grass

the grass is always greener on the other side

and this is the rhyme that locks me in time

and i spend each day desiring things

but once i obtain them

they're lost like my keys

they've slipped out my fingers

its an old summer fling

"i gotta get outta this town" i say and complain

but i'll say it again next year to the day

because no matter what happens i always get restless

no matter what love or adventures i'm hapless

no matter how great or fantastic the city

no matter what music and voices so pretty

i gotta keep moving, i'm a newborn gypsy

can't hold down a real job 

in anywhere clean

in anyplace fine

in anywhere esteemed

"you're rubbish and weird 

and spastic and mean"

i went to france and i met pierre

he smokes like a chimney 

he's hospitable and kind

he likes to make fun when my french isn't fine

he threw a party, there was an american punk

pierre is much funnier when its late and he's drunk

and he threatens to throw us out on the street

he's only kidding though, he's french but he's sweet

i'm an experience junkie i can't get enough

i want to taste everything 

from yummy and sweet

to bitter and tough

but right now i'm attempting to be thankful for this place

soak in every detail every breeze each open space

and fully envelope each moment that is ordinary

because soon, when i'm gone, this dull moment now,

will seem distant, delicious, extraordinary

on the back porch on a warm summer night

casually driving through the angel city's lights

hearing spanish from the neighbors the tvs on in back

fall is almost here i'm glad my friends are back

i'm always feeling intense at this young important age

as if we've got to figure everything out like some wise old sage

but these words they keep me going, they're dripping from the page

they're dripping from the sky from rainbows burnt with rage

they're flowing out just like the song the paper cup is in my hand

and in my hands i hold my tears the sky seems to understand

and the rain is falling down its not depressing at the start

its sparkling on the pavement and taps the windows of my heart

and hearts in shapes of pupils sees what's invisible to the eye

"l'essentiel es invisible pour les yeux" is the little prince's cry

i really truly believe that though i don't know what it means

i'll learn someday when i'm all grown up and touched a soul of the unseen

well i never feel quite satisfied its a flaw i really hate

its rare my soul is really fed no drug no jeans no date

i wake up each day there's not much i can do

and though i feel defeated and blue

the grass keeps growing

the trees keep stretching

the wind keeps blowing

your looks get more fetching

the sky gets pinker

the days get shorter

the clouds are drifter

someone tips me a quarter

and i keep going

one foot in front of the other.

-august 2007