a lame poem i wrote after the french exam

if you don't wait up,
that's okay.
i'll just sit on the skyline
and greet the day.
these city lights look just like
candles in the breeze
compared to the sun and
the way you smile at me.

thirteen broken mirrors
and black cats are fine
because this morning, i'm yours,
and this morning, you're mine.
so if you want to go and grab
a cup of coffee, my dear,
don't worry about it.
i'll be right here.

live from abbey road

i wish he'd been dreaming with a broken heart
instead of lamenting sir newton
and the way he sinks to earth all the time

i wish he'd talked about how the drugs don't work
instead of staying in his mold
and being a million different people every other day

i wish she'd asked herself why she didn't come
instead of running around fairgrounds
and staying by the carousels just for the ups and downs

i wish i'd asked for a love and a kiss
instead of thinking about a young boy
who isn't there yet

someday, i will find the real world (inside this one)
while its outer shell falls apart
and it will be bigger and brighter
and only good things will happen there

shirt (more blake)

you are a glider
(don't need no one to fly)
you are an astronaut
(make me believe in the sky)
you are a box of matches
(tell me what i see)
you are a bouquet
(bring the sun's beauty to me)

you know,
none of that's right

because you are a metaphor for something
something good and beautiful and free

but i don't know what it is,
darling, i just can't figure you out.

angela montenegro

when bones look like butterflies
and lungs lack commitment
when skin falls into a fearless sleep
and finds no sorrow in it

when angels fly you through the louvre
and smile as you paint the sky
then i know that we can make it there
we'll make it, you and i.

wire in the doves (goodbye)

there was a man who told you to
reset things by releasing
a flock of doves;
and they would fling down mass graves
and you would think you were doing something right
and you would feel like you were finally worth some grace

because no one else much liked your mind
when they peeled away the outside,
crumpled it up, and put it in their pockets;
they left you on the floor
but i don't want you on my floor
i want you dancing on the roof

but you danced off the edge of it.

buried

i woke up in the backseat of a car
the earth stifled us on all sides
(yes, you were there too)
and i couldn't remember anything for
the fog in my brain that some strange demon
had breathed just for fun;
but you called down the lightning
and heaven hauled us out of there, so
thank you.

but then

i woke up in the backseat of a car
this time, the air was free and plenty
and you were telling me how the honesty spilled
from my fingers and the backs of my eyes.
we drove toward a sea-green sky split with
crawling black branches that caged me in,
but let you drive;
you opened the door so i would tumble out
and you told me, "goodbye, this isn't your fault,"
but where'd you go?

i stopped waking up
and lay there on the dirt road
thinking about explosions that would destroy this place.

addendum to the schwarzenbach-inspired rant

i'll give my veins sugar amphetamines
and my tortured liver these pills;
but i think maybe the alcohol's the reason
i can't stop lying so much, so still.
i used to be able to handle every drug i knew,
but cocktails were never meant to include you.

blake schwarzenbach is another one of my heroes

i'm smoking something and i
don't know what the hell it is;
i'm seeing things that [send] are
sending me into six kinds of fits;
boys on their knees at the feet of priests
and my son making a call from jail to me.

where did you run to late last night after
we started to ignore the electronic snow?
i wanted to follow you so i could find you;
next time when you leave, just please, walk slow.
the night was black, but my eyes were starred;
i'm trying to give you up, but it's just so hard.

when my brother asked me what i wanted for christmas,
i told him a bottle of johnnie walker would be nice.
throw me into space so i can miss all my friends.
throw me in the backseat and read me my rights.
there's no higher place or broader scale here;
just an empty man surrounded by empty cans of beer.

i feel exhausted

it's about the journey.
and the journey was bad enough.
what lies at the end, that's supposed to be
the final reward,
right?

but that was no reward.
that was a cruel joke.
i had the best minds in the world on my side,
but long-term damage and lack of rest take their toll,
and the worst part is:

it's not even anyone's fault.

all i have is keeping her cold.
all i have is never feeling her warmth again.

it was about young people

the yellow hair fallen over his face,
the green that obscured the mourning;
the blue that washed all castles away,
the white that signaled warning;

the golden path that led her there,
the red that called them to rise;
the black that nearly pulled them astray,
and last, the whites of their eyes.

a band called burning airlines

they pointed us toward falling stars,
and told us that's how we're supposed to steer;
they locked us in our rooms with police at our doors
and told us THERE'S NOTHING TO FEAR.

but now my child is dying,
and faith has never seemed so impure;
they told me to stop searching,
but i swear to god, THERE IS A CURE.

all the martyrs i once idolized
turned to sinners as soon as i looked away;
this aviary's nice, but the wires are still there;
the police grin and tell me THEY'RE HERE TO STAY.

it's chilly

surrounded by her
and the rushing of air;
the sounds try to touch us,
but the stillness is there.

i took my brain back, sorry i didn't ask first

i swear to god i'll have your eyes,
i'll seize them by force, if that's what it takes,
i want to ask them about the way they lie,
and how i could make such a horrible mistake.

i swear to god i'll tie you down,
and take them both out by hand;
and after they've watched us madly drown,
i'll see you below in the promised land.

riley's hands lying on the snare

if i was weary,
and my back bent off to a side,
and, like metal, refused to bend back —

if i was weary,
and my arms were sore and my hands blistered
from supporting those who cannot support themselves —

if i was weary,
and my eyes were red and welling
with seas that reflected the evils i was forced to witness —

would you still give me a smile?

i know you would.
i would find you in an old house,
on the bank of a lake,
and you would sing me a song and play the guitar
and i would sit and close my eyes and sway.

only in dreams

i want to be made of red and gold
i want to fly and not fall down
i want to be reborn in a circle of green eyes
i want to kill the demons that would eat the innocent children

i want the city to light up with the hope of millions
i want an angel to be born from my strength
i want this place to be made-up,
and that other one to be real.

andy

kids shouldn't have vitamin D deficiencies
or epilepsy medicine prescriptions
or dead mothers

kids should have safety
and soft knit caps
and lots and lots of love.