Breath  the open city

Dirty and Polluted

...Home sweet home

Drink in its history

In old town dive bars

While you hear stories

Of a fall from grace

 

Caged in a crowded cubicle

I long for the sadness

Projected in the faces of the forgotten

The song of a broken man's croon come last call

 

Los Angeles

Fair Verona

Take me in

Make me yours

Show me everything that once was

And could never be

 

Here in the city of lost angels

We welcome the broken

The down and damned

Tell us your stories

Make us your history

Leave your black mark

On our dirty streets

...And never look back

 

Princess With A Pension In Peril And Thinking About Loss Prevention

Princess sailing on the dawn of sorrow

she asks:

When will it be tomorow?

When will tomorow be today?

And how long has it been...

Since We ran away?

And how long have we been...

Sailing this bruised ocean?

And how long has it been since we ran out of that feel good potion?

 

I thurst for you

Instant Gratification

I long for a little

Fornication

...Of the heart and soul

 

But your hard heart

Bound in cement shoes

Is too far gone now

So take me here

Under the watchful eye of the moon

Under the blank sky that reflects our bruised ocean

 

Become

Replace my feel good potion

Make me forget why we ran away

Make me forget about today

Bring tomorow on your lips

Confessions made between our hips

...And may the moon forgive us for this

True To Truth

"The writer must be true to truth."  And the only way you can describe a human being truly is by describing his imperfections.  It is the imperfections of life that are lovable.  And when the writer sends a dart of the true word, it hurts.  But it goes with love.  This is what man called "erotic irony," the love for that which you are killing with your cruel, analytical word."

Joseph Campbell

People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life.  I don't think that's what we're really seeking.  I think that what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive

(I said) Everything will be ok

Songs aren't just songs anymore they are the things that make me think of her.  Of the afternoons with her and the evenings of our youth.  Books aren't books anymore they are the words I professed to her, stories of love and triumph that I could never write.  Tonight I'll drive on the open highway lost and alone with my headlights out so that no one could find me, driving in the darkness, driving toward a life without knowing. 

Whatever we had or didn't should be left at that, memories that will fade and dig roots into a hollowed heart that gets harder by the day.  When I wish to remmeber I get in my cold car and drive into the darkness my only companion,... the soundtrack to the get away.  But cheer up Charlie Brown, lifes too short and your too beautiful to ever have to frown.

The Killer Awoke Before Dawn..

Painful Prose,

Is all this simple poet knows

Perhaps it's self imposed

Who really knows

Does it make a difference

Why are people bothered by such sadness

It's because they have to fake a smile,

Or because they feel the same way

Hide behind your prozac and optimism

BUT WHY BOTHER

Irish whisky and the end...

Will leave you open,

To the doors of perception!

So claim your sanctuary

...And break on through,

TO the other side

Waiting room 206

-Inhale-

-Sizzle-

-Exhale-

Take a drag of life

Chase it with a shot of slow suicide

Here in the waiting room,

Old men come to die

Their dreams and their defeats,

Haunt you.

Take them on and drown in ambition

The sizzle of your souls recognition of an end

Taste the bitter nicotine of life

Sadness as sharp as a razor and whit to match.

-Inhale-

-Sizzle-

-Exhale-

Tattoo a tear...

For every year she dosn't love you

Every year your alone

Every year you die

Every year you forget to be happy

-Inhale-

-Sizzle-

-Exhale-

Beware of the waiting room

Where young men come to die,

Where happiness becomes measured by whisky,
And drags of crumbling beauty

-Inhale-

-Sizzle-

-Exhale-

Tattoo a smile...

For everytime you see her face

Everytime she made you smile

...Everytime you remember...You're still alive