difficult waters

we stand where the land gives in to the harbor

and the rest of the journey is difficult         waters

but i can't think of

anyone

       i'd rather see

trying too hard is just

      hoping that you see

it's not about you

          it's not about me

                                    that much is a lie

it's just not about me

you drove away the snow turned 

        into rain

and your last apology

              didn't mean anything

you said ‘forget…

            forget i even came’

i spent the next three days in search of disaster

 with dylan

                   whiskey

                                    and all the best bastards

         that’s when the sad boys

                               lined up to see me

the ever-go-by shows you the picture

     then you decide that the small parts

         are     fiction

i’ll work on the world

                           you work on the time

                           sitting in swoon

bending back fingers

there's nothing i have    that's

   even worth stealing

you

                  underneath   

                                    breathe

‘my kingdom                            for a king’

            so

in a one window room

                  i make the decision

            the train rattles by

with a lack of precision

                  but you and all ways

find the tracks

                  that i need

    the sound of the air

is making me lonely

                  well   lonelier

                           that's better

to describe the courage

     to stubborn and stand

give the harbor a hand

this morning stands tall

    at a comfortable distance

from the truth or the past

                 whatever you noticed

       could take you away

take you to the sea

here's the trick though

 it's a bit late for changing

i wear this on my sleeve

cause that's what is remaining

and i can't think of

         anyone i'd rather be

                       late  

         on a friday

                  the stare isn’t moving

the figure descends

         and you won't get to me

circle the ones

                  that make you believe

            in

  suicide marks

      of procrastination

the something between us

                  won’t ever be patient

if you could marry an idea

                  then i'd be an idea

then the picture starts to fade

          it cracks

                  and it yellows

and you have to be

                  at rushford tomorrow

good at goodbye

                  isn’t something to be

      i'm broken

so fix me

   it isn’t a question

     i know that you're leaving

and there is no exception

but i still can’t think of

                  anyone

           i’d rather see

           to live                    is to fly

but that sounds like bullshit

    i don't know who'd believe it

and waste their time chasing it

                   but would you would you would you

come to england with me?

having a designer doesn't put us at rest truth is not as important as good behavior

The various modes of worship, which prevailed in the Roman world, were all considered by the people, as equally true; by the philosopher, as equally false; and by the magistrate, as equally useful. -Edward Gibbon

(1776)(Chapter II: The Internal Prosperity In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part I. Second Paragraph)

                  fellow mercurians lend me your resumes  

took to practice

      busting match heads

with alice

we all want the same thing

friend to man

    the in group

tall to stand

three pages a day

and forty eight pages behind

               early morning

stamps

self addresses

the curls make smiles

         that make waves

upon a working man's things

time isn't up

    but it's filling the cup

and that is almost enough

         leaves leaf

   leath wreath

complete

when you play only longshots

         you will win big

                 just a matter of when

and the long in-betweens

the quintuple spaces

the lip line traces

      and the lack of motivation

to solve anything beyond

    laziness

and temporal concerns

      the heartbeat is learned

not fated

           or earned

like anything else

and unbeknownst to itself

here's one to your health    

                         your wealth

       in the end

you were a punchline

you were the fat man

you were a joke

            my curse against them

is that i believe you

       my curse against them

  is hope

don't know which one

of you was

   lying

and i don't care how much

            you stole

i give it to you for trying

                    here's what i know

the metal has a memory

it knows just the way you bent

           and it's waiting to go back

like you're waiting to go back

i knew the catch before i saw the movie

                   they told me 'rosebud' was the sled

i heard what it really meant

                     yeah

  i heard what it meant

did you run out of future did your future get used up did you run out of time                                                                      orson

 or just run out of luck

it was armistice day           opening day

i was sorry but we needed you   on the twenty third floor

and if they can't find you

 they can't hate you     anymore

or at least that was the plan

                 until the greatness of CAN

don't confuse success with love

and don't believe in luck

 it never did me any good

it is nothing but

       a slave-ish kind of worship

        your          government

   is        calling  it

faith based

          like that’s a good thing

roosevelt called upon god   god

all opposed

      stand

and nod

the real issue

              is the theft

of anything    that can be dollar signed

Photo by Charlie Waters

into the fastened yesterday

the headaches are for men in white socks

ties keep hard heads full   of knots

                     won’t quite forget what’s best forgot

their ballad blues have sudden stops

                                   these mellow horns of ragged age

give pause enough to turn the page

in  contraband denoting change

                          head to head     the solstice same

tenor hands   slow  and sweet

                           walter staring at his feet

counting minutes of the day

swing your step  to make your way

into the fastened yesterday

the eights say things that no one else asks you

math rock is a comedian stepping on his laughs  just a figure floating   fast   pick and past  jick licks last the russian novel tuning with a bullet wound occipital lobe   vestiges of hope  from a time we could cope we counted on things solid gold  the end of rainbows that weren’t all that special on their own but put together  minds are blown   LIES LIES political party platform ties  accidents of history by furniture makers drug takers  in ginsberg’s sanfrancisco  but what the fuck did he know   singing and shaking  a blue black tornado  great plains potatoes shiny shirts and drug abused pinwheel fast exhumation blues    snake fingered hands bottle neck pride twenty two years of fucked up insides  headed south to hungry mouths dilettantes  make all the doubts   fifty star placemats at jonathan’s house of breakfast smoking section  ice cream scoops of butter fool  he’s the kind of man who would do that to you  run to born  salley shirtless de la puked on soft soled shoes  wait what was that the roots   don’t be afraid of the obvious the lot of us up against the wall on the SG call it’ll break  if it falls you can glue the headstock but won’t be what it was   won’t be the same   it’ll sound just as plain but never once leave your ark to explain how the onetwothree rut of the early decade makes every attempt to pre-tend you saved enough time truth or money to finally sway the world the curls to look your way    the lines end up closer as the page starts to bend i’ll be your brother just don’t condescend you can suite it or theme it  the chapter comes after in the highways and try ways of impending disaster   can you smell the nitrogen  can you believe the chewing gum   it lasted a minute longer  than it had to   you see the eights say things that no one else asks you

photo by charlie waters

charlie waters' late autumn sky

the trees reach

                     they always   reach

                                                                          higher even

                              with nothing really   to  weigh them down

   the bright sky

             like her blue eyes

    has  a   coldness

                      the edge around

there is a cloud streak

or a jet stream

                        the new day is shaking off its night

there's a couple hundred reasons

and a couple thousand worries

of where she is

                                                if she might

there are birdcalls

           and            diz cheeks

    there's a cello sitting right out here

                 on church  street

               

that's where the voice fades

                            yeah      

that's where i stay

                            it's the blue again       

 just cold enough

                to keep     

 but the dark earth

                                 has its own worth

        like the brown eyes

                                             that coffee gave to me

                                                      they watch      time crawl

                                                                         right down the back hall

                                                     minutes

                                                                              until                   eternity

                           here

                                    the high notes

                  of his saxophone

                                    are staring          at my breath

         they beat   back ideas

floating through years

                 just enough sand shift to make me

                                

photo by Charlie Waters