Farmer:

the farmer
plants his crops
months before
he can reap
their harvest
only time
can tell
if his efforts
will be rewarded

Strange

strange
yes, quite
unusual
perhaps
sensational
spectacular
surely this
is meaningful
I could swear
this were
tangible
spectacular
sensational
perhaps
unusual
yes, quite
strange

Brick

i. I was a brick
the weight was too much
to lift

the cuts
on their eyes
and their lips

an ill placed wish
a failed attempt
at true love's first kiss

ii. deep
they told me
let me in
they pleaded
but I wasn't the one
with the key

iii. looking through glass
we can almost touch
but we always end up
just sliding past

iv. tempting
I know
charming
alluring

how long have I been alone?

v. there's a truth about you
a sense of sensibility
a glimmer, a light
a beacon

vi. a constant glow
so this is how it feels
to float

vii. you softened me
like butter in the sun
I was a brick
until you came along

viii. some secrets
you don't have to try
to keep

they keep themselves
like a treasure
buried inside of you

Candy Jar

like a diabetic kid
caught with his hand
in his neighbor's candy jar
someday he'll have
some explaining to do
and he won't know
where to begin

Emily

emily has a head on her shoulders
a smile like the sunrise
and eyes like a woodland scene
she talks like a blanket
and moves like wind through the trees

Philosophy

There wasn’t anything particularly unusual, just an average day. I’m used to it. Wake up, shower, eat breakfast, go to school. School was ordinary. It always is. Nothing ever happens when you expect it. But then I never expect anything to happen. I guess I was asking for a meteor to come hurtling down from space, hit me on the head, and when I woke from the coma to be a genius. But since I was subconsciously asking for it, naturally it didn’t happen. I guess I must be subconsciously asking for a lot of things because I rarely ever get any.

I definitely didn’t ask for my car to die. I should remember to ask for that sometime. And for a old beater car to replace the one I have. The nastiest, junkiest car in the world. Then I saw it. I want that car.

The nastiest, junkiest car in the world was pulled over on the side of the road. It probably died. I feel for you man, I really do. The man looked up at me and asked if I could give him a hand. I could, so I did. How come this guy gets what he asks for? Shoot, I had to ask for the nastiest, junkiest car in the world.

I really didn’t want to get home anymore, afraid of what I might find in my driveway. If this poor guy’s car looked this bad, I’d hate to see what my new car might look like. I remembered something Willy Wonka told Charlie at the end of his movie. It was something along the lines of asking Charlie what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he ever wanted. Charlie didn’t know, so Willy Wonka told him. He said that the man lived happily ever after. And I had to ask for a stupid beater car. Oh well, I probably deserved it.

Fate. It was probably fate that my car died, I had to walk home, and that I happened to stop to help the guy with the second nastiest, junkiest car in the world. I was bent down under the hood looking at something instead of the man. I should’ve been looking at the man. It’s usually nice knowing that someone’s about to hit you over the head with one of those wrenches used for taking lug nuts off the wheels. Normal people don’t do that do they? I can’t imagine normal people do. No matter what you call normal, I’m pretty sure hitting me over the head with a wrench isn’t it.

The pain was exquisite. Sure it hurt, but since I couldn’t really feel anything else, I figured I might as well savor it. I woke up and it was gone. I kind of missed it, but not enough to want to get hit in the head again. The question was whether I had decided that it was best to ask for things I didn’t want, to ensure that I wouldn’t get them, or whether I should ask for things that would make me live happily ever after if I ever happened to come across them. Slowly the pain started to ease back into my head. I didn’t miss it as much as I thought I had. I’d have to remind my self to stop trying to out think myself. More pain.

I decided to trick the pain away. I’d have to risk a sharp stab, but headaches are the pits so I figured it was worth it. Pie. I want pie. Oddly enough, I had pie. It was sitting on the plate sitting on the table sitting right in front of me. Was that table always there? Pain. Who cares? There’s a piece of pie. There was also a fork but I was getting smart enough not to question whether or not it was there just a moment before, when I first found the pie.

The man sitting at the table asked if I wanted to sit down. I wanted, so I sat. The man sitting next to him asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I told him an Italian soda would be nice, and he agreed with me. The man holding a serving tray, standing next to me handed me an Italian soda. He gave one to the second man too. The first man was already drinking a cup of coffee. The third wasn’t thirsty so he placed his tray on the table, took a seat, and picked up a Danish that may or may not have been there before he sat down. Frankly I didn’t care much about the Danish. I’d come to know better than that.

I wasn’t really that hungry. Nor were the first two men really thirsty. The third man was finished his Danish rather quickly, but then it’s hard to eat pastries slowly. We mostly sat and talked, casually eating or drinking. At one point the second man picked up a Danish and once he finished it, his Italian soda that had been sitting on the table was considerably lower. I didn’t mind though.

I finished my refreshments and declined a Danish that the third man offered me. The first man took a sip of his coffee and looked at me. He looked strangely familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on it. He thanked me for helping him with his car. I chose not to know what he was talking about.

There was something strange about this place, finally having realized that I had to be somewhere and that it wasn’t anywhere I recognized. But I didn’t care. The air felt different. It wasn’t heavier or lighter, or staler or fresher, than normal. It wasn’t any more or less enriched with oxygen, not that I’d have been able to tell anyway. Suddenly I found it. It was Pink Floyd. Pink Floyd was in the air. Not enough to hear it but you could feel it. It was the most ambient thing I’d ever not heard in my life.

"And I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime."

"I never said I was frightened of dying."

“You see,” the first man told me as he sipped his coffee, “it’s never been about taking over the world. Anyone can take over the world. It’s about not taking over the world. That’s tricky.”

He took another sip of his coffee. The third man offered me another Danish. I took it this time. The first man put his coffee down and started running his fingers back and forth across the table. He was ambiguously slender. Probably tall too, but he was sitting so I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t really noticeable. Nothing about him or the other two men was. Nor was this place or anything in it. For all I knew, there weren’t any doors and I didn’t really feel like checking.

“Did you ever watch Life is Beautiful?” the first man asked me, picking his coffee back up. “It was a good movie.”

He slid a plate of coffee cakes across the table to me.

“You don’t have to agree with me,” he said after I failed to reply. It wasn’t that I disagreed. I just couldn’t remember having actually said anything out loud yet. I didn’t want to think about how I asked him for an Italian soda and how I never told him what flavor. So I didn’t.

“There’s no point in taking over the world. The happiest people are the ones who have no power. At least not any power over anybody else. Have you ever seen The Cool Hand Luke?” He set his coffee back on the table. “It was good too.”

“So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell…”

“I like this song” the second man said. The first man picked his coffee back up.

“And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?”

The first man looked up at me and asked if I had heard this song before.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “Taking over the world is pointless.”

It didn’t really bother me that he kept talking about not taking over the world. Ignorance, it seems, is bliss. Or at least it’s not a headache. He started talking again.

“Have you ever noticed that people who are open minded are close minded to anyone who isn’t? Probably not, most people don’t.” He took a sip of coffee. “Have you ever wanted to live in a freethinking society where everyone was allowed to be wrong?”

“Is there anybody out there?”

The first man sighed. He looked kind of sad. He started stirring his coffee. I didn’t know that people stirred coffee. Apparently they do.

“It’s probably about time you got home,” he said. He looked up at me again. Then slowly, he stood. He was unnoticeably tall. I couldn’t figure out why he looked so sad. A single tear rolled down his cheek, “It’s not about taking over the world.”

He continued to look at me. He didn’t blink; the tear glistened on his cheek.

“Life is Beautiful,” he said. “You should watch it sometime.”

Infatuation

infatuation
the lie
that robs true love
for a kiss