jeebus13
Bluelighter
Another pretty
dispossessed child
of American culture
skips endlessly
across the expanse of night
as it spreads before her.
She can't sleep for the screaming in her dispassionate eyes;
she blinks it all back to the way it was.
Time wriggles through her matted hair,
already weary, on a journey's beginning.
Maybe if she could shove the bore beside her
life would begin to mean something again-
and yet a glimmer of grace in a quiet shift of her foot,
a soft care in a casual backwards glance
at the humble idiot penning her fictitious life
in scribbles on a darkened bus.
Maybe even a touch of worry
for some sinful "someone"
who waits for this rumbling contraption
in a cold town down the road.
Maybe she's just a rider passing from town to town
dropping sighs and knowing smiles
on the crazed children of the same ungodly night.
Gods,
how can I use the word "just?"
Just because...
and only for a few stops if I'm lucky.
Who falls in love with the back of a girl's head?
Just a fool
who believes in maybes and always misses the nevers.
Maybe they never existed anyway.
A cup of coffee later
means a retreat from dreams
and a venture
into the ever expanding word-
"reality" (only word in the language that always requires quotes)
The world is finally waking up to join me
and I find myself by myself.
Nobody woke me up to say goodbye.
Oh, well.
I probably wouldn't either,
but it would've been nice.
Time: 5AM
Time to skip to the point
if I ever find one.
Maybe I just left one...
The ocean makes a pretty good point.
Hard to argue with something so strong
that can be so gentle.
Another uncomfortable confrontation
with seldom kept-company.
A sweet taste of morning before the sun comes up
reminds me of a future in question.
Some ideas seem more brilliant in the pre-dawn glow
and I seem to be plotting a return trip
as casually as I toss cigarette butts.
Florida made me feel like the Prince
from Life Is a Dream .
The spanish moss crowned me
in a soft, salt-sea breeze.
I am smitten with the beach.
Shelley drowned in the sea-
I should be so lucky.
A few precious hours of sleep without dreams
has brought me a gift of sunlight
and bus-seat graffitti that I will never understand,
but add to nonetheless.
Thomas Wolfe was right,
time does pass like a leaf,
though some leaves cling to the tree through the coldest hours.
Maybe the trees have grown self-conscious
and fear the nudity of winter.
Maybe shame is a disease.
If so, I hope it's not catching.
I have been cultivating innocence
and fertilizing it with care while I weed out judgment.
It's hard to keep fear from blowing in
under the moon to freeze it all out,
but even a tiny crop is precious.
I keep waiting for the climate to change...
or maybe just for the metaphors to stop mixing
in my ever more muddled mind.
Almost time for a long-awaited homecoming
though home seems to call from the road
more loudly every day.
It feels like something very heavy
is waiting at the journey's end,
but heavy isn't always as bad as it feels
from across the miles.
Probably some crazy hallucinogenic New Year's gathering
in the dark Kansas night.
A little crazy goes a long way
and I feel long overdue-
subdued, in fact-
like I might have left my soul sitting unattended
on top of a payphone and walked off
as soulless as I have always feared I might be.
And now the young and unjilted
bring me back to the present
with impossible dreams that have never sounded more possible.
Maybe the two kids up the aisle
of this near empty bus are falling in love-
I always did at that holy age.
I hope the world doesn't weigh as heavily on them
as it has on me.
(bus seat love commentary)
"Note the subtle body language,
the slight tilt of her neck and the way
those few strands of hair seem to constantly have to be tamed
out of her face.
Oh, yes. She likes him..."
"I see,
like the way he keeps glancing away
and then back,
directly into her eyes without meeting her friend's
for more than a fleeting moment.
And how this young Romeo's gaze
nuzzles itself into her heart."
"But wait,
the friend doesn't like losing the attention game.
Whatever will he do?"
And on and on
until they reach their stops-
separately-
separatingly.
Ah, young love.
And young egos.
What beautiful lies, tranquil concoctions
created at a moment's notice
to impress the shadow of a girl
that will disappear at dawn's cool light.
Sweet tragedy,
I have missed the taste of it.
```````````````````````
Deep dark eyes
and a soft voice
barely audible over the dull hum
of some arcane machine
send a quiet vision of monogamy
that somehow never looked so enticing.
Sometimes the dream
builds itself in open eyes.
And she has seen the light and dark
I have known so well.
Her leg falls against mine
and a shiver seldom felt rushes over a body
that was once mine,
but is now wholly hers.
Sleepy sighs
and the rocking of the bus
are the only things that
move her--
though I hope to one day hold that position.
God bless Greyhound...
and hope rises in me anew.
dispossessed child
of American culture
skips endlessly
across the expanse of night
as it spreads before her.
She can't sleep for the screaming in her dispassionate eyes;
she blinks it all back to the way it was.
Time wriggles through her matted hair,
already weary, on a journey's beginning.
Maybe if she could shove the bore beside her
life would begin to mean something again-
and yet a glimmer of grace in a quiet shift of her foot,
a soft care in a casual backwards glance
at the humble idiot penning her fictitious life
in scribbles on a darkened bus.
Maybe even a touch of worry
for some sinful "someone"
who waits for this rumbling contraption
in a cold town down the road.
Maybe she's just a rider passing from town to town
dropping sighs and knowing smiles
on the crazed children of the same ungodly night.
Gods,
how can I use the word "just?"
Just because...
and only for a few stops if I'm lucky.
Who falls in love with the back of a girl's head?
Just a fool
who believes in maybes and always misses the nevers.
Maybe they never existed anyway.
A cup of coffee later
means a retreat from dreams
and a venture
into the ever expanding word-
"reality" (only word in the language that always requires quotes)
The world is finally waking up to join me
and I find myself by myself.
Nobody woke me up to say goodbye.
Oh, well.
I probably wouldn't either,
but it would've been nice.
Time: 5AM
Time to skip to the point
if I ever find one.
Maybe I just left one...
The ocean makes a pretty good point.
Hard to argue with something so strong
that can be so gentle.
Another uncomfortable confrontation
with seldom kept-company.
A sweet taste of morning before the sun comes up
reminds me of a future in question.
Some ideas seem more brilliant in the pre-dawn glow
and I seem to be plotting a return trip
as casually as I toss cigarette butts.
Florida made me feel like the Prince
from Life Is a Dream .
The spanish moss crowned me
in a soft, salt-sea breeze.
I am smitten with the beach.
Shelley drowned in the sea-
I should be so lucky.
A few precious hours of sleep without dreams
has brought me a gift of sunlight
and bus-seat graffitti that I will never understand,
but add to nonetheless.
Thomas Wolfe was right,
time does pass like a leaf,
though some leaves cling to the tree through the coldest hours.
Maybe the trees have grown self-conscious
and fear the nudity of winter.
Maybe shame is a disease.
If so, I hope it's not catching.
I have been cultivating innocence
and fertilizing it with care while I weed out judgment.
It's hard to keep fear from blowing in
under the moon to freeze it all out,
but even a tiny crop is precious.
I keep waiting for the climate to change...
or maybe just for the metaphors to stop mixing
in my ever more muddled mind.
Almost time for a long-awaited homecoming
though home seems to call from the road
more loudly every day.
It feels like something very heavy
is waiting at the journey's end,
but heavy isn't always as bad as it feels
from across the miles.
Probably some crazy hallucinogenic New Year's gathering
in the dark Kansas night.
A little crazy goes a long way
and I feel long overdue-
subdued, in fact-
like I might have left my soul sitting unattended
on top of a payphone and walked off
as soulless as I have always feared I might be.
And now the young and unjilted
bring me back to the present
with impossible dreams that have never sounded more possible.
Maybe the two kids up the aisle
of this near empty bus are falling in love-
I always did at that holy age.
I hope the world doesn't weigh as heavily on them
as it has on me.
(bus seat love commentary)
"Note the subtle body language,
the slight tilt of her neck and the way
those few strands of hair seem to constantly have to be tamed
out of her face.
Oh, yes. She likes him..."
"I see,
like the way he keeps glancing away
and then back,
directly into her eyes without meeting her friend's
for more than a fleeting moment.
And how this young Romeo's gaze
nuzzles itself into her heart."
"But wait,
the friend doesn't like losing the attention game.
Whatever will he do?"
And on and on
until they reach their stops-
separately-
separatingly.
Ah, young love.
And young egos.
What beautiful lies, tranquil concoctions
created at a moment's notice
to impress the shadow of a girl
that will disappear at dawn's cool light.
Sweet tragedy,
I have missed the taste of it.
```````````````````````
Deep dark eyes
and a soft voice
barely audible over the dull hum
of some arcane machine
send a quiet vision of monogamy
that somehow never looked so enticing.
Sometimes the dream
builds itself in open eyes.
And she has seen the light and dark
I have known so well.
Her leg falls against mine
and a shiver seldom felt rushes over a body
that was once mine,
but is now wholly hers.
Sleepy sighs
and the rocking of the bus
are the only things that
move her--
though I hope to one day hold that position.
God bless Greyhound...
and hope rises in me anew.
