black ice on blue island
and still sunshine in chicago
tears freeze just past your eyelid
and hang on till you find shelter

the song remains the same
mark said it should
and i have to agree
i'm not depressed
unspecific sadness
melancholia
this state of being
is something the winter months perpetuate
but something ever present, even in warm
hiding behind my eyes
and in the words
bleeding out onto the page

much good comes now
pouring out till my cup
runneth over with joy and
calm
i slept last night, sober as a bird
but like i had destroyed a bottle of bourbon

henry rollins said
that to the lonely
solitude is a hard won ally
but i think its sleep
and that the long, terrifying, wonderful trip
that is this life
doesn't require solitude
but goddamn, sleep helps

laying here
its funny the things that don't matter
like the looming camouflaged fella
or the noise
but i won't complain when they keep me up

in fact i'll lay here and take it all in
every scent and sound

sometimes i worry about everything
like who i am and where i'm going
how the world will end
where we will all be
but right now
beard soaking
i know that this moment is almost over

and as uncomfortable as it is
for the first time in forever
i want it to last

we're quick and loud
and all i want for us now
is slow long days
filled with exploration
and quiet

enjoyment of everything we're starting
to discover
you told me that you liked now me
and i realized that i did too
that now me is a better man than then me
well, different anyway

but different for better
i swear too much
and eat too little
i run on nothing and give everything
enough time has been spent in the woods
angrily searching for home
and terrified that i'll never find it
sitting by a pit
crying out to the emptiness
that i just want to be found

its time for sweetness
its time for a nap
its time for some goddamn breakfast

my knee pulsates now
i can feel the scar tissue move and pop
all the battles and bruises sit just below the skin
like a hangover
of hard hits and straight riders
you don't wanna fuck with this

this beach is no place for my whole life
neither is the parking lot was strewn in
luckily for the rest of the journey
love is its own reward
and drunks move slower than
half naked cyclists



ride or die

this the poem i wrote

being has never been the problem
i am
i am here
i am doing this
i am

feeling has always been the problem
this is
this is real
this is happening
this is

horridly cautious
mind guarded
hiding behind pages
and within notes
being drawn out
by someone other than
the immediate folk
is terrifying

and beautiful
rolling rock never tasted so good
and wet socks are a small price
to pay for a long walk home

morality has never been the problem
i am
i am alive
i am ready to die
i am

fear has always been the problem
you are
you are real
you are compelling
you are

i am
this is
you are

somedays i feel like an existential john the baptist
crying out for understanding and love
in an altogether different wilderness

though, our beards are probably approaching similar

the people i meet are always in transition
and when we've found one another
what i can breathe into them is a sense
of calm amidst complacency
and true love within a moment

i collect these people like tattoos
each one permanently written on my heart
their stories binding with mine for only a moment
our conversations remembered for a life time

because it really is better
to step away from money and comfort
to pursue that which makes your heart flutter
and a dream
is always something i will validate

i've been trying to remember all week
what about PHC's poems reminded me
so vividly in one ride
of my fathers bike

but that thought is gone
as is the whiskey that birthed it
so i'll say truths i know about the bike
and see if they ring true for his words

its well maintained, watched after
valued
always available for when i need it most
and ready for the adventure
that is having me drunkenly
traverse towns and trails
like i never left

i always meet people in transition
and all i really want
is a her with some freckles
a wise head on her shoulders
a clever tattoo or two
and the patience to let me wander
and the sight to see all

that makes me wonder