There is a Light that Never Goes Out

Take me out tonight
where there’s music and there’s people
who are young and alive.
Driving in your car
I never, never want to go home
because I haven’t got one anymore.

Take me out tonight
because I want to see people
and I want to see life.
Driving in your car,
oh please don’t drop me home
because it’s not my home, it’s their home
and I’m welcome no more.

And if a double-decker bus
crashes in to us,
to die by your side
is such a heavenly way to die.
And if a ten-ton truck
kills the both of us,
to die by your side
well the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

The Smiths


We are the children of our parents, grown from the dry earth one season into the moistness of another. Our colors are bright in the darkness where we shine best under that dim glow, like rose gold and yellow diamonds. Put us under the scrutiny of daylight and you will see our skin shine like obsidian, like gold dust, like unpolished tourmaline. We are the perfectly imperfect creatures bought into the world to live alongside each other. What does contentment look in our line of vision? Success in measurable units, within defined scopes of accomplishment. Some of us are not as lucky as others to be thrust into such bona fide wisdom so we roam farther and deeper toward the edge. Artists we may be, nullified creative heads worth a penny or three. Oh but we dream in generous doses. We see entire galaxies dancing around us, astrological beings whispering into our willing ears, telling us what we seek is at the end, at the finish of that goal. The one filled with glorious purpose. And despite our renewed hopes our sense of direction remains the same. We wake up to our deafening realities, those poised situations and lofty burdens. Should we call this one form of wealth?

Let Me Kiss You

I’ve zigzagged all over America
and I cannot find a safety haven.
Say, would you let me cry on your shoulder?
I’ve heard that you’d try anything twice.

Close your eyes
and think of someone you physically admire,
and let me kiss you.
Let me kiss you.

But then you open your eyes
and you see someone that you physically despise,
but my heart is open,
my heart is open to you.



I remember the day you died. The chaos. Idle chatter. Heavy grief. Your door closed everything familiar to me; that wide and bright living room with its overused velvet couch. The room just behind that wall, the patio to the left. The food stains on the ugly gray carpet. The boxy television set in the nook to the left. Your altar to my right, where you laid out food for your Gods so they would bless you, except they gifted you with sadness and pain and memory loss. Death had wrapped its silence around me like a warm silken cloak and kept me there. I was so young, who was I to know how deep this blood flowed, spreading through me like ink. I stood there and watched the world turn and disappear, my vision blurred to whiteness. Voices called to me, telling me I had to get better grades or stop being so angry or cut the weirdness out. They told me to bend into the folds of convention, to become one with others, to try and be artificially happy. And I listened to them, I took their word and walked through their doors and came out with nothing they promised me. Here I am, remembering the day you died. I feel nauseous.