i

am

grateful

that

i

am

different

Make bold statements into the face of life
in spite of life
in the light of the darkened dawn
that creeps through
the exhaustion of deprivation and delirium
and when you are low man on the totem pole
staring into contentious faces
frustrated with egotistical redundancy
scream your confident screams
kick over the bullshit
smiling through all its adversity
and be proud of that confidence…

haters will always hate,
but that don’t mean you shouldn’t always love

af

(written with pen on paper)

Smelling the aged wood as I arrive
a stranger in this empty building
always the first to arrive
always the last to leave…
seems that that is always when the good memories are created
when the life worth reminiscing about happens;
the stimulation of senses that very few ever get to experience
the still anticipation of life
the birth of death;
the subliminal moments before the doors open and
after the gig is over

That is as close to god as I could get
and that is enough purpose for me.

af

(written with pen on paper)

They keep looking at me.
They keep trying.
They keep intentionally doing what they do
and why should I say no?
They have power.
They have beauty.
They get what they want with what they have to work with.

I try to be a gentleman,
try to be respectful,
try to just do my job,
try to be friendly, move along, go home.

Then another skirt.
Then another bra-less tank top.
Then more wavy hair, dark skin.
Then another perfect scent of feminine olfactory stimulation.

I really am a good guy.
I really am a gentleman.
I really am respectful, valiant, well-intentioned.

But, damn…
Summer in New York…
and they keep looking at me…

af

(written with pen on paper in my local coffee spot)

if you allow yourself to be consumed
paralyzed
by this emotion this thought this lack of purpose this vibrant cynicism
then create something…
stop waiting for life to change

af

(written with pen on paper)

Middle of the back
Middle of the road
Middle of this clustered convulsion

My lips are chapped from too much hot sauce
Middle of the sandwich
Eyes tired from too much beer

My desire is still too exhausted from too much nothing
Middle of the soul

There is no lack of love
There is just none of what I want and no way for me to find it

Tonight I will go to sleep dreaming as always of the
destinations and the women I wish I had to comfort me

Middle of the bed
Waking still in the same place same rotting teeth
trying to forget, as I always do
why someone who tries so hard to be so good, do such good
always ends up being so alone

Middle of the life
Middle of the inspired
Middle of the road

af

(written with pen on paper)