lug 'em or leave 'em

so the setting for this one is kind of obvious. i was high and on my roof again. sitting. staring. the sun is a bad mother fucker, that's for sure. i like how there is almost always a slight mist, a haze even, that floats around the bay and especially in my neck of the woods: the outest sunset in san francisco. i wonder if my neighbors love it out here as much as i do. i can go out onto the fire escape, climb a disintegrating (due to the salty and sandy air that gets blown by the random bursts of wind) ladder and i can watch the sun set into the pacific-with an awesome view of the beach and sand dunes as well. i can see mount tamalpais in the distance and the top of the golden gate bridge. i am glad to have moved here from the valley. i hate that place.

i sat on my roof and realized 

 there are a lot of things i should say

    but fail to mention

just staring blankly i know

  there's something about the treetops

there's something about the sounds

  that come from a cigarette

and there's something about the ash in my eye

   that makes me smile

i rarely fail to laugh-

my fractured lips are less than laudable 

    but the role i play is minor

         (sounds like it, too)

so i can't be expected to keep grins flawless

my time alone

   is only eleven letters long

  just like

       the insomnia

but even if they didn't overlap

   and i could string them together

it wouldn't get the words any closer to

  writing on the clouds than they are in our pens-

it's a shame we only project

  our faults onto each other

when there are so many bigger screens

    floating through the sky

it seems it may be too late

  since we've accepted rejection

and relinquished so many sentences 

 to the depths of the oceans inside us that

     so closely resemble the waters we sail across--

i switched majors

 from Reverse Psychology

    to Technical Gasping

  in hopes of being able to help

make it easier for people like me to breathe--

i collect stoicism from

  the faces i see in the mirror

and swallow it with my morning coffee

i stir it with 

  smoke and compressed miracles 

      and

  i've got my motivation!

i sweeten it with

   stolen glances and

cognitive sprints that would 

  outrun my shadow if i gave them the opportunity-

but i cover my cup with books-

  leaving room for the thoughts to dilute

reasserting the behaviors that support my habits

noticing something about 

   windows and roofs

and how the waves have to

   reflect the fire that taunts them

6/20/08

*summer solstice*