autumn air

There is something interesting in the autumn air.
It's those high school football nights on the green grass,
it's the young fillies on the benches of love,
it's the loss of innocence and broken pink,
it's the hot brass from the horns on the track,
it's the flaring egos on the field,
it's the loss of a girl you once called yours,
it's the five dollar game tickets at the door,
it's the dreary college life ahead
it's a job
it's the girl that came back
and the air that kept you cool afterwards

a letter to self.

I'm at the stoplight on Jackson and the 8 freeway.
I'm shitfaced,
he's shitfaced.

Guy in a convertable
"WOO-HOO I"m having a fucking awesome time!!!!!!!!"
"That's great Pal!!! congratu-fucking-lations!!!"
there's a cop on the other side of the stop light.
"LET US FUCKING GO HOME!!" he says
"WOO-HOO-HOO-HOO!!!!" he says

I laugh, pull up my windshield, tune up the classical
and think of the nights sweet victory.

I will wait five days, and I will call her and ask her for a date.
and this asshole will get a DUI and I will go home because for once,
my luck as turned, yes, tonight
I am the luckiest man on fucking broadway.
CONGRATU-FUCKING-LATIONS!!!

Love,
The Jazz Man

way to break a wound old pal
now you're here and you're at it again.
Jesus Christ,
could you not learn the first time around?
the second?
the third?
that memory bites,
but only temporarily.

Good Call.

better remembered forgotten

I must confess that
those deep blue eyes reminded me of that Frank Sinatra charm
that so deeply captivated me on those lonely nights.
like fire,
it burned into me.
those eyes beamed and smiled and
charmed,
how could it of been so unusual, when typically it's been usual.
one deserves better, I assume.
but the kind go with their kind,
and being as I am,
classy,
I have begun to lose when I never learned to begin.

whiskey sour

love is not so easily found as it is forgotten;
crushed sweetly to its bitter end.

I see her smile
but it's really for somebody else
she will go home with somebody else

it is the inherent fate of the universe, I assume
love crushed sweetly through the soles of the gods

and I will be sitting there,
my fate
my drink,
wishing that I was anywhere but here;
that tonight, like all nights
was not my night
and like fate and love
it will all be forgotten by the end of it all
like the bitter-sweet taste of this marvelous whiskey sour

lets give it all tonight

fate has not been good enough to me
I haven't been good enough for fate

I'm confused

am I a poet or a maniac or neither?

am I suicidal?

fate has not been good enough for me to be suicidal

fate is fate

and suicide is suicide

tonight I should be dead

ceased of existence

and gone forever

that is my biggest secret of all

and now you know

it's not a poem
but a statement

and tonight if only I had a gun I would end it all
because that's the best way to go
there has never been any other way to go

love is a hurricane

love is like the burning of a cigarette on the side of the highway

forgetting is like driving back and looking for it

but you won't find it....
(you look anyway)

merciless love is like the beginning of a bad poem

not enough heart
not enough soul

love is like the rehearsing of a line over and over again

love is like a hurricane
and we all know how that one goes...

love is confidence and so is writing
but only after you've had a good drink...

love is the thicket
love is in the air
love is not here
not today
tomorrow

or the day after that

woman theory

woman do what they want
because they can get away with it

but if you're involved
and she does it then she has lost all
respect for you

and that
my friend
is the worst thing of all

this is where I release

this is my unpredictable shit hole
of relief

I was born this way.
I was self-raised this way.
I AM this way.

I thunder my ignorant words: passions fueled

I carry less than the day before as you carry more the day ahead.

I shit and I shit and I shit and I write and
it feels so indescribably the same-IT'S INSANE
I can't handle it, it fuels and it breaks
and it burns and it fires through the flames
that run through the veins
IT'S INSANE
It's stupid it's immature to stand
to the ledge but it's the fury inside that
pushes us to pitty you... do not pitty me.




it's a clean slate....an angsty slate

beautiful page

beautiful page
only you know my true behavior
only you smile the white of the Gods
only you bask in your glory for the poets
of dreamers and dreamers beyond

you created the poets
the songwriters
the screenwriters
the authors
the word
the phrase
the line
the way

and the madness beyond
all of that within