I keep looking for my destiny
under trash can lids
on the freeway
in the faces of people, I know
and the saddest thing is
none of them have a destiny
because they believe in nothing.
They were put together
but that doesn’t mean,
I don’t have a destiny.
People drive fast to get to their destinations on time
but they arrive at nowhere.
I have always been in the slow lane, in a second-hand heap
that gets good gas mileage. I have been thinking for many years…
what’s obvious, is odious.
Drivers competing in traffic for a better spot
while I cruise at 5-under the speed limit
there is no hurry before death.
I understand why
people want to be able to do
what they want to be able to do
—it’s just a repeated expression,
until the end.
Let’s say you have everything:
a southern style house,
a Steinway piano,
a super car—
it doesn’t matter, if you can’t play Wagner, like the demons from hell.
Submission to the world is a fool’s errand—so I find myself reading my bible
and it says I have idols.
I believe the bible. I also believe that living a quiet life, while satisfying to some, is worse than solitary confinement.
It’s being sealed, inside your own head, like a can of tuna.
I want to go bad.
People have resisted
to open my own can.
It isn’t about having it all—wisdom is chasing after the wind.
Have you ever been a kite, soaring above the clouds?
I sat is a board meeting, a few years ago, and suddenly
I felt superior, over the whole thing, like
this isn’t my life, only a brief intermission
in the urine-soaked seats, before the explosion of popcorn
and the adventure on the silver screen.
My friend tells me, my writing is getting pretty bad
His dad tells me, I should shut-down my blog
“What will women think?” He asked. “Don’t you want to go out on a date?”
This is a blow, below the belt, but I can’t live without words
“My blog is an expression of who I am.”
“Then, you really have problems,” he said.
How a man gets from point A to point B, says a lot about him
And what he says to others, says even more about him.
It’s funny, the echoes of my co-workers resound in my head
like dead tuna, I missed with my toothbrush
“You’re replaceable. You’re not a very interesting person. You should buy a motorcycle, rather than driving that heap of a truck.”
I go to the supermarket, and stand in line
and when I try to buy cherries, the lady tells me, “They’re 5.99.”
“Oh—I thought they were 1.99.”
“Only with the digital coupon.”
I could tell she wasn’t going to help me.
“I guess, I don’t want them,” I said.
“I’ll do it for you, just this once, but it’s the last time.” She swiped her card and gave me the deal.
“Thanks,” I said. She ignored me.
People have moved on, while I have stayed the same.
Dreams die slowly—seldom overnight. They keep us alive, until they don’t. They are like dead disappointments.
I water them, but they die, anyway.
“Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked—he is like a tree planted by streams of water, that yields fruit in season. The wicked are like the chaff that the wind blows away.” Paraphrased Psalms.
feelings break-out of the soil
like prickly plants
in a desert, where faith is tested
with no clouds in sight.
I want to be the rain, hitting piano keys
in the discarded dump
my own music—
to be that worthless piano
that somebody trashed
while the neighborhood beyond
hears the songs