Requiem for My First Fan

it was an early show
in the six year lifespan of my Milwaukee band

i still wasn't sure if my songs were resonating
with anybody

just a three piece at that time
still searching for a bass player
we set up in the corner of The Pub
on the corner of Clarke and Weil
in Riverwest

opening for my keys player's band
we played a 45 minute set
to an audience mostly there
to see his
other
band

but
the house was packed
the energy was high
i was high
and i sang and yelled like my life
depended on it

Angie was the singer for the next act

she dug our set enough to later ask Paul
to invite me to join their group
after that night

but more than Angie
her boyfriend
Jon
he seemed to really get it

really care
about what i was doing
playing
singing
screaming
whatever

he bought me a beer
and offered me to join him in the restroom
for a bump

as we snorted a couple lines
off the top of the urinal
Jon told me
"Dude, I fucking love your songs!"

i could tell he meant it
and it felt so good to know
my morose rock dirges were landing
with someone

that all my lyrics about
alcohol addiction
drug abuse
and toxic relationships
weren't just falling on deaf ears

Jon could hear what i was saying

Jon got it

and about four years after that show
Jon died from a drug overdose

This Is the Thing I Won't Make It Through

the stars are for suckers
wasting away the night
in vapid romantic embraces

living in bungalows at the bottom of volcanoes
they
never
even
see it coming

hope is the lie they all fall for

but not
me

i turn every corner expecting the worst
and just because i made through yesterday
that doesn't have a damn thing to do with
tomorrow

what doesn't kill me
just waits for another chance
and it will get it

and it doesn't make me stronger

and i don't hope anymore

and i don't care about the stars

with the stamp of sin
she sends love letters to Hell
blood-sealed envelopes

Midnight Confession

she pulled her knees into her chest

as the candles crashed against the wall

in the next room

glass and wax exploded

over the hardwood floors of his upper flat

and this is how he let her know

he was in control

the family downstairs was used to it

by then

they heard it with the last woman

and the one before that

too

he never hit them

but he used the walls

and the doors

and the refrigerator

to show them what would happen

if he did

on that night 

it was the candles

vessels of his insecurities 

terrifying the woman in the next room

why?

what did/didn't she do?

fuck if he can remember now

you would think

something important enough

to make one half destroy their own residence 

would be worth remembering

but
it wasn't really about
her

it was about himself
and in that perfect storm of his ego

the distinction between a girlfriend 

and a hostage

wasn't an easy one to make

not until
years later

not until 

she was gone

not until he realised the
one
common factor
in all of his dysfunctional relationships

someday
he thinks

he'll call her

or send her a private message on facebook

saying he's sorry

or

being the coward that he is

maybe he'll just hope she reads this

and knows that he is

I Sing Duets with My Shadow

with the lamplight at my back
it feels like someone else is there

my ears full of wax and ghosts
everything i hear is haunted

headphones plugged into a headstone
i serenade the grave
trying to revive corpses with
broken guitar strings

fingertips covered
in decaying remains of A-minors
chord progressions become epitaphs
and choruses turn into obituaries

my throat is a hearse hoarse with death
but
i keep singing duets with my shadow
pretending we are both
alive

universe dancing
the stars explode like ballet
graceful nebulae

Postmortem

a slow song
by a dead friend
rings around the walls

guitar riffs
strum a mourning
for the last days of his life

the last pages of his story
always make me think of my own

death makes no mistakes
not a single one

and so
i am grateful to be sad
as i miss my friend

i am grateful that my own mortality
has not yet been seized

for one more night
i am still here
to play the music of a man who's
gone

birthday search party
man turning thirty-seven
seeks his younger self

There's No Escape

trapped forever in a car

spinning out of control over black ice

on the bridge into downtown Milwaukee 

a singer with bits of Chicago 

still lodged in his throat

rock n' roll in his guts

in his nuts

in both of his nostrils

the bass player's amp

smashed against his face

and like a true motherfucker of devil music

he sneered at death

unafraid

but it was not death upon him

it was imprisonment 

a soul sentenced to a moment

and a body that walked away

full of lament

to have died that day

would have been so much easier 

than the last nine years spent

trying to help a ghost escape its chains

black ice birthday dream
last nine years never happened
car went off the bridge

Winter Is Listening Now

he spoke with the snow
but the warmth of his breath
made it so that each word drifted away

winter was no season for conversations
between man
and nature

nature would not listen

so man
in all of his hubris
sought to be heard
by cutting off those cold ears
and using his voice to destroy
his surroundings

winter is listening
now

Skeletons

they ride city buses
as if no one knows they're dead
somehow even convincing themselves
that they are alive

flesh looks like crumpled up notebook paper
thin blue lines crossing in dead end directions

i want to feel
empathy
sympathy
concern

as someone who toyed with death
danced in graveyards
and etched his own name
into headstones
i
should

but i don't

i got out when i had a reason
and these walking sets of bones
are far beyond that point

they might as well stay dead
until they realize it

dead skin in a groove
wants to be part of this song
dust upon the wax

Take a Punch

somedays the heart of a boxer

jabs against my chest

with twelve rounds

of fight

i slip

and uppercut my way through
any shit that gets in front of me

but

other days

my heart feels like the heavy bag

just hanging around

waiting to be punched

[Detective, i know not where my neighbor's gone]

Detective, i know not where my neighbor's gone

But i do not miss him critiquing my lawn

Calling the police when my music was loud

Ending my parties if he thought too big the crowd

Oh, that neighbor of mine

How he would rant, and rave

What's that you ask?

In my backyard?

No, that's not a grave

Detective, i have planted some flowers to give to the ladies

There are roses, lilies, and even some dasies

To charm lovely women, and get me some kissing

But i swear i know nothing of my neighbor who's missing

Yes, that neighbor of mine
He was rude, and curt
But his body?
In my backyard?
Buried in the dirt?

Detective, please! I insist on telling you once more
While i never got along with the man next door
I certainly didn't beat him over his head so hard
With the shovel i used to dig a plot my yard

True, that neighbor of mine
He was an asshole
But not so much
That i would put
His ass in a hole

hands that wave no flag

an artist without country

free to hold the brush

You're the Girl

i nuzzle my nose against your belly
i am pathetic
and needy

desperate for you to allow me
to be part of you

handed a cup filled with poison
you say,
 "drink from this,"
and i do
because...

i keep thinking you're the girl

there's a gun on the table
and you tell me that every bullet is love

i put the barrel against my chest
feel my own heart beat
on the trigger

because i keep thinking you're the girl

you offer a knife
convince me that you will be mine
if i bleed

and i do

i cut my wrists
joyfully exclaiming,
 "We will be together!"

i do it
because...

i am
needy
pathetic
desperate

and i keep thinking you're the girl

streets paved with ego

lead to nowhere but the self

lonely dead end roads

Falling for Sinners

with a voice tickled by fire
he shouted flames that singed
the great ego

for this
his wings were clipped

for debate
he was exiled

for all sinners
he fell a fall most epic

and in every ember
of every flame that surrounds him
it is proven
if one is not free to question divinity
than in divinity
none are free

-for Satan 

dark becomes purpose
moth who never finds the light
makes stars from shadows

Your Love Is My Funeral

i drifted onto your shore
a withered vessel
the skeleton of a ship

torn sails draped over masts
like dead bodies

the tide brought what was left of me
to you
like a pallbearer

ghosts upon my deck
sing our wedding song requiem
and as i kiss you
i can taste
that your lips are a grave

not a roar in days
the lion has left his heart
too bleak for jungles

Notes of Pear

in a magazine he took on the plane
there was only one article that remained
a wine review for a chardonnay
one he had tried before his sobering day
it said that this wine has notes of pear
and he thought to himself as he flew through the air...

"How come I never tasted the pear?"

Revolutions Will Never Be Peaceful

one year ago
on this date
i was a fool with hope in his heart

today
i am wise
with dynamite in my hands

as his friends saunter

what happens when a man runs?

ahead, but alone