now
straining to see
just what lights in the heavens
shine for me
and now i realize
that i don't care
i don't sympathise

Ive got an idea that my mind isn't just my own
this odd little tickle that makes me think that
maybe
something besides 90 mph and the big
straight empty
could make me feel just as much alive

and yet I'm told
"you've got such a long way
to go"
sighing down to my feet
standing still on 4000 miles
of black-stained-yellow slash

the needle rests on "E",
i don't know how much longer ill hold out
just enough to crash
not like there's any better way back
now

little did i know
that there was so little i didn't know
and i know you can see
that Ive nothing left but me
these words-
i don't read them, i see them
watch them pass me by

Oh, how i hope they'll come back soon
maybe tell whats in my horizon
Any sort of clue will do.

wow. very fresh. great title too.

but baby im tired of seeing you frown
when i knew i did all i could
to hell with you

Anna Begins - Counting Crows

walking without courtesy or
any sort of fancy time,
slowly spinning my problems
into a maelstrom of thought based
psychodrama, my feet stopped and i turned.

There was a rather attractive man standing there
(attractive really just an assumption,
i have a predisposition to the female gender)
standing tall and strong and loud.
"Believe in God! Believe in Jesus!"
his eyes were light with the idea that
he really was making a difference.

No; i take that back.
he was making a difference.
his little stone in a sea of onlookers
made a ripple, it did.
i saw a girl there,
her face lit up with anger,
her eyes screaming louder than her words,
her smile betraying the betrayal
he saw in this mans word.

and he met it with a smile.

and so his face kept that content little scowl
vague screams from far off
(DON'T LISTEN TO HIM)
not really a concern of mine.
and his idol? the pope?
no. it was The Book.
whats the difference, really?

and just when i thought
this would be a Christian i respect,
out came the punchline.
"...and for 4.95, you can buy God!"
wow. and i knew this man,
even if for a short time.

Though i guess its hopeless to think
ill ever understand the bastard marriage
between capitalism and Christianity.

snap
back to now
(such a beautiful day)
this man turns to me and says
"now, what would you do?"
what would i do, indeed?

i tell him that i respect him
(do i?)
i wonder why we all gotta wear a cross
or go to hell
(not that i really care;
so many more interesting people are in hell)
i say i don't murder
i give to charity
i help when i really have no need to
i walk with the dying
i talk to the lonely
i sit here and simmer my thoughts in a vat
of Sin Oil.

but its not about that, no,
God isn't about doing good.
its about showing that you believe in him.
thats it? thats all?
well, thats not for me.
ill do a thousand deeds for the ones going to heaven
so i can smile and laugh the whole way to hell.

thanks mate.

this one is a bit risque. dont remember when i wrote it.

***
ive got respect for you.
ive got, what they call,
an "erection" as well.

you can laugh. i know, its funny.
You can parade around knowing i am watching you.

you could also make me feel like
this isnt want you want.

twotimes i rocked the stations between us
i wished for solace, and wished that you'd
cop a feel, or maybe just a glance
maybe a little smirk, though your eyeshadow
is a bit too
bit too much.

youve got some nice curves, love.
youve got all the right moves.
youve got me in a bind, love.
and i bet you dont know what i think.

because i dont tell you.

i could repeat myself, but i dont think
you really care. i think you are too in love
with your hair, with their stares, with
a whole ****ing image of a world
that does, indeed care -

about your lies, about your cries.
about your subtle ministrations on the dance floor
you bring every guy in here to his knees.
mostly because they are all imagining
(imagine is a loose word, it doesnt take much of that)
you on yours.

kill me.

thrill me.

take me away, take me a way
you dont know. i bet im different than them.

i bet im going to treat you right.

more!? i think i can do that.

i dont open my eyes anymore when i
(in)gest iculate the rag-tag rhythm that
i weave into my past,
oneday at atime.

i cant really say that
i can make sense of your mess.
and dontyou DARE
lay blame on the
leeetle feigned reality that
shakes and bakes
the lipstick to my neckline.

thanks guys. this is one of my recent favorites.

ah, but back in the sea is where i want that fishy.

so true kc. oh, and in case anyone hasnt told you, um...
there is a tiger RIGHT BEHIND YOU!!!

thanks pkd. :D

thanks guys. as far as my sister goes, shes getting the help she needs. i appreciate all the feedback, and hope you liked the poem.

thank ya teddy bear.

i completely believe that.

isnt that the truth, ak.

is dreaming
moaning
moaning
startledBARK
now curled up
and sleeping.

funny thing. sitting last night
in a bar on the south side (just minutes after i
told some girl to leave me alone and go home -
she thought it was a good idea to lecture me
regarding my spiritual inferiority
due to my
ill regard for her
self-important whining) gently nursing
my good buddy Pabst, listening to
the evisceral karaoke slaughter of
War Pigs.
It wasnt until right then that i realized how absurdly and terribly long that song is.

august is the closest thing to hell that ive seen in a long time.

some other girl sits next to me at the bar and starts moaning about how she got stood up.
i couldnt help but wonder if i felt bad for her.

she told me i looked like an actor.
in the context, it felt like a compliment, but now im not
so sure.

she is a playwright.
and,
like most playwrights,
its not her day job.
she is an EMT. also, its nothing that shes ever made money doing.

i tell her that the booze on her breath is cute.
she half-smiles.
i didnt really think she was cute; the situation was.

my plight.
her plight.
it is all so very cute.

she tells me of her kid, and her baby daddy. He was hispanic,
"but a good one."
i smile. you get used to racism i guess.

she finally reads the disinterest in my face. she misread it, of course. i was interested in the situation we shared. the jagged corners of social sedation. the alacrity to jump in head deep with a stranger.

she stood up and left, finding someone else to bother. finished my beer, lit up, and walked out.

might i reply in kind!

http://www.justsayhi.com/topic/show/54842

lyrical poetry is fun. \o/

english is quite possibly the easiest language to hide in. brilliant.

gotta be honest. i am quite jealous of the addressee of this piece.

great, like always.