Alone together

We were alone together
Two survivors stranded on an isolated isle deep within the ocean of humanity
Neither of us ready to admit that we needed each other
Tried so hard to pretend the other didn't exist
Until it became painfully clear
We were alone together.

We are the 99%

(written during the Occupy protests, originally supposed to be a hip hop verse)

We are the 99%.
And the people that make the cents,
can't afford to pay their rent.
Now try to make sense of why they're bleeding us dry,
the minimum wage stays the same but inflation's sky high.
Sometimes it seems I'm barely eeking it by,
just a nine to five guy seeking a slice of the pie.

It's not the 1800s, now none of us are free,
thanks to Condi, Mitt Romney, George Dubya B.
The Patriot Act stole our civil liberties,
pulled the rug from under our feet and dropped us to our knees.
And the Federal Reserve is as Federal as FedEx,
and I'm fed up with their corporate greed and excess,
we expect less of a return on our investments,
when their recklessness is the reason we're in this mess.

The President's promises of providence promote opulence
provided proper pennance is paid to placate the populace.
The problem is, prospects dont seem prosperous,
politicians pilfer our paper to pad their pocketbooks.
The pompous pricks appear to protect public property,
while privately pushing to proliferate public poverty.
Probably a ploy to make people practically panic,
now the proletariat passes on the power, just how they planned it.

Skye

We slept, supine, beneath star-speckled skies,
her hand in mine, fingers intertwined.
As fingers dance across my palm,
she hums the tune, I sing along.
With our bed of earth and our blanket of stars,
no lights from cities, no noises of cars.
A gentle caress from the warm summer breeze,
while grass roots grow grass roads, next to skyscraper trees.


Falling in love under a full moon on a fall night,
it's orbital glow bathing us both in pale light.
As we inch closer I can feel her heart beating faster
but mine is as well, so what does it matter?
As we gazed upward, through time and space,
I recall the wonder of her face.
Her childish grin, her sparkling eyes,
looked to belong to our star-speckled skies.

The Woods

I miss my childhood.
Fond memories of walking in the woods on crisp winter days, the only sound the crack of twigs snapping underneath my feet.
A deep breath... the smells of cedar, birch, and cool country air comfort and surround me like a blanket.
There was work to do, there always was. Raking leaves, picking up sticks.
Between trips I'd wander off to explore a spot I'd been to dozens of times yet somehow always felt new and exciting.
I miss my childhood.
Awkward first day of school photos with too-new clothes seemingly tailored for someone else, that I hadn't chose.
Who was I trying to impress? Besides everyone, of course. Trying too hard to fit in, like a square peg wanting to fit into that circle slot.
Learning the social structure in short fashion. Being  unfashionable = Crawl space of the cool kid clubhouse.
Still...
I miss my childhood.
I wish I was as excited about anything as most kids are about everything. Sticks were swords, couch cushions created castles, and grass stains were a daily occurrence, because...
Outside was beautiful. Outside was clean. Outside was opportunity, potential, and unfulfilled dreams.
I grew up outside of the city, and I'm so grateful that I did; because I experienced the beauty of nature as a kid.
What is it that erodes that lust for learning? The burning questions I'd ask my parents, like, "How fast is the Earth turning?" I wish I could recapture that hunger, that yearning...

I miss my childhood.

Casino

If it wasn't for all the sound, it would be deafeningly quiet in here. The beeps of slot machines, oldies music, idle chatter; all white noise, a veil over the air of desperation that lingers throughout. In this place time does not exist but as a memory from Before. You'll find more illusions than a magic show and more crushed hope than a high school kid denied a date by the girl of his dreams.

The Clock

Late nights laying in bed.

Floating in, and out of, consciousness.

Listening to the tick tock, tick tock of the clock.

The soft pitter patter of rain on the ground like babies feet.

Breathe deep. Breathe deep.

There is something missing, a great something.

No cars, no voices, no television or radio.

Brought back to a time before these things,

when there was only time. A clock.

A single monotonous voice ringing out in the night,

as if to say, "You've got all the time in the world

to lay in bed and listen to my tick tock, tick tock.

And the soft pitter patter of rain drops on the cement

like so many little babies feet."

Sleepless Nights Creating Monsters

Here it is, 4:50 and I am typing on my computer. I woke up about 4:15 from a nightmare, in the dream I was trapped underneath a slew of restaurant tables, crawling around on the floor trying to find an opening. When I woke I was reach around the bars above my head, underneath the bunk above me. I feel sorry for Belinda. While getting my bearings I noticed a few things: my laptop was still next to me, though unresponsive, I had a headache from the booze from last night, and it was very, very dark.

I stayed there for a while, trying to get to sleep. That didn't work, so I came upstairs to get water and try to sleep on the couch. Turns out someone is up here, darn. To be continued...