My Soul One

I’ve been thinking lately about
the few years of my life that I spent
searching my spirituality for
meaning:

the late night walks on empty roads with the moon and the clouds…

the evenings at home with my journals by candle light…

quiet walks in the park by the lake at sunset…

the afternoons in my backyard with the sprinklers and fresh cut grass…

where does this searching begin and end? how can we measure our journey?
what truths can we rely on? and of our experiences, how does each translate
into our interpretation of this spirituality?

it does seem futile
in retrospect
through this small bottle of vodka
that there could be any hope at all
for any of us.

yet, there must be a God
somewhere
as we crawl like ants
through this big picture of religion.

but let just one of the ministers
or priests
or pastors
or monks
or any of the spiritual leaders
break this terrible cycle once

and you can have back your faith
and your beliefs
your gods
or God
or demons
or whatever.

break this terrible cycle just once
for me,
so that these dreams can end
and these questions can be satisfied,
and I will take your beliefs
and I will make them mine.

Parking Lot Mishap

I had just graduated high school
and was trying to figure out what I was
going to do to pass the time.
so I found myself in a bookstore one day
exploring the current pop culture
and I grew tired of that,
so I decided to leave.

I got into my fairly new American car
and began to drive through the parking lot to exit
to the street.
I took a turn (that put me into the right of way)
and before I knew it,
a brand new foreign car darted out in front of me
passing through the lane I was in.
fortunately I was going 10MPH
and stopped short of slamming into this car.
my bumper nudged into the driver side door
and put a small circular dent into it.

I was furious. didn’t this idiot know to yield?
I got out of my car, and she and her son got out as well.
the very first thing that she said was, “I can’t believe that
this happened. this is the second time this week.”

her son said that he saw everything and that I was surely at fault.
the woman asked to exchange information
and I
stunned
said O.K.
and we did.

about a week later
I got a call from the woman’s husband
asking when I would pay for the repairs.
I kindly said that there would be no need as hardly any damage happened
and that she was the one at fault.
we argued for a bit about it, and then I said,
“look, your wife said she had also been in another accident this week.
she is not a safe driver. she will probably cause your insurance to go up.
I am not going to pay you a dime.”
he had a few more words with me and then hung up.

unfortunately I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,
but
his wife had caused the
accident.
poor, stupid
asshole,
he just didn’t get it.

Listen Here

it’s not enough that
a poem is written or a
song is
recorded
or a story is told.
what I have learned is that
what is ultimately important is the method that it comes out or
the journey that was taken
to create
it.

now listen here,
as I have written
poetry
music
stories
life.
this life
it will break you
and your desire to do all of this
will destroy you.
you see,
I do all of this
because there is a fire inside of me
a voice
that breaks through
the mundane
listless life.
I am crazy and
angry
and to the point.

and it is not enough that you can just write it.
it must break you as you hit the keys.
you must debate whether to share the truth
or let it slowly die in you.
you must drink and hold your gut
as the words develop
and your creation
unfolds.

listen,
you can create and scheme and
sell it all to the masses,
but what is truly done here
is what happens as you travel through the hell
in you.
this art, you may think that you can tame it or
send it out for the
perusal of others.
but I leave this poem here for you
against the odds of your suffering self
to put it out there
your life
as you have lived it
as only
you can
tell
it.

Morning Tenure

I’m waking up
as the sun is coming out
and I feel like saying
to hell with this,
I’m going back to sleep.

I’m having thoughts of
getting a job
and finishing this music
and writing poetry
and doing something worthwhile with my life.

be it as it may, these thoughts surge in me,
they electrify my will.
and I ask myself: how can I deny this motivation?
how can I withdraw from the grasp of my debasement?
how?

oh, muse, you are a tormenting motivator -
to take my soul in your hands,
to bring out in me the dignity and the humanity,
to cleanse the vanity and ignite the creativity…
and this could be a dream.

yes, a dream brought forth from my better mind,
breaking away from this alcohol abuse,
scratching and suffocating
from under the surface
of myself.

I could murder myself and hate myself and amuse myself
and think these thoughts of being cruel,
when so close as it is, outside this glass window I can see the morning sun
rising in pink streaks of light against the clouds,
and a peace of mind could be so reachable, to tease me -
it could trick me.

and then now, to roll my naked body over,
letting the sunlight color the room,
all of it a burning fondness, and to some extent piercing,
to realize that I am pitiful in the dark
wrapped here in desperate blankets,

and holding in my mind, just for a few more minutes:
this light is not so bad.

So Many Days

so many days
so many
days of
sitting and staring at a little screen and
making something of myself in
code and logic and trying to
escape it all.
the world would never see it and
my friends would never see it
or my parents or my
peers.
but I wanted them to know
that I could make something of myself
in it -
that I was a master at something.
and I was,
in my own light,
but it has gone now
like a diminished candle
as the days have brought new technology
to us all.

these days
yes these
days I
am a user of it all,
making my way as I need it,
taking from it as I need it.
I have nothing to tell you of it now
as you have plenty of it yourself.
now the world is the burning candle and we are all
connected to it.

this glorious technology
this glorious
technology
a product of spent days
of mechanical souls and
digital minds.
I have spent my time with it all
and I am fine with it now
just sitting there and humming
ready for me
when I am ready
for
it.

Directions

my pregnant wife and my son were waiting in the
car
as I hurried into the gas station to buy some cheap
wine.
lately I have been thinking about integrity
and what makes a hero out of a man
and what I’d do if I got an opportunity to help
someone.

well, as I was waiting in line to pay,
I saw a man in his sixties
wearing a winter coat and thumbing through a book of scribbles.

as the cashier was ringing me up
he said in his thick middle-eastern accent, “hey, this guy needs directions,
can you help him?”
I shrugged
and then listened to the lost fellow attempt to tell me
where he wanted to go.

it was obvious that something was wrong with his mind
as he had seemed to forget where his home was
and he kept thumbing through his book of scribbles.

people came in and paid and left.

time could have brought in new moons
and shift changes.

yet, as I stood there listening to him, I remembered my wife and my son
waiting for me in the parking lot. I needed to go.
then my wife called me on my cell phone; to be polite I didn’t answer.

but I wasn’t solving anything with my questions and his
answers,
so I said “good luck to you,” and exited to the parking lot.

my wife was leaning out the car window and said,
“what took you so long?”

“oh, there’s a guy in there,
I guess he’s lost,
and I think there’s something wrong with him. I should go back in there
and help him. what do you think?”

she shook her head. I got in the car and we drove home.

my wife needed help getting her and my son up the stairs to our apartment.

I guess that guy might still be driving around
looking for his home,
but I’ll never know if I could have genuinely helped him.

I guess I’ll have to leave the hero business up to the
heroes
tonight.
and I’ll have to convince myself
as I drink this cheap wine
that tonight it’s o.k.
not to care.