Addicts be Warned

She pushed what remained on her cigarette into a coffee dish, ran the water, dismissed her regret and then made a silent wish.
He threw the laptop against the wall, as if it were some flipflop rubber ball. His head fell into his waiting hands and he spoke in a dead language only he could understand.
She waited until mid-night and then she shut the TV, no use hoping for what never would be. She heard the front door open and she knew he was home.
How many lies have we reinterpreted as truth?
Our wants can sometimes distort reality until it fits what we want to believe, what we need to believe.
Like a placebo used against a virus – it can soothe our present by deluding us about the future.
Addictions of all kinds can be like quicksand pulling one away from the reality that must be lived in order to understand.


Why does the sun shine when the snow falls?
Why do I love you when you just turn aside?
Why do I breathe when I feel as if I am dead?
Because…the sun will continue to rise, you will find love once again and again and life and death is not in our control.


Pinhole of Light

There is this pinhole of light in the distance, I can see it in the dark, through the ghosts of memories, soldiers of love and hatred, fantasy and nightmares – caring and indifference…all my hope seems lost until that pinhole of light in the distance.
In the midnight when the sky has no moon, the street lamps flicker and crickets sing me their tunes – I feel lost and alone – with no hope and no song…
Darkness like quicksand pulling away my existence – then I see the pinhole of light in the distance.
Sunrise and it still feels cold and dark – I remember her song and I remember her spark. She could set me on fire in just an instant. Now I lay alone searching for that pinhole of light in the distance.
Can you hear me whispering songs as I lay frozen here?
Tell me are you also alone or is somebody there?
The rain is pouring as the sun shines bright – I crawl through the day – I run from the night. Spend hours and days searching for that pinhole of light.
That pinhole of light that will lead me through this darkness – through this wilderness filled with unfinished songs, stories and lives…

Surround Me

I stare at her as she is speaking to me – I try to keep eye to eye contact.
I watch her as she continues to speak and I am shocked by the visual impact.
Your autumn colored hair falls upon your shoulders and caresses the sides of your neck – revealing a beauty mark, freckles and skin – I am a wreck.
Your blouse is untied, the sides of your breasts are slyly revealed…

I want to hold you, caress you and jump on top of you; i want to kiss you and taste your perfume as I hold you and feel your arms surrounding me…I want you to surround me.

Memories in Paper

Remember the buds on the branches of ancient trees, remember the children born in a time of make believe.
Strangers meet and friendships begin, enemies unite and become the closest of friends.
The moon floats above us and the stars they decorate, the airplanes come and go sounding like an old man’s serenade.
Musicians stand on the corner, empty bucket and an acoustic guitar, singing Bob Dylan songs poorly and causing all who hear to run.
Children running in the park, lovers waiting for that “Spark.” Will it ever come those fireworks they promised to us?
Rivers rush on, oceans pulsate and still are the ponds.
Hearts beating sending blood rushing and causing the mind to ache – in thoughts and memories filled with smiles and pain.
Can you remember that one day we walked hand in hand, looked within each other eye to eye?
Can you remember how I just could not understand what it meant to live and then to die?
He was an old man they say – too old to have lived at all.
“Was he ever a dreamer, M’am or was he born to die?”
Did he ever think about singing or playing ball?
Long forgotten poetry – thrown away and then pulled out and preserved.
Memories crumpled – they got what they deserved.

O Memories of Times Gone By

I walk through these autumn streets, Brooklyn in November.
I walk listening to Dylan, trying not to remember…the spring, the summer…

As the previous winter thawed and the leaves began to bud,
There was this lonely kid who walked alone…
Walked through those Brooklyn streets listening to Dylan, trying to remember what it was that he was hoping for, waiting for…

As the Spring breeze began to blow, the rain began to fall and the flowers began to grow and the kid felt 9 feet tall.
The dreams of summer, the afternoon slumbers and the allnighters spent with my brothers.
Unexpected, unprotected by armor – no memories yet, just dreams, hopes and embryonic ideas of what lay ahead. Possibilities unlimited.
Blue eyes…all it took were her blue eyes…
Summer flew on by – long walks on beaches, sunrises and sunsets, holding hands…babies crying…August and the end of summer racing in the street towards you…towards me.
September – still hot but not as strong – you walk, and walk alone.

I walk alone through these Brooklyn streets, listening to Dylan, Van Morrison and Nick Cave – remembering but forgetting to ignore her tears, her lies and her blue eyes.
October – hurricane winds blow down the leaves across the sidewalks, the streets and upon the highways where we once drove like the boys of summer standing boldly in the sun – where has the time gone?
Where has the time gone?

I walk through these autumn streets, Brooklyn in November.
I walk listening to Dylan, trying not to remember…the spring, the summer…