poem, about being young, written maybe 2001.

This is a shooting star
and I have not traveled far to find it
Listening to all they have to say
is not hard.
When I leave
it will be very obvious
The mastermind
I have left behind
and walked through walls.
What a witness
to have become -
You make it heavier to walk
much faster to talk
and easier to think
of moments
and places to go.
That should be what I am doing all the time
what I am doing
with this borrowed time.
Made drunk.
I remember one instance when I knew exactly what I was doing. It was when I was going to school, at classes, and I fooled them all into it. Learning to drive from the worst teacher and never making complete stops. Being seventeen is great.

poem, 1999

WHAT I LEARNED IN I.D.
A chair
can't stare.
It doesn't care.
Sit with me it cannot whisper.

It may have arms
And cushioned charms
But no embraces.

It's just a tool
A human foil
Set dressing for the human form.

You take your ass
and place its mass
upon a board.

It's just a bridge
on which you sit
to span the time
you work, or loll
or wait for someone.

(so you can tell I wasn't too excited about my Industrial Design degree....right school, wrong department. I don't regret a minute though, for so many reasons.)