Doot doot doot

Music,
how do you do it?
I'm going along
doing just fine
almost on cruise
I haven't touched the dial
or noticed a DJ
my thoughts flow in and
out
mirroring your beat
the ebs and lulls
cast little effect
and then
a chord is struck
my throat chokes tight
vision waterlogged and
stained
not a shade of red or yellow
nothing so vibrant or bright

Book Keeper

I need you to know, now, that you've done a real number on me.
The evidence is died in ink-
my pages are frayed, and worn, and tattered for all to see.

It's not fair, you know, that a new page should have a stain.
Fresh, and clean, and ripe with possibility
shadowed and cluttered- tarnished.

Tearing pages would have helped-
if it had been done at first, and quickly.
To have ripped the tape from tender skin
may have avoided this scar.

The deepest, richest, most vibrant
Black.
Piercing, tender, nurturing
chocolate Brown.
Gentle, smooth, life-giving
Mocha.
... to say nothing of the unseen.

If only you could see through my eyes...
If only you could feel with my heart and hands and skin and soul...
Then you would begin to understand the way I feel about you.

Mis Compas

You're tall
and you used to wear some fuckin' ugly pants
yeah I look up to you,
not like I would an older brother
and
not in every way.
You're almost always right in your advice to me
but couldn't hear yourself
advise.
You do what's right
like I do
but for different reasons
no less your own
than mine are
I've learned.
You're looking
I can tell
and I am too
you're my better part
a gravity to stay close to the sun
though you wish it were The Son

You're short
I laugh
you laugh
you fall down
I cough
the craziest memories
intentions a null factor
never judging
nor expecting
never more than I am
never less
ever faithful
ever supportive
with this skeptical cynical bite
to every word
keeping me safe
keeping me
you're good inside
though you feign to admit it.

You're my blood
you've been there from the start
always my backbone
always my crutch
my strength
you're the air to smog ridden
Terra firma
if more were like you
the world would be much less shitty

Be Advised

This realization has my head spinning.
Which way is up, are my feet on the ground?
Blurred vision has never caused me to see so clearly.
Where do I go now?
Please don't hand me a compass.
To let this ruminate may bring the only sanity in all my years
-though I will long to fix, repair, compartmentalize.

Murder

I am the victim and the witness
doubly, at my own crime scene
I can smell the scents
and hear the shouts and moaning and dialogue
though I was never there
I am haunted by the memory
and the imagery
though my eyes never saw a thing
Would I know the killer
if I passed her on the street
or feel her gaze as she sat nearby
sipping whiskey at the local bar
I am scarred from this you must know
though a hand was never laid on me
I need to let this go
seek counsel
join recovery
get away from each piece of evidence
and this has nothing to do with me

Running

My feet ache, and throb, and pulsate.
I can foresee, and envision the blisters
and the scabs.

My lungs are lined with gasoline
the burn is so intense that my peripheral vision
is closing-in and darkening.

With each step I take
the problem is further and further behind...
ever there, existent.