Proofs of Purchase

The following thoughts have filtered from a mind that has been oversaturated with images, screams, romance, text, and sounds since The Carter Administration. If you are not satisfied, then I recommend a double chocolate brownie from Starbucks with a tall bold of the day.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

IP Addresses

I'm home on the range
Watching deer and antelope graze
A rebel with a key
And a pen
Writing screenplays
Lifetime achievement
Blessed like Scorsese
Reeling eternal pixelation
Playstation
China blocks out
Google infiltration
Big trouble in a little dynasty

A Frosty

The snow warms your cheeks
After falling on dogwoods
Surrounding deciduouses
The snow invents playgrounds
Inviting young kids
Teaching cherubs rock and roll
The snow fights the passing of time
Losing in the end
Cause timing is everything
The snow dulls your windowsill
While brightening your spring fever
For days of romance, rain, and pollen
The snow blankets your eyelash
Slowing winks, but not stopping sight
Might as well make a snowman

Monday, March 29, 2010

Actionable

I should be able to help it
But I can't
And I want to
I had only this much to use
For the month
That grows into the year
Like stacks of GQ mags
Tipped with Stacy Adams
Who conversed with Marc Jacobs
After he whispered to Valentino
About the lounge in Milano
A dark room of home
By Calvin Klein
Selling mysteries from Zegna
And scents for Miuccia Prada
With love

Yellow Cave Mix

The life of a soldier
Dies but once
Walks soft, cutting bolder
A big ole man
With a big ole gun
Eyes scarred by sand
Dry heat crackles the pinkie
Arabic snaps the unconscious ear
Beautifully spoken
Artistically written
In the bazaars
With hits of fabric
And misses of cardamom
Popped by an irresistible force
Destroying a once immovable object
Tomorrow hits today
For the Iraqis
For the Afghanis
And our families

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Fort Tryon Park

The grass is greener
On the other side
The trees are bigger
Over there too
The leaves, almost the same
Who on this Earth are we to blame?
Since the heart pines for fame
Making us live forever
And ever
When your soft finger
Grazes my earlobe
Sparking spiritual neurons
Growing the castle
That K failed to see

Who Knows?

They don't know
They don't see
They want to feel
Maybe cop it
Before chewing up
A Big League pouch
Like I do
Like I know
Because I've been hangin around
Most of the time
Not really doing
A damn thing
Since I run Tyco tracks
Like Usain Bolt
Standing in the shadows
Full of light
From the Lord
His words nearly risen
Indeed

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

The Redshirts Are Coming

They dissolved once
They dissolved twice
Like Big Red, they lingered
Democratic. A Front. United.
Full of spice over Thaksin
Who dared to tease an agrarian
Rather than eat banana leafs
And swim in his baht sheets
Abhisit played absent minded
Claiming to be the rule
Yet he's hardly an exception
No heat for the Bangkok secularian
Thais cook with color
Thais fight with color
Can they work in grey?
Solving for P?

Saturday, March 13, 2010

It Falls On Bricks and Firs

The rain stops strides
Right at lunchtime
Pouring drinks
At brunch
With loved friends
Talking about unloved scenarios
That arise and fade
Like Oreos in milk
Like a hand raised off of a Bible
Unlike Polaroid photos
But like Jimi Hendrix solos
Electric ladies
Landing

A Pilot

Back in the day
We were young
Not children
Nor adults
But young
Hanging out
With dialogue
Without monologue
Heights style
Under peach trees and Georgia breezes
We reset the video
Amplified the speakers
Turned up the mikes
The film has not unwound
Since you are a now a manager
While I perform through dreams
A duet could fill those clouds
Distance may dissipate them

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Kirkwood

One day in Atlanta
Twenty-five years of friendship began
One day in Atlanta
Memories of yore ran
In the film stock with Indiana
Blurry as the traffic of Georgia
Clear
Into a visual info plan
Turned by Ted
That grew many peaches
For those states united
Flowing safe breezes
Cool and warm like The Replacements

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Aristotle Would Be Proud

I heard a rustling in the forest
I sensed an air of unrest
My radar knew it
The werewolves smelled it
Bruce Wayne lives for philanthropy
Batman solves for criminology
Your body was tied in vine
While your mouth bit a cloth, thirsting for wine
No footprints in the dirt
Many footprints on your skull
I picked you up gently
Carried you onto my back
To the valley of nectar
We nourished ourselves with fruit
Then returned to the batcave
Factored with labels
Of grace and justice
Those labels grew to granite
Entrenched on the blue planet
Once unconnected on Mars
The batcave opened your eyes
The metal bars kept them closed
Although soft, those bars were
An old illusion from a sinking ship
I charged free shipping of laughter
Since I was Bruce Wayne
A giver
A lover
A thinker
An enigma
To himself and others
Including you
You charged me for your spirituality
Swinging beneath God's society
Rather than within
A concrete paradise, belying Babylon
I returned the invoice
Paid with cash, then bonds
Short-term, since decisions are made
Quick, in a superhero's time
One day, you defaulted, hiding your assets
I wondered why, but learned the reason
You matured before the payout
Unusual for the market
Perfect for a superhero
Justice was served

Monday, March 1, 2010

A Rubrik's Cube on Steroids

Yet again, I sit alone in the library
Yet again, I am losing the motivation
Yet again, my eyes stay open with fear
Once again, I am my own worst enemy
With no timing
With no grace
I have respect near and far
Yet my psyche wrestles in the mud
Over the angles of life
Its chemistry
Its physics
Its biology
Its ecosystems
Its vagaries
I observe, but rarely listen
I act at times without thought
I think at times without action
I contradict with power
Therefore, I am secretly lost
In space rather than Earth
I reach out, touching few
I take more while giving less
More and more, though
I am seeing
The clues to the last pieces
Of the puzzle
Nestled under my nose
Beyond my large, busy mouth
One day it will all make sense
One time I will cross the finish line
With the cube of Rubrik
Its bright colors set in my hand