Serenity Scrubs the Floor

Serenity wipes down coffee-stained tables
With steam calloused hands.
Saturated by the aromatic Bean,
She cleans and blends and grinds and pours
For poor old men poring over youth
And curves hugged tight by a black apron
Splotched with curdled milk.
With aching back and tender ribs
From a drunken fall two nights before
She goes out back and touches sulfur flame
To nicotine tip, takes shallow drags,
And lets the rain-soaked walls
Shield her from undressing eyes.

A puddle reflects fluorescence between her feet.
Shadowy ripples distort a restless youth
Shackled by debt and doubt and the roundabout
Promises of New York cameramen on indie-films
In trust for thrust deals for a place to crash.
The mechanical motions of intimacy played on stage
In plain view of an apathetic id.

She flicks her butt with disaffected air
And watches wet ground snuff embers
In a final wisp of smoke. Gooseflesh prickles
Along her slender arms at the chill blow
Of a sojourner storm carrying distant rumbles.

Serenity mops up spilled milk with dry eyes,
While worshipped by lonely men who see pedestals
Where women walk

~Peter

I hope I should meet a man
Who can give his all
I know I could see that man
If only he was there

I dream of friendly folk
Smiling and joking as they pass
I am pleased to be watching them
If only for a moment

I stare at the pretty pictures
In wonder as they speak to my soul
With that brush stroke so sweet
How did the artist know

I sit with the animals
They remind of all that life
Their energy drags me out
Out of the my hole

On the street people pass
I don't know them
They don't know me
It doesn't matter

It's all beautiful

Okay, so nobody is going to like this, I wrote it depressed and drunk, also it's political and I know that I am one of three (literally, I know the other two) people who think I am not a raving lunatic on that subject. w/e

america.txt

What am I supposed to do?
"Nothing," the voice of reason said

Not long ago I walked to buy a sandwich
The sidewalks made me proud
We were somehow responsible for the trees and grass
The yellow paper was real

Not long ago I said we'd rule the world
And they'd think it was a pretty good idea
And we could keep the people safe and smiling
I got what I asked for

What am I supposed to do?
"Nothing," the voice of reason said

I saw the holes in the yellow paper
We wasted our blood in the sand
We wasted our work in the bank
We wasted our time on the couch

They roll away the trunk of tricks
The rack of costumes
The magic they put in my eyes
Everyone is talking about the show
All I can see is the holes in the yellow paper

Never forget you live in the land of opportunity
Where anyone can prosper
All you have to do is leave nothing sacred
Defile, disenfranchise, and defraud
Keep it a secret until the new boss
Same as the old boss
Gives you a big fat novelty check
With his big fat novelty smile
Rescuing everyone from the big fat novelty recession
Anyone can do that

Never forget 9/11
Or you'll have time to think about what it made us do
Tearing up the yellow paper
Bleeding into the sand
The new boss will fix what the old boss did
Any day now

What am I supposed to do?
"Nothing," the voice of reason said

Not sure about the thing in general, but I feel like "what am I supposed to do/nothing" is an internal monologue. It's also what other people often tell the speaker, the type he's talking about anyway, that he feels surrounded by, that confirm to him that nothing is the thing to do, because there aren't enough angry for any of it to be saved.

Really? Hrm! I'll have to ask my girlfriend about it next time she's over, she'll be able to find a good one for it I bet.

For Ivy

She asks me why I love her so
and compare her to a star

How do I write a song
with all the notes she plucks
on the strings of my heart

How do I tell her she was
no mere lady but
Love herself lying next to me on rainy mornings
turning away from the creeping light
and into me

Her hair a maze in which to lose my fingers
Her eyes a well in which my soul could never splash
Her skin a landscape of uncharted joy

But all of that divine artistry
pales in comparison
to her most beautiful curves

A turn of phrase
A well-rounded argument
The smile when she laughs
The crook of an eyebrow when I said something crass

She asks me why I love her so
and compare her to a star
a devastating loss
but an inspirational goal

How do I become a man
worthy of an angel
Love herself lying next to me
on rainy mornings
turning away from the creeping light

How to Procrastinate

It is totally dumb when a day disappears
When the sun has gone down with all your business in arrears
You try to figure out why it seemed so important to not

a glass to go with some pasta
a quarter cup for the casserole
a week's worth of cereal
a half cup for the cake

You had plans for that jug of milk
But it was wasted before it was ever opened
Turning in the fridge while you slept
And you took one whiff and poured it down the drain