catch me (before it's too late)

time travels too slowly while waiting on wisdom
and slow spinning seconds make it difficult
to pace in place while wishing to walk around
and run away with caution cast to the curb
of the roads that now reside in rearview mirrors
where the rushing wind is the one reminder
that the world is real despite dreams come true.

in a sweater poorly fitting

my thoughts were a sweater too big for my brain
so i tossed them in the wash and waited
for a while while they spun in soaked circles
waiting for the migration of my mind to dry
where i'd feel the heat and succumb to the shrink
because i'd rather my brain be busting the seams
than free to float in a sweater unsuitable.

haiku #27

sometimes it can take
a movie to remind me
life's not a movie

life's too long for the impatient

singing love songs to a long lost friend
i found for the first time a few weeks ago
while failing to forget fleeting feelings
and forcing friendship that comes quickly
but is difficult to keep from collapsing
into something requiring the right timing
because i'd rather burn out brilliant
than fuel the fire of an eternal flame.

lost the beat

i like metaphors too much
to make another morrissey
and the morality of my mind
keeps me from becoming kerouac
and though i think karl marx
and communism make sense somehow
my modern realism and american life
don't allow for allen ginsberg's ideals
and leave me with a hollow howl
in a generation of upbeat yuppies
with our white tee-shirts hidden
under replicas of retrospective protest
like "meat is murder" mass-produced
and tour tees from before i was born

it takes a life to learn

cliché captures me too closely
wishing i was closer to clever
or at least unique to some degree
but i'll follow the footsteps set
by my own too often failing feet
and pursue the paths of plenty
laid out by the life i've lived
even when my mind's eyes
can perceive my past mistakes.

desires of the second order

sometimes i smile just a bit too much
considering circumstances i find myself in
and memories i'm remembering for the moment
though i frequently forget them far too fast
and move on more than i'd like to admit
preferring to pride myself on passion
felt deeply, discarded fast and forgotten
though i understand how unhealthy i am
change remains out of my self-reliant reach

haiku #26

i'm sure this is me
i just know that it can't be
i know this is me.

set in stone

i'd surround myself with silence
if i could find it on my own time
away from words i've never heard
faces i've found only by myself
this is what everybody talks about
like living behind the me i've been
wanting what's been washed away
with careless and calloused changes
and heavy hearts taken too lightly.

yes, that's exactly what i am

erosion goes unnoticed by naked eyes
and remains unseen for days gone by
but damage is done nevertheless
though it's less like pain and more like caress.

x marks the spot

it seems simple enough to follow footsteps set out
leading down long lifelines and crossing courses
never straying from red lines and blueprints bold
but nevertheless leading you in circles inconsistent
with unconsciousness as your compass of control
and conscience compromised your failing sails
keeping this sinking ship afloat for reasons wrong
while winds whisper words of wisdom unheard.

rubbing the mud on my own eyes

don't expect to find a formula
for the feelings and the facts
the way in which they interact
and the way one ought to act
regarding wrong and right and wrong
while singing songs of lifelong love
and knowing not what you speak of
or how to tell a hawk from dove
because they're above and we're below
never knowing where to go
or what to show of what you're feeling
if it will help or hurt the healing
can't even tell the floor from ceiling
because i've blended facts and feeling.

how the load lightens my lungs

is it empathy when it's forced on me
and i can't control what weight i pull?
lightening her load while i watch mine grow
but i don't feel forced, in fact i'm fine
because watching that smile is worth the work
and calling it work seems a tad absurd
because i've never met a man with half a mind
who loved his labor to such lengths or likes
that he'd rather run than rest his legs
when he hasn't slept or sat for days.

morning air

listening to lost songs
from times left behind
reflecting memories
on the mirror of my mind
painting by number
the photographs snapped
years in advance.

piece it all together

so busy building i forgot
that taking a break is better
than not stopping sometimes
because the bricks tend to tumble
when i don't take my time
to look back over what i've built
and see if the small part i can see
fits within the framework
of the foundation that i've formed
and the walls i'm writing.