Wrong directions

Granted, it wasn't the best plan.
I've not been the "decent man"
kept behind shatterproof glass.
I've not been the busy executive
lost at air and sea and suite 1028.
But I've done my time away,
a stain that will never wash out,
beneath a rusted, dangling sign
that should (maybe) light up.
Despite the few extra miles,
I think you'll prefer the route.
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From the newest edition of Thrush:

Sometimes the Blood Goes Cold, by Stephanie Bryant Anderson

Comparing Mythologies in Paris, by Jane Rosenberg LaForge
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Cage The Elephant, Japanese Buffalo

An expansive philosophical discussion

If I told you I had invented The Doomsday Device, would you believe me?

You shouldn't, because it isn't true, but that's not the point. Point is that since only recently I find myself in a position of power and everyone seems to look up to me and, for reasons unbeknownst to yours truly, put a great deal of stock in the things I say. So chances are that if I went on Twitter tonight, waded through the mountain of messages people have sent me and told the world - in 140 characters or less, obviously - that I am indeed responsible for such a heinous creation, a lot of folks would probably buy it.

This brings to mind quite an expansive philosophical discussion - obvious, perhaps, but no less important - that I am not interested in having with you right now, here, in the middle of this parking lot. Honestly, I would rather just sit down on the curb and eat this delicious sandwich my wife packed me for lunch and forget about all of the bullshit I'm about to force myself through today and, if I'm lucky, make it home tonight without some wacko jumping me on the sidewalk, claiming one of my fingers and selling it on eBay.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Two Door Cinema Club, This Is The Life

Dendrology

We are the tiniest of branches
that are lucky enough to be born
in the final urgent inches
of an elderly oak tree's
upward, straining reach.
Even when the temperature drops,
and we are most vulnerable,
we'll still be reaching for something.
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Also, read these things. They're pretty good.

How It Ended, by Liana Holmberg (from decomP)

Drawn To Scale, by Sean McCleary (from the stoneslide corrective)
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Bon Iver, Perth

Murmur

This room is full of whispers,
and they echo down the hall
and out the door
and onto the sidewalk
and down the street
to the D train, underground,
until I emerge, and then
they aren't whispers anymore -
they're a phone call
and a tinge of panic
and a fight to stay calm.
Between steps it hits
like New York traffic
and despite best efforts
to brush it away, bat at it,
take that elusive gnat to task,
it will be found again
in the silence at the end
of a memorable evening.
A heart stops but once,
unless it happens to be twice
(and then you're pushing it)
so keep an ear to the receiver
and don't let it stop yours, too.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Brother Ali, Sleepwalker

We gathered to wait

My voice bathes the hall's fortifications, stone and ancient, breaking left to right and up to down in constant, wobbling echoes. The masses stare up at me, not privy to the intensity with which I scan their ranks. It's strikingly funereal, which is ironic since no one has died. Yet.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Arcade Fire, My Body Is A Cage

Three, two, one...

You've made me wonder
about the last of days.

Something in the tone
of your quick-city bark

hits my ear as violence,
doubtful with just a touch

of salt, a weary longing
too intense to be healthy.

When we're finally able,
we'll recall our best memories -

those that still shine out
as the day they were born -

in encyclopaedic fashion,
something casual and cold.

Until the clock's last tick,
you can confidently bet

that something will set the spark,
one last entertaining grin

and a forest of warm bygones
we've happily never let alone.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Dodos, Sleep

The last best thing

hesitate for just a moment
and find yourself
slipping heels up
frost on the sidewalk,
a giant foggy mirror
blurred by nervous sweat
a hasty winged portrait

and your choice will be
to scramble hands and knees
flailing restless for traction
or to get comfortable
and make yourself an angel
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Mountain Goats, No Children