For you

Thick defiance poured
from your hard jaw.
How you weren’t choking
on the rebellion
baffled me.
We stood concealed
by cool autumn air
though humid as it was.
I pleaded for similarities
while you built a wall
out of our differences.
I gave up.
You suffered.
I am half sorry.

Song of Trees

In a room of our own
With candle flames flying
Flickering, casting shadows
We danced

There was nothing happening
We were lost but not alone
Set to self destruct
Pushing forward faithfully

The hands of the clock moving
In frantic semi-circles
Turning backwards in confusion
There was nothing happening

We were in love
With ourselves, with each other
With every dancing shadow
And negative space

I could hear her singing
Though the melody
Sounded like trains
And praying children

This dance lasted forever
It ended too soon.
Eventually the sun rose
And it felt like afternoon

The light became brighter
The scene switched
We were walking in the forest
Hand in hand

We lay down on the grass
And spoke with the trees
They waved to us
And we sang to them.

My Excitable One

“I really like you.”
She said growing more orange
with each syllable that escaped
Taking me aback.

“I really like you, too.”
With that exchange
The barbie became my friend
And I learned she was a gypsy.

She chases the wind
as though she could catch it,
But instead becomes a part of it
As light and as inconsistent

When she’s consumed by orange
She is my Megan.
The girl who tells me
“Nature knows everything.”

She dances in the wind
And smiles with the sun.
She feels every vibration
And sees rainbows in beige.

I need her orange existence
Like she needs the outdoors.
For inspiration, a sense of purpose,
And to remember the glory of freedom.

First Draft Of Phantom Friends

My late teens were punctuated
with stories about you
recanted with excitement,
shaped by the biases
of my best friend.
A frequent update
of the Pensacola Boys,
even long after
the roommates disbanded.
Long after you spread out,
even still after I left.
Nearly 400 miles away,
I was still hearing tales
of your lives,
your journeys
of your accomplishments,
and your failures
both together and apart.
I swelled with happiness
to hear you were well,
and my heart broke
any time one of you struggled.
And in some way
I loved you all.
I always will.
My only regret could be
not knowing you
first-hand.

Of Phantom Friends

To broken coffee cups and lies
To undone dishes and dirty clothes
To the bills that haunted you
To jokes of paying for water,
With pitchers full of Kool-Aid.
To unrequited fascination
and misdirected lust

To whiskey and beer bottles
To bowls and charts of sin
To scribbled sketches in notebooks,
To six guitars, a bongo,
And the maracas
To post show parties
And sunday morning messes

To sleeping on your couch
To stealing Travis' bed
Waking up lost
Then realizing Pat is there
Falling back into slumber
To apologies and Red Bull
To bear-claws and Circle K

To the days of envy
And tears and fights
To Star Wars, and philosophy.
To loving the same girl
For different reasons
In different ways
To what could have been.

I hope you are well
Dry, fed, and writing.
I cried when I heard
That I would never see you again
Best of luck
I will miss you
But we both miss her.

Economy Kills Summer Season

Amidst the many masses gazing at the lies and folklore,
the decorative facades of false authentic culture,
are the people who see the structures as they are.
They are the ones who dwell here,
unwilling to be sucked into the gimmick
that fuels the economy.

Though it may keep the town alive,
the income of a tourist town
becomes the very thing that rots it
from the inside out until there is nothing left.
Until the line between truth and sensationalism
is too blurred for even the residents to see.

The nation's oldest city is dying
And being born once more commercially
As the nation's oldest memory.

Nights-City Streets and Crowded Rooms

It begins beyond the speed limit.
Windows down, faces confronted by a wall of air
that whips hair into knots and tangles.
Music pouring out the stereo
As she taps a foreign rhythm
A solo on the vinyl steering wheel.

I loved those nights
As lights and color; sounds and scenes
Streamed past our field of vision.
Nights out on the town
Out of our minds.
Lost among familiar streets.

We would wander down sidewalks
Stepping, hopping, running-
Freedom that comes with being on foot.
And the conspicuousness.
We never saw a common fellow traveler
And never thought it odd.

I loved those nights.
When drums and guitar, bass and vocals
Increased our kinetic energy.
Nights inside a venue
Inside our own reality.
Safe in a room full of strangers.

Those nights we spent together.
Chasing impulses and following instinct
I was invincible as your shadow.
We stood out without trying to
And blended into the scene with ease.
I loved those nights- with you.