Restrepo

Red flares in the sky,

Red rims ‘round my eye,

I hear chords for me,

Chords for me.

Red bikini summer nights

Red graffiti in the lights,

What’s in store for me,

Store for me?

I can’t imagine what it’s like

To find God amidst the fight,

Smoke and gore for me,

Gore for me.

Red hot noises bang,

Red’s my choice, my shame:

This is war for me,

War for me.

Youth Abroad

Runways and humid Sundays

Were the fun days of the past:

Tropical forests with boa constrictors

89 degrees in the tree tops with nothing but a rope to straddle.

Street dances and flash mobs,

Blunts and disco lights blazing like a Stockholm rave,

Tiesto would’ve been proud.

Ah, but we were young then, young and bold

Like lovers in the spring.

But with summer love

Comes the fall pain and school started again

With nothing but chaos for us to claim.

And now it’s cold, miles from the Kuala Lumpur

Paradise of years past and Studenskii Grad parties

Go on without us because we’re too old to care,

Not in body, but in mind

And it’s mind over matter in this world

Of empty glitz and glam:

But I still dream about the runways.

Broken Beauty

Beauty slips between the cracks sometimes,

The split foreheads and the broken teeth,

Smashed bottles of Heineken in gaps on the sidewalk—

Ants won’t even touch it for fear of slicing their appendages,

But I know that even invisible beauty can be dangerous.

She walks in the night, painted like a Picasso,

And she sheds things for nothings, nobodys;

And she’s scarred like secret ink that spies use,

For her pain is inside, but she’s beautiful.

He writes in secret of course, for fear of discovery,

For fear of vulnerability but he loves her of course,

And she’ll never know but that he dies

And his last breath was “she’s beautiful.”

And that life could be less complicated,

That trees would keep their shade and leaves

Would color without dying, and that the fall

Would occur without the fall, and that Heinekens

Wouldn’t smash families as they crashed to the floor;

For beer is good and life is good

In moderation.

Oh but she’s beautiful, even though she’s broken…

Carpe Party

If life is cake, then by all means eat it

And take my peace while you’re at it,

For I think you might be dreaming if you

Think this orb is a party,

Oh but there go the confetti bombs

And the sparkler fires,

And sing your dirge to make yourself feel better:

“Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday,

People dying everywhere…”

Sounds like fun until the bow on your box

Is a tripwire and all your candles

Are snuffed with one brief puff.

Your epitaph: He lived a delusion

And almost had fun while doing it.

Sorry old sport, no tears were shed when you left

For you caused too many while you were here.

Sleep

Calm the musings of my heart

And let no raptured thought curtail

The waking beauty of the night

That swathes my dreams in sweet betrayal

Of all I am, a rushing tide

Of boundless depth and endless ebb:

Allay this furor whate’er betide

That sleep may softly drown my head.

Love

“Love keeps no record of wrongs”

How do I beg forgiveness for what you don’t know?

Those car rides all alone,

With nothing but my thoughts to guide me home.

How do I explain what I don’t understand?

My sordid scam,          

Of pretending to be not what I am.

How will you forget what I can’t do?

I follow through

By saying at least I thought of you.

And somehow that’s enough,

The diamond in the rough,

The soft spot in the tough, tough

Realm of my heart, but you say it’s a start

And that’s why I love you. 

Vertigo

Walking blind down a city street

Sure does beat the eternal chaos of the galaxies meeting

One another around us;

Or maybe it’s just a mirror, and it’s just our fear of significance

Which causes us to dumb ourselves with meteor showers

Of electronic beats and scratching turntables ad infinitum.

I wonder what it’s like to be real, to be what you were made to be

Just for one day…probably like waking up from a nightmare and realizing

It was just a dream, or being diagnosed with cancer on April 1^st:

Both terrifying and exhilarating in one fell moment.

But to be real is to know pain, and I can’t handle that

So I’ll put my Oakley’s on and get lost in the whirr of engines and the honking of horns:

Maybe I’ll get lucky and get hit.