On Zombie Avenue

He lived alone in a two-flat next to a graveyard on Zombie Avenue.

He hadn't seen his neighbor below for a couple of years. They used to hang together, but lost touch one forgotten day. He could still hear the goings-on through the shared heating vents in all the rooms. Contact remained, by one degree, through the black metal grates in the floorboards.

* * *

A work in progress.

I Don't Want To Live This Life Anymore

I need to do something bold.
Make a change.
Send a ripple out into the Galactic River I'm drowning in.
Strike a hard 3-chord in my mind and ride the feedback.

A fish (Pisces) that does not move, dies.

Someday

I'll gently squeeze a woman's arm and say,

"It's going to be alright."

And we'll both believe it.

And it will be all right.

When I Squeeze My Eyes Shut

The world disappears.

But it always returns when I open them.

For those of lacking plans tonight:

There is always this good time waiting (see the 11:00 p.m. band!).

After you kill your Idols

Do you become your own Idol?

And then would have to kill yourSelf?

The Sink Will Stay Clean

If you keep your hands from getting dirty in the first place.

Dream, Life, or Metaphor?

I awake.
I feel the heat of sun on my body as I lay on my back.
In grass, it feels, in a place unknown, yet familiar.
When I open my eyes, all I see is the gray blanket of clouds. They cover the entire sky or ceiling above me. Not moving, perfectly still, they filter through a, seemingly, bright and burning sun. I surmise that, if this grayness were to disappear, the world I awoke in would shine brighter than any Childhood Dream.

But the clouds do not disappear. They remain steadfast in their position.

I move my hands. The grass feels dry as if it's Late Autumn, dried out from many days under a hot blazing sun. But the moment has no temperature; it is neither noticeably warm nor noticeably cool. No breeze and no wind. It just is.

I rise.
All around me, for as far as my eyes can see, is this greenish-yellowed grass. Miles and years away, the gray clouds meet the greenish-yellowed grass in a perfect line. The horizon and the whole of land around me is perfectly flat. Computer-generated flat. Made by God flat.

There are no colors, but Gray and Green and rotting Yellow.

I walk forward. All points of the compass are unknown to me; if I could see the sun, I suppose it would be High Noon. No Shadow, no Angle from which to determine direction.

I walk forward. And as I walk, every song I have ever heard plays through my mind. Back-to-back the music goes through my head in a steady steady steady rhythmic march.

I walk forward, directionlessly and without any visual target or goal. I just walk forward. The clouds do not change, the music never stops, and the horizon does not get closer. The grass crunches softly quietly beneath my steady metronomic steps.

I lay down in the greenish-yellowed grass.
How long have I trudged along?
A day?
3 decades?
960 minutes?
A lifetime?

I sleep and dream memories of my past. Realistic moments and distorted re-tellings of events that may or may not have occurred. My Regrets point at me laughing; and, my Triumphs sit in the far corner of my mind forgotten, covered in dust, and sighing in cold pints of beer.

I awake, surrounded by greenish-yellowed grass for as far as my eyes can see.

Just 13 More Minutes

One more cigarette,
and finish this last beer.

Then I'll slip into bed,
and disappear from the waking world.

(Not Living) a Life

I am a Writer who never Writes
I am a Worker who hates to Work
I am a Drinker who rarely Drinks
I am a Stoner who never Smokes
I am a Lover who has no one to Love
I am an Observer who cannot See
I am a Talker who says Nothing
I am a Sociallite with no Social Life
I am a Faithful who hates Religion
I am a Artist who never Draws
I am a Seeker who does not Search
I am a Hub who has no Network
I am a Hugger who flinches in Hugs
I am a Kisser who has Dusty Lips
I am a Blogger who has nothing to Update

Scene One (on a loop)

The Apartment is flooded with light; nearly every lamp or overhead light is on.
A scented candle burns on the sofa table.
Ska, hardcore, and punk plays on the stereo at low volume.
With the windows closed, little can be heard from the Outside World. Maybe a scream or car alarm sounds at times, but, for the most part, an eerie silence holds the night.

A man is seen stretched out on a too small couch on his back. He's reading a magazine, folded in half, while a cat sleeps curled against his right leg. The man can feel the heat radiating from the cat's back, through his pant leg, and into his skin. He feels calm, yet there is a nagging sensation in the back of his mind. Something tugging desperately at him, trying to wake him up even though he is already awake.

He's forgotten something of importance. Or he's procrastinated something, postponed something of equal importance. Has he put something off that needs to be done?

"I am living someone else's life."

This isn't the first time he's thought this.

This happens every night

Something's Missing

Sunny day with a perfect breeze
Riding with a pretty girl
soft sad music on the radio
Relatively good mood
considering the slight hangover

Twinkling laughter
that kidnaps me every time
Surrounded by faces on Devon
Then a sky on the ceiling
and statues by the lounge bench
A pretty girl behind me at another table
Dark hair, slender face, Moon eyes

A couple joins us
Tasty food, but little conversation
I don't know where to look
I'm in a good mood
but something's missing

A walk in Lincoln Square
A chance meeting with my friends
Laughter and conversation
I like my friends
The four of us seem in tune

A stop at a music store
Surrounded by so many CDs I want
That music store smell
We seem to be clicking

The walk home
A confusing half-argument
I'm talking Bohemian stream-of-consciousness
For a split second I remember who I want to be
I'm still in a good mood
Belly full, pretty girl at my side, and the sun on my face

But something's missing
But I'm not sure what
Something's not quite there

Something's missing
Maybe I'm not really there

One Sentence

Powerful.

One sentence can start a Chapter.

Or end a Book.

One sentence can create a Happy Beginning or a Bitter End.

It just depends on what that one sentence holds.

Be careful what you write.

The Shower

Someday.

Maybe a hot August night
and we want to wash away the day's sweat.

Maybe a chilly-cruel February day
and we need to warm the cold ache in our bones.

We'll step into the shower
and wash away the days worry grime fear work
and wash it all down
sharing a beer under the falling water

I'll clear Our Hair trapped in the drain
intertwined into and around each other's
to allow the water to flow better down
You'll kiss the back of my neck
and I'll give your knee a squeeze

We hold each other close
letting the water slid down our bodies
pass the bottle back and forth
sipping from it
smiling

I'll wash your hair
and you'll rub my back
as the bottle's label begins to curl at the edges
and the beaded sweat mixes with the tiny splashes spray
from you and me

Just as I predicted

I threw you my heart.
You let it drop.
It laid on the ground beating.

I danced and balanced along
The Thin Line Between Love and Hate
And landed on my feet

Time and distance did their thing
Easing pain and giving perspective
Tonight, I felt Nothing.

But, that may be a lie
a self-survival technique
there is still a tiny part of the moon peeking from behind the clouds

Never say "never"
I can't seem to shut the door
I keep looking out the window

I still don't know what I hope to find
I still don't know what room I stand in
I still dance alone along that Thin Line

Nothing comes easy.

Let's Come Together

Arch your back
and look to the ceiling
and I'll do the same.

Circle your hips
and touch my chest
and I'll do the same.

I'll push.
You Pull.
Let it out.
Let me In.

Run you fingers through my hair
and kiss my lips
and I'll do the same.

Rub against me
and lick my ear
and I'll do the same.

I'll push.
You pull.
Let it out.
Let me in.

Let's come together.