Crazy

Crazy is
driving to the middle of nowhere
in the middle of the night
to meet with someone you met
only a day before
via a message on your Facebook page
simply because she thought
it would be great if you came over.
Never mind that your body
is shaking and yawning,
saying that you should be
sleeping peacefully instead of
driving frantically while
passing carelessly by police checkpoints that
tonight are thankfully not occupied.
Never mind your alarm will be
blaring in your ears
early in the morning
and the lack of rest
will make you feel like
a depleted version of yourself
with only coffee and junk food
around to get you going.
She said come over
and for the first time in forever,
you're acting on impulse.
Every other action in your life
has been one of routine,
one of habit,
or one of analysis.
Now none of that matters.
Right now,
you're just driving.

Friday

Tell me
there's more to it than this.

Tell me
that it's not just about the cycle

of five-day intervals
and our feelings being dictated

by where we fall
within the spectrum of them.

Tell me
there's more to it than

five-day intervals of work and
two-day intervals of weekend,

the same song and dance going
from one interval to the next.

Tell me
there's more to it than this.

To Know

The preacher says,
"Get it out of your mind!
You're living in sin."
This is the message
for this Sunday morning sermon.
The preacher is
pacing back and forth
on his pulpit stage
telling his congregation
that carnal knowledge
is not allowed
if one is truly a believer.
He points to the Good Book
and how it says that "sex"
is denoted by the words
"to know",
as in man "knows" woman
and woman "knows" man
but only in the matters of
marriage and
creating a family.

And I keep thinking
that as a single man,
I guess I can't get
"to know" anyone
and I should pray
for my own forgiveness
because I got
"to know" women before.
And I must be
the worst of the worst
because I read a poem
written by a female poet
and it was all about lust
and those initmate moments
that make time stand still
and makes clocks evaporate.
And I liked the poem,
making me wish
that I could get
"to know" a woman like that.

University Games

Teenagers made into saviors,
coaches treated like gods,
and the rest pray
at the altar of the stadiums.
Services will be conducted
on Saturday afternoons
or Thursday nights
or whatever day and time
the television cameras indicate.
The believers make their pilgrimage
to these hallowed fields
as they are called and
they make a joyful noise
for the game that is to come.
The believers hope and pray
that this year's version
of saviors and gods
can get them all the way
to the promised land,
the land of Championship Games,
the land of crystal balls
and large banners,
where the winners get the spoils
and all the bragging rights.
But what of the other teenagers
who reside on the campuses
and wear their colors proudly
but don't play the games?
The believers have no time for them
for they are mere mortals.
They can't take the congregation
to the promised land
for their talents aren't the same.
They are not the saviors
and not coached by the gods.
The believers care only for
the stadium chants
and the stadium songs
and the staidum performances
and this year's team
getting to the promised land.

Solitude 2

I’m trying to write something
but writing requires solitude
and right now
solitude is killing me,
wearing on my senses
to the point where I spend
this time of creativity
paralyzed by the silence
that surrounds me.
This solitude is a constant reminder
that the imaginary kingdoms
are starting to crumble,
leaving me with nothing more
than a mental mound of rubble.
But I think what gets me the most.
is that there is no sign
of humanity anywhere,
neither real or imagined.
I’m alone here
and I can't fend off the feeling
of lonliness tonight.
It keeps punching away
and there's no referee around
to jump in and call the fight.