Tuesday, November 30, 2010
No expert
I have no right to tell anyone what to do with their lives.
There is nothing I myself have accomplished.
But there are certain brave truths to live through.
One would be to be no expert.
There is no God.
There is a God.
There is no freedom.
There is freedom.
Don't hide in a cloud of smoke.
Don't cry on the shoulder of faux love.
Don't pander to the lower masses.
Don't clap at the mediocre just because you're proud.
I'm no expert.
I've done all things.
I've done nothing.
I'm not jaded.
I'm not bitter.
I'm just no expert.
There
are no experts.
We all fail at all parts of life in some way.
Why not fail fully?
Why not fail with every ounce of your heart?
Else, there was just living like a coward.
I'm no expert.
I'm only a buffoon that hasn't got any answers,
Just the questions that he's perfected as definition.
No one has ever gotten it right.
There is always regret.
There is always doubt.
The key is to be no expert.
Live through truth and smiles.
Live hungry.
Live tired.
Live.
Live like an expert.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Inch Speak
inches don't becomes yards for no reason they have to be the ones that look back at you and finally say with breath so soft "its been so long since you've even thought about taking full measure for me and while you have no desire to be anything more than a passive observer to my plight i implore you to understand that an inch to a yard is much like your life to most your most to worst and your worst to all i wish you the same sort of luck you have afforded me"
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Where and When
Space is vacant from white.
You'd be surprised how that sounds.
Baby sounds mock smiles.
Youthful greed is starting to creep in.
Lamenting on tracks that have no end,
Can give you the tears that aren't warm.
You have memories for the same reason you have cans of soup.
Just in case you stop living.
The soft whimpering of the high-five days,
Comes to a close with the short breaths of age.
Mirrors only remind you of what you may have done.
It all feels so guilty.
Go home.
Warm your soul in the art of work.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
You Were Waiting
In the nighttime oneness,
Between sleep and wake,
There is this commitment to the day
That betrays everything.
With every letter
there is only one more
to not take pen
as bride nor tear the groom.
In pools of Fanta soda
there are reasons to kick
what somber men only
find in their Halloween bag.
With me you'll find
black birds and night gowns.
You'll hear lies and nightingales.
You'll be hugely disappointed.
