snow day #2

i'm apparently
drunk enough
to think i can
eloquently
poeticize the night.
armed with my
purple marker
and bellyful of tequila,
i think i'm ready
to take on
the world.

but
it's safe here
in my coccoon --
warm,
when the icicles hang outside
and even without
the heat on, within.
my carefully crafted
lair
my altar
to life, and the need
to tell a story;
to music, the medium;
to love, that damn
rothko;
to film,
the reliable escape
from the responsibilities
of dreams,
and to the
simple pleasure
had in simply
having one.

--

roy
"fucked and forlorn"

broken glass
litters the floor
and here i stand
fucked and forlorn.
sweat burns the eyes
drag my lips
'cross dirty old
microphones

and daydream
of home.

so here i stand
with gun in mind
bullets in hand
dig trenches not graves
on a basement floor soapbox
we'll sing our lives away
for a dream,
and a false sense
of freedom.