mushrooms

I relive scenes
of warmer moments;
your essence drifts
through my time.
It was the same
on those mornings after drinking.
Just the same
as flashbacks
from last night's mushrooms.
Now I stare softly
at 5 o'clock sunsets
that come so early
as your sunset
in my sky.

River Drunk

Last night
I was on the other side
of the ocean,
breathing clean air.
Watched reflections
of distant shores
projected on a screen
of cool waters.
Heard a late-night train
headed to faraway places,
and drowned
in all of it.
This morning
I rise early
to headaches
and unfulfilled responsibility.

Shoreline

I saw you walking
along my sandy beaches
so I made my way to the shoreline,
but found no size 8 footprints;
they'd been washed away by tides.
I called your name
and received my answer:
     crashing waves
     ocean's sound
I realized
you'd been on vacation.
A swim, I thought
would wash away the longing
and the heat of your disdain.
Instead I found myself
drowning in the calmest waters.

Stagnant Life

With no drink
to ease my mind,
I shut myself in
and deny prophecies.
By breathing perfume air,
I sink into the past like lead
to the floor
of the ocean of time.
The still life I was living
Is now the stagnant life I live,
but really,
it feels the same. 

Ethereal Bedrooms

I'm falling for phantoms.
Romance hides away
in the ethereal bedrooms
of my dreams.
And the days
are days of bleak uncertainty
spent choking
on self doubt.
I want to burn;
I want to drown,
yet hold fast
to delusions of my immortality.

It was real this time

Sun had set
on summer
for farewells
to old friends
and hound dogs
alike.
This time
I did it for real,
then stood outside
the gas station
staring blankly
at people passing.
I wanted
to go to hell.

Like The Old Years

I had to rest
and bury myself in time.
It’s summer again,
still loveless
as it was in the old years,
before the nights
were laced
with drunken half-sleep
and cryptic dreams
that remind me
of my countless
shortcomings.

Riding the Chariot

He rides in
on his fine white chariot,
expressing glamour,
class,
all of us invited
to join him.
I climbed up
as he took the reigns,
how I wish my will was strong!
We cover vast distance
in what seems
like moments,
and I step down
from his chariot.
Turning back,
I take a final glimpse.
A breeze blows,
and his fine white chariot,
now stained black,
turns to dust
and is gone.

Musings

I saw you in my dreams last night.
I want to be ethereal.
I've seen you in wakeful hours;
where you breathe,
where you sleep.
How I'd love to be there!

I'll transcend reality
and taste of April,
hiding in the shadows
of timeless spring days.
Forgotten,
like a grain of sand
as it falls to the bottom
of the hourglass.

The Prophet

"I want to be a prophet,"
he said.
"I am not a man of faith,"
I said.
Paging through books,
black coffee
on Tuesday morning,
and I can't stop thinking
about things
that don't really matter.

He wants to be a prophet,
I want to sail the seas,
paging through days
of calloused labor
and clandestine longing,
dreaming of your arms.

He'll stand among the prophets
on the altar,
as I drink red wine
with the captain
and great kings
salt the earth.