I wonder, often, how you could be so cruel.
Such a disconnect in your voice,
(beautiful as it is)
while you sing songs of me
(of us)
and strum your fingers on my bones.
(percussion never sounded so good).

I recall days,
nights,
between your sheets,
between you and your soul
(and your inevitable guilt)
lingering above me, false,
(I'm trapped under assembly line roofs).

Those bones you played on
are on their own now.
Prancin halls,
painting walls
(growing thier own flesh).

Go ahead my Knight
(my Night)
and ride your amber bottle stead
to the next sunset.

The skeletons will play in the streets
(your streets)
with,
or without
your consent.

I want to write movies like 'king's speech' and 'true grit'.
lovely, both of them.

I'm not ashamed to say
that none of this feels real.
I can hold your hand
(and will)
and run with you
through whatever fields you like.

Dive in puddles
swim in faucet drips.

And nothing feels real
until it's over.

Tell me,
what is true?
If everything's a lie?

I've been everything
no one wants me to be.
I've been everything
I was told was wrong.

I broke my own rules.

And it didn't feel real 'til now.

The Boy and the Beach Drowned Chariot

My ancient wooden wheels
are stuck in the sand, sunk
in the thick, wet would-be rocks.

Here I am,
immovable in you
and the vast desert shore.
No oasis, this, so I'll pitch
my camp here among
the Bohems and professional gypsies.

The routines stay the same
no matter where the tents.

Morning toothpaste smells
like medicine, but it culls
the night taste of
-last cigarettes
-stale booze
-and you.

Sand shifts and dances
like your eyes
your mood
your attention
and there's nowhere for me to go
without catching the shifting
drifting scent of
-sea salt air
-fish deep in water
-and your whiskey coffee lips.

I imagine that breath as a lure
hooking and catching
hearts and souls
like so many sea creatures
in the best homespun nets.

Does the squid know to escape,
when he is self aware
enough to sense that he's been caught?

Maybe the Dark is worth it. To flirt with total desperation. To not jump from the cliff, but dangle your feet over the edge. Treat the unstable ground on which you tread like a tight-rope, one foot always in the air, ready to come down but not.
I can't fight it alone, but I can't:
create
focus
invest
if I ingest
all the pretty blueandpink tablets they keep handing me. So it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. Make up my mind to lose it so at the end of the day I'll have something to show and a decent story to tell.

I can do anything with my Darkness in tow. We struggle, we fight, and sometimes we destroy. But we're learning to dance instead. To give and to take.
I can be the hero,
Villian
I can be the lover,
Monster
I can sleep now.

Blessings (grudgingly)

This one's for you, Sister.

1) I'm back in Kansas City
2) I am full of good food
3) My family loves me
4) I had a nap

There. Those 4 things are great.

bah-humbug

The Last Days of Judas Iscariot

(Read this play, you won't regret it)


Cunningham: Okay, you say God made you-
Satan: God did make me-it says so in the Bible.
Cunningham: I know about the Bible, Mister Satan. It also says in the Bible, in...in Matthew I believe. In Matthew it says: "A good tree cannot bear bad fruit," correct?
Satan: Correct.
Cunningham: So are you saying that you are good? Or are you saying that God is bad?
Satan: I would never say that God is bad.
Cunningham: So, then, are you telling this court that you're good?
Satan: I don't know- are you good, Counselor?
Cunningham: That's not what I asked you!
Satan: I'm sorry.
Cunningham: Just answer the question.

Satan: I don't believe in Good and Bad. What I believe in is Truth.