an atypical tone

"tomorrow," you said everyday.
to put off living,
the moment you become content,
that deadly happiness.
nothing will ever be born,
a stagnant disposition.
your words are the same
but in an atypical tone.
the voice echoes off
every anemic dream.
you blew it, you know.
the box you closed yourself in.
a slow, delicate abortion
of any future at all.
heroin on the silver spoon.
the falling hammer.
a goddamn shame.

anger and hunger

a thousand knives have torn
through your velvet.
scorned dozens,
all bastards, all lonely.
masculine speed bumps.
a gentle reflection.
joy lives. happiness lives.
the beating, breathing soul.
peace is the midwest.
it's no tea party when
your friends are violence and
anger and hunger.
those degenerate bastards.
what have they done to you?

the long road home

the long road home,

familiar, boorish.

the need to get free.

a despair in vain.

something you forgot

all on your own.

comfort kills creativity;

it's been dead for awhile.

daydreaming is nice,

but you've got to live.

no more settling.

the long road home,

a crashing bastion,

a failing guide.

1-2-3.

waltzes were your favorite,
when we used to dance.
1-2-3. 1-2-3.
your eyes fixed on mine,
my heart on yours.
1-2-3. 1-2-3.
your feet of wind,
my awkward soul.
1-2-3. 1-2-3.
I never held on tight enough.
you were too strong for me.
1-2-3. 1-2-3.
we were both young.
we were both wrong.
I loved you.
1-2-3. 1-2-3.

coffee and a talking-to

so now what?
you can't go out on that note;
you're better than that.
this morning is fresh,
anything is possible.
drink your coffee,
you need to be alert.
they'll come at you from all angles.
be stronger than you know.
attack or be attacked,
be smarter than them.
the world is cruel and foolish,
so you can't let them see you cry.
don't take pity,
take chances.
be yourself
and you'll always be happy.

what if it's true?

another hard night,
sleep, an afterthought.
a naked burning
deep in your womb.
what if it's true?
a commencement
and a death.
dreams mean nothing
in the long run.
what if it's true?
you're damn strong.
it'll have your eyes
and that smile,
that inerasable smile.
what if it is true?
a delicate decision.

smiles do exist

your stare,
blinding, deafening.
broken little girl,
your troubles are mine.
so long ago
and you've come so far.
infinite bliss awaits.
a world of ecstasy,
days of sun,
nights of rapture.
broken little girl,
what took so long?
no more tears, babe.
no more fears.
smiles do exist,
as does forever.

redhead

the kindest pale,
covered by a million
tiny brown specks,
each one a reflection of God.
the truest crimson,
unraveling down,
resting on your breast.
my hand rests there too.
my head on your stomach,
my heart in your hand.
every inch, silk.
you've nothing to be ashamed of,
you're perfect.
Aphrodite should be jealous,
Venus is a nobody.
how stunning.
how blessed.
a rich beauty admired with eyes,
felt with the soul.

i'll keep it with mine

don't look sad,

you're too pretty for that.

your problems can't be that bad.

you've a place to sleep,

you've food to eat.

what's wrong?

oh dear, that is bad.

no, no I won't tell.

is there anything I can do?

I'm so sorry,

I had no idea.

maybe if things were different,

I could've rescued you,

or I could've loved you.

someone will love you.
someday.

dancer, dancer

dancer, dancer,
please forgive my tongue,
movement to me is exotic.
my soul cannot jump.
my heart cannot turn.
my mind cannot fully comprehend
the extent of your being.

dancer, dancer,
speaking without words, you move.
crying without tears, you die.
you're a broken glass.
you're a world away.
you're alone and lost.

dancer, dancer,
your future is unclear.
pathway after pathway disappear.
the journey is dance,
a distant unknown,
dancer, dancer,
i want you here.

a composed destruction

quiet recollections of a violent end.
a demeanor befitting the moon,
voiceless, shattered, immobile.
the brutal beast, your love.
sadistic, cruel, indifferent.
memories of dancing
thoughts of running.
missteps turn to fury
lies lead to rage. rage
the inccurable malady.
how did we get here?
where do we go?
questions you can't, won't answer.
pain so fresh, it hurts
it hurts but tickles.
at least you're feeling, for once.
it couldn't last, nor will this.
tomorrow bleeds to next week.
jesus bleeds to heaven.
you're not forsaken,
he never cared for you.
at least you're feeling, now.

a straw dog

always scared

always scarred

a venerable circle.

today i died,

like each day.

never ceasing

never easing.

a straw dog,

indifferent sufferer.

a child screams,

like a ghost,

like a ghost

caught between hell and here.

i love you.

my heart says "hello"

my heart says "hello"

as you pass by.

my lips, frozen in fear,

dare not speak up.

those eyes,

those beautiful eyes,

precious stones,

heartbreakingly tragic.

soft sweet breath

and rich, flaming hair.

little words for little ears,

little hopes and little fears.

if I were better or bolder

and warmer not colder,

my voice might be found

and a trembling sound

would greet you.

script inspiration

I am expanding a short script that I wrote, Dancer, Dancer, into a full-length film script. It centers on a modern dancer and I have been studying various things from dance to fashion to music to try to put this character together. Here are some of my inspirations.

round and round

round and round

same old song,

"i used to love you"

"but i can change."

"no, you can't."

another broken heart,

useless hard tears,

no more plans,

no more tomorrows.

round and round

the record plays.

"my name is jack"

"my name is jill'
"i think you're special."

"i think you're naive."

they will try.

they will fail.

they will try again.

round and round

nothing's new.

you've been here before,

it's all so familiar.

but the tune keeps humming

the failures keep coming

and the only solace is that

one day someone will save you.