Trippin' on a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea

I want to sample effortless existence.

I want to be at the very molten core of it,

To sit as absolutely still as can be

and watch the whole world roil

As it floats past far above me.

I want to bring my eyes, and leave behind

Everything else that I've got.

I want to slide down to the end of my rope

To see if I'm tied in a knot.

I want to know everything and nothing.

I want to be everything and nothing.

I want your touch to be my last gift before departing,

But most of all, I want to be a millionaire.

The Way of the Tortoise

The last person to say “don't trust anyone over thirty”

Is probably fifty by now.

I could never imagine myself being over sixty.

To be honest, I still can't.

I can't imagine what life after writing might hold

That would be worth staying for.

Everyone I know is trying to get old,

But nobody ages on purpose.

You can't win this event, even doing as told.

Just pick a buddy and try to finish second.

The Hard Way

I see in a friend a look I recognize.

Young women used to see me with those eyes.

No man is perfect, though some feel so in a swoon.

There's no doubt my friend will have learn as much, and soon.

It's a lesson I've seen taught–okay, I taught–the hardest way.

I don't think guys are different now than I was in my day,

Though unless the girls have changed, they won't believe it if it's said,

So my silence I will keep for now; regrets may lie ahead.

Four-Way Stop

Too young to ask the right questions

Or read the map and find my direction,

I wouldn't listen when anyone told me

What I was going to be.

With some lessons unlearned, in my mold unset,

My mind moved as quick as it ever would get

Toward trying to couple–but alone, to define:

Who am I?

Finding answers built on foundations unsound

Or talents no longer possessed, broken down,

I had to take years to take stock, try to see:

What can I be?

In a world built for thinking in ways that I can't

Surrender is tempting, but even if I rise above that,

I still can't help wondering what's wrong with me.

Who should I be?

An Unfamiliar Ceiling

I'm lying here, where I suppose

I've wasted hours in repose,

Looking back o'er time uncut

(But really, I've been looking up.)

Mind not on miracles, mistakes,

But the wonder that I'm in this place

When the odds are I'd be somewhere else

(But really, I've been looking up.)

At the Altar

Your heart, this chance, I may fear losing,

But not like time.

First right or wrong, there's no hoarding

A second life.

People are not all that vie

For my passion.

I might worship, wander, laugh, and write,

Sans heart's distraction.

You think you're worth improvement,

and so do I.

You think you're worth improvement,

and so am I.

But when it comes to the ultimate sacrifice,

I demand perfection.

If God demands my writing time,

I'll change, begrudging.

Cold and Shallow

Since the very beginning,

and since this is not the end,

It is hard to tell where I'm going,

Or even just to tell where I am.

I know not of regiments, partake not in lines.

I am lazier, meanly flowing.

I am always moving on.

I would not think of marrying.

I make a terrible best friend.

Seriously, just ask the last one.