Soulmates

You and I will never die
but it’s better to kiss ghosts
than live a lie.
Tricks of youth wonder,
flourished in mind.
Your flush and my hold
a card game of cat and mouse
never growing old.

Ahh, but what am I without you, my dear?

We’ve come too far to give up now.

Shed my skin, this generic pause
Leafing through pics with no purpose at all.
I’m becoming, you’re drifting
it’s simply a means to an end.
My soulmate, my love
my only one
who I’d die for, because

We were meant for greater things.

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.

Wake You

I can’t replace you, no matter how I try.
Staring at the ceiling, tracing every line.
I can’t escape you, no matter what I try.
I’ve been here a thousand times.

I can’t wake you, with my last breath of air.
Staring out the window, no one’s even there.
I can’t escape you, no matter what I try.
I’ve seen it a thousand times.

And I just wanted to see that everything’s okay,

but I don’t believe a word you say…

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.

Small Victory

The inevitable spring. I saw It today.
Knew it would come. We could sneak away.
A moment. It will come again.
Until the new wave strikes,
bitter quarreling lovers in a knife fight.
Part of me saw light,
the greatest weapon is love,
polished the stars bright. Each one brighter than the last.
The peace of the world which gently persists.
Sprouting forth undeniably into cherished moments,
a small victory, another day won.
Seated on the edge of oblivion.
The rain drizzled gently from an open sky,
and I smiled as she drove away.
Life, a series of moments.

Transient

I can be a transient lover to you.
Stability, security, override what you feel.
Eventually my act gets tired.
Songs embellished in your name,
I don’t know what’s real.
Forgiveness is.
I owe myself a few more mulligans.
Nothing rhymes with mulligan.
Except restarting.
Not really.

I don’t blame you for wanting out.
Happiness is a dollar sign, no time
for silly thoughts, these words of mine.
McCartney was right all along.
No amount of prose can replace structure,
fidelity, coarse in the hourglass.
Rubbing you, those last sloppy moments in bed.
Sand stuck in your bathing suit.
“Fuck me” still hanging in the air over my head.
It felt so dirty to be with you.
Transient love spent.
My well-meaning “goodbye” sent.