the wanderer

there's an empty space next to me tonight

i'm saving it for you

and when you come to bed, don't turn out the light.

i want to learn the geography of each of your eyes

and explore the landscape

of your hands that i'm dying to memorize.

i want to master your patterns of speech

and hear the beat of your heart

that's as pure as bleach.

i'll give a name to every strand of your hair

as they wave in unison

and i can't help but stare.

i'll measure the distance from elbow to wrist

in the legend

of my map, i'll denote one unit as a kiss.

a modern-day magellan will i be

as i cross the globe

to realize my explorer's fantasy.

this world is alive

this world is alive, all except the people.

they scurry to and fro, ducking under the rails as the train approaches,

so afraid of leaving a world they find so troublesome.

but then there are those who dare to leave the comfort of the darkness and step into the light,

and for the most part they are stomped out as grain under the millstone,

but those few that survive: oh what a life is theirs.

the artist and the aid worker, blessed are they who appreciate the gift given unto them.

but to you scurriers and duckers i say:

straighten your neck and stare into the light of the oncoming train,

in order that you might live at least once before falling under the inevitable, never-ceasing wheels of the mighty underground.

it's dark and lonely here

i took a roll of film with my mind's eye

it was you, on the cliffs, with the sunset behind

i developed the film as fast as i possibly could

hoping against hope that they would come out good

i rushed to the darkroom and printed a contact sheet

every picture was of you, thirty-six memories

i spent a couple hours pouring over the shots

i picked one favorite, even though i had lots

i carefully placed the negative in its carrier

as i turned on the enlarger, my complexion grew merrier

the sight of your face, projected onto the table,

even in negative, rendered me completely unable

to focus the image, so i quickly switched off the machine

i closed my eyes, and let loose with a scream

i screamed out of loneliness as i sat in the dark

a single red bulb exploded in a shower of sparks

the explosion brought me back, from a world of absence

the tears blurred my eyes in a vision of absynthe.

i pulled from the box every sheet of paper so white

then i threw them all in the air and switched on the light

there's no point in making a print of a picture of you

memory and sight are the only media that will do

to capture a radiance too brilliant for kodak

and it's that radiance that makes me want to come back

come back to beauty and come back to the sea

come back to california and you, and the cool ocean breeze.

swing low, sweet chariot

i am a visitor here

i am not permanent

i stop to shed a tear



thinking about community

but i don't belong here

i'm desparate for immunity



from this foreign earth

longing for home

wondering my worth



pretend suicide notes

set out to sea

on viking funeral boats



missing my love

my anchor

with wings of a dove



carry us away to heaven

leave this cemetary

this land of leaven



we are not from this place

of misery and violence

please let me see your face.

rich man/poor man

he was just standing on the street,

staring at me as i began to eat.

hair disheveled and very few teeth,

face permanently relaxed in a look of relief.

"how's it going?" i called out to him.

he replied "pretty good" but he looked pretty thin.

he hobbled up to my table, a homeless man's walk.

he asked me for nothing, he just wanted to talk.

"where wur ya burn" in a think irish tongue.

the tour guide had told me not to say where i'm from,

but my accent would betray my unpopular ancestry.

so "the states" i said, relying on honesty.

"that's great" he said, and adding in turn,

"why've ya come? are ya here ta learn?"

i couldn't be sure if it was question or offer

so i took the bait, wondering what wisdom he had to proffer.

he told me that he was a student of life

and he walked a line between worlds, thin as the edge of a knife

"rich man and poor man, they're all the same.

poor men are made whole and rich men go lame.

the good lord giveth, and he taketh away.

this life is too short, take heed what i say.

let things of this world trouble you nothing, naught, none,

because life will pass you by as if shot from a gun.

show business

there's no business like show business

but show business should be no business

distraction and escape

is business for an ape

this world of the real

is the world that i feel

and this life isn't easy

but this summer wind is breezy

and it's carrying my thoughts away

to a place that's not so gray

and sunsets and fires should burn orange

so this grayness brings with it a twinge

a twinge of pain from absence

in this land of pound and pence

but i'm here for just a while

so i'll walk this lonely mile

with a smile of recognition

all the while wishin'

that i could smell the mango in your hair

and lay my hand upon your face so fair.

underground

the tube ride home from camden town is a long and lonely road

and this night is filled with songs that make me think of home

red lines blur with blue lines and form a purple haze

and the redness in my eyes has me in a sort of daze

movement comes not easily as my legs begin to ache

and my thoughts come not easily when everything seems fake

i'm bleeding through my socks in these new london shoes

i'm bleeding from the heart because i've got these london blues

i'm too weak to scare away the pigeons on the stoop

as they bathe in a sludge of cigarette butt soup

close my eyes and see the light

lord give me strength to make it throught the night.

tired

i've got a piano tied to my eyelids

and it's starting to bring me down.

i've got a burning in my throat

and it's trying to burn me down.

i've got a longing in my soul

and it's dying to bring me down:

back down to home

back down to sleep

back down to san diego.

and i'm dying for a breath

as my lungs fail to recompress

gasping for breath

gasping for you

gasping for life

and breathing in illness

gasping for motion

and dying for stillness.

god in beauty

and in his note he said that the sun would rise and set without him. and everyone in the room saw the sadness welling in her eyes as she told us how she hates that he was right. she has to stop at least twice every time she drives home, because the tears are blinding late at night. she brings his picture with her everywhere she goes, so that he can see the world with her. and his pain was so intense that he could bear it no longer, yet his pain lives on in her, growing ever stronger. there is so much pain in this world. but where there is pain there is beauty and in beauty there is healing. and if i can give one thing to this world, i want to give beauty. beauty is a reason to wake up in the morning. and i want to experience beauty, and i have experienced beauty, and i have experienced beauty in you. healing is in your eyes and healing is in your lips and the healing beauty in you heals me through and through.