Uh... sad.

La la la
My weary soul sighs out a song
It echoes up through dusty lungs
Climbs a ladder to my tongue
And pleads with it to please be sung.
La la la la la
My weary feet tap out a dance
Hips swivel sexy sexy pants
And for once I'm more than mortal man
I am Don Juan, lord of romance.
La la la la
I close my eyes
And sing this song, and what surprise
My voice sounds like a cat that died
And all my fantasies subside
At least I can say I tried.

The gazelle

Run free! Run free!
Forget about me
I don't want to be a tear on your cheek
I don't want a sigh to be uttered for me.

Run free! Run fast!
Don't ever look back
Look towards your future
A smile and a laugh
Don't let my dark face ever color yours black
Love would never bear to hold your heart back
Love would never bear to see your heart sad

Ebola of the tongue

The taste of love
Is the blackest taste on your wretched tongue
When it's a song that can never be sung
A blissful sweet melody never to be hummed
Is it better to know that taste
And be constantly haunted by its memory?
"It's better to have loved and lost..."
I may just disagree.

What blissful dreams we have...

I lay
Languid
Floating
Face-down, then face up
In a pool of warm brown coffee
Soothing
The light from a disco ball
Shining shimmering on black walls
And from the black ceiling falls
Sleepy music that does nothing but calm
And then you are here
Black bathing suit, pony tail hair
I lay back and float like despair
Wait for your backstroke to beckon you near

The bittersweet dream

Passion
Imprisioned
Heart beating inside my chest
Blood flows up my neck
Into my brain
And there breaks the chain

Bittersweet

I dream of you
Sweet sweet dreams
That will never come true

untitled dream poem 1

Sparks fly in my mind
Out of my ears and under my eyes
Oh how divine

But suddenly it quits
Like a candle stripped of its wick

And my eyes open in this dark world.


Memory, imagination blend like coffee
And what is produced is much more delicious
Part remembering what love feels like
Part pretending that it was between us

And somehow the world feels so cold
In contrast to my coffee soaked world.

Spike the punch

My bed smells too much like me
My lips taste too much like my mouth
My eyes know too well the mirror
While all the while I'd rather be staring you down
My mouth knows too well the frown

My heart knows too well the beat
It's been laying a somber march for years
What a tired old drummer he is
But oh what new music his ears yearn to hear
What sweet funky bassline he longs be near

This life's like a junior high dance
And I'm sick of dancing alone
I suggest we go spike the punch
Let's do something to break up the flow
Ripple and ripple and what do you know...
Maybe we've found what we were looking for.

A drunk make-out session behind the gym door.