Saturday, September 24, 2011


and bitterer
the taste left lingering
and harder
the callous grew accumulating
and colder
the emotions numbed feeling
and flatter
the question of significant meaning

Broken Bottles

They're breaking bottles in the streets
and shouting out their profanities as if they were words for some kind of proclamation
 there are gangs wandering
in a drunken stupor with a repressed, angry primitiveness long since remembered
they are more evolved than that
unless the bottle makes it socially 'acceptable'

they're breaking bottles in the streets
asking you if you want to know what a 'real jersey boy is like'
as if you contested or confronted that identity
mocking the television screens
and you're avoiding the sidewalks
running though people's yards
weaving in and out of bushes
which seems to confuse the hostile youth masses
as you think to yourself
'with beer goggles, I make a great ninja, and
what exactly is a "real" jersey boy?'

Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you the future leaders of America!

they're breaking bottles in the streets
cursing  each others names
spitting in your direction
soliciting sex through rage

they're breaking bottles in the streets
and when the men come
to pick up the shards of broken hearts
and inhibitions
they are made a mockery of
while jokes are passed around about how
they need to get a 'real job'

They're breaking bottles in the streets
are you dancing with them?
They're breaking bottles in the streets
are you picking up the glass?
They're breaking bottles in the streets

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


What ever happened to that?
That story, the one
you projected
the one you called a dream
That story
your life?

Have you forgotten it,
little one?
Have you been tortured
and blinded
bound and binded?
Have you been washed,
bleached and diluted?
Mixed up with
the daily shuffle?
Lost in the masses
Losing faith in your advances?

Have you forgotten,
my beautiful one?
You still have you.
That was never lost.
You still have
what it is you came and sought.
That story
that dream
that song that you sing...
You have life!
You have a day
an whether it be cloudy and gray
cold as a winter's night
whether it be rainy, sunny,
hot and bright
take it.

It's still yours.
No one else's.
You have you life
you have your day
you have your story
and you have you.
So be it.

No one else will do it for you.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Waves and the Sand

Waves and the sand
Some are cool and refreshing
Ironing out all of the wrinkles
Smoothing the shore
In perfect harmony, the waves caress

Waves and the sand
Some are frigid and biting
Violently beating up
Against the shore
With aggressive force, the waves crash

My waves could not break the sand.
They did not want to.
They could not hold it.
They did not want to.
My waves carried glass and shells
My waves carried gifts
My waves wanted to lift
My waves wanted to ride
Play and tumble
Falling waves caught by the sand
They did not want to make it crumble.

Waves and the sand
Some are quiet and placid
In silent admiration
By the shore
Lit by moonlight, the waves wait.