Most of this was in Line Ideas for a while (at least six months judging by how far down it was), and when I came across these lines, it made me think of how tonight I took an uncharacteristic chance and did something cool.

  Realistically Realize

  A more complete night

  Has never been lived through

  Much less seen

  By me at least

  Not yet, but one can always hope

  Dreaming for the night when

  Me and the unnamed she

  Can pack an entire year

  Of living, of seeing

  Of doing, of loving

  Into one perfect evening

  And be followed by

  Hundreds, if not

  Thousands more

  Just like before

  Only this time for real

  Something I longingly

  Wish for

  Pray for

  Think about all the time

  That it’ll happen someday

  But as I prepare for bed

  I realistically realize

  That it won’t be today

  November 25, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  The hope of the promise of a new day, shattered by the end of the night.

  Rockwell State of Things

  A Rockwell life

  Is what we wish

  Upon our closest

  Our dearest friends

  A wry-smiled

  Perfect light

  Feel-good

  Wonderful life

  And that’s precisely when

  Real life hits

  So goddamn hard

  And twists and turns

  Into something like

  A messed up painting by

  Edvard Munch

  Seemingly overnight

  Screaming crying

  Life in a tizzy

  Feel so dizzy

  So beyond gone

  A fucked-up Photoshop

  That vaguely resembles

  A blurry part of the original

  Madly wishing it would stop

  And retreat back to the

  Rockwell state of things

  Nice thought, but no

  Not tonight

  Not for you

  Sorry

  January 12, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I wrote the beginning when in Bay Point, California one night. I would have finished it then, but I didn’t know for sure who painted The Scream. I was pretty sure it was Munch, but I didn’t know his first name. Now I do.

  Replayed

  So hard to watch replayed

  Those painfully awkward moments

  We've all suffered through

  The ones where we cover our eyes

  Wishing then and there to just die

  Years later when my wandering mind

  Unexpectedly trips over one

  Like a downed power line

  Hidden in the grass

  Lurking, waiting, pouncing

  The last thing I think to think of

  The last thing I want to deal with

  But now it’s leaping and catching

  Me off guard I’m falling hard

  Trying to scramble my thoughts

  Trying to scramble away fast

  No matter how much distance

  No matter how many memories

  Are put in between now and then

  They always seem to find you

  You can always run

  But eventually they’ll find you

  February 24, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I’ve got a few stunningly painful awkward memories that tend to pop up in my mind at the oddest times. Sometimes I wish I had an “erase” feature for my brain.

  Missing the Friend

  Missing the smile

  Missing the friend

  That was here

  Driving the miles

  Turning around the bend

  I think I’m getting near

  To where she lives

  Stop at the bottom

  Of the steep driveway

  I’m so full of nerves

  Check the address again

  What am I going to say

  I walk up the step

  And knock on the door

  I look around the yard

  I feel so inept

  And wait a minute more

  Can’t believe I drove so far

  After a few I knock again

  And I look back at my car

  Maybe I should be leaving

  Just then the door opened

  My belly felt like tar

  Both of us there smiling

  I entered and the door closed

  December 16, 2002

  Belchertown, MA

  I got the idea to write this one after visiting a good friend. I was hanging out with him in his garage and he told me this story of how a few weeks ago he was cleaning up in here and heard a tapping on one of the windows. Startled, he looked up to see a guy. Over the next half an hour the guy told my friend his life’s story: how he came to Belchertown after looking up a dear old female friend he lost touch with years ago and was hoping to reestablish contact and the friendship. After he finished talking, he walked across the road and up to her door. About 30 seconds later, he watched as the guy drove slowly away. Maybe he had the address wrong, or maybe he had it right, I don’t know. Either way it was good fodder for a poem. I just changed the ending a bit to suit my needs.

  Imagination Destroyed

  Driving on Route 9 towards town

  Waiting at the light by University Drive

  Saw a kid walking on the sidewalk

  In front of that Chinese restaurant

  He couldn’t have been more than 12

  Holding an umbrella and swinging it

  Like it was a sword or something

  Then shooting it at the cars ahead of me

  Like some kind of all-purpose weapon

  A blade one second, a gun the next

  Swinging it shooting it swinging it again

  Being careful to shoot each of the cars

  Sitting waiting at the light ahead of me

  Part of me was thinking that I should

  Grab my umbrella from the backseat

  Take careful aim and “shoot” him back

  That would be a cool playful discourse

  Showing him that not all adults are lame

  Some of us can be creative and fun too

  But something happened to be just then

  It was like my adult-ness kicked in hard

  And I sat staring stoically straight ahead

  Watching him out of the corner of my eye

  As I kept my sights glued facing forward

  He shot off two last rounds at the car

  Just two up from me and then he hung

  His head and just kept walking past

  Almost as if his adult-ness kicked in

  And he realized how silly and stupid

  It was to pretend his umbrella was a gun

  Or a sword or anything even slightly fun

  The light turned green and I turned left

  But the profound impact of our social mores

  Which kill our creativity and make us so much less

  Inside still remains and bothers me deeply

  As I witnessed the happiness of youth

  And the power of imagination destroyed

  And taken away right in front of me today

  Never to be regained again

  August 4, 2003

  Amherst, MA

  I saw this recently. It had such a profound impact on me that I really can’t explain. It was like I personally witnessed this kid’s imagination being taken away from him by his realization that what he was doing was childish.

  Putting On Wet Clothes

  I don’t want to

  Be here be the one

  Dealing with you

&
nbsp; Anytime all the time

  In this situation

  Especially is

  As difficult as

  Putting on wet clothes

  Something you

  Don’t want to do

  All cards on the table

  It’s annoying

  It’s uncomfortable

  It’s grating

  Somewhat unstable

  It’s not for me

  I like my clothes

  Dry and warm

  Not cold and wet

  No use having a wet blanket

  Smothering smoldering

  The fire that I feel

  So if you don’t mind

  I’d like to toss you

  In the dryer and get on

  With the rest of my day

  October 13, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  Not really written about any one person or situation in particular. I was getting dressed today and I was thinking about washing clothes for some reason and I was slightly thankful that my clothes were dry. That got me thinking about how annoying and grating it is to put on wet clothes. That thought, in turn, stuck with me for the rest of the day until I wrote this.

  Just How I Pictured It

  I want love to be

  Just how I pictured it to be

  Not how it has been

  I don’t like what it's done to me

  Seeing the after-effects

  Has affected me

  So strangely

  So radically

  Negatively

  Bringing me

  Down and found

  In the wrong direction

  In need of a correction

  To turn me around

  To bring me back

  Back from focusing

  On everything bad

  Like a compass

  I finally point

  To the true way and

  Change my heading

  Back to thinking

  About the good

  That I’m heading

  Towards up there

  Somewhere she’s there

  Where everything is

  Good and right

  Where the image in my head

  Of how it should be

  Where life and love

  Matches perfectly

  Just how I pictured it

  Is how it really is

  January 24, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I wrote the first few lines a week or two ago in my Palm Pilot. Tonight I was listening to Rachael Yamagata’s “Worn Me Down” on repeat and got the inspiration to finish it.

  Early Morning Angels

  While throwing out a box

  Brimming with my past

  I stop, stand, and pause

  As my eyes linger over

  The cards

  (hundreds)

  The letters

  (thousands)

  The words

  (millions)

  Found inside

  Chronically detailing

  The abortive past

  To the absurd point

  Of oversaturation

  Should’ve thrown it out

  A long time ago

  Steeped in procrastination

  Standing and looking

  At a random letter

  A paragraph later

  And feel silent embarrassment

  By my liberal usage of “forever”

  I slam the thick binder shut

  And toss it in the trash

  Along with the other seven

  Today I’ll put the past

  Out to the curb

  And let the garbage men

  Those early morning angels

  Take away the memories

  Help me move on

  Help me start fresh

  On the new life before me

  April 6, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I threw out the thousands of pages of letters my ex-wife and I wrote to each other back in high school and college.

  Anything but Dreams

  Why does everyone (including me)

  Talk about how wonderful dreams are

  Think back to your dreams

  We have a few every night

  And how many of them

  Can you even remember?

  Not many

  How many of them

  Can you say were amazing?

  Even fewer

  How many of them

  Weren’t really messed up?

  Fewer still

  So if you can’t remember them

  And the ones you can think of

  Are just plain confusing

  Why talk about our dreams

  Like they are so amazing?

  Instead of saying that I’m

  Living my dreams

  I should correct and say I’m

  Living my wishes

  Living my desires

  Living my passion

  Anything but dreams

  Most of us are already

  Living our dreams

  And that’s the problem

  June 17, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  This thought has been kicking around in my head for a few days now but keep forgetting to write it down. Luckily the idea came back and I was able to capture it and eventually beat a poem out of it.

  Hurt

  A Victim of That Left Turn

  The could've beens following

  Me around incessantly haunting

  Me at every step at every thought

  Of that cold day in January

  Where we took a sharp left

  Off the highway where our lives

  Were already so properly

  And methodically mapped out

  Off an overpass down onto

  Another road going out to

  Some radical new direction

  Recklessly speeding away

  From the lives we had known

  Never to return to normalcy again

  Years later I’m alone on my own

  Highway driving and left wondering

  As my mind occasionally brings me

  Back to the scene of the life-altering

  Crime she and I committed together

  What choice would I have made

  If I had been the one who was driving

  If I was charged with the decision

  Instead of being just a passive passenger

  Seeing what should have been our future

  Thrown out the window to lighten the load

  Silently I watch the untold miles pass me by

  Hands steady on the ten and two like always

  As the mental VCR reaches the end of that one

  Don’t be kind, I don’t want it to rewind

  And play it over once again

  I’ve seen it entirely too often

  All the scenarios have been played out

  To death and then some

  I don’t want to think about it anymore

  I don’t have the answer

  I don’t know how to feel

  So I don’t

  I don’t want to be here

  A victim of that left turn

  Someone else made so long ago

  The CD, whose music I haven’t noticed

  Loops back to track one

  For the fourth or fifth time

  I’ve lost count

  Of that, of everything

  The shadows lengthening

  Across the road

  Across my car

  Across my face

  Thankfully blocking the light

  Of God’s flashlight in the sky

  I wish I could put it all in the past

  But that skeleton is particularly loud

  And refuses to be forgotten

  Despite my best intentions

  To fight the past in my head

  January 24, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I still don??
?t have an answer.

  Core Dump

  Couldn’t take it

  Couldn’t handle it

  Just too much all at once

  Overwhelmed beyond belief

  Overcome by grief

  Sorry about that

  Core dump

  Meltdown

  Messed up

  Didn’t mean to

  Break down

  Throw up

  Bleed out

  In front of you

  Just too much all at once

  Everything caught up to me

  All at the same time

  I’m not usually like this

  I’m normally normal

  Quite the happy guy

  But as the chalkboard says

  The Good Humor man

  Can only be pushed so far

  The camel’s back’s been broken

  And you happened to be a witness

  The tree fell over in the woods

  And you were there and saw

  What a horrible scene it was

  Sorry about that

  Core dump

  Meltdown

  Messed up

  Thing that happened

  Didn’t mean to

  Break down

  Throw up

  Bleed out

  In front of you

  Just too much all at once

  Everything caught up to me

  All at the same time

  Just too much at once

  January 23, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  Gardenia

  All alone at the

  Wedding reception

  It hits home

  It hits hard

  When you realize

  That all your friends

  Are going or

  Have gone away

  The sad day

  Hits the heart

  So hard

  When everyone you knew

  Have picked up and moved

  Have carried on and gone

  Have moved so far away

  Leaving you

  Alone

  On a sunny day

  It’s not like the movies

  Where it’s raining at the bad times

  It’s never like that in real life

  You don’t always get

  The storybook endings

  It’s hit or miss

  And my average isn’t that great

  It’s getting late

  The bride and groom have left

  The wedding guests are all gone

  Just the banquet servers

  Starting to clean up

  Removing all traces

  Of what happened here

  I sit and stare

  At the forgotten favors

  Under the chairs

  And the empty champagne bottles

  Surrounded by a sea

  Of used glasses

  On each table

  What a great send-off

  For a dear old friend

  It’s great to see she and he

  So very happy

  I truly wish the best for them

  I’ve been down that road

  And wasn’t so lucky

  What a great way

  To remind me

  To kill me with the past

  To make me realize the

  Joy love happiness

  The wonderful memories

  The feeling of her caress

  That I had and now haven’t

  I can’t be here anymore

  I get up and leave

  The site of the realization

  And walk out into

  The misty night

  To my car all by itself

  Near the back of the lot

  I drive on the empty roads