(unmarked craves)

My brain is a suburban dream, still swinging wild the old rock and roll machine. wanting so much not to give a shit about tomorrow it's a wonder when the morning comes and saves me every time.

Almost a pity, reall.

Because night, babeez, is the time all my shadows come alive and i can steal away in cigarettes and wine to the days i fucked like a champion. to the times i held a dying man's last words trembling in my hands. to when i was young and bristling with desire to break out and shake up everything.

Will i ever?

I think i might. i think there's a chance yet that this scrap will find his hollering come forth in flawed creation. in words that kids will scribble on the inside of their doors to remind them why it is they have to just get the fuck out there and live.

Dirty. futile. perfect.

Destined for their own triumph.

(for percy)

My brain is a sliver set over the new year.

(with tired alms)

My brain is a crack in the old guard. an inchoate niche where dreams run faster than a hurricane through drunk and dying streets.

Where the fuck am i today?

Still rooted in the ambiguity of where my heart should lay it's weary head. nothing more. nothing less. same as last night only later on in the dumb series of my consequence.

I would like to do something more in the morning. i would like to wake up and realize i was righting the world, in my small way. i would like to say that i am happy with the pitfalls and the acmes that make these nights seem so astounding and the daybreaks so fucking dull. i would like a warm familiar body to lie down with and hold, lovingly.

I can hardly remember our last embrace. i know i was quivering. before everything went wrong (openly). before the ambiguous mixture of terror and rage and pensive understatements consumed me.

I was shaking.

Too many drinks. too much hope. too far gone to call it accurately. i know i held her as i always did...as if my life depended on it.

Not that it did. not that it does. at least not in the dramatic sense of ending it all so spitefully with bloodstains seeping in the ivory.

But earnest.

For all of my madness. for all of my stupidity i know i loved her wisely. and well. as well as i could because now i know i can love her more as i grow and i change into a man more than i've ever been before (one of the pitfalls of breaking the fuck apart).

There is a certain strength within me. one i've never fully reached. an unparalleled fury of nobility that's creeping into my bones as i write this.

I am a man.

I am becoming.

Because my regrets are not the best of me (though they are milestones). my best is my passion. my love. my stunted glory that will one day come forth hollering and raze the walls of my life to shreds.

(timely manes)

My brain is the lonely going of a blurred reflection on the puddle out passed the yard where we would have kissed had things not ended up the way they did. the way they are. the way they might still be if only there was an answer riddling just ahead of me.

Possibilities.

That would be the only thing to mark the year so far. the only reason i can see from losing my goddamn mind because, let's face it, this rock and roll killing machine is facing a wall of unexpected duress as the ninety days of sorrow stumble in from the chaos of the mummers and my first weekend away from this stomping ground for what seems like fucking years.

My pic still doesn't know if she loves me. well, she might but there's a mute witness blinding that one. grandpa's lost gone the way of dementia. grandma's on her last legs. peg's gone wide and mom's a fucking mess.

My job sucks, immersed in misery and pretense at every fucking step. my asshole's an enemy so i don't think i can eat much but oatmeal and cigarettes.

And the book's still sitting here in a pile under the desk waiting for a break in the fog that'll light my fucking life like no lover ever could.

Possibilities.

Things i'd lose entirely if it weren't for my shadows. my comrades. my friends. my undying lovers who let me slip it all off in booze drenched moans and smoking travails.

God bless 'em. god love 'em. goddamn them for being just the best party even if i can't remember half a thing.

Because they save me from a life drunk on myself.