May 06


"Maybe I'll drive myself to madness
Spinning in circles
Don't have it figured out just yet"

Unhappiness hangs over my head
Like a cloud of black smoke
It suffocates all light
Slashing the photons with a machete
and sending sparks to the ground

My eyes are dry and full of sand
My hair is wet and also full of sand
And I know that when I leave
The chromatic cleanser of mountains
For the arenaceous islands
There won't be smoke
The air will be clear and alkaline
Yet it will not be easier to breathe

For the miserable and hopeless spirit,
Enraged with the world for no
singular, appropriate reason, shall be there
Her shadow stretching down the pier and into
the jeopardous waters below

When I leave the trees
And arrive on the beach
The brine and the smell of fried food will drift
On the ocean winds
It will prune my lips and tangle my hair
and I will walk the brick and cobblestone 
sidewalks as if I live there (I will, but I won't)

And I will miss you
And I will be driven to