endlessness could be said about friendship

it’s all so nostalgic

and people get so damn serious

I get so damn serious

trying to make friends family

sifting through the assholes who don’t deserve my time…

whatever, though

this is not an attempt at a dark Dickensian dissertation

of bonds and breaks between people

(afterall, that’s what makes me so alone…this dissection)

When you find a person

who makes you as happy as angry

take the advice I never listen to -

chill the fuck out

true, this wisdom is sans poetry

but, that does not make it less brilliant

af

(written on computer)

your value is love

dark paths always lead to light

please follow a dream

eyes carved from angels

a heart closed; soul still screaming

such a puzzlement

stomach always hurts

holding my sadness with hope

who will leap with me?

It all seems so unstoppable

unless it all collapses on itself

Over the decades

it is still all the same shit we buy, as it has always been

yet, over the decades

still keeps costing more and more

We complain, but really, do we care?

because we still lust for

more

more

more

when

there is no reasoning behind the financial value

of anything anyway

I cannot help but be flooded with these thoughts

as I watch athletes who are given millions

of these small rectangular slips of paper

seeing a commercial in every nook and cranny of the screen

distracting from the game these adults play,

blood paper being given to the papered player

originally given from a fan’s pile of paper…

and me, at this bar

trying to divert my life with this costly disturbance

taking a single sheet of paper from my pocket,

that is apparently worth twenty,

although the same size as one worth one,

to be able to eat beans and drink barley

It is really all so strange to me…

af

(written with pen on paper)

In the car, on the road

hours ahead of me with time to spare

New York to Los Angeles

everything planned, everything on schedule

I arrive at the first train

first omen received

and I foolishly ignore

I trade the world center for middle town

and I wait, and wait

(It’s alright…plenty of time)

finally arrive, one avenue to walk

snaking my way through drunk tourists

pinballing through convicts, being shoved by police

station platform number two

omens number two and three

(Plenty of time…I’ll get my pass later)

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Fight

That would be the first thing I would say

to me at the brinkline of adulthood.

I would stand there, insistent

stubborn and obnoxious

and force my child to fight.

That, if I messed up

or insulted her

she would stand strong against me

and not allow me to cast off such

seeming childishness.

That he would live his life as he wants to

and I would tell him to live it more

but love

love as recklessly and as hopelessly

as he is capable of.

Stay vulnerable

because even if you do not succeed

in all the ways you would like

you will still have given hope

to someone

to people

to help them believe that

there are good people out there.

If I had a child

off to college, off to life, off to independence

I would ask rather than tell;

be curious of what I helped create

and listen, learn

accept

My father never listened, never helped

and all I do is preach as a result.

Let your child be a person.

You created them

that was your purpose

your job is done…

the rest is up to them.

af

(written with pen on paper)

The coffee shop

my table in the corner overlooking the windows of the beach

so many emotions poured into so many poems

safe and comfortable, allowing me, continually

to reaffirm my belief in life

to take risks with my heart, my emotions

The ocean

arriving at the end of the country

the salt breaking apart all the scar tissue of my life

finding a place to sleep within the sunset

to recharge my soul, ready myself

to continue this never-ending journey

Piazza de Popolo

unable to speak with anyone

wine diluting my fears thousands of miles from birth

safe in the trust I am forced to have

to push the limits of what I have believed is possible

to fulfill dreams and legends of a childhood

The slums

looking into the eyes of hungry, happy children

equatorial sun burning my prejudices

knowing I am exactly where I should be

to bring hope to those who are without

to understand we are all the same

The hotel room

endless cities, endless states within endless miles

seemingly never around family but always with

sleeping, waking and walking absent of any doubt

to understand, deeper, God’s creations

to comprehend how it is all mine as well

Pico & La Brea

two hours of walking to meet a new family member

sharing desires for our brother we care too much about

inspiring me, encouraging me, awakening me

to realize I am an artist

to remember home is not a physical place

that we make a home wherever we are

af

(written, with apologetic humility, on computer)

(not so much written by but transcribed by me)

“Let me just tell you

I try, I really do, but I am like SO busy

but first, let me just tell you,

there is such a human spiritual scientific determination

to consider when you are estimating what your art is worth

Is it worth the tears and blood?

What is the dollar amount you consider your insanity to be worth?

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