Thursday, July 31, 2008

The Truth (or as close as I get)

This is the truth
or as close as I get,
I still haven’t found
a remedy yet
to ease my worried mind,
to right my reeling heart,
to make into someone
someone else might think is smart,
so I’ll just ramble on,
keep trying to forget,
close to the truth
is as close as I get


Mama did her very best
and Papa taught me right,
something had to with dogs
and how the small ones fight.
I shot from kindergarten
straight through to junior high,
and then I got a mortarboard,
a handshake and goodbye;

I don’t know where it went,
there’s not much I recall,
bubble tests and tater tots,
a smile in the hall -
so I just rambled on,
I threw my books away,
I never had much use
For all the things they had to say

This is the truth
or as close as I get,
I still haven’t found
a remedy yet
to right my reeling heart,
to ease my worried mind,
to make into someone
someone else might want to find,
so I’ll just ramble on,
keep trying to forget,
close to the truth
is as close as I get.

Maryann shone like the sun
and Katie was a pearl,
Jenny was exactly how
I’d build myself a girl,
Sarah lived her life
like every day’d be her last,
Lily kissed me like I was
a secret from her past;

I don’t know where they went,
those nights we were endeared,
I guess they were so magical
they all just disappeared -
so I just rambled on,
I left their memories,
I never had much use
for things that bring me to my knees

This is the truth
or as close as I get,
I still haven’t found
a remedy yet
to silence all my doubts,
To soothe my troubled soul,
to make into someone
someone else might think is whole,
so I’ll just ramble on,
keep trying to forget,
close to the truth
is as close as I get.

Of course I’ve done some living,
I’ve seen a thing or two,
I figured I’d get married,
seemed like the thing to do.
It isn’t always easy
and nobody’s always right,
I think that’s what I’ll tell her
if she walks back in tonight;

I don’t know where she went,
I don’t know what she said,
I didn’t know a person’s face
could turn that shade of red -
I guess she’s movin’ on,
I guess I set her free,
if she don't come back
then it just wasn't meant to be

This is the truth
or as close as I get,
I still haven’t found
a remedy yet
to calm my troubled soul,
to silence all my doubts,
to make into someone
someone else can’t do without,
so I’ll just ramble on,
keep trying to forget,
another lonesome highway
and another cigarette,
yes I’ll just ramble on,
until I can forget
close to the truth
is as close as I get

close to the truth
is as close
as I get.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

A Good Start Is Important

Short stack of ‘jacks
and scrambled eggs.

Wipe my fingers
on my legs.

Cup of coffee,
two and three.

Waitress stops

and smiles at me.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Used Cars

Rolling down the window
you can hear
the plastic-snap flutter
of the crayon colored flags
spread over them
like a finger-crossed blessing
from a gold-toothed god

All along Harbor Boulevard
sunlight bouncing off the hoods
inviting you to pull over,
kick a tire,
set a price

Protective little vans,
loyal Japanese,
clich├ęd Europeans;
this is when the grill lines
count
and the chrome bits
are critical

Slung gleaming
behind white plastic chains,
poised
like they are about to lurch
and roar over the sidewalk,
through pedestrians,
into traffic

Pledges slapped
across the windshields
bark out in blocked
chartreuse;
LIKE NEW, SHARP,
LOW MILAGE

It must be hard to be
a used car
when the new cars
waxed and scented and lined up like soldiers
a hundred to choose from
with nothing to hide
smirk right next door

Like people
you work with,
you just can’t be sure;
they seem nice enough
in their way
but eventually
the pitches wane
and the polish fades
and history
always
emerges

oh buddy
she’s a runner
never a problem
she is one sweet deal


I gaze long as I drive past,
imagining scattered moments
and memories;

like driving by a prison
like driving by a little league game
like locking eyes

with the lady
who is waiting
at the bus stop

The used car man
eating bad Lo Mien
from a Styrofoam
box
at his desk looking out
at all the cars going by on Harbor Boulevard

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Linguileria

Tumbling through the froth and foam
the sea above
the sky below
craving what i have not had
mourning what i do not know

Racing as i do not move
they look confused
they look concerned
laughing at what is not there
forgetting what i have not learned

Building walls that do not stand
the howling wind
the pouring rain
lips exploding on my lips
fingers tangled in her mane

Falling always, falling still
towards a center
towards a core
that’s the hope in gravity
who am i to ask for more?

Thursday, July 3, 2008

History, Written by the Losers

sons of bitches,
sons of whores,
daughters of a failed
revolution

ran their ragged ships
aground,
mistaking escape
for solution.

musket fire
and rhetoric
and winters
unforgiving,

they piled in -
the vagrant horde -
mistaking escape
for living.

empires built
on blood and bone,
and larceny veiled
as blessing;

they took the torch
from liberty
so she could start
undressing.

sons of deacons,
sons of dukes,
daughters of magnates
and martyrs

glad-hand the pauper
and the prince
with daggers
in their garters.

we stand upon the
beaches now,
regretting their
attrition,

wondering what
may lie beyond,
mistaking escape
for ambition.

our hunger
never sated,
as one might well
expect

from sons of bitches,
sons of whores,
daughters of a
quixotic shipwreck.