It slips away too easily
without even knowing it has happened

It’s the vhs imagry in my mind
when I rest my face in my hands
rub my eyes to remember;
Those little side-glances only I see,
thrown to be felt only by me;
the tears that come to the eyes
watching this movie in the front of my memory

It’s the giggles
the pure joy
the terrorizing fear
of wanting someone else so much,
knowing that this one-and-only life I have
now belongs to her;
The panic knowing how quickly
how blindly
it slips away
and then feeling that shaking come from deep within
growing and spinning and ricocheting off my organs

still wanting it
still wanting more

It’s pages of poems clung to the wall;
humble nonsense scribbles on cardboard cutout hearts

It’s the scent that stops me still in the middle of the street

It’s clinging onto someone so tightly
because my breathe isn’t mine anymore

It’s knowing, only years later,
that it is something that cannot be helped,
something routine, habit, necessary,
something that will always be a part of my life
regardless of my intention;
a team, a pact, a promise,
apologies, guilt, forgiveness, acceptance

It’s being allowed to be different weird crazy unbalanced

secrets of passion, secrets of trust, secrets of bonds,
secrets of immaturity, secrets of the most fragile foundations;
It’s the kingdom of heaven and the nine rings of hell

It’s the skin, the shroud, the invisibility cloak

And if this writer does not intentionally cease this indulgence,
then this poem will be hundreds more pages
line by line
of what true imperfect love really is…

 
af

(written on typewriter)

Levon after Levon,
west coast blues dreaming

energy takes what is needed

sunrise, and secrets revealed:
a civilization disappointed by the summit

yankee rebel drifters

pop pop pop pop pill pill pillows
escape is easy to digest
light burn puff breath hold relax
endgame is all the same
fightin’ a life for a goal that plain-ol’ sucks
fortunes that are worthless

hitchhhiker’s dreams now packaged
…not much seems to matter much
when trapped in disneyland

fascades for fascades

we all want something else
pop puff pop puff don’t really fight

you have your plane
and I have mine,
grown from earth to become ash to become earth again

we control time together either way

 
af

(written on typewriter)

“But how do you do it?”

I don’t know…Just figure it out for yourself

    Stick with it
        
        Dare to be insane

            And whatever you do, embrace doubt
            but never let doubt decide for you

“Do you really believe that?”

I suppose I do
    as much as I am capable of
        at the times I am able to

Either way, it is better than the other way around

“I just want to have adventures.”

Know what that really means
    what your responsibility in saying that is
        the boldness or/and initiation or/and
            willingness to be corrupted from
                what you’ve always known, always learned

“And you do?”

I am talking to you
    drifting in wanderlust delusions
        thirty-five and refusing to be sure of anything

What do you think?

“I think it is time for a drink.”

af

(written with pen on paper)

everything

in life

is a mirror

and sometimes

I have no idea

of what to make

of my reflection

af

(written staring and staring)

It is almost time to write the letters;
those who I want to share with,
those who I need to talk with,
but most importantly,
the very few I must free my soul from

The anchor of my past still
rots all hope I fight to
have for my life…

There is a reason I am still here;

The omens keep nagging
and the abyss keeps waiting…

af

(written with pen on paper)

I hear always that
“You should love yourself”
that preacher man always preaches
“Rid your soul of ego”
and it fucks up my mind because
How am I supposed to revel in all that I am
    how am I supposed to bask in all that I create
    all the while being humble enough to believe
    ”I am not worthy” ???

Should I believe what the wise say
or go my own way?

How the fuck do I rid my life of black and white
in a world that is all gray?

af

(written with pen on paper, searching)

I’ve fallen into the gulch of
thinking too much, speaking too little
never capturing the profound ideals
my mind creates to share with the world…

That’s when I hear the Buddha in my head
“create for the sake of”
but in a culture of reward
it all feels so pointless, self-absorbed

The miles of words that spew out of this mind
help me to smile, help me to shine
allow me to flirt like I was given some purpose

then those words come again
“your only purpose is to be, to do, to create”

I am tired of being righteous
of being this hamster on the wheel
creating electricity with my efforts but
never knowing why I exist
ingesting too much
knowing too much

the spirit is silent
unable to focus

afraid, afraid, afraid

af

(written with pen on paper)