pity

when i cannot express
those deepest of feelings,
expect me to deflect
and instead opt for pity.

for i cannot share
how i truly feel,
i forsake help
in favor of attention.

yet i can admit it here,
i hope you dig deep enough,
uncover the poisonous root,
and eradicate it.

i am not special

i am no different from the others
to whom you said you loved
and gave your heart unto
as you did with me.

true, i may be different,
perhaps i am nicer,
or possess some quality
you've come to desire.

but unique i am not,
so i implore honesty
and beseech you thusly,
to please not pretend.

you lie next to me tonight
while thoughts of doubt
swirl in the air around us
spreading uneasiness.

your past has caught
up with us again
as is its habit of doing
when all is going well.

repressive emotions
bear physical weight
as if pushing down
upon my soul.

our fingertips touch,
i wonder if you're awake,
and pull my hand away,
confirming the accident.

doubt supplants certainty,
answers become questions,
thoughts of who i think you are
dissipate like our love.

cocktail

i've come to despise the winter,
how the clouds darken
shortly after i'm released
from the daily monotony of my job.

i return home, yet it is not one
bustling with laughter of children,
nor of a warm meal to share,
or the closeness of another.

i collapse on the couch as the
wind howls its way inside,
the technicolor flicker of my tv
the only noteworthy stimulus.

crushing them all up,
prozac, paxil, zoloft,
swirling the powder
into a glass of whiskey.

i succumb to the numbness,
let it wash over me
just like the howling wind,
a soundtrack of my life,
in what i'm hoping is just a single.

I decided while I was in the shower to use some of her bath soap she left over. I think it had the words Desire and Love in the name. I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard the phone ring. I snatched my towel and raced downstairs to answer it.

She was standing behind the counter, twirling the phone by its cord in one hand and the spare key I gave her in the other.

"At least we know it works," she said, coming closer.

"Ever heard of trespassing?" I joked.

She smiled, leaned in, and sniffed.

"Mmm, you smell like me," she said, and kissed me.

1%

I lean back in my reclining sofa,
full-grain leather, Indian import,
and light up my 90 inch LED to the news
only to see protesters out on Wall Street.

They've been camped out for weeks,
speaking out against financial inequality,
slamming rich people and their fortunes,
pissed the fuck off... at people like me.

I won't tap dance around it, I'm well off.
Attended Harvard Business on my father's dime
Graduated top of my class,
before being sniped by a consulting firm.

Now I work 60 hour weeks, if I'm lucky.
I get up at 5 a.m. each day, drive to Starbucks
and order my usual over-priced beverage
alongside whatever breakfast treat catches my eye.

When you have this much money
you don't think about how you're spending it.
In constant search of comforts and higher quality,
there's no price tag on having the best.

So the 6-figure luxury BMW I drive around?
I do it for the 15 minutes it takes me to go
from my driveway to my office -- as a sweet reminder of
why I'm working myself into an early grave.

So yea, I'm rich, and eat at fancy restaurants
when I can find the time and hire someone
to clean my place before I get back at 8 each night
just in time to kick off my Gucci loafers and watch TV.

My blood pressure's also 140/90 and I'm exhausted,
all side effects of a high-pressure job that involves
multi-million dollar deals and pissed off CEOs,
livid at the idea they need me to fix their company.

It's true, I make in a month what the middle class
manages to amass in an entire year -- 50 grand or so --
and I go through it just as quickly,
filling every blissful moment of personal time.

But that guy making 50 to 60k who gets his raises
a thousand dollars at a time over 40 years?
He's probably happier at this very moment,
despite what some pissed off folks on TV say.

escape

inside you have routine,
familiar faces and activities,
an expectation -- if ever so dull --
of what tomorrow brings.

once outside it's nice for a year or two,
you can enjoy the sun and sky.
but losing an edge breeds complacency,
and to survive you must be paranoid.

emotional bars replace physical ones,
as you're forced to abandon loved ones.
you come to the soul-crushing realization
none of your dreams will ever come true.

the pain inside comes from know you can't,
and outside from knowing you never will.
it's true i've busted out,
but i've gained anything but freedom.

café

the two vieillards sat at a café,

having a heated argument,

the matter of which was trivial,

something you probably wouldn't understand.

suffice to say one was winning,

punctuating his every remark

with another bite of Stella d'Oro.

a French biscotti you've probably never heard of.

like a storied Musketeer of old,

he eviscerated his opponent's rebuttals

and took a sip of his dark, dark roast,

not as good as my own, but perhaps decent on its own merits.

the loser gave up in an ugly display of frustration,

and it was then i just could not help myself.

i deftly grabbed my home-brewed coffee, walked over,

and proceeded to tell the winner why he was wrong.

intra-

we have lost touch with what matters,
opting instead for the cheap thrills,
instant gratification at entertainment's mercy,
constantly seeking the next digital narcotic.

life has transformed from a survival game,
to one where we battle against boredom,
seeking to fill every second of our lives
with a dizzying array of stupefying stimuli.

so few now practice introspective thought,
that which provides self awareness and humility.
meditation, even at its most basic, is withering,
and with it our sense of global unity.

how can we understand the world,
when we barely understand ourselves?
how can we begin to talk to others,
when we've yet to talk to ourselves?

i-85

my memories play in slow motion,
when i think of our time together,
small details become vivid,
a strand of hair on her face; her laugh.

driving my old pickup down the interstate,
her bare feet on my dash,
burnt orange of the sunset at our backs,
wind filtering through cracked windows.

george strait saying for us,
what we couldn't say to each other.
we were the picturesque young couple,
fumbling in ignorance, yet innocence.

for there is something to be said
of the process by which we each learn to love.
some only have to go through it once,
while others, like me, must endure loss.

night walker

walking late at night
through my complex,
i make stories for people
based on the lights i see.

for i surely won't peek
in their window;
my gazing -- nay guesswork --
is done from a safe distance.

a living room light on
at 11 p.m.? mom or dad
works late; the kids
were kept up for dinner.

flashing cool, blueish lights
radiating from behind blinds?
a single someone, to be sure,
waiting to be taken... by sleep.

dim lights flickering from
the whirr of an overhead fan?
surely it's two lovers, wrapped
in each others arms, safe, secure.

when i get home i ritually turn on
the tiny lamp on my nightstand,
just enough by which to read,
and wonder what another thinks of me.

frenchmen street

cacophony of sax and trumpet
waft through the air
like a wonderful smell,
but pleasant to the ears.

steady hum of life,
a slight buzzing, vibrations
that reach inside you,
like an oscillating soul.

involuntary tap of the feet,
wagging of the hand
to the beat of the music,
the succinct syncopation.

i stop where i am and look;
i see inebriation, but also
a kind of willful bliss,
for which ignorance is not to blame. 

indeed, some people come here
and can simply 'get' it.
while i'm all for new experiences,
i'm not sure yet if i'm one of them.

betrayal

i let her inside where none had been before,
sharing the deepest parts of myself,
any semblance of privacy removed,
any notion of filtration purged.

she settled on my heart
like a bird in a nest,
only to fly away, away,
at the first sign of winter.

bitterness and anger replaced
her love and warmth and kindness.
toxic thoughts of self doubt
transplanted those of a bright future.

in a fashion others would deem tragic,
i secretly always wished this would happen.
a broken part of me simply longs to hurt,
to be destroyed so fundamentally.

my only solace comes from the day
when she realizes the gravity of her betrayal,
and exactly what she's thrown away --
and how grave a mistake she made.

a single leg hangs
over the side of the recliner,
dangling -- back and forth --
in sync with the grandfather's pendulum.

ticking down the minutes,
until the pain finally stops,
his face fades from memory
and her heart begins to mend.

a blank face and unblinking eyes
gaze transfixed at her
out-of-focus leg, going back and forth,
before she falls asleep.

staring out the fifty-fourth floor window
of a tokyo skyscraper as the rain fell
and wet the streets and people below,
she pondered what would come next.

the only light a small lamp,
sitting on her office desk,
offering just enough of itself
to faintly reflect her melancholic expression.

how small my own problems seem,
compared to the dilemma she faces.
how silly were my trials of yesterday
when juxtaposed with hers.

my confession

the temptation was too great and,
knowing the consequences,
i proceeded to do it anyway,
succumbing like only a weak will can.

i devoured everything in sight
and overturned rocks
to try and glimpse just a peek
behind the curtains.

what i saw now horrifies me,
haunts me with images and
plagues my waking moments
with what was better left unknown.

the aftermath has been brutal,
rocking my emotional foundations
and leaving me doubting my life,
where previously there had been only certainty.

when i needed you

here i am, when i need you most,
and you are nowhere to be found,
silent and incognito --
deaf to the pleas i'm screaming.

this might be another time too many,
the one that ends it all for me,
sends me spiraling downward
into a deeper pit of despair.

if only, is what you'll say,
if only you made the time,
if only you had realized then,
all i wanted was to talk.

the others

you had so many others before me,
who treated you like a simple fuck,
some fun to pass the time,
and i guess it hurts you felt the same.

it means so much more to me,
the connection, the intimacy.
but you lay on your back for them,
even when you knew it meant nothing.

it wasn't that you were cheating
in those years before you knew me,
and yet i can't help but picture
the lust you held for the others.

it hurts more than you'll ever know.

vultures

they surround you on your death bed,
like vultures, circling above and
hovering -- ever hovering,
waiting to swoop in for the kill.

spouses and children,
their children and so on,
each additional one
serving as another grim reaper.

even in the midst of it all
they think of themselves,
their own mortality,
when they look into your eyes.

two words

it's actually kind of funny,
how two words saved your life,
kept me from finding where you live,
and putting an end to your life.

for make no mistake about it,
if only i knew them,
i'd track you down
like the dog you are.

i might opt for harassment first,
slashing your tires, or perhaps,
making your life a living hell,
before revealing myself - the one behind it all.

oh yes, i would become a gun owner
and make weekend trips
to the shooting range --
if only i knew your name.