His hardened face
–a maniacal smile as his eyes roll slightly
contrasts with my youthful gaze
His criminal record
–a long list of attempted crimes of assault, disturbing the peace, and DUI
far surpasses my ding-dong-ditching and throwing-apples-at-a-car days
His frequent curses
–marked by a tinge of satire that fills the air just as quick as it leaves it
looks for no particular response, and I don’t answer.
But then he speaks
about computers, thermodynamics, internet protocols, power grids, physics, the housing market, inefficiencies found in the world, ideas, lots of ideas
–roots in the world of problems I’ve also thought.
I break the flow of his ideas
A question burns my mind
–Is he as criminal as people make him out to be?
His frown –and he points his thoughts at me:
–Why is it that a police can punish another man
–Mark him as criminal, shoot him dead
–And still hold no responsibility over their own actions?
–Kids…kids running around the block with state owned equipment
–But it doesn’t matter what the crime is
–I’m a criminal
–And the list goes on with my attempts and my bad mouth.
I think I understand, I nod my head.
His face, his record, his curses.
Is that really the case?
I think to myself–
His face, his record, his curses
are the same as mine inside.
An award? Nonsense!
I believe not in awards —
only the stark confines of The Cage!
of typing! typing! typing!
thank you for the nomination.
I long to be wicked
I long to be mean
I long to do those things
I never believed
I long to be kind
I long to be good
I long to find love in things
like virtue and good deeds
I long to be courageous
I long to be famous
I long to be something more
than the human that I see.
I stepped on a bus
and two 35 year-old boys shout
their words spewing hate
and causing innocent watchers to move away
I stepped in a room
and two 20 year-old girls half-sleep
their eyes signal concern
the filth on the wall and their tired lives proclaim
I stepped into some clothes
and two thoughts came —
that people are sad
yet in the squalor I learn
that holding hands and loving glances
only arises from two
I stare at her face but I hold back my slap
I think to never call her but tomorrow I do
I want so much for her to scream
But the house is silent today.
I stare at her hand but I never hold it
I think to buy her presents but tomorrow I never do
I want so much for her to laugh
But the house is silent today.
I stare at my future and laugh,
the bowling ball only hits two pins
one is my mother
the other my father.
I think too much and never act,
the sirens may sing or wail
tantalize with zesty looks or blink red and light the streets
but regardless I stand still.
I want so much to live!
and I see God condemn so many men
why is it that he hasn’t pointed his finger at me?
The house is silent today,
She takes one step outside of the door
and just like that
The house is silent no more.
are the –words that float
around my head tonight
Why is that my life is always wandering?
and bridges collapse to pieces from my sight alone?
I am dancing with my shadow for the sake of; tonight he sees that without me he would also be
A man walks into a room
his eyes dart from person to person
the women around him interpret
and think that he’s surely creeping.
But enter with me –his brain
That what is simple darting
is more akin to understanding.
That which others
That the world revolves slowly
yet to humans
it revolves not at all.
The prince wants to become the king.
He looks at his old man
feigns grief and anguish
as the hired assassin plunges
into his old man’s flesh.
Thus he rises to the throne.
After many years, the prince grows bored.
He’s waged war, found sovereignty, raised an heir…
What left is there to do?
He sees himself as a warrior, fighting the holy battle,
his soul an extension of his blade
his blade an extension of his soul
he thrusts his mental blade at those he crosses.
It is not enough for him.
The coliseum is readied.
The prince walks in.
The warrior walks in.
The warrior looks at the prince
feigns a thrust of his blade
as he plunges
into the prince’s jaw.
Thus the prince asks the warrior to spare his life.
But the prince is no longer a prince.
He is a warrior.
So the warrior waits for the prince,
to shed his skin and stand up.
And then he isn’t.
A blade, thrust through his belly
an extension of himself, marks the ground as red
and so the prince dies and the king rises from his grave
to thank the warrior,
to re-take his throne,
from the prince who was once a king.
All that I am.
All that I was.
All of these things, I can let go now.
It seems bizarre to me that the world holds all its mementos in people.
Its existence is dependent on us, for without our perception, would the world even know itself?
How much we suffer for this perception, but how much we are able then to enjoy, to live, to truly live.
Such is the gift.
Such is the price.
Such is the nature.
Of all things.