February 20, 2020

a song in text

the thing about emptiness:
it’s insatiable.

no amount of e minor chords
or old fashions
will fill the void.

this famished parasite
gnawing itself inside-out
ends in oblivion.

nostalgia
promises and vows
making a difference
knowing more than the narrator
the first time you heard bright eyes
and neutral milk hotel
with mike on that pontoon
on that lake in that jungle in malaysia.

hope and fate
faith and choice
the shy girl
and her way with words

we wrote a song
in texts
we will never sing
never good enough
not enough time
always wanting
never being

the dead sun flower
from the upper east side
still a symbol
whose meaning
escapes us now

how long are we excepted
to keep missing
before we forget

i love you
is never
enough

all my idols are suicides
but don’t you worry
i’ve got these sad song
to feed the beast

February 6, 2020

old fashion

every night i vow
to feed myself an old fashion
and cobble together
a fire of words

to keep me warm
in the morning
when the chill
of the news
is unbearable,

only
to be
too exhausted
to execute.

at least tonight
there was
this tiny spark.

it doesn’t
offer much
warmth,

but the tiniest
light is a sun
when all there is,
is darkness.

January 13, 2020

bear witness


i forget
how
to do
this.

the weight of indignation
heavy like a [where do similes go?]
easy cliches
like the news
and other garbage they try
to sell us.

scrolling, sloth, sins
lost in thought
about what
must be inherited and not attained;
culture, power, justice
being born
here not there
white not black
male not female

inheritances are never taxed,
wealth weaponised
by drunken children
wielding privilege and victimhood

fires. volcanos. war.
protests. impeachment. elections.
winners. losers. snubs.

everyday the same.
everyday different.

whilst running in the park
I witnessed:

a pigeon flapping its wings
transporting a twig into a tree

a father and daughter
flying a kite
within reach,
but far away enough
to threaten space

a newly married couple
draped in an entourage
laughing
sand between their bare feet.

everyday the same.
everyday different.

the world will bury us
the only levity
found by bearing witness

the only thing we need to teach
the children is how to
catch a breath beneath another shovel load.