Bleeding Ink 1,604

There’s all these voices

I look around the room

I close my eyes

Some raise a glass

Expect me to just hate women

My phone blows up

“Look at this.”

“Go to therapy.”

“Take 4 years.”

Everyone has an opinion

I watch the room

I spent all those years

Doing what I thought was best

Buying flowers

Writing letters

Making dinner

Dances in the kitchen

I still didn’t do everything right, I guess

It’s not one persons fault

I won’t complain

I’m not going to cry in my beer

I’ve seen that

Too too many times

I watch the room

I feel nothing

I feel nothing at all

That’s the worst part

I don’t hurt

I’m not angry

I cannot possibly drink enough

And I feel nothing at all

“You know what you should do? You should go sniff and hit everything you can.”

But I feel nothing at all…

Only the blues

There’s an isolation inside

And I know

There’s going to be a morning

When the sun will rise

And I will only write

About that deep blue

That is her eyes

Just give it time

Even the sea is calm

At the darkest of the night

And I try to think

But the words can’t be found

And I try to drink

But there’s never enough

So I watch the room

And accept this too

This feeling – Nothing

Hoping I don’t become some kind of

Bitter southerner

That’s all

I don’t want to be hung up

I don’t want to be bitter

They expect me to just hate

But have you ever

Talked for hours with a woman

Danced without hesitation

Read until the morning

With her hand in your hand

And her head on your chest

There’s a thousand other intimacies

She gives you before you’re in her bed

I know this will pass

This feeling nothing

Things that don’t suck 2

Things that don’t suck

Realising

You can still make amazing dinners

But for yourself,

Champagne, The Rat Pack, steak…

Not having the dinner thrown in the trash…

Not having someone get up and just leave or go to bed after you make it

Ties, tie clips, waistcoats, fedoras, hardsole shoes…

New jeans…

A cigar dipped in bourbon

Hennessy

A classic sidecar recipe

Jazz

Asus chord

Guitar

Cheesecake

Buying yourself flowers every month instead of someone else

Writing letters

Thunderstorms

Pasta (always pasta)

Setting goals

Crushing goals

Walking your dog

Accepting that you were a good husband

And forgiving yourself for what you did in survival mode…

Watching the sunrise

Morning by morning

The world was flawed

The work was flawed

Impractical

Opened

The flesh, bruised

We,

We were animals

Fighting ourselves

All of this life

All of this energy

All of this

Here and now

Blown in a moment

By the wind

Gone tomorrow

What was all of that hurry?

What was all of that anxiety ?

—-

Slow it down

I put the

Words on paper

My feelings

On fire

Scorch the edges

Framed by the shadow of your body

In the morning

—-

Morning by Morning

All of this passion

Slow it down

Thicker

Hotter

Slow it down

This energy

This

Heartbeat

This flame

One body

Flesh bruised

Lips on fire

The Morning runs away …

Photo origin unknown

Sunday Morning

1

I had a hellhound on my trail

I didn’t see any light ahead

And I think

We all have different angels and we all have different demons inside of us

And I believe we have different soulmates …

2

Lady,

Lady,

I want you to know

You’ve been a saving grace,

Whatever we are

Our blood boils at the same temperature

And whatever we become

I think my eyes will always find you across the room

And I will remember

The hellhound on my trail –

And I hope you know –

You saved my soul

And all that I’ve become –

And sometimes

I believe

Every Sunday

You’re the warmest thing

In this room

Bones

I

We are all different but equal

We are all different but equal

We are all different but equal

(Mic drops)

I’m tired of born this way

Forget that

What happened to

I made my way

Dug my self out of the grave

I write to kill

I kill to write

Welcome to the middle of no where

I don’t know about the west side

The south side

I saw a man living on a bus

He had a 17 year old wife

I was 13

I didn’t even realize what I was seeing

II

Tell me again about the new IPhone

I’ll tell you about waiting for dial up

These kids these days

Not even a fear of The Draft hanging over them

It’s been iPhone and apples in their hand since the age of conception

Can’t even imagine them storming beaches or taking anything from anyone unless it’s their parents.

III

Smoke

And ash

Rising from these wasted years spent on ambitious less youth

God spoke and put flesh on

Dead bones

And

Jeff Beck came back just to save rock and roll

I saw a veteran cry as he talked about D Day…

I saw a Veteran get angry when he was asked about Vietnam …

When was the last time we got back to basics

Back to business

Make something

Create something

We are all somebody from somewhere

We have a story to tell

A past to burn

Don’t feed it

Don’t suppress it

You made your way

It’s tangled up in you

Like the bloodline that commits suicide before the age of 35

What have you got to do?

What else is left to lose?

I’ll tell you the truth

From the shot glass

Of my minds eye

Hold yourself together

You’re doing fine

You know mother

We all

Are going to be alright.

Post card from desolation road (it’s all over now)

She called me late

rain

Settled in her hair

The cool cool air

chilled me inside

my bones

And I kept thinking

About the ocean blue

Where the sun warmed our skin

but now

it’s all sold

And it’s so cold

we’re all so lonely now …

if it’s just the same to you…

And she was calm and she was cool

Her face was set

She lit another cigarette

Against the coming storm

You couldn’t help but think about all of the men

Who let this beast of burden in

The blatant loud disregard hung in the air like cigar

Filling old newspaper rooms

They’re empty now

Just like me

Just like you

You know we can’t go back

We’ve crossed all of these old bridges

We’re fighting ghosts

In our restless hands

She wrote me

And she didn’t know what to say

She only knew the way she felt

And

How everything has turned to grey

And there’s one too many full moons

In the sky tonight

Still

Here I am

My pen and my Gin

Thinking about how there

Was a time

A brief time

When we

Looked bright

In the springtime

But now

I think

We are destined

To be the lonely

Filling the empty

Shells of buildings

With dreams of a future

Foreclosed

On desolation road

That Golden Highway

Runs from here to the salt in the sea

Don’t look now

It’s turned to desolation road…

And all of our daughters

And all of our sisters

Woke up today

With less than they had yesterday

Better not think too much about it

Better not get too used to it

it’s just life on desolation road.

Photo by Ethan Bethune

30 for 30 (Tides)

Down by the river

Just at the break of dawn

The grass has grown

The water is swamp

My youth is washed

Away

Somewhere

A long time ago

It was clearer still…

And the men go hunting

And time moves through my hands like sand

The physical and torn element

This is time

And I wonder about my place in it

And the women

Gather

And used to read

They said there was news shared

But in the world of men and giants and shadows

And ever changing fears

Months

Of cold Mondays

Where do you go

How have you grown?

Remember

Colette

Kathryn Hepburn

Zelda Fitzgerald

Mae West

Billie Holiday

So many more…

All of their shadows

In the water

Moving by

And by

how easy it would have been

To just sit

Quiet

And fit in the places made for them

I wonder what they thought

I wonder

What they wrote

I wonder

If you ever see them down by the river

Still

Making tides…

The moon Queen

They say, she left her heart open, in the rain…

Every Tuesday

She would pick her flowers

And write her songs

No one knows much about her

What she really thought

How she felt about things

They only remember her sadness and her tragedy

I like to think

I know what she felt,

Some nights

At 3am

I can hear her playing the piano

Its music fills the halls upstairs

Some nights

When the moon is full

And melancholy

You can see her window open

Her wide, deep, dark eyes

And her blue dress

Sometimes it’s white

But she’s only there for a minute

And then she’s gone

You might see her at the top of the stairs

Or entering someone’s room

Trying to find something she’s left behind

I’ve seen some of her paintings

Some of her sketches

And heard her songs

I think I know what it must have felt like

To be filled so full

And not know

How to express it

To feel so alone

Like an outsider

Maybe she’s still trying to work it out….

They say

You feel the fear

And the terror

If you see her face though

The pain of dying

The air turns cold

I don’t believe it

I think you see the emptiness inside of yourself

No one knows what really happened to her

Her letters

Still show up under my door

That’s when I find her paintings

Inside empty rooms

Sometimes they’re in the park

I’ve seen her walking

When the moon is full

And the fog is down,

I don’t know why she talks to me

Maybe it’s because we are both alone

Filled with things to say

And unsure of how to say them

Maybe it never goes away

Maybe it doesn’t ever let go,

Maybe we just keep on trying

Even after we’re gone….

I don’t know her name

I only call her the moon queen….

Cooking and marriage

I don’t know if I should be disappointed or not in what I’m about to say,

But here goes one for the family …

if I knew I was going to die tomorrow ,

I don’t know that anything would change that drastically in my schedule…

That’s the big rewrite for us writers isn’t?

The white whale

How would we write about dying?

Maybe it’s because I used to spend so much time writing about it when I was younger

Maybe it was the depression

Maybe it was my youth

Or maybe it’s the fact that I have Crohn’s disease

And I’ve been hospitalized several times because of it…

But I like to think that now

I’m living in such a way

At such a place

That every day

I’m just happy to be here

I just want to throw a dinner party that Nora Ephron would be proud of…

I always return to her essays and books every other year.

I’m not for it, but I think it’s pretty safe to put people on pedestals once they’re dead.

She’s easily one of my very favorite people on earth and I never even met her.

I like coffee

I love my wife and my dogs

I like cooking

I like butter,

You can never have too much butter

Or olive oil

I like coffee in the morning

Hardwood floors

Cooking, did I already say that? Well, cooking is like really great sex.

I’ll cook for you before and after.

Reading a really great book

Broadway

Everyone should see broadway

It changes you

Or it should

Art is so important

It’s important that we do not sound like everyone else

That we don’t fall into an echo

I like a really great drink.

An old fashioned,

A brown derby

A Manhattan

I like Sunday’s

Sleeping in…

I know you’re not supposed to rely on movies for expectations of love

But I think I like this bar I go to, it helps me write,

But it’s also, because there’s this table that I sat at…

It was the first “date” if you will,

Me and my wife went on…

I always think about seeing her walk in

And I knew I wanted to watch her enter rooms for the rest of my life…

I know I can be hard edged

Sarcastic and a little bit cruel

But she’s like dark energy

She’s seductive without even trying

And she is sexy as hell in heels

she’s also every Sunday morning

Every breakfast in bed

The perfect hot coffee

And a walk in the park

She’s the Italian restaurant on the corner

She’s midnight in the rain

She’s sitting there beside me

When they have to put a tube down my throat

Because of a flare up

She’s there on the front

Smiling

When I get published

She’s got all the love

I can ever hold in these hands

I’ve seen people come and go

And she wants me

And I want her

Year after year

I know what I like

I know what I want

And I

Like her

I love her

I want her.