On the Corner Again

**It’s time to reflect on how we got here, call it disease, call it spiritual death or a product of environment or learned behavior–it’s killing people, loved ones, friends, parents and kids. Maybe we stop pointing and start redirecting. Maybe we love people and not their decisions.
Maybe we just decide that some people’s struggles are uniquely their own-
It’s still a struggle.
Your hand in mine and mine is yours.
I will help you my fallen brother or sister.
Life is what matters, life is worth living.
I pass along my love to you.
-Tim

On the Corner Again

Hanging at the street corner one more day,
a block from oblivion, a few steps into decay.
Searching for a quick turnaround,
keep him in your mouth long enough to swallow the pain.
Parceled you a twenty, fell to the ground
ambition, a fantasy society passes down.
That twenty spot won’t last long-
and on to the next one.

A quick fix between the toes, another moment blown.
On her knees again to score an afternoon bundle, with twilight nowhere near,
or scrape some tar free,
not thinking for a moment how she got here.

Grasp the illusion of dignity,
exchanging a few minutes of relief.
Back to the corner for another round,
feeding this incessant need.

Climb a Tree

I’m gonna climb a tree, break off every branch on the way.
Guarantee myself this time I’ll be free.
The garden was dead, except that last rose,
I pulled the thorns off and lay them on the sidewalk so you could see the path,
find me stranded.
Our escape from the past.
Your bare feet, so gingerly, avoiding the thorns pricks along the way.
Save the sky, the view is perfect.
From this treetop I can see all I need.
I need you and the clouds.
I need the moon when the sun goes down.
I need safety from all the onlookers who’ll never understand.

Passengers

We’re all in passing cars like Venus to Mars.
At least that’s what they told me when I was a kid.
I stumbled upon her, she washed my feet,
from the basin with the dirt submerged underneath,
the filth of four decades and no release.
Water from downpours, now silent in relief.
Three words in union, a sentiment with attached strings,
held lofty with dowel rods, pivoting angel wings.
We’re just strangers now.
When the last hug has been passed around.
Strangers in the crowd.

Reclaim

I see your heart pulling away, or is it mine, it’s all the same.
The paint on a log, the multicolored rain. Or is this colorblind for me to find my way?
What was good for you, not ok for me too. Let this moment open a gateway to this half of a heart for me to break.
We are all habits to reclaim.

This hopeful scene plastered in a daydream, the truth, sordid and grey.
Sentiments of fallen ideals, less than real, manufactured in some false display- for you to reclaim.

All those concede, parts of you I didn’t want to see, not in line with my own faults
And the words we had shared, not past lives to bare- believe these moments as truth.

This mind is relentless, searching for heartache and sorrow well spent.
real people matter, feelings we all break.
Because birth to death is not easily explained
No more worry to project.

Lit Up

I rise and I fall,
so what.
My mind is a racetrack.
I want it all and I want it back,
so what.
I’ve been here before: flashbacks, retreat and starting over.
Not as a rule, just survival.
My mind takes off again.
And there is no plug, no light switch.
There is no way I want this as my routine again.
I gave up so much the last time I got out of the ward.
So what.

Mind peeling away the rinds and underneath I find that I am responsible for the output, and what goes in, and nothing more.