Fall is fading
Winter’s drawing near.
Everyone notices that nip in the air
But it strikes something different
To each and every one.
To some a new fashion season,
Try to rid that chill with a radiant yellow scarf.
To others a time to lock out the world
Complete that masterpiece frozen at the prologue.
And to countless others a reminder
Of what was just warm simply was.
You’re never as cold as the moment you realize
There is no one there to warm you.

one day I’ll write a long one

Morning frost, afternoon sun
It’s changing seasons
Maybe that’s the reason
I feel drugged today.
Meandering, a lemming
Addicted to time’s constant surge.
Everyone’s a victim;
Every second, a minute lost;
And each hour, a day closer.
It is human to play blind
‘til it stings you in the gut,
Fills your nostrils with a chill
And makes you long for what you’ve had.
Everyone’s a junkie
Jonesing for times that have passed.
Memories like methadone
Undeftly dulling that wicked edge
Jagged as a fiends syringe.

a quick one

Arise around dawn, new light gleaming in;
Make the bed after a shower, but only half of its mussed.
Open the front door, suction resounds in the room,
Retrieve the day’s paper, but you’ve never sat and read it.
Stare through the wooden slates of the opposing kitchen chair,
Breakfast is awfully bland today.
The stench of strong coffee permeates around you,
Pull down matching mugs and fill one to the brim;
The second one reminds you that you never drank it black.
Sit down and sigh, don’t worry, you’re allowed;
Few people today know how long a day can be.

had the first two lines in my head for a while… no idea if I kept it together

Epics have been written while staring out to sea,
Endless songs of generations penned about a girl.
Googols of words fought on to tear stained paper,
The dreamt up experience of one becomes timeless memories to millions.

But when will the originality end?
When will the epic become formula…
When will that girl become peddled on the block…
That heart-wrenching memoir of lust and guilt turns laughable at the first sign of saline…
The dreams of millions murder experiences for every one.

And what of those who hurl themselves onto this funeral pyre?
Slit their wrists in the effort to get published,
Tap that vision which may or may not be their own,
And shovel it like shit into a plot to be filled.

Aspiration to produce our next nation’s bestseller
May be the doom of us all, saturated damnation.

I want to ignite that Fender
that collects dust in the corner
with the lessons I haven’t learned.
Endeavor to steal your soul with a song,
a screaming serenade to any and every one.
Pursue your exhaustion through an invigorating performance.
Endanger your virginity
with an affinity for those eyes
found through the depths of writhing yowls.
Then take you out at the knees with a quick boyish ballad.
Wait.. where’s my pick.

I want to squeeze that wedding band I never bought
around your neck and string you to the gallows.
Drag you up amidst all those people
lost for breath much the same.

Kick and scream, untwist the twine,
this time is mine, don’t dare be content.
Tangle and buckle damnit, gargle for life,
give the people a show, my morbid matinee

unfinished but aren’t they all

Your heart is tinted black
much like your reflection
in the pupil of that whore;
tainted, fate sealed with
that cum in the fuck
you know didn’t mean a thing.
Try to baptize yourself
with the beads of sweat
puddling that foreign face.

I read recently that one should write at least one sonnet in their lifetime; so not knowing what will happen next I gave it a shot

I haven’t drawn in a very long time;
let alone picked up that leaden paintbrush
my last model murdered my lovers touch.
Once lively colors pummeled, beaten by
shadows cast, the wake of dependence. Blind,
the artists will and eye gouged from my lush
craft. Scrape the palette, dead encrusted hues.
Haven’t picked up myself in quite some time.
I wish I could paint the portrait of my
last devotion with this mess of a heart
already jarred loose, no chance for reprise.
I’d grin as I fell, though weeping in part;
I’ve broken my block by ending my time,
bled out your true colors, my masterpiece.

A mangled stallion at the bottom of a hill,
its lifeline in flame,
his time in the limelight passed.

The downward spiral catapulted by swiftness,
an error in judgment foregoing all innocence;
the finish line girder a tenth of an instant.

A crack of the whip, a drop of the hammer,
gripping the reins at ten and two.

Starting gun fired, we have ignition,
a telling stumble toward the starting line.

Lead a pony to water, but don’t let his driver drink.

Jagger
sang shine a light
for the original
Stone rolling fast to the bottom,
falling

Another

fed back
electric blues
like no other axe man,
lost in the haze of ladyland,
alone

As well,

the poet
who’s lost for words
moaning condemning notes,
fled his country a rider on
the storm

And so,

young ones
wasting away,
you’ve heard this dirge before:
old man warned of the damage done,
listen