the way that I need you
I hear it. I fear it. I wake up at night to get near it.
I sleep it. I dream it.
I don’t even have to reach for it and I feel it.
And I stare off into the darkness
and make it real.
And I’m heading’ back into the lightless streets.
Nobody wants to need it
the way that I need you
I need it. I bleed it. I open up my eyes and I see it.
I wish it. I show it.
I don’t even have to think about it and I know it.
Walkin’ down the street with you
And take it in. And button it up.
and I’m lightless in the darkness
I break it in.
and nobody wants to know you
the way that I know you.
But if I’m afraid of it,
what should I make of it?
when I kiss your cheek and I’m
made from it.
I touch your fingers and I crave it, in the
frozen winter of night,
on the beat street, what should I take from it?
I let it win.
I let you in.
I wait and I wait
and I wait
for you to come back again.
In the cracks, in the racks,
of the books in broken stacks
In the window of the shacks
I don’t even have to look at the snow
to see my tracks and watch
them come back out of sight to disappear
in the lightless glow of the bow, below the
moonlight to know, and show
you
the way that I need you, when I’m
So close to you
So close to you
So close to you.
Spills
Well, here I am, 2PM What day is it? ~ a Jack Kerouac haikuI’ve been watching it rain for about half a day now. And I got up at 6AM just to play a bit of piano before I had get outside and be a real human being. I’ll say. But let’s just wrap that up. Because being a human being just ain’t all that captivating of a reality some days. But there I am at 6AM and I got my new pup curled up at my feet. It’s gotten colder in here. My radiator couldn’t fight the drafty windows any longer. The cold just spills through the cracks. It’s just too cold. So I put on some extra socks and make a pot of coffee. Spent a few minutes just pacing around thinkin’ over some of my dream that is still givin’ me my first perspective on the day. I was out in the city. Middle of the road inside a room
where the walls were made of glass. And I could see out the yellow lines painted on the pavement. And all the people walking by. And no one could see me. I was just in a room and I realized it must have been made of one way mirrors, and that’s why no one could see me.So I moved around from the piano to the bed and back again, fighting that side of myself that wants to sleep. Sleep ain’t no good. Not on this mornin’. I’m gettin’ the hell out of here. And that’s where my head was at as I sat there on the piano bench. My fingers are as cold as the windows. My mind as sensitive as the keys. My oh my. And everything just spills.
golden light of the sunset
These shorter days are beauty to me. Winter dusk. The sun falls low to the horizon before my mind has a chance to try again. The day is done. The sky is swept clean. The golden light of the sunset just above the tree tops and the valleys and swallows the black of the land. No second chances today. No giving back. Just take it. No giving yer self away. I’m standin’ there last night, lookin’ out at the magenta sunset just wonderin’ about nothin’ in particular at all. Just standin’ and starin’. At the big bright golden sun hangin’ in its final moments of another day. Another chance. Another halo. And inside I’m going mad. I’m going clean. And I’m going forward into the night like it’s another chance at a dream.
Lyrics from I’m gonna change yer mind
flowers bloom at the break of day
flowers bloom just to break the day
I will wish you away I guess
I’m gonna wish you away
my city burns at the crack of nune
my city burns just to crack at june
I will miss you away I guess
I’m gonna miss you away.
I can’t give you what you need
I can’t give you what you need
I can’t give you what you need
this time
I’m gonna change yer mind
the lights are so bright I cannot see
the lights are so bright i cannot see
you there
without me
falling leaves just climb the dusk
falling leaves in a cloud of dust
I will take you however you rust
I’m gonna take you away
the lights are so bright I cannot see
the lights are so bright I cannot see
you there
without me.
A fog day
I woke up. It was Sunday. A fog day. I let it get away. I let it slip from the tips of my fingertips.
I make a terrible living.
It feels great. Most of the time. Cars pass by.
I’ve been in love with you. I have.
It feels great. Most of the time.
I make a terrible waffles.
But I make them for you.
They taste terrible. Most of the time.
Doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I do.
It feels great. Most of the time.
To be a terrible waffle maker. But I do it
over and over again.
(cough) My pup is curled up against the white painted cabinets. He
is asleep on the painted blue hardwood floors. He has found his corners
in this house. He does it for me. He’s a restless sleeper, and
he’s constantly moving all over the place in his bed.
We have that in common.
We both can’t sleep at all. This love. This life. This world. Always
tossing us around. This world.
It’s for something. It’s for something. I swear it damn it.
After all. This life.
I am sure of it. It was for something.
I woke up. It was Sunday. I let it slip from the tips of my fingertips.
I am a terrible mess.
But I make it that way
for you. It may not be just the way you like it. And.
It looks terrible. Most of the time. But
That doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I do. And
It feels great. Most of the time.
Can I tell you something?
Can I tell you something please?
I have terrible clothes. But
I dress my best for you.
I look terrible most of the time.
That doesn’t mean my hair don’t shine.
Doesn’t mean my eyes don’t shine.
Doesn’t mean my teeth don’t shine.
I feel great. Most of the time. Even when my hair is a mess.
Can I tell you something?
I’m a terrible fighter. I am. I shouldn’t fight at all.
I should just sleep all night through
with my eyes closed. I fight my best in the afternoon. Right after lunch. That’s when
I’ll take a punch. I fight the way I dance. Terrible.
I love to dance. I hate to fight. So I’ll take a punch. But I won’t give it back to you.
Most of the time. But around you,
most of the time, I’m just trying
to be cool. After a fight,
I’m just trying to be sorry.
I’m a terrible fool. I am. Most of the time,
But I do it my best. I do it for you.
I may do it terrible. But doesn’t mean
you don’t have to do it like I do. Most of the time. You
do it your way. You do it
however you want to. I just happen to
do it like a fool
when I’m around you. But at least I do.
I am a terrible thinker. I am. I shouldn’t even be allowed
to think these terrible
thoughts. However beautiful they are.
And you are in them. Most of the time.
You are when you say you are. And how happy you are.
Most of the time. I shouldn’t be allowed to say.
Most of the time. But
I do.
I watch the bird
follow the plane
and the plane follow the sky. And
there I am. I do not know why.
But I do.
Old Shoes
Old Shoes
May be the exceptional man can change direction in midair, thread the needle’s eye, and come out whole. But even the hero who stands up to chance has to feel how far the world will bend until it breaks him. ~ Lawrence Raab, The Hero’s Luck
Yesterday’s blues get
chewed up like old shoes, and in
with the mornin’
howls the silence of the fog
sleeps late, wakes early
everything about this mornin’ is makin’
you look more purty.
I’ve been burnin’ it, my dear.
long and dark as the night
It wore me thin
but as much as our hands grip tight
I let it slip. But now I’m lookin out
and holdin’ on to you again.
I got this feelin’ that goes through
my body, all the way from my thoughts
to my toes. And with me ev’rwhere
it goes. Hard luck. But getting luckier. And even
good company knows
when their trip is done. It’s done.
I gotta be dreamin’ again
I gotta be dreamin’ again
I gotta be dreamin’
Reservations – Dead Flower Motel
Dead Flower Motel is a little motel I found out on the edge of the dark forest. It looks like a beaten down mid-19th century saloon house. It’s way out the far side of town. I bought it. Beaten down by weather, the wooden siding was splintered and broken. The patio planks were split and very dangerous. All of windows were broken. The shudders were cracked and hung by weary nails. But the front door was strong and under the mat I found a big skeleton key.
Inside, the plank floors were uneven. The little bit of carpet that was left was frayed at the edges. Plaster walls were cracked. In the parlor I found a great big 150 year old grand piano set under the stairs. I walked slowly up to it and played a note, and a calico cat jumped out of the box and ran away. The narrow wooden stairs led to the bedrooms. There were 4 fireplaces. In the kitchen, the ceiling tiles were beginning to fall to the floor. A few old pots and pans had been left out and rusted. I looked out the window at the garden. The vines had grown over each strong pillar on the deck and stonewall around the garden. But they blossomed the most beautiful trumpet vine flowers. A small brick walkway led through the garden to the fountain.
I have decided this house is mine. It is where I will live. I have begun tearing out the old carpet and using it to build shadow boxes to display my photography. I have wired the candelabra and turned it into a great chandelier. Dead Flower Motel will be available for your listening ears in early 2010. Reservations will be taken at the start of the new year.
travelin’
“My fault, my failure, is not the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.” – Jack Kerouac
So you’re a poet eh? What kind of things do you like to write about? Where do you find your inspiration in this world? Where do you look? When I was a child, livin’ in Wyoming. I watched her fingers trace the stars. As if her dreams could be seen at the end of her finger tips. And I looked up at the stars with her. I saw her thoughts everywhere she pointed. I saw her life in the grooves of her fingernails. She would whisper as she leaned into me, and I saw what I was supposed to see. And I didn’t even really have to look.
So you’re a traveler. Where’ve you been headin’ these days? I’m not just talkin’ about getting’ aboard a big old jetliner and flyin’ cross the ocean. Traveln’ ain’t just a physical thing. It’s a mental thing. In it you can get really really lost. And the hard part about being lost when you’re travelin’ in your mind is that you’ve got no real way of askin’ for directions. You’ve got no chance at findin’ a map. You’ve got no one that knows where you are and no one can tell you where you are going. Because for the kinda travelin’ I’m talkin’ about there is no map. There is no way to get where your goin’ without traveln’ on yer own for a while. There is no way to swim to shore when your drownin’. See. So all this traveln’ is really probably one of the toughest things of all. It’s a little different than ridin’ around with a fat wallet, a ham sandwich, and a Starbucks. It takes a lot longer than jumpin in a jet for a cruise and gettin’ a great view of the seat in front of you.
I’ve been changin’ up my schedule these days. Been gettin’ home a little earlier and wakin’ up a little earlier. That’s what’s getting me here to write this way. Probably soon, I’ll begin to unearth all the late night words that I’ve written over the last few years on my typewriter. And I’ll pull them out and pair them up with all these 35mm photographs I’ve taken along the way. And I’ll have a little reflective thing. And I’ll know that I’ve traveled.
.
.
P.S. 7 days til the new doc, “One Fast Move or I’m gone” on Jack Kerouac and Big Sur hits the theatres.
