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. 

. . .