Growing Up.

I was a father once
had silver-gray hair

then

I became a child
and finally knew
everything I would ever need.

Breaking Beds

we wrecked a
bed
in youthful
wrecklessness

from the backseat
of our fathers’ car
to the back of the
bus

ten minutes
to downtown
was enough

other kids’ stupor
(turning into an
adults stigma)
never caught on
to us

your parents’ basement
a practice field
tests without results

we painted our story
with all the colors
we could
find

Our world held
together
by three words
and a
hair slide

We joined in
fearless talk of a
non-combatant
future

Dilemma.

I want to see people
and I want to see lights
and I want to stay in.

The pleasure, the privilege
in a room
keeping me safe.

I want to experience
but I
can't stand experiencing

the hideousness that
lurks around every
corner

So I am
cornered in the
four corners.

All that is left
to see
is on a screen.
The light that never goes out.

All That Is Left.

That moment
when you realize

all you remember
is the way it ended

the thrill of the first kiss
that first hand on
your hip

replaced by

a goodbye kiss
and a shrug
between your house
and the stars.

Commune.

We wanted to
      smash the system
but ended up
      smashed
drowning in sips
     of sorrow
as revolutionary as
    a clean kitchen
with heavy hearts
    and averted eyes
renewing subscriptions
    for the cause

Morning

You wake up in
a stale room void of
 the smiles and cries that
lingered too long and left
 too soon.

Between empty bottles
and boiling coffee
you embrace the glaring
memories pounding in
your head.

You slowly return from
the depths of night and
 brace yourself for
another one.

Notebook

Engulfed by words
buried deep in my notebook.

Sweet noise on my
headphones disassembling
the world around me.

The only way
to deal with
reality
is to create anew
and pretend it is
your own,