Waiting 4 the Bus

Waiting 4 the Bus
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Sunday, July 27, 2014

the last few days in untitled poetry

do you have the keys to the kingdom
the brick that can tumble the fourth wall
the light at the end of the tunnel
stop staring
put all the pennies in the old milk bottle
on the windowsill
next to the wind up alarm clock
and that drinking bird
that bobs it's head in unison
with the beating of a drunken heart
tap your foot
tap your spine
tap your mind
for another imaginary friend
and I am sooooo tired
what does it mean anyway?
I found a quarter in a broken payphone
made a collect call to god
we had a silent conversation
became immobile
and doubted our personal realities

I will peel the snake skin off the world
bleed like an angry orange
close my eyes and count to 100,000
speaking ever 3rd number aloud
I know it's against the rules
I realize I'm driving
with my eyes closed
I said so
I'm breathing rays of light
I'm making no apologies
If I reach my hand unto the dark
I can tell you the textures of space
the temperature of passing time
but it doesn't matter
not according to the laws of physics
and the beasts that govern the fine art of surfing procrastination
I will open my eyes and watch the stars
vanish like a thousand silver doves
I may smile or laugh
but it only matters
and it never arrives

This broom ain't no substitute for a beat up guitar, this lake is not the ocean, this neon, a poor substitute for sunlight. I am awake or will be, in a moment when this song is finished. I'm remembering that lost look in your eyes, the smell of your disillusion, and I want to scoop you up in these arms, I want to make it all better, but I'm a poor substitute for a guardian angel, my wings are all but broken, and you are a sad substitute for flying.

Sometimes we dance for bad musical interludes and gratuities, to travel from scene to scene. I'm counting interactions, I'm drinking old wine, I'm stopping to smell this blue rose. Have you forgotten your favorite song, are you choking on a barbed wire lifestyle, are you too broken to raise the semaphore flags, to shine a light ? Call, and I will answer, dance and I will hold your hand. If you close your eyes, we can jump together, into the silence between the songs.

You ever have one of those days when one particular band seems to performing the soundtrack of your life. There are songs for looking in the mirror, songs for falling in and out of love. Musical backgrounds for lighting a match, smoking a cigarette. A first awkward kiss in the moonlight. None of it is planned, unless fate intervenes, and coincidence drives the bus. Maybe it's my imagination, maybe I'm just another dreamer, but does it matter, if the conspiracy is true

I wish I had a disciplined mind
Talented fingers
A touch that makes beauty from
I am too restless
Too angry
In possession of a scattered logic process
In the world where imagination kisses
I am an idiot screaming in the wind
A student
Wanting to be the master of
An incomprehensible language
My ears a broken
But my soul is constantly dancing

In the morning, I can smell the stale remnants of sex and imagination, clock on the wall makes me feel a hundred feet older and I can't stand this Ken Kesey afternoon. All the superman accolades, I'm a faded golden boy and my eyes are a little numb. It's so easy to be stupid, so easy not to care

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