Pages of old

In a book upstairs - lives the pages of another life. 

The sweet joys - of days along the ocean and diving in. They remind me of all the year before this plagued one - and what can startle a late season. What getting lost and (totally) renewing really was. When tired was a compliment and toast to you. 

Swear it smells of long late drives home with the windows down - reaching out to everyone   - clearing our minds from crowded bars, circles of laughs, and “turn it up!” tunes -  so we could hear heartbeats and waves, till noon tomorrow.

I’d find close whispers and busied streets of traffic and hugging friends waiting - jokes long quieted and hungers still on the horizon. Worries of what never came. I’d remember every clever kindness, stumbling funny accidents and fast plans of my people - and I’d falter at the ease. 

I’d remember better, all we’ve put on hold. Or I have. 

So it stays closed - any romanced pages - like everything else of this whole damned time. It lives a room away and almost forgotten - like you and the miles between - here and the ocean.  

It temps an opening read, a new glorious page of entries - in tired evenings from return. It might tell me to get in that car and drive back. (It definitely will). 

     To fall into sands again.

     To start the band. 

     To have a Sunday like we planned. 

In the car going nowhere - just watching the ocean move. Letting the world be elsewhere. Dreamin’ on what should’ve been - and movin’ and groovin’ to happiness. To opening up and running down the street - and finding us all again. 

You (sweet past) have become the memory of what was - the benchmark of what ended. The waiting line to start the dance, the drink I should’ve stayed for.

. . .

Last plane to Boston: oldie

That's the last time I'll board that plane - 

When you're waiting in Boston to fill the time. 

When you're drafting another elaborate fable - 

And destroying the real - of its fantasy - finally. 

Leaving me again - and last - 

reminding me why I left. 

So unravel yourself so many nights - 

in damn memories, long gone. 

You're drinking in years lost - at a pint's empty swoosh - 

and tellin' me I'm the wrecked one. 

Tellin' her everything in the world is true - and hers - 

and wandering every night just doesn't count. 

You're aching for "different" in broken habits of regret - 

and lecturing philosophy found. 

So what's that "gut" gotten you? 

Choosing settling and goodbye - every time. 

Harden whatever you desire  - 

like that city, that you cant leave. 

Live in concrete rules - and let it ring. 

Make believe in boring. 

It's always just too cold - and you don't know why. 

But me - 

I'm swimming in the sea beyond - I'm under the Salem moon -

Giving you the woman I was to keep. 

Treasure a ghost - and hold her tight. 

She's not me. 

. . .

end this world tonight

In every thought before passing time -
that long slow time we're in -
I think of the sweet pulsing smell of a crowded place. My cherished passionate places of best adventures and long exuberant nights.
Of words I've said before and spells I've cast with dwindled time.

I can feel the dancing rhythm of a collective crowd; the spotlights that guide you sideways -
and the easy embrace of everyone around and with you.

Like so many of the places that I've left before, I try to conjure it vividly in my dreams
and empty mind - I try to go back.
I try to breathe passion in, like a recipe of memory.
Swirling the rocks in a whiskey drink
and remembering a time when all was happening.
When yearning was an appetite of joy - not a curse of silence.
When chasing the night and the mountains of someone new was bright escape - and free hope.

Now we threaten one another's safety - and we tempt the limits of our rules -
and we dare one another to give up rather than give in.

So I think of the freedom in becoming myself again - in undoing years of companies & regulations. To just be again - adorned in jewelry layers and barefoot soul.
Wandering to the roams of wolves within my wilderness -
of books & stories & long ago people that survive.
Because we can survive and become.


But for the first time in a decade's pass at growing up - I'd like to burn fences again.
I'd like to risk a tragedy with you - and get lost in the ending world of two -
loosing time from the outside.

Leave with me to imaginations - and make another song to sing.
So that in the next dawning of ages - we'll remember a little story that we were.

We'll forget it all, I know - and we'll walk back to what was.
We'll never be - but we could see,
the sunrise in each other's arms.

We could do all the plans of suffocating into flames.
We could smell the crowds together for just a little while.
We could end this world tonight.

Let me be this death of you.










. . .

Shut down

It’s hours after the world has gone to sleep - that I worry about it. 

It’s in the dark dawn that I lie awake and feel fear. Fear that Rome is burning, that hope is running, that after everything - there’s still only you calling me - and yet you’re gone too. 

Despite the chaos, and all the goddam building I’ve constructed - it can collapse that easily. It can be shut down and shut out - just like that. 
It can pause the life just had - when it was everything ahead.
‘Cause wasn’t I - just waking up easy next to someone - after chasing late hours and new songs - where only ludicrous hangovers were our immediate danger. 

Weren’t the worries passing by and the plans ready to play? Weren’t we kissing in the bar and wonderful... The last night of feeling, fading into quarantine. 

Now where have we woken to?
 and where will we next? 

I should be the poet of a masterpiece - I should rush the romance of the reservation. 
Create the worthwhile proof of an artist trapped inside the world. 

I should blink awake with a new feeling of future moves. Then again - I’ve sent those moves already too. 

And nothing changed.
The sun still stone, the winds still moved - and we start counting the days like never before. 

So wake the dawn we must, 

Bar the windows and hunch against the horrible storm of here. 

Pray for surviving, for passing over, for beautiful resurrection to joy again. 
We take the day and count the lessened blessings. 
We breathe again even when it stutters. 

How Id love to be looking back in a bustling restaurant in summer with you -
I can hear the noises, taste the shared wine, and smell the air rich with adventure and suspense - 
How we dream of tomorrow now - with such clinging need. 

So let’s grip it. Let’s dream on that instead in every midnight -
Open up and ready the change. 
Let’s make every moment out there again - everything we have. 
When we can give and touch and leap again. 
When the world re starts. 

. . .

What about Forever

So many times with you I’ve wanted to jump. So many times I’ve walked up to that big oak Church door - and paused happily -

I’ve knocked and heard the silence. 

I’ve run and heard the music, of us. 

When you talk of forever - 

Hasn’t that always been me for you babe? 

Haven’t we danced around the (text) messages - and kept promises of friendship - 

All to keep the years together? 

Maybe I just put it all together. 

I know I’m quick to decide while you take it lovingly slow - 

I know I rush you - and you baffle me. 

I know your words before you say them - 

And I know your tune even in memory. 

So take another slow dance with me and skip another heartbeat. When I tell you how they said forever - let’s think before we leave. 

Then we’ll tell another story - ask so many questions, and start the day 

“Like we were then” again. 

I’ll keep every kiss, love every change, and wake every morning - 

Knowing we chose right. 

. . .