Growing

Learning the land like a Lover's body.
Paved trails through the woods are museums to nature
Stand silent, surrounded by branches and all that which claims them and you'll see what Grand Central Station was modeled after

I often mistake that hollow feeling for a sense of Zen
Being empty is important
Being empty is being open

A cup must be filled up though so you can transfer that liquid
Water/Gold/Thought/Idea/Knowledge
Quench Someone's ill thirst

Empty has never been synonymous with serenity.
Constant transitioning along the paths we've chosen and continue to choose.

Backs to the Female, facing the Male

Zen for the price of a cab ride
When it's not an open bar but it's free to all with currency
Getting Women more drunk than they truly think
Plan B is in the back of my nicotine obsessed mind
A to B to C only makes sense
But what exactly is that?
The vibrations of humanity and disorder
Resonant frequencies
The drums beat into existence
Always walking a fine line between Zen and being numb

Pain and Pleasure

Female voices carry in a newborn spring breeze
They pass by me with briefness, like leaves continuing their journey to nowhere
A Woman with a voice that sounds like She's given a blow job or two in a movie theatre before

Our existence is a series of brief and fleeting moments
Episodes of coming and going
Leaving is easy but returning proves to be the more difficult action

A lot of people waste their time and life concerned and worrying about juvenile questions like:
"Is there a God?"
"Am I a good person?"
"Will I be happy twenty, thirty, forty years from today?"
These people don't see or know themselves, let alone what passes through their senses

There is no Right or Wrong
No Good and Bad
All that exists is Input and Output
Only Pain and Pleasure

Full Moon

On any night where the moon hangs low and full, there is an urge that pulls at some Men's hearts. Especially after a few drinks. A desire to leave society, run naked through the woods screaming for no other reason than being alive. An appetite to destroy themselves and anyone within arms reach. Figuratively or literally. The transformation is not physical, but still leaves one completely unrecognizable.  On any of these nights, look for the man with his gaze fixed upon the sky.
The next day in the shower the hot water hits the back of my head, where my neck and skull meet, soothing the remains of any primal intentions left over from the previous night. That "day after phlegm fueled cough" only a smoker knows begins and I discharge tar and mucus. Probably the most satisfying thing that I'll do all day. The hot water runs down my body, making me feel somewhat human again, while outside the bathroom window birds can be heard. Winter is coming to an end, listen to those birds. Washing my face, the stubble feels rough on my hands and reminds me that I'm no longer a boy but a grown Man. "Goddamnit act like it." I think to myself while trying to remember if I wronged anyone last night. I don't think so. Probably just took advantage of a sympathetic ear at the worst. Outside, the cigarette smoke travels through the air quickly as I puff away some of the headache. Listen to those birds. Watching some teenage kid deliver newspapers to the houses surrounding this one reminds me of doing the exact same thing as Her at that age. Walking through this neighborhood, delivering newspapers, listening to sad songs on my Ipod, thinking sad thoughts. I was damned from the beginning, but listen to those birds. Winter is coming to an end.

Within Arm's Reach

Let us toast to whoever's closest
Drink to our identical desolation
A centrifuge
Holding onto each other while the room spins around us
Exhale me from your mind's body when you can no longer take the suffocation

supernova

A dying star's last will and forced hand is to kill you too.
One final attention grabbing display of radiant desperation.
I will destroy entire plains of existence to gain your attention before my eventual downfall.

Life Imitating Art

Foot resting on the reflective pole lining beneath the bar, elbows planted firmly in front, posturing inward towards this fountain of youth counter-weight. This space that I rent for the price of a bottle is my own. The man next to me, eyes forward and baseball hat down seems to be in a similar situation. Close uninviting body language, but not in a hostile way, more of a remote and  non-relatable one. We share this unity in separation. Two distinct Islands off the coast of each other, longing for the mainland.
By about the fourth drink you start to no longer care that you're sitting at the bar by yourself, staring at the wall in front of you. Penetrating eyes mildly glazed over from a combination of boredom, booze, and tears. Staring past the brick into matter and waves, where they meet and disperse. Leaving me looking at everything and nothing all at once. The true artist has that sweet spot, the perfect balance of madness and brilliance. Mind the pulleys and weights carefully, a gallon of water weighs eight pounds and so does a gallon of Whiskey. Stay centered lest you run the risk of falling into complete insanity or staggering boredom. My essence becomes aware of itself hovering high above the bar and slowly drifts down, returning to be imprisoned in the slouching figure. Elbows planted in front. "A great exodus outside to smoke a cigarette is just the thing needed", I think while making my way through the smiling faces, having prolonged eye contact with them all causing their expressions to damper. Outside, the January air causes the hair on my rolled up shirtsleeve arms to stand on end. Eyes skyward, the north star focuses on me while I exhale and my soul drifts up as an offering to the Godless heavens.