Joshua

I make my way back home after all the pale riders have gone to bed

This is my time.

Highbeam dreams threaten to close my eyes before my trip is through

This is my time.

I wonder if the president knows that the United States gets this dark at night

This is my time

Hairpin turns and solitary acceleration have brought me back to Jericho

This is my time

Will her walls fall for me tonight?   

 

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Subway Toast

This is one goes out to the friends,

who help me penetrate the walls with my voice

from pain, joy, or otherwise

To the ones who stare at the shower drain,

wondering how clean they have to be

to feel the warmth of someone else

This one goes out to the bottles,

who didn’t take it personally

when I threw them against the wall

To the Saints of Sound,

who save us every night

from self-inflicted crucifixion

This one goes out to the fighters,

Who work the midnight shift,

so their bones ache instead of their stomach

To the sun who will bless us with vitamin D,

so we can be what we want to be.

Keyboard Death Threat

Enough of the toxic cesspool of opinions

Enough of the narcissistic echochamber

Enough of the keyboard death threats

Enough of the marketing surveillance

Enough of the self-congratulatory social activism

Enough of the self-esteem roller coasters

Enough of the depression inducing memes

Enough of the misinformed witch hunts

Enough of the humble bragging

Enough of the disconnect from the organic

I was just here for the cute dog pictures,

not all of this

Ocular Trauma

What if all the mirrors have been lying to us?

They conspired for our destruction via vulnerable self-esteem

What if they need to be adored like the image they reflect?

They feed off our own vanity

What if the reflection was our own creation?

They’re just brutally honest

What if that’s not me in there?

Of course it is. Take responsibility for your own transgressions.

Why is it bad luck to break a mirror?

Because a broken mirror is really hard to shave with

January

The buttons big and small are polished for glory,

waiting for the megalomania to commence

Guided missiles awaken Gabriel for his song

His song can be heard in Philadelphia and Pyongyang

By men of the alley, carrying their cardboard crosses

crying “ Novus Ordo Seclorum”

 

The redwood trees will outlast this troubled empire,

waiting for Mother Nature to reclaim what’s hers

Wall Street invests in their own survival,

mars is waiting for their conquest

If I bury my melodies in the ground,

will they dig them up as artifacts?

 

While under the shade of palm trees America panics,

waiting for the rockets to fire

A false alarm will help you realize,

how much of a shithole your country really is

It makes you think about things,

and who you love   

 

Wurlitzer Punishment

The sun is unbearable and awkward,

my pockets are empty

Not because my bar tab was high,

or my wages are low

But because of  my heavy debt to the jukebox

 

You can’t sweet talk her into playing,

she only takes cash

I play the same song every time,

in hopes that you can hear it,

All the way up in your tower

 

But you weren’t up there tonight,

you were out, forgetting my name

The only way you can

 

I wish I could do the same

But I’m more likely to stab myself in the back,

than admit I miss you

Counting Sheep

I was too hard on her
The pillow’s indented
She got into her car
The pillow’s indented
It’s a nice Cadillac
The pillow’s indented
She drove down 95
The pillow’s indented
To get away from me
The pillow’s indented
The truck didn’t see her
The pillow’s indented
Gin can do that
The pillow’s indented