Where I want to get to

You,

you are
always,

always
where I want
to get to.

But how?

How
do I stop
this eternal getting there?

Something
in me
has the process off.

Like I'm going far north in December
and all the way back south in June
and can't figure out why I'm cold
every time I stop at the ends.

You are
always
where I want
to get to

and when I finally make it to the couch for a show we're both into
but not enough to not be into each other
I think I'll stop walking then.

I know I'll stop walking then
stop then for as long as I can.

But still every time I get there
one of us is full of the outside world
or too tired from it
or too into some anything other.

What a thief life can be
or us too.

Never enough to go around to fill everyone's hands
never enough to fill everyone's hands.

Taking from here
or there anywhere
to keep each other barely going thing
going.

You are
always
where I want
to get to

and for all the times
you find me not there when you need me
know in all the mess
that I am on my way.

rise

a
rise
cheap
in the thousands of mornings
thrown to the bed side

dirty
laundry
never comes clean
after too many onces over

laying there with my mornings
on the floor next to the bed

a
rise
lifts this time
no more
than a brow

where
the fuck
is that phone

a
rise
for not,
as silence
gives back its presence
and no message rings in to break it

battery
and the hope
it will last
leave some peace for now

a
rise
somewhere
out there but not here

sleep
takes back
what consciousness could not
and 'll bury it or spice dreams

good bye
this me
until I rise
anew

Falling short

How remarkable
the distance and space
we have placed between us
within these walls

how hard it is to spot
exactly

but summed up
so perfectly
in the slight pull
away

of a shoulder

about to be touched

on Friday night
with the kids in bed.

How a little shrug
can show
just how
how far
we've gone

instead of how far we've come.

How alone
together can be
when day after day
is not meeting in smiles,

but frowned expectations,
even those falling short.

Here we are
responsible
but dying
all
the
same.

All we wanted
was happy
when left
much simpler than this.

Still here
wanting to be loved
and find it in myself
to return.

To return
and offer more
but tired
is the overwhelming tide
I can barely tread.

Like Wood Looks

I feel like
wood looks
in the grasp
of 20 years of sun
and rain,

dead but full of character
and shades of grey.

Nailed flat
and obedient

to posts
snugged eternally in cement
sunk in a further embrace of earth.

I hold the cards in the house above me faithfully
but for how much longer?

All the righteousness we were born into
seems dirtied
if not outright
thrown in the gutter.

Truth, we never had it,
just existed like we did
in the absence of reality to set us straight
beautiful bliss are times like those, but never real.

Here comes the horrible bright light
sun over earth
always rising
despite any thrown stones.

Here it comes
here it comes sun over earth,
sun over all that befalls us
the day still has
a going on that is
always.

Back into order
I go.
Nailed flat
and obedient
but intact with my own grain.

My own fingerprints
and parasites
twisting the view a bit.

Twisting out a minor
different
new way
to look
around
where I can,
and share what I see
and how I record it.

Colored
by all the sun and rain
that taints my feelings
unique.

This sharing we all do,
this is what
makes all
new or different enough
to go on,
and not fall
tumbling
down.

Little Deaths

Little deaths
hoping
on balance
I use them well,
creating ground for as many births.

Looking for
many new starts,
not to their end.

But really I fear
the doors I see
whether open or closed
lead to now solid walls.

Little deaths
falling here and there
some for good need
for one over another.

Hoping I've got the scale
set right.

So hard
to know how
to weigh anything with so few
books setting me loose.

So many holding
me down
and in place
humble,

as I should be
but not completely
right.

Little deaths
eventually
lead us to an end
or rebirth

no matter how
hard we try to follow
or avoid

can't
stop
being
what
I am.

But can loose
a little piece
here

and replace
it there

to get
to
a new
where.