Haley Called, But The Operator Cannot Connect

Haley Called, But The Operator Cannot Connect




Haley called,
The Comet’s warmed up,
Time to burn some rubber
And take this town.
You and me were gonna
Paint it red,
Nothing between us
Ever left unsaid,
Then you burned bright in
A different direction,
Left me with a handful of
Circumspection;
You winked like a star and
Disappeared from sight,
And Haley never called for me again.



July 26th, 2009

Sense

Sense





Touch, Taste.
Taste, Hear.
Hear, Sight.
Sight, Smell.
Smell, Touch.
Of all the five senses,
The worst one is
A sense of Loss.



July 26th, 2009

Sands of the Slipping Tides of Turmoil, 9 Days From Your 36th Birthday

Sands of the Slipping Tides of Turmoil, 9 Days From Your 36th Birthday



There is a surreal syndicate hot on my trail,
An inward-meditative surrogate who reads entrails,
They’ve got the scent,
Prepping the wet cement,
This ain’t your daddy’s
Black-ops government.
Shuffling back and fro like the wind on the sea,
I dig my way out while drinking the hemlock tea,
Sapping the strength I survive on the lam,
A man with a past that follows him, trapped
In my own memories of what never were, I am.

7 days over you is what the song says,
Yet it is 9 more days until
Your birthday, and
Once again I cannot be there.
Cut off at the heart, I mend myself with thread and
Scotch tape,
A patchwork man
Trying to avoid the darkest of snakes.

Still, I’d give it all up, if only you
Were meant to be the one,
Like I thought you were.
Gone, but never forgot.



July 26th, 2009