It was salt water.
That was the start of it,
The first piece that rose to awareness;
It was salt water that I noticed,
With utter calm,
And now I know,
The pressure within my chest,
Was a bubble of air, a captive breath…
But there was no care,
Only now I know, but I may not,
And either way, it matters not.
Really, come on,
Just admit it,
Pretend if you want,
Lie to me if you can,
Humor me in my hell if you have to,
Just for tonight,
Agree with me…
Say, “It`s all the same, it matters not.”
I am getting excited now!
Few people I’m sure-
Probably more, but let’s aim low
For the sake of modesty-
Have found enjoyment
In my ramblings and rants,
And intoxicated pupils
That blatantly put on display
The drugs in my system…
“This will be a long piece,” I mutter,
“Piece… a long piece of something,
But not a poem,” I remind myself,
“Not a poem…”
Surely I have learned how to play,
Practice and perhaps pain,
Made me poetic over the years,
And of course, reading never harmed.
I don’t read as much anymore,
Not even close;
This might be what nurses
The strange sorrow I feel
From time to time, in my solitude;
Perhaps, this is the reason,
Why I go astray,
Stomping in an emptiness
That I’ll call my home…
Maybe… no, not maybe…
I’ve always preferred the word, “Perhaps,”
But I can’t let it be,
Not here, not right now,
Not when lost…
Turn around a couple of times,
Look back from where you came,
Where you feel that you were;
I was saying something.
“This will be a long piece,”
I did say that.
Now I say, “Don’t go back to read.
Just think… what were you saying?”
IT was a dream,
It all started with salt water…
But it doesn’t matter now…
It was salt water.
You will learn sincerity,
One day, it’ll be there,
And you’ll use it with your eyes,
For now, just practice laughing;
There are veins of humor
In tragedies on TV,
And people’s names are funny,
If you say them long enough, repeatedly,
As you jump like a monkey,
From branch to branch,
In your canopy of tones and shades,
And all voices you can muster;
You yourself are funny!
I remember a mirror in my childhood,
A bathroom, in which I stood sobbing…
As soon as I saw myself,
The walls of laughter caved and I burst,
For I look funny when I cry,
Also I’ve come to learn,
That fake laughs can make one laugh,
So tell me, what is what..?
I wish I was a poet,
With a hold on my poetry,
I wish it was like the sincerity that I’ve learned,
That I carry with my eyes…
I wish poetry was available all the time,
Like the powders of my past.
Fist clenched goodbye,
That I read years ago perhaps,
Tickling the sides of my sight…
Sober two days…
The bartender said, “I’m happy;
Nothing like being a Jew on Christmas…”
I must’ve laughed,
But then again,
I open doors for no reason,
And words are there,
And paper’s cheap…
Sober two days…
Where were we?
Thoughts weren’t put out yet fully;
A few dialogues were rising still
Out of the crystal core of our evening retreat…
The ashtray a mess, sure as hell
My eyes were red.
I can’t seem to place it though.
Tell me please, where were we?
There are way too many balconies in my memory,
And mountains rising and falling,
That might know the secrets as to why I ran,
As to why I lied…?
There is a mountain fox in my memory;
I only saw him once,
But trails of his feces, many times…
I’ll go out of my way.
I’ve come to learn
That reading can numb one’s pain,
But I’ve ventured with drugs as well.
And music; well, music’s a must!
And I happen to be with an incredible woman…
Revolving smiles of chance,
And bubbles that are nothing,
But might be everything…
She’s an incredible woman,
Everything else tends to follow.
She had a lot of names to keep track of,
I had always admired her body,
And now, her voice…
I wanted to ask her,
What it was that she was after…?
What provoked her…?
What put her to sleep…?
How the world treated her..?
And how it was that she seemed so alone…?
“Can I have another?”
Is all I managed to say,
While raising the emptiness in my glass…
No equator of self…
No night complete,
No fear known…
How nice they are to me,
These souls and breasts that’ll never know my fantasies;
Here and there, when I am seen,
When smiles and randomly thrown at me…
My soul has a sun,
But no equator of self,
I stumble into surprises in the mirror every time…
And seduced by substances,
I sacrifice sleep on certain nights,
Watching the irony linger,
As my sincerity and selfishness,
Walk hand in hand.
My knees are weak,
But my heart loves to run;
Jesus could best describe what it is she does.
I don’t mean to mock the man,
But he would know.
Somewhere in this trip of mine,
There has to be written fruit,
I’ll try not to harm the trees,
But who is to say what the moment shall bring…?
Who is to say…
Who will I be…?
Make yourself feel better,
When your character brings you down,
Or turns on you, and makes you nauseous,
And when the nearest toilet is all that’s on your mind,
And as near as it is,
It’s nowhere near as nauseous as you are,
Even though it deals with a lot more shit.
Regardless of the world and all revolving piss and shit,
It’s all about you, so make yourself feel better.
There are papers around
That can distract you of all the ups and downs,
That make you sleep in, or stay up…
There are people who carry you without you knowing.
Smiles out there that I’m sure you’d love to meet.
Things that you’re used to,
Some things that your insides call…
There are pleasures that are toxic,
But let us say that we bring that out in them.
You may not like them,
And that is fine,
We’re all different,
And that is lovely.
Once, I got high, and learned patience from a tree,
Then I stared at a pair of seagulls fucking.
That was the first time I laughed out loud all alone…
Well, maybe not exactly,
But it was the first to stick;
It stuck with me…
Will you do the same?
If I could turn this cocaine drip into a poem,
I would declare tonight a good night.
Warm by the window,
Wondering, where that siren’s heading
And who might die?
Will a sentence suffice?
Can a poem save my soul?