You spit in the wind
And are surprised that you get wet.
You talk through your teeth
And get angry that no one can hear you.
Lost and frustrated,
You don't ask for directions,
Refusing to pull over.
Just keep making right turns,
You'll end up right where you started.
You should get your shit together soon,
Aimless travel is strenuous;
You'll run out of gas before you know it.
So pullover to the rest stop and stretch you legs.
Use the bathroom.
Get a candy bar.
Look at the map with a big red arrow
That reads,
"You are here."

Astounded With Every New Day Dawning

Oh hey there mountain girl
Climbing the highest tops
In order to get a peak
At what's on the other side.

Wild hair blowing in the wind,
Bones stiff in the cold,
Head light in the air,
You continue to climb---
Capturing my imagination
And putting it in a jar.

Singing your songs
Praising nature and love,
But to you, the two
Are indistinguishable.

Scaling trees swaying,
You come closer to heaven.
Reaching an arm to the stars,
Creation from chaos you wax lyrical.
So spread your wings little bird
And take off to tomorrow,
For more adventure.

I'd be lying to say I loved you,
Or you had a special place in my heart,
But I don't. Love is a drill that bores,
A chisel that carves out a shrine for itself,
In which we worship each other as prophets.
But your toolbox only has a hammer,
Bashing and breaking, but never building.
So instead of poking holes in my heart,
You just hammered in a soft spot in my mind;
One you keep poking leaving me found dumb.
No wonder I'm always dumbfounded.

Hurting bad, you resent every smile that presents
A white glimmer reflecting in your eyes.
You feel those mouths that won't stay closed to be
Just another tormentor, but you don't really know
What it's like to be someone else. Consumed
by a self-centered inferno, you pay no mind
To how much others can suffer day to day.
Sure they may flash smile your way
But battered people cover bruises all the time.
It's a lesson in life only learned through experience:
Don't let on to your pain, and maintain.
What's a headache compared to a dying mother?
Some people have it way worse.
I see you fraying the fiber that composes
Your mortal coil. And the lens
Through which you see the world, is scratched and cracked,
Like the glass that holds your wine.
So propose an ear toast.
"Cheers! To our troubles, may we meet again in oblivion."
Bottoms up darlin'.

Keepsakes

Someone at the bar gets shoved and a shouting match ensues
And drunks in the back keep talking.
She tells him she doesn't love him anymore
And the band keeps playing.
The dog crawls under the porch for a place to die
And the birds keep singing.
Her heart pounds harder than anything watching her car smoke
And traffic keeps moving.
He doesn't leave his basement for a week while steeped in depression
And the Sun keeps shining.
The hunter misses his prey, frustrated he calls it a day
And the season keeps going.
A rock flying through space hits a celestial body
And the Earth keeps spinning.
A salmon is caught by a bear migrating upstream
And the fish keep spawning.
The teacher keeps talking about last week's assignment
And the kids keep slacking.
The evening news reports some awful event far away
And the families keep eating.
She can't afford to buy stamps to send her mom a card
And the bills keep coming.
The boy gets his first kiss behind the schoolyard
And hearts keep breaking.
Dad is preaching about the value of hard work
And Mom keeps napping.
The world is crying out for the attention it needs
And we keep on keeping on.

Stop.

Tired of this fair-weather bullshit (Mother Nature's too ambivalent),
So guess It's time to mosey and just maybe take a hike south,
Or west, or southwest, wherever things can stay sunny for a while longer.
It seems at every season's end, things get a bit colder. It's time
For things to dry up and get stale. This autumn's fruit has gone from sweet
To sour without warning---not even a solitary fly to note decomposition.

I don't mind the time, but you seem to be counting the seconds.
I punched the clock and broke its nose long ago, and now its hands are broken,
Not knowing it's too late for everything. So it's time for someone to trek
towards the sunset, knowing it's just going to rise again. I don't mind
The chill, I was bred for this weather. If I feel so inclined, I'll take the road
To find a better climate, but like I said, I don't mind, so I'm gonna stick around.

Take your idyllic fantasy of transience, traversing borders, giving up any home
That'll have you, and move on to find some warmth, space heaters just don't cut it.
And when you're finally out of gas, stick out your thumb and flash a smile,
I'm sure someone will give you the time of day and maybe a short ride
Down the road to nowhere. Hands always fold before my chips are on the table,
So I'm cashing out (or is it in?) without a chance for any bluff to be called.

In this solitary, rooftop coop, I take my time choosing my words,
Letting in deep breathes to steady a shaky right hand scribing the fine print.
My message crafted, I'll calm a cooing bird at its temporary roost,
Nestling its head against my softly bent knuckle rubbing its neck,
Adorning the avian leg with paper and a bow, wrapped up just like a present,
I prepare my words to take flight and reach you in timely manner.
With a hand of feed and a peck on the head I send it back to its mate.

I anticipate nothing reciprocated from this flawed system;
The homing pigeon lives true to its name, knowing only its home
And not the nests it has visited. You may read what I write
But I'll never be privileged to read your reaction.
Only hoping the bird wasn't taken by a pellet or as prey
I only assume you get the message.