,
because your kisses are so sweet,
they must be made from pure sugar cane.
And they hit my mouth so cool,
but go down so warm,
and that bubbly sensation
mixes with the whiskey
so sweet and so smooth and
so, maybe it's too easy to drink, and
so I ask for another and another and
so you have to cut me off
becaus Jack and Cokein For performance
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Old FriendsO, Night,
O, Suburbia at Night,
O, Lonely Walk through Suburbia at Night -
as always, you are the truest friends.
Convenience Store - I appreciate you,
as you are always right where I need you
when I really need you.
How is it, Chill Air,
that you can give me the space I need,
while wrapping around me so tenderly?
And, Strange Sights,
with your only-at-this-hour smile,
even you reach out and place a hand on my shoulder.
Automated Teller Machine, hanging around a darkened bank,
you release me of this paycheck
from the job where I need to be in the morning.
Empty Parking Lots, with places to be invisible,
you release me of hal Old Friends
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DefendantOnce again, I'm put on trial
for the same crime
that I still didn't commit,
profiled by gender
and guilty until proven innocent.
Though this love should be liberty,
I'm held in custody for an accusation,
beaten on the bench,
my reputation besmirched
as I fight for my freedom
before a judge and jury of her fears
I do my best, and yet despite
the fact that I treat her right,
she is still possessed
by the idea that I must be second-guessed,
that I would betray,
go with another to play,
and all I have left to say
is that it can't be overly stressed
that I'm here altruistically to stay.
The defense rests. Defendantin For performance
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Sta.sh
