Insufficient Canvases (I'll be ay-okay)

[More fun with form and content, and more day dreaming about uncertainties. Enjoy!]

And there are some things I can’t say aloud, to you, that
I can confess to a crowd, I do, not
Really understand, why I prioritize so upside down
Either go on your way or come back
I’ll be ok either way

I’ve been living every year at a day by day pace
Turning every corner, expecting to see your face on
Every stranger, starring as they pass by
Two years ago, you left, sunspots on my eyes

They say I have to move on…

But I will not settle for less
I won’t let anything get in my way
My cannon’s armed and ready
I cannot lower my aim
I’ll be ay-ok.

Anything I say becomes
Rock like and stone and I might just regret sharing
Everything, they are little words and phrases
these little sounds I make,
Elocution flaws
Loose around my mouth,
They can’t explain all you are.

A painter that wants the sea recreated, on
Insufficient canvases
Every stroke misplaced
Like sugar free, so slight yet
Like prosthetic legs - not enough, undone,
like this song.

And I will not settle for less
I won’t let anyone get in my way
My cannon’s armed and ready
I cannot lower my aim.

I shoot for the moon to land among the stars
The distance sometimes feels that far
Either way, I’ll be ay-ok.

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6 through 10 of 19

[6 through 10 of '19'. Don't think to much about it, don't think too little. Its vaguely specific and not at all realistic or literal. We're talking, if poems were paintings, this is a Pablo Picasso piece based off of a Dali idea, painted on a crowded bus that's driving down a mountain, swerving around pot holes and playing the radio too loud. What song is playing? You pick, my imagination ends here. Oh, and disclaimer: None of this was written under the influence of drugs. Promise. Thank you. -Theo]


6.
What if I died on my birthday?
Would I really die at all?
Would 19 be it?

Ta da!
That's it!
Two decades!
Almost! So close!
Too bad, so sad!
That's all folks!
You don't have to go home
but you can't stay here.

And then,
I go in the ground
or an ugly pot
or maybe I'll float
in the sea, mixed with purple sugar
and memories and cartoon strips
from friends and fans and both.
I’ll float and float and float...


7.
What are they going to say or do?
Will they win? Did it help?
Will they find the tapes?
Imagine someone threw everything out!
"Its just a poor man’s personal effects."
A poor man who lived his whole life
Doing nothing important
To or for
Anyone or anybody
And in the last few years,
He changed the world.
Oh boy!


8.
I’ll float under the golden bridge
and away and away and away
On my back, looking up
At the sky…

Like i did
As a kid
At Robert Moses beach
I would,
Until a big wave would come
Tackling me in an embrace
Leaving that Atlantic taste
Of salt, dirt and algae…


9.
That taste,
It kind of reminds me of my first NYC green tea,
college visits and applications celebrated
in this awfully dirty place midtown that
I never went to again.

I drank about half to be polite.
I was so much younger then, a year ago.
I'm not much older now, a year later.
And yet that's all it takes to change your life,
A year.
Or less.
Maybe more.

Depends on when you define
the starting point of change
and the final point, its completion.


10.
When does an inch begin and end?
Aren’t you always a little off?
How can you be precise?

If you’ve got 1, you could be holding 1.1 and not know it.
Or 1.01, or 1.001, or 1.0001, or 1.00001, or!
You could be holding exactly 1
and nobody believes you!
I'd hate that!

What if nothing is real?
Surprise! Nothing is.
Its not much of a surprise
if you’ve consider it before.

I bet that's why they
don't make movies
about it anymore.

5 of "19"

[Five pieces of my epic poem/long-ass poem 'Nineteen', and just a taste of the insane stream-of-conciousness writing that ensued. -Theo]


1.
Today’s the big day!
It doesn’t feel very big.

Look at me,
I’m presenting myself on this stepping stone
Give us a spin!
A whole 19 years old!

Do I say “all that?” or “that’s all?”
I’m not sure.


2.
It feels like it all started yesterday
...If yesterday started ages and ages ago

Or maybe its vice versa.
Maybe I’ll never know.


3.
Well, happy birthday!
Enjoy yourself!

Its really just another day.
What else is new, but you?
And the people younger then you.
And the people older then you!
And the people exactly your age!
Surely, that’s impossible.
Unless someone held a stopwatch
at the very moment you made
your first cry
as
your last foot
slipped out.
But
even that could be inaccurate
if he wasn’t looking,
or his hands were slow…


4.
In the grand scheme of everything,
We’re all new.

If you fit the entire life of the earth
on a 12 month calendar,
Humans have only existed for two minutes
And the dinosaurs died in September!
Imagine that…
So much for back to school...


5.
But even human existence is really big.
So is a millennia, and a century, and a decade.
A year can be big. A day can be big.
Today is big, right?

I wrote all that in a minute.
See? Even minutes are big.

But 525,599 minutes later
is another year.

Minutes feel small now.

#18 (Eighteen)

[Poem about both the age and the sonnet - I'll give a million cool points to who can specifically recognize the inspiration of this piece. DISCLAIMER: Cool points cannot be redeemed for cash, only compliments. - Theo.]




18.


Eighteen months later, I’m still at this desk,
Tallying the days since June Twenty-fifth.
I’m next to the phone, incase you should call.
Should you write, I moved it near the mail box.


I just sit and I stare… I double-take where,
I see familiar strangers with sun in their hair.


Eighteen months, over a year of my life.
Five hundred twenty days to be precise.
I’ve filled book aft’r book, this entire time.
I’ll run out of page ‘fore I keep you mine.


This case is hopeless, Yes, but regardless
The dream mixed with the memory
Producing endless poetry
Surpassing the beauty of reality


So you are heartless, Yes, so I know this
Slither, shadowed by gallant fantasy
Facts dissolve in attractive mystery
They live longer then us, in infamy.


Once… I write it right, I write.
“It will once… I write it right.”


When you leave your things, you leave an excuse,
To converse, return, what we’ve been reduced.
Words cannot tell how or what is true of:
When beauty lived and died as flowers do, love.


Someday, somehow, a letter will summarize
Immortalize passion that never dies.
I’m too much of a perfectionist
When its done I swear you’ll get it


But not this letter
I can do better.


The dream mixed with the memory
Producing endless poetry
Surpassing the beauty of reality
Facts dissolve in attractive mystery
Someday, somehow, a letter will summarize
Immortalize passion that never dies.


Once… I write it right, I write.
“It will once… I write it right.”



Oh, Eighteen

Months, your sunny blonde turned white.
Slither, Shadow, Six feet below sun’s light.


The dreams I had will eternally thrive
In publication of my written mind.


Once… I write it right, I write.
“It will once… I write it right.”