Brother John

There’s nothing here
Just a clear puddle of water
The help won’t arrive
If we wait for it
There’s nothing here
Just a blank expression
On my person
Barely moving, but still moving
I’ve hardly ever gotten anything right
Or maybe that’s my
Self-devotion
To self-doubt

This world is real big
I’ve read the almanacs
I’ve seen the atlases
I should know my way around by now but don’t
And when the help comes
Will I be waiting
Or will I be trying
To be this broken machine but back together
Best to leave it to the pros...?

I’ve read all your books
And they were all good
But they made me feel bad
Is this really how you view life?
A never-ending attempt at suicide?
That goes through the system
When you least expect it
Some outer limit lottery
Where everyone wins
Just at different times and places

I’ve been dead before and many times
I was re-surfaced
Yet all this time I still only have
A tiny sliver of confidence to my name
And not even to my real one
But something I made up when I was bored
And wishing I was with nonexistent friends

Ghosts fill my house
And cloud my vision
My soul is with them
But my fingers still reach for a pen or pencil
And scribble gibberish
All over the clear water
That I walk over
While talking to them

The ghosts have more of a sense of humor than half the human race does

Computers

If I had the time
The will power
None of the consequence
And a really big hammer
I would smash every single computer in the world

The Big Book

I wish I never read bukowski
Wish I never knew the burroughs of the world
It cuts away the harbinger
It screams disillusionment
I wish I never knew endowment
Now that I take it all, arms wide
Whatever
The library gets bigger
Every time I visit
And there’s this book there
At the top of the shelf
But I’m not quite tall enough
To reach it yet
Even with a ladder

Love

I walked awhile
Then sat down
I saw the pink dog piss on
The red fire hydrant
And wondered why
Of all this time
It took so long to write my epic

I ran another mile
Then sat down
Breathing heavily
My heart beating heavily
I wondered where people went
Before the outhouse
I’d trade adventure for comfort
Any second of the day
See the street sweeper gone his way
Okay, I take it back

The windows on these buildings
Are all mirrors
You can see from the inside
But not the people hiding in there
Sometimes it can make me feel like
My life’s on trial
But then I come down to reality
Or my version, I should say

There are a million subjects to write about
So how come it always has to come back to one

Baked Alaska

i don't get the point
beside showing off
my ice cream tastes just as good
straight from the carton