Vacant Mirror Redux

 friend(s) on a cold december morning mourning  that period of life those memories like  many dog eared pages  in a well loved book now all that is left is time and silence wondering where all those people went why I wasn't enough to remember or check up on that's not right because checking up on feels like a task i never wanted to be a task or burden i thought i held some value as a friend maybe  maybe i'm too old with too much responsibility to think back so much when there is less time in front of me why should i care right? stoicism is served up liked happy meals at mcdonalds no buyers regret when it comes to friendship  you leave with a box full of empty calories and if you're lucky a valuable and nostalgic toy to look at gathering dust on the shelf you'll eventually forget about

 Place and Palette The voice of  Dallas Green Is like the last hug  You’ll ever receive  From a loved one You’ll never see Again

 Winter nights I long to stay inside On these long winter nights Tucked away in my tiny house With weathered green shingles  And the draft that slowly  Creeps in  From beneath the window sill I sit in a rocker recliner Well broken in With a digital book at the ready When I’ve neglected my weekly  Visit to the town’s local library I like to lose myself  In someone else’s story Forgetting the dropping temps outside Those temps I’ve known since birth The cold that silences the world As you move slower  And your bones creak stepping off The deck’s old steps in the morning  This year’s winter feels Darker somehow Sunlight evaporating by 4 It’s endless and it’s only Dec. 2 All ambition from Halloween to Thanksgiving is gone Now it’s time for self preservation Four months of temps anywhere from 0-30 degrees at best It’s brings new worries An aging car An aging house Do not take kindly  To accumulating snow Wood splits as my mind waits For necessary ...

 Run We all of a certain generation Run like the hunted Stuck between the late 70’s and the present Old enough to remember Turning the dial Old enough to remember The quiet comfort Of not knowing the opinions Of a billion people Old enough to remember the beginning Of a new society/civilization When we became socially aware Not just about worldly explorations Aware about our own need to speak and to be heard Our thoughts  All of our thoughts  On topics That were usually reserved  For the barbershop The grocery store aisle Between two purple haired Ninnies  Their displeasure For anyone that  Spoke or looked different Celebrities who were once  Mythic and undeniable Now with shaved heads Slamming paparazzi with Umbrellas No one was safe

 “Blue” I’ll call him blue Found him in between the pages He was new to my school This is where the “watching out” And “looking after” began I was new to this I was a shadow that clung to Those high school walls Those lockers with combinations That frightened me Always forgetting daily The combinations He looked in my direction  He probably said hello He was new around here He didn’t have the built up hate for me Like the majority of the rancid ass holes I was at the end of my leash I suppose Had to be junior year My first car and second job had given me some distance An old friend gave me the heads up  Of Blue’s arrival “Kids a good kid, a little strange” “Watch out for him” The irony that I was also a good kid, a little strange wasn’t lost on me I was a little lost myself All the unrequited crushes  All the dumb mistakes and Man if there was a chance of me making one I was gonna do it on the grandest scale Blue didn’t notice He would pop in and out from time to tim...

 Comfort wind I sit here  Holding onto  The glimpses of trees  Swaying in the wind A snow storm that went north but  Left us with a nice Bit of rain And the wind That spits  Hard At your skin Gives me comfort

 Tolerance The thing about life is You really only have to tolerate Yourself That’s what really matters Just putting up with your own bullshit Sure we indulge In giving bad advice Advice we couldn’t take ourselves  But dish out like we have some  Control over how others deal with their Problems We also indulge in rhetoric to  Just hear our own voices We sit upon endless piles of the stuff Just waiting for the moment To ladle it out  Onto the plate of some benign conversation But then We find silence The art It needs to be created On who’s dime My own And the goal Is always to  Leave something that will endure Long after I’m gone Create some foothold Some memory Some story someone will Recall In some conversation  Some pause  Some moment That reminds them Of what I’ve created On someone’s dime My own. 

 The bar Part2 In all of my years Tenders were untouchable and  Bulletproof They could care less If you were the  Local jock has been Still wearing your class ring from 88 Or the next TS Elliot Of paper napkin poetry  Cash was king  And unless you were 93 One of those Doug’s  Was Gonna check your ID.

 And in my desperation I would threaten  To wreck myself Upon the bar A familiar watering hole Close enough to the highway to not be considered as seedy as the one  In the grove It had been customary For Blue and I To play rounds of  Pool and toss back  One of the many microbrews  They offered If I was in a favorable mood Pete’s wicked ale Was my Soup of the day It had become less Customary To actually play any rounds Of pool in the last few months It had become  My excuse I was a lonesome sad sack Despite having more friends  And a regular social life  Something I had longed my whole existence I was ultimately alone Aside from the gruff bartender (They were all called Doug) And the always cheery owner Scott Who always greeted me with a round On the house I sat by myself For hours On that stool Long enough for two School mates  From my past to walk in And reminisce One bought me a round  And invited me to the  Asian restaurant ...

 Stairwell** There was a rarely used stairwell  At the local community college i attended I don’t know when I decided it was a good idea to start drinking in there But I did a few times Usually friends would follow  In my hand an ultramarine Arizona iced tea bottle filled to the brim With Jack and Coke We’d all get giddy Tom Z was especially funny about the situation He was a bit older and worked at art a lot harder than most He also enjoyed knocking the shit out of the rules He was most famous for the naked painting he created right in the courtyard of the college More than paint rubbed off of Tom Z  His style and candor changed the atmosphere He was bohemian in a sense Hyper critical of his own work  Yet could break free from that type of stress to enjoy all of the characters surrounding him A perfect memory of Tom z would be that afternoon I started painting my own sweater during class Either bored or annoyed at my own painting I turned the brush on myself To...

 *Party** My parents insisted on dropping me off at a friends house A nice house on the other side of town J. didn’t have to invite me He was the closest I could call a friend from the early days Back when it was almost impossible To make friends amongst A whole set of peers that didn’t look  Kindly on someone that stood back Staying back  Was what parents warned their kids back then When they failed grades Or didn’t listen I was branded with that early on Always made aware by the snickers of the class that continued to move forward And all the shorter kids I was now attached to He was my friend despite all that shit My first official party It would be a night of debauchery I had only heard about In movies. Before I get ahead of myself, It was mild in comparison to the ruckus house party scene in weird science. And may have just been another Friday night in the lives of that social circle. But watching a stoner walk through the kitchen carrying a bong was fantastic I shar...