NOT DONE

Awake on the train and my back is in half
I’m on twice as long ‘cause I screwed up the map.
Wheels try not to fly, just bail off the rails
The conductor is chrome as my sympathy fails.

Jump between spikes and the spokes and the wood
You spoke of a show. I assumed it good.
By the time I arrive there’s no room to stand
The crowd is too loud; you come later than planned.

We wander around empty streets just for fun.
Searching for friends but we only find none.
Turn a tight right and the sky is ablaze.
There’s a carnival spinning and I’m quite amazed.

A seat on the steps of the church where they light
rows of candles, makes the mother so bright,
Covered in stubs dropped from days gone by
Meat out of its shell is catching your eye.

central

I think I found myself this morning sitting on a public park bench. I was reading SciFi Novel, watching rowboats in the lake. You asked if I was lonely and I didn’t have an answer so I laughed and called you sweetheart, then I realized my mistake.I remembered I turn twenty on this up and coming Wednesday and I’m still terrified of people, worried my smile’s fake. Sometimes people pass by me, and I happen to catch their eye and we stare for just a moment and then the glance will break. But in that tiny little instant a bridge is built between our brains and neither one will be the same, but that bridge is made of snakes. They keep walking and I gather all the rattles in my basket, If theres a question I don’t ask it. Shouldn’t give what I don’t take. So I guess that means I’m lonely so I sit here feeling homely, but I’d be happy if only, I found love inside that lake. Take my clothes off, empty pockets, walk in with my eyes open, there’s no need to hold my breath, my lungs tremble my heart aches. At the bottom there’s a serpent and she holds me like a monument. By love, this isn’t what I meant, my love, this hasn’t happened yet. My lungs tremble, my heart breaks. My carcass it is bloated, to the surface it has floated. All my failures have been noted But my religion never shakes.

I think I found myself this morning feeling sad and scared and sorry, so I hid inside a story. I’m so sure that its all fake, but it’s the best thing we can make. So I’ll take what I can take.

Advice to a robot built from uncooked noodles

Don’t fall in love with the girl from the thrift store
she’ll just rummage through your heart
til she finds what she came for

Don’t fall in love with the girl from the grocery
she’ll just prod around your skin
for your bruises and your injuries

Don’t fall in love the boy from that short, short story
he’ll never love you back and he’s so static
that he’ll make you sorry

Don’t fall in love with the boy in the space shuttle
he’ll just get lost and lonely looking
at the stars when you want to cuddle

Don’t start a club where you only wear sweaters
it’s not practical for summertime
and you’d need to stitch on letters

Don’t start a club where you only wear denim
You’ll get confused for the cowboys
and you can’t handle all that venom

Don’t try to find an ocean underground
you’ll just keep digging on days
and if you succeed you’ll just drown

Don’t try to find a mountain in a meadow
It was probably never there
otherwise it’d cast a shadow

Don’t runaway and become a forest wanderer
you might end up enjoying it
and have nothing left to ponder

Don’t runaway and form a gang of schoolchildren
someday you’ll need an education
and you’ll have to be a fool til then.

Don’t give advice about all the things you shouldn’t do
because you’ll just look like a ingrate
being negative is nothing new

Don’t give advice to a robot made of rigatoni
he won’t listen anyhow

The Doctor (Pepper) is full of Whiskey

Remember all those greeting cards we searched through
at the Duane Read on the corner of 58th and 9th ave?
Remember how they all had relatively cheesy pictures
drawn in relatively cheesy colors,
and when you opened it
the inside was so corny that you wanted to use
the sharp adhesive sealed edge of the off-white
envelope to slice
open your eyeballs
as if to say
“I’ve seen it all now,
there’s nothing left
for me to witness
with these.”
?

That’s how I felt
when I spoke with my red haired friend tonight
about my (receding) brown haired friend.
I felt as if all these conversations
were reflections
of memories
of dropped pocket lint
which was only once
a part of some chic tapestry.

Nevertheless,
he is a mess
and I am
redundant.

Right now,
I hope he is okay
in his stupor.
I hope the night finds him
dancing
with someone he can recollect the name of.
I hope his smile
lasts
at least until he makes it into bed.
and I hope that sunrise finds him
breathing
and in awe
of everything he has.