That’s actually not true-

         And neither is the idea

         That I have of you.

It’s much more innocent,

         Like that peace

         Before a battle moment.

More of these are hidden-

         The things by which

         We each are driven.

It is all survival,

        Within split seconds,

         The equality we are expecting.

None of my previous poetry

Felt appropriate to share

Then I suddenly remembered

That I can always write more.

Obvious things often elude me

While I’m walking on the clouds

Or hiding from the cold

Or drowning in negativity.

And then a burst of manic

Excitement and creativity

Simmers and pops the lid

Off everything.

Not knowing how long it will last,

I jump on it

And ride the wave as long as I can

Showing my tricks along the way.

I can always write more

I can always do less

But I usually choose to try harder,

Be a soldier and fill novels.

I have to remind myself

To remind myself

That I am here

That I am here

I need to repeat myself

To repeat myself

That this is now

That this is now

The silence of the moon

Is the pill that I take

And all the fog

Spinning round

Has found its place

The blinding of the sun

Is the music that I make

And all the doubts

Escape as I awake

In the alien city

The devil beside

The angel on the shoulder

Of the man behind me

My alien city

It knows me intimately

And the piercing sounds

The b-b-bring me downs

They make me p-p-proud.

I drank the magic potion

And then I lost my vision

Uh-oh, uh-oh

I had to start dancing

Old school style, like a child

With the ants-in-the-pants

And I am here

I am here

My hips and my feet

Are competing for speed

Light years away

As I touch

Everything I ever wanted to be.

I thump to an alien beat

On an alien street.

-COPYRIGHT 2010