It Gets Better

I do apologize for my absence these few months. I am hard at work chronicling Halfbake’s adventures, along with my daily toils, and a  project borne under the mantel of another muse (Word to Melpomene). Ah, but my blog gathers dust.

For that reason, and in honor of Pride Month, here is an acoustic piece I wrote after the Pulse Night Club tragedy.


Hey you, in the corner hiding lonely tears
Hey you, by the pulpit, hoping that he hears
Hey you, shoe laces undone,
wasn’t life easy before all the fun?

It gets better in time
This one moment won’t last forever

The pain will heal, and the fear will fade
and you’ll stand and hold your head up tall
and next to you I’ll stand, hand in hand
and next to me in hand another brother

You are not alone
You are not alone
You are not alone

Hey you in the bedroom, wondering if she knows
Hey you in the costume , regretting what you chose

Hey you in the mirror saying “Who do you think you are?”
Is there an answer or do you just stay silent?

It get’s better in time
Don’t let the moment rewind

Let it go, let it fall
and when the dust settles it all
you’ll still be standing tall

It get’s better, I know
I forgave them fifteen years ago


Odds Bodkins

A poem in homage to Aagonish by William Hughs

Today I saw things that I didn’t see,
was seen by things that couldn’t be,
became the things that I was not,
remembered that I just forgot
remembered that I just forgot

It wasn’t really what was not
that kept me push pinned to the spot,
what it was was not the thought,
the thing that I recalled forgot.

Something here that isn’t there
Something lurking in the air
Something crouching on the stair,
catching me within a glare

within a flash of futile fright
from epochs filled with starless light
from within a mind maligned
by something there I’ll never find

Will I ever move from there,
that thing there sitting on the stair,
with those eyes wide closing in
trapped with in begin again


Happy Trails

An erratic poem about waking up in a rut. I believe I initially wrote it as a song.

Woke up suicidal,
pulling at the reins,
chewing my own bridal,
scratching at the chains

Passed a man screaming to get out of it,
Wearing someone else’s shit
Thought it must be nice to be frothing at the bit

But I  know that it’s too late to hedge the bet,
too muddled with mistakes,
too riddled with regret,

I see the pretty horses go to pasture
or maybe they just pass you as you limp to your disaster

As you walk to your good morning
when you just said your goodnight
And the sun shines early warning
but you just turned out the light

And every prayer is “Happy trails to you…”
But maybe they are waiting ’round the bend,
guess we’ll just keep smiling until then.

“Until we meet again.”

The Return

I was inspired to write this Lewis Carrollian prose poem after seeing a good friend of mine after many years. Love you, CJ.

Sometimes in this night long world of moonless tears and mirthless gnashing,
Sometimes in this wakeful rut of insomnia mornings and headache weeks of arrested growth,
of menial days of stop-loss progress, of mealy miles of meaningless motion,
Sometimes in this seasick tottering of toiling autonomous monotony,
Sometimes in this loitering life of bygone dreaming, when you look up out of your own decay sometimes you can believe enough to see straight and clear out of this waste bin coffin,
where the bad ideas of the universe are crumpled and thrown away, oblivion,
you can perceive a full color world of hue, a progress world of sound,
where walk the wonders of breath alive,
where love the life-people,
a strange and incomprehensible thing for the dark of no matter,
but you can, I find, if you let it, when you allow,
Sometimes in this place of grace you can looking glass glance a wonder
and see that there is life living,
and living too can life you.


How much time do you spend on dreams?
I’ve been sleeping away my whole life, so it seems
In the journal that I write there are reams and reams and reams
So great the pile of how things stack
sometimes I dream it’s the dream I lack
I want it back, can I take it back
Can you steer for a while as I get off track?

Why does it hurt like a shark, a tack
Pinning a story on a magnet door,
When they wont hear the meaning of a single word?
What is this strange attraction for?

This obession,
that I’m feeding the pages
This depression
proceeding the rages
like preening a rose in a spot of light,
living and dying in stages
This impression
of a man in my bed
that I’ve left here in stead
the remains, when I’m dead
Like a single dimension
Do I get an opinion?
What will be their retention?
like, do I have dominion
or merely a mention?
A mansion or a pauper’s hovel?
Will I be the prose?
Am I that kind of novel?



Are we through.

Been writing a lot of music in between Halfbake’s adventures. Here’s a bit of a song.

Please, don’t give up.
Please, don’t give in.
Learn to live in this moment.
Just give me this moment, won’t you?
Just between you and me
I’ll keep it secret, if that’s how you’d like it to be.

Isn’t it easier to cry?
Isn’t easier to die?
Don’t I always have to try?
Is that a lie,
is that a lie?
Give me a reason to fly
If I could lift me up these bones
without them turning into stone
I can’t do it
I can’t do it
I can’t do it alone

I’ve been some kinda fool, even more than once
Even when I’m on the stage I wear the dunce
I don’t feel fire, got no pain,
there’ve been times I should feel proud when all I felt was shame
Is that my name?
Is that my name?
How can I give it to you?
When I want it from you too?
Begging you to take my strings and make me dance
Begging you, without any proof to back it up, give me a chance
How can I tell you I won’t lose when I’ve never won
Or are we done?

Please, don’t make me be that.
Please, don’t leave me on a dime
Don’t leave me flat
Please don’t turn heel and run.
Are we done?
Is there more work to do?
Can you help me off the ground without making me you?
Are we through?
Oh are we through.