HOIST THE COLORS

I'm bored and everyone is old.

The whole world went back to school and so did their children.

And we never learn a god damn thing.

Didn't I try and tell you once to be open, 

and to listen to everything around you..?

I am overwhelmed.

The hum of urban neon chaos, 

the soundtrack of my dreams, 

the song in my footsteps.

Crafting Life like the pattern of a wedding dress.

Marking in chalk, pinning things down, 

cutting delicately on dotted lines.

Poised for Power 

feels more like

Standing on the Precipice.

At any moment my castle may tumble into the sea.

I may be thrashed to bits on the rocks below.

Drowned in the white waters and sunk down into cold depths.

Falling is the easy part-You just fall.

It's the jumping that's hard.

It's the landing that's tough.

Flying with a mostly blind eye on the horizon,

I long for the fall.

I wish for the tumble head over heels into Anything.

My life; A long series of blurry cartwheeling landscapes.

Somersaulting before my eyes.

The Spin Cycle.

Going over and over my Self.

Over and over again.

Revising, reviewing, redoing-all the same shit.

Style this next flight a long one, to someplace I've never been-

Maybe around the Sun and the Moon

Breaking back through the atmosphere like Fire.

I'm bored and America is an angry old woman- and so is everyone in it.

Shake off your cobwebs and burn down your pretense 

And fly your rebel colors if you can hear me..!!

Prepping for another unknowable departure to Anywhere

I swear I won't even take my landing gear this time.

I make no plans to touch down, or to ever return at all... 

Train Tracks and Other Metaphores

This is a poem for my generation

written on a Monday at the office,

while I Facebook and YouTube

instead of filing and data entry.

Because I'm trying to peer over the wall of time

and spy on a life I had once, where we all went to high school together

and cut classes in favor of the beach and the woods

and driving around in your parents convertible without their permission.

And in the dark of the night my footsteps make no noise,

and the cars on the high way are a river of fire. 

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

Where are we? We wonder out loud,

to each other, and to ourselves, and to no one in particular...

Who have we become, and who did we want to be?

And did we lay our plans with as much care as we should have?

Probably not. But there's no time now to,

Lament some of my moments of execution..

Where I lost my grace, and fell out of they eyes of honesty,

and struck out.

And in the dark night my footsteps make no noise,

and the road to anywhere is paved with dreams.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

We are treading water somewhere between the shores of Child

and the rocky horizon of Adult.

We are piled into rowboats, some of us with children,

some of us with men, and some of us without..

We are filled with wanting and painted in covetous technicolors-

We dare to dream the American Dream that our parents dreamed

and distilled from their parents who dreamed and distilled it from

their parents, and now it holds just a drop if it's original elixir, but we dream on.

And in the dark of my dreams my footsteps make no noise,

and the yellow brick road rolls out a red carpet.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

I want to live in a big house with a porch

and a yard for my garden and animals and children,

and a barn so I can hang my half moon out on the eaves

and wind chimes from the rafters.

Maybe I will have some chickens,

and a goat, or a pig...

And I'll make pottery and beaded necklaces

in between pulling weeds and putting on plays with the neighborhood kids.

And in the dark before the dawn my footsteps make no noise,

and the path we walk is unmarked and winding.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

I have to write this down because I FORGET MYSELF (all the time....)

and then go throwing blame at every one around me.

Telling them they don't know who I am,

when really it's me, making a false idol of myself.

And at least we are all lost together,

you and me, and all of us, in our rowboats,

between here and the future, 

still updating on Facebook, to validate our existence.

And in the light of day my footsteps make no noise,

and the faces of strangers are all familiar to me.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

Vagabond Sue

Mama said start running,

Daddy's bad with advice.

I grew out of dirty rags

and into sin and vice.

Now they keep an eye out

for me and all my lies

and me, I bow out early

and sever all my ties.

I'm dancing round the rodeo

just me and all the clowns

My boots are worn and dusty

from jumping town to town.

It's me and my dog, Rusty,

who's only got three legs,

and we live thin on Whiskey

and other fellas kegs.

Sometimes I dance on table tops

and swing from chandeliers,

but mostly I'm just riding trains

and have been now for years.

Someday they say I'll settle down

when youth has run from me

but I just keep on dancing

and livin wild and free.

'Cos the night has got me in it's hands

and God smiles down on me, 

I said, I'll just keep on dancing now,

and livin wild and free...

Remembering Me

Sometimes I remember myself.
In moments of delicious clarity, I remember who I am,
and who I wanted to become
and I don't feel at all like I am missing out, or being passed over,
or passed by, or left behind.
I don't feel at all like I am missing out on anything,
or spinning madly out of control.

Sometimes, in delicious moments of crisp,
refreshing, blinding, clarity-
I see myself and I am happy.
Like the elation of a desert nomad who's just found the well,
it is the first sip that cures the thirst,
and reminds me I am still alive.

I am alive.
I am reminded to rejoice!

To be gracious and grateful and good.
To dance lightly across the face of this world
and throw kisses at the sky.
Sometimes in cool, fleeting moments, shaded by serenity,
I am reminded of who I am, and who I wanted to become.
I remember who I am,
and I am free.

Tracks of Her Tears

Girl-
You look like you've been crying-
You know, I saw your tears from three rows back.

Girl, you look exhausted too early in the evening-
Riding the train, crying in the rain
Girl, you look like hell.

I know that feeling,
Girl I don't know.
I have been where you are,
in between here and there,
Eyes Closed.

Girl- trying to forget the feeling
of your tear streaked cheeks.

Girl- whatever it is that has you
weeping silently
on this commuter afternoon,
I hope you shake it off-
these dreary day blues.
Girl I don't know.
Girl I know.
You've been crying.

LONE WOLF & WILD WOMAN

For a while there, I had this wild stray dog,
This lone wolf,
who'd come sniffing at my yard every so often
To lay in the grass and play with my dog
and eat my chicken and do his laundry in my basement.
He'd tell me ''Someday'' he was gonna rent us a cave,
to settle down and raise mutts in.

And I wondered how that would work.
Lone Wolf and Wild Woman take up cave dwelling
Somewhere in the asshole of Idaho.
It's almost like a Joni Mitchell song..
Made me nervous, you know
those never end well.

We'd raise feral little children
who spit and scratch and we'd tell them to
Knock it off!!
Like our parents did to us.
Somewhere in the hills of the asshole of Idaho.
In caves for $25 a month.

I wanted to tell him
Go on along without me to your cave
That's not my style.
Hard labor and my manicure don't agree
and I'm too busy dreaming about tempurpedic mattresses and sterling candelabras.
I'd only be in the way.

But everybody knows wolves and humans don't speak the same language.
So the last night he came sniffing,
I chased him off my property
for pissing on my flowers one too many times...
and he never came back.

I wonder if I'll ever see him again.

Conversation with Jesus

I saw Jesus walking up the hill,

He said, "Go on without me, I'll be here when you get back."

and then he climbed up on his cross, one limb at a time

and hung out, waiting for the return of the crowds.

And we all went back to college, 

to tiny apartments paid for by our middle-class parents,

where we hung posters of 60's icons up on our walls and

burned nag champa and drank grain alcohol til we threw-up on our tie-dyed tapestries.

Then we stayed up past our bedtimes around open refrigerators, 
letting the cold air escape, 

and discussed theories about foreign policy and oil and capitalism 

and other things we didn't understand,

and we passed the joint around until it was nothing but ash in our hands.

But me, I turned my radio up and rolled down my window

and shaved off all my hair, started calling myself Diane and

tried to go somewhere I wouldn't recognize myself for a little while.

I waved to Jesus on His cross and He said, "See ya soon."

In the fields under the Moon

trying to find myself amongst all those exploded little particles of light.

I thought I saw you in my reflection, out on the edge where the tall grasses whisper against the wind,

but you were just a trick of shadows and air.

I returned hot on your heels, like a blood hound on the trail 

and without missing a beat, ran face first into a brick wall of sorrows

with your name tagged all over it in suburban child spray paint.

With nothing but time on your hands, and me with never enough time on my side.

Jesus was still chilling, called down to me from His perch, 

"Why don't you try something different?" and I told Him 

I didn't know what I had, so I didn't know what I was missing.

He said to keep looking, and He'd let me know what happened while I was gone.

All the while the people were dancing in the square

banners flying, flowers in their hair, the band was playing brightly

and the hours wound down to nothing but fire and sparks and

me and Jesus, we were no where to be seen, but they were all still dancing in the streets.

And in the morning-after light, on our way to coffee grounds and 

The Grind, and the grim of the grin above the rim of our ugly mugs, 

We shuffle like ghosts in the mist, in the midst of what we missed and

who we miss the most. The Father, Son and Holy Rollers...

I rolled over, and pulled over, to pump my brakes and stay awake.

With a fist full of tears, I rest my weary gears.

Feels like we've been walking away for years and years at a time, 

never quite yours, and you were never quite mine.

"It was a gamble," said the thief at His side.

A couple of Dudes with nothing left to hide, I honk as I drive by.

Jesus waves at me from far away and I pull into the parking lot of my local Mom-and-Pop-Shop. 

Under the street lights, He tells me, tonight, it's alright.