Something about Summer.

sent me reeling,
into words, more words,
as I tried to put
a finger on that feeling.

. . .

Lies. but not all of them.

Maybe you already knew
Maybe you haven't a clue
either way, it's true.
I confess I do. I lie.

If any comfort,
It's not just you
keeping you company,
I lie to myself too.

. . .

Aren't we?

The Universe made us.
All its children.
then became indifferent.
All just bastards.
Frankenstein's monsters
running around in chaos,
trying to convince ourselves,
otherwise.

. . .

Communication Gaps and Rude Humans.

Life came to a standstill,

when there was a rumor at the mill,

about a parrot at the zoo,

which could not only talk, but talk back too.

People went in droves, to see

with own eyes, truth to the story.

Stood around the cage they asked,

in chorus, What's your name?

It only asked right back, 

What's your name?

Disappointed, they left.

Bereft, The bird idly thought,

of communication gaps and rude humans.

. . .

One Ticket Traveler.

If I got off here in the middle,
at some rusty old station,
The train would still go on,
to find its destination.

For, I'm just a one ticket traveler,
Status, Confirmed;
From Station;
To Station;

Going along laid out paths,
to mapped out places,Where,
countless souls have gone before,
countless more will follow after.

One ticket travelers, like me,
have got no thrill.
They've seen this tale unfold,
they know the drill.
Yet, for weary cues they wait,
watchful still.

Like they don't already know
the end of the story
is sealed in bold
right in their itinerary.

May be Frost had it right all along.
I've just been travelling wrong.

If I got off here in the middle,
at some rusty old station,
The train would still go on,
to find its destination.

For I, no more a one ticket traveler,
can only find by myself,
if there is, for me,
waiting in the woods,

A road, not yet taken.

. . .

When I see you.

By no means,
does my heart skip a beat,
when I see you.
As a matter of fact,
It picks up a beat or two
and thumps hard, as if trying,
to break out of my chest
and tell you first hand,
All the things I won't.

. . .

The last time.

The last time I lied,
was because I didn't want to get out of bed.

The last time I cried,
was watching The Incredible Hulk.

The last time I laughed,
was a particularly bad knock knock joke.

The last time I saw you,
there were butterflies inside my chest.

. . .

A Reason.

not to stand still,
in a world that works in circles.
or never fall apart,
and pick up the pieces when you do.
to make the middle seem worth it.
to move on and keep moving.

to go to sleep at night.

to wake up the next morning.

. . .

Keeper.

Like everything else, this was trivial.
knowing that, I kept it at heart.
Secret. Safe from the world.
Hoping one day, I'll meet someone,
with the same reverence,
for the elegance in things trivial.
When you have to swear, not to laugh,
so you get to hear, a secret or half,
You are already not worth the cause.

. . .

Financial Crisis in a Nursery Rhyme.

Smart guy Bob,

started a small shop,

for little boys and girls

to eat lollipops.

They ate and ate,

He started charging more.

They ate and ate,

He built another floor.

They ate and ate,

He kept building floors.

They ate and ate,

Until one day, he said no more.

To the great dismay,

of little boys and girls,

Smart guy Bob,

shut down his shop.

They say, to this day,

he sits on the highest floor,

counting his lollipops.

. . .

She said. He said.- A One-Act Play

EXT. BALCONY - NIGHT.

Unnamed female lead comes onto the the balcony. <duh!> but only after Unnamed Male lead throws pebbles at it from the the garden below. <again, duh!>

UNNAMED FEMALE LEAD

Would you go with me,Romeo,

to the end of the world?

UNNAMED MALE LEAD

Why the fuck would anyone go,

to the end of the world?

How the hell do you even know,

where's the end of the world?

If you do know though,

Shouldn't we maybe tell people?

instead of using it,cheaply so,

as yet another romantic ploy?

Also,don't call me Romeo.
and I think your neighbors 

called the Cops.
This was a terrible idea. 
We are over.Bye.

Unnamed male lead exits.

< THE END. > 

. . .

Now Playing.

New ink.Old book.
Summer rain. Coffee shop.
Winding walks. Piling work.
Library. Yeats book.
Crap food. Cheap beer.
Late days. Long nights.
Aimless thoughts. Cold showers.
Rushdie. Angelou.
Fight club's second half.
A guy who runs,
to Beethoven's Ninth.

. . .

Window in time.

When I cross my hometown
not stopping to say hello,
too busy with my new life,
One lighted window,
of my old dorm room
takes me back in time,
to when I used to sit
amid bored nights,
On the other side
and stare at the blur of life
over the freeway right outside.
Now,as I whiz past it
without yet saying hello,
can't help but pause and wonder,
Is there somebody
staring out my window?

. . .

Never stood a chance.

Had you got to me little by little,
I could have stopped it,may be.
Thank you for coming. 
Good bye. The end. Full stop.
You came at me full steam ahead,
hitting me like a train instead.

. . .

No.

I won't clam down or take it slow.
'cause very soon it'll be time to go.
I want more,I want to explore.
trust me, I'm not an alcoholic,
but sometimes what you need,
is to drink wine out of the bottle.

. . .

The first step.

Want I can deal with,
not pay any heed.
What do I do now?
I am helpless. I need.

. . .

Embittered Atheism.

What more proof would you need

to see beyond all doubt

that there is nothing else,

no grand design, no divine being,

than the fact that we have no purpose.

If we did have a destiny,

if there was a plan, isn't it a pretty fatal flaw,

that none of us can clearly see

whatever the hell we were supposed to be.

. . .

Souvenir

When you leave a place,
you take something with you,
a piece of it, a souvenir,
to remind you to remember.

When you look at it and reminisce,
what you really miss,
is not the place, but the piece of you,
that you gave in exchange.

. . .

Things fall apart.

Guess it's better late than not at all,
but I should have learnt this one,
right when Humpty fell off that wall.
Things that break stay broken.

Doesn't matter if I regret or repent.
no matter how much time I spent,
to put it back together and pretend,
It's all whole and nothing happened,

The cracks just stare back and mock me.

. . .

Dreary deduction.

The tight clenched knot in the middle of my chest,

told me what could always make me feel the worst.

Get to me first and foremost.

Regret was a strong contender.

I considered guilt for a while.

But what won out ultimately,

Causing the heat in my face, 

my pulse to race, and my head to drop down,

was what I knew all along,

but for good reason, too ashamed to accept.

It was, as if reiterating to me how shallow I am,

embarrassment that got me first and best.

. . .

Written drunk; edited sober.

Drinking in broad daylight,

it isn't right,

but that's not enough a fright,

try hard as we might,

to save the vodka for the night.

We craftily hide,

drinks at our side,

and take it in stride,

when people, eyes open wide,

say, it's still bright outside!

No message here, to sink,

no chain of events, no missing link,

no greater good, of which we think.

no edge, no view from the brink,

no one cares, we've got a drink.

Don't bother with thought,

do another shot,

drink a lot, drink till you're hot,

smashed as could be got,

sober poetry, this is not.

In the end watch closely,

see it all go off key.

As words escape me,

I let everything be,

and drown myself in whisky.

. . .