USER FRIENDLY

reality is just a crutch for people who can't handle drugs

Robin Williams   

we watch with sad eyes

as the seagulls fly above us

and the once wicked waves waver 
then flat-line in quiet introspection

the storm has ended - over

but the clouds still linger lofty
grey sheets passing passively
in a dying day

it's this feeling - a memory
and an impulse that returns

alone

she gave up long ago

believed there was no hope

that no one could save her

that no one cared

but weather can be deceiving
sometimes hard to predict - unfair

because when we can't see very far
there remains no signage
no signals

nowhere

and we miss that sliver of sunlight
in the shifting tide




U S E R  F R I E N D L Y

 

 

GETHSEMANE

when I can't write
I feel like a block of stone
dreaming alone of nothing

a boat without eyes
for the oars
and no horizon



G E T H S E M A N E
 

 

nothing to lose

music evokes pictures

pictures provoke feelings

one thing leads to another and ...
here we go - always at 5 am
  
a deaf woman sitting alone

looking out a window

an all American boy filling his face
at a hot dog eating contest 
champion eater - 3 years in a row
51 dogs - 10 minutes

a beggar in the garden
of Gethsemane holding up
an empty cup
staring into the night
no one listening
his last night
on earth

caroling crickets

a mother calling out her son's name

only to realize he's gone
in anguish; "Aadish come" again
no words left behind
no trace

hearing it - now seeing it

years passing
a trailer park just out of town
in Cabot Arkansas
 
she's been alone for days
big bag of Lays and another beer
at 1pm

ashtray is full and the place is a mess
staring blankly at the TV (fuming)

plus size house-coat

eating and screaming at Springer

because that f*cking bitch
needs to die

they're bleeping the sound but we know
what they're saying - filling in the blanks
reading their lips
 

turn them on each other

it's something my Dad taught me
watching you through my sterile scope
analysing - improvising

curious - cautious

me with money - you not

common and yet ironic

because I can see you

but you can't see me
because I am your


micro-manager

something still not right 
looking over my shoulder

you see - it's supposed to be
the other way around
it's ass backwards

confused

I'm bathing in bubbles

surveilling the dark shadows 24/7
and still there's this haunting feeling in that

you're not afraid

but I am