like a gerbil
my feet churn out the thoughts,
those ghosts that always vanish before I get to the page

more and more, lately
Do No Learn, Explore
such radical thinking
Less Knowledge, More Understanding
although known since a child

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I have grown to hate poetry!

Damn you, poetry…
You demand too much honesty
you force vulnerability.

Why?

These people are cruel,
they all make fun of me
sticks and stones both hurt;
I lied…the rejection stings

Damn you, poetry
you force me to mourn and move on
when I am really in pain,
when I am tired…
You have placed a taboo upon me,
to write or cease living,
and now I can never stop, will never stop

…damn you, poetry!

af

(written on pen and paper, completing my first marble notebook of the project!!!)

Hallways of delusion
warped chaos of sculptures by the modern eye
Abstract three-dimensionality
stretched molded painted from elastic plaster
giggling like Play-doh filled pools of kids

hidden among the gratuity of the humble
buried in a warehouse of unrecognized treasure
in a plain brick building within a forgotten neighborhood
having convinced a city
that the waste, the empty spaces
the artists huddled in corners, out of sight
are the treasures that ultimately
redefine worlds and redirect the course of humanity

to the artist
something broken, torn, stained
is one more opportunity to create something beautiful
for the world;
that creating something beautiful from something ugly
is our purpose

the artist bears the never-ending task of cleaning the
soul of the earth

in these four walls
there is enough of everything
a playground for the kids, the conjurers
making priceless works of art
from the scraps of society;
collected here, gratefully
and taken here, gratefully
for the addiction of creating whatever is not possible

af

(written with pen and paper at Materials For The Arts [mfta.org])

Everybody’s a fucking genius
the louder, the more so

I am just going to drink this beer,
maybe smoke some marijuana,
and pretend to succumb to the idiocy

the world is too smart already;
everybody is right
everybody is, right?

Why bother?
af

(written, dismayed, with pen on paper)

If I am to be honest,
I am angry and confused
most often at other people
most often at myself

the hippies to the egotists agree:
we are a mirror.
everyone in our lives…us
everything…reflections of us
yet
preach
also
our environment is our interpretation
one we must define as opposed to -
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A legacy leaves nothing behind but a memory;
if lucky, an inspiration on which to draw on;
a building, a poem, a child;

Peer down both alleys
the short run and the long one
as there is a difference between
human history and that of humanity;
both volatile in serving each other
delicately
as the success of one
may very easily, one day, end the other

af

(written with pen on paper)

I am sorry you hurt
There is so much in me that would like to gloat
that, in the old me, would have
but, all I can think about is you lying alone
heartbroken, slightly more cynical than a few days ago
more hardened when you should be growing soft
crying because that trust you worked so hard to mend
rebroke into more pieces than you had to originally glue together

I barely know you
but I wish I could hold you;
then I remember that I try to live with character, integrity
and I couldn’t take advantage of you before
and I refuse to do it now
so I cannot tell you what I want to
what would consol you and comfort you
because I do not want to be a mistake
I do not want to be a transition or an excuse
I want to be a hope
In your life, I want to be a decision
an intentional path you travel down
a road never taken
and to be trusting enough to not turn and walk away
when you finally decide to walk into that strange new jungle

There is nothing inside me
that can say that my words and desires are permanent
nothing logical to justify my instincts
but this life is short
and I know I am a good person
so good that I fuck up too much
but there is not one among us who is perfect
and I know my intentions are pure, honest, honorable

I care not to be someone who sweeps in
saves the day, promises you riches and comfort
but I know I will challenge you, push you, piss you off
and if you hear what it is I say
then you will know I am wealthier
than any prince who will sweep you from your feet
because my promises are not practical
but passionate,
you are not a prize, but a work in progress
not perfect, but stubborn, insecure

your beliefs are not all correct
but you try
you try too hard at times
and I see that
past your success, I accept all the flaws you refuse to have
and that’s why I think there is something special about you;
that is where my intrigue grows from…
Knowing that, for some reason,
you allowed me to peek behind the curtain
and now that I’ve seen who the real person is
I want the curtains to stay open
because the masks don’t compare to the beauty
of your struggles, your love, your joy, your pain, your soul

af

(written on computer for a broken heart)