The last day

When I sin my life will go away

yet each time I chose the other way

and now I sit here listening in tune

to perfect timing from a lune

a lunar, rather, a moon so quick

a diamond life was ackward thick

and chose my door to get inside

and chose the life I had to hide

because inside the perfect timing bubble

there was only weird and deathly trouble

but when I got out I rose again

to say that life would be mine again

and so today as I have learned

I write enough that isn’t earned

but each time I picked it up again

and through everyone I’ve learned to live again

and maybe music was a solution

backwards medication or timid hestitation

and then inside I learned I live

with an angel on my side insive

pensive rather, maybe not

maybe I could be cockblocked

from thumps or tempers, riddle or sign,

and I learned that life has grand design

and that when we line it all up again

I decided that I’d already denied again

so before we trouble each other more

I will learn it’s just a door

intersection of the loops

and now the hope and then the cooks

and then the learned people thoughts

and then the wicked afterthoughts

and then I realize I can’t change themselves

because all the night I believed in elves

little ones that have a heart

today June 6th I did restart

June 5th I put it down again

in paper pen or glass so thin

and that’s why perfect timing writes

that timing’s perfect after thought

you

hey now

when we have zero

we go minus give

and then we wake up

alive to win

so when you put it down mom will know

that today I am writing that I have seen

a given chance to overdrive again

that door to fate is paper thin

heaven’s gate will always have been

the chorus for a rhyme so winding

that I have felt better than perfect timing

and then you realize

there is no word

and that when I am typing

I am complete and absurd

but there is a but in there

that says but to be one is to be there

and I just realized in this song

I have been singing all along, that

I have chosen each one all wrong

my diamond isn’t here today

the opportunity came anyway

it’s funny that, it truly is

because that is just what that it is

then and where Is it perfect

There it is, I haven’t heard it

the song is playing this mind and why

I hope I don’t have to die to finally see why

I turned you upside down to plan

that you’ve become all my trouble when

you show up, I’m sorry to say

but I’ll have to say it anyway

because keeping up appearances hurts

I think we both have the same key words

and when your perfect ending comes

I hope it was worth the ending ones

because truly I believe that you are right

it’s just that I can’t seem to unfight

that you could read this anyway,

and that I’m actually wanting it private, all day

it’s just that fame has not become

the same thing that I was told, I’m done

because now the song has turned so black

that you could have a heart attack

and then you’ll see the housing voices

are already ahead between my inner noises,

and maybe I’m just making it up

because truly I could give a fuck

that when the four minutes are done,

I have only just started to become

a man I wanted just to be

although when I wasn’t, I should be

and when I am I truly strive,

just to be a god damn wive,

tale or two, and probably true

that this tempo is overdue

mystics and poets and dinner and rhythm, food, and water, and beer and given,

my wonderous name is there to be

just between you and me.

hello internet

are you my friend.

could you donate a buck or two,

because maybe $1000 is overdue

hello. you.

wow, this one is hard.

I guess I am just roleplaying bard.

(I wish I could undo the dirty laundry, because writing here has caused an unchained quandry…)

(so maybe if I take it down after 5th, you will finally plead it with).

By 5:16 on the 16th, I mark my words I will have quit, and started too, Jesus lord, my god I’m through, with your dance and last romance, and when I ask, I go into trance, but yet I’m here, with this last chance. Solely me, or maybe you, it’s always thee, I think I get you, yet I don’t, life is surely, more than won’t.

I’ve seen crazy, I’ve seen black, I’ve seen angels, and heart attack, I’ve seen writing that I don’t understand, I’ve seen miracles that can’t unmend, I’ve heard messages, that I cannot act on, maybe there’s still, a day of strange emotion, and divine protection, and stolen water, maybe there’s days, where we all wander, and in this mind, I’m here again, Matthew, I scream again. Please rejoice, please repent, please don’t curse me, when I repent – wholely I find grounding in quiet space, just before it starts to race, and when I come, to that old time, I’ve learned to fight, while demons time, and ok yes, I messed you up, but surely there’s a give a fuck, deep down inside – I have no place left to run and hide. So I stay, here today, here tomorrow, and hopefully life, goes on tomorrow. Cryptic chaotic or underused, it’s time my voice was fully used. In here or there, the darkened box, I saved his life, with 100 walks.

Man, the poetry dark. can be real scary. I’m still hoping for a laugh, a buck or two. And ok there’s not much else to say, I hope that life, is here today

Your way. My way. Yahweh, or go away. I truly hope I get this right – because signing that makes a man delight.

Wake up you, wake up holy. Wake up clean, and make good. Make good, make more E, more L, more random nights, make neighbours sleep, or smile lots. We can do it, we can work, we can stop here, because someone lurks. Lol. Damn that tempo, trigger happy, I’ve buried my conscience, in digital Matty.

I’ve got a bike with no tubes, a tube with no data, a guard with no Intel, and a runonpoem with no destination. And a lot more. Mostly a phone with no calls, a messenger with no notes, and a harmony with myself without anyone, jokes!

I’m actually ok, I’ve seen the reruns, I’ve heard the replays, and in between earth, sun and waters, still remember that we give ourselves grace because life is a process for everyone.

When I reset now, I know it’ll be your memory.

Happy Father’s Day and maybe it might be my apology for being indifferent when I cannot be.

I don’t know which voice is God’$ , but at least they all aren’t so that there’s some variety.

This time I’ll smile for me, you tired, blessèd weaver miqoté.

Please come home, not that a plea on a blog will make it happen. But hey, I’m pretty crazy, and there might be enough sympathy from your neighbours to take you home until you’re comfortable.

What am I doing? This isn’t going to help.

The next call is usually the investor, the creditor, and the regret reset.

‘sigh’

Why does my soul do this downcast tune

When the Sabbath resides

And I’ve been singing this tune for far too long

Coffee stains on my favourite shirt

Grey hairs in the sink

Cockroaches on the counter

A books everywhere unread

And you wonder why I am eating the daily bread

Me too

I wonder if I’ll ever get paid for what I do

For you