autumn

the city wears a frown
that often brings rain
the sewers are unable to hold

a subway door catching
the index finger of my
hand trying to catch up
with my body (we're all late)--
this is where my mind lives,

with the change lost in between
the slivers of the couch
as the years pass and my skin
dulls under the collective
asshole of the world

today it finally feels like fall,
and although the leaves
have not yet begun to sing
colors against the autumn wind,
i found a tree by the basin,
which i will climb,
clasp my hands together and
attempt to hold on to what's
left of summer

how deeply rooted my
walk is planted in the
hope of making it to tomorrow
so deep, i often find
it hard to remember to tie
my shoes

i find it harder to forget
the things i missed today

and even harder to let go
of yesterday

which leaves me with nothing,
now being too short to hold
on to with both hands

so i trip over my own feet
that eternal slip into
then

or again

now and then
i watch the sun
and grow jealous
of it's view
of me

i can never get away

i write this in the lonliest of breaths
and grow weary of explaining
this need to be
to no one

i guess sometimes
i grow tired of mirrors

i grow weary of even me
and the overcast that is the first day
of another season come
one day too soon

let it be quoted...

Floyd Landis is on that good

Maurice Clarett is on that good.

Lonnie Baxter has no excuse, he is on that good as well.

I wanted to be on that good the other night, but considering I have a job, it's best to limit such activity to the weekend.

Alana's birthday is tomorrow. I have no gift. I have no money.
What to do?

*looks down, moans*

i was hoping if i came here i'd have something to say.

i'm here now.

i don't.

somehow, i don't find myself at all interesting this summer.
consciousness has been routine.

tuesday mulling.

there is dust today
gathers under the fingernails
with the dead skin
i've been scratching
off my forearm all day

i stumble upon
a poem by kevin young
and all at once
i am inspired
like i was watching
the beggar
with deformed feet
beg for help
with a sign written on notebook paper
in blue ink too hard to read
in the sunlight

i stand there and cry
but i do not help him
it isn't money he needs
i do not have what he needs

i should not use apostrophe
when trying to capture emotion
on a jagged line

the monotony is suffocating
it is what i asked for
it is?

i want to leave dc
i want to leave.
now.