, let me tell you bout a friend.

He spends so much time in silence, stewing.

It’s like he’s a mime and you’re his box.

So many fantasies brewing,

that he’s distracted, too obsessed with glory to unlock the simple thoughts

And maybe he could think about it if he wasn’t on the clock

every step of every walk, every pearl of every oyster.

I never known a man suffering the gravity of time

you can see it on his skin, it’s pale with paranoia.

But whenever i see him bounce his heels to his sounds

he still has time to savor the stomp.

he rocks the womp, and rocks it pop,

but still has the virtuosity to scare you with his bebop,

and he always seems lonely, serving

him or someone other, is hard to be sure

when he gives so much care, that you cant help but stare

and simply be dumbfounded, amazed at what you founded,

always wondering if that’s how he’s really sounding…


, let me tell you more about the friend.

Whenever you try to console him, simply hold him

he quickly jolts back, unable to trust,

a simple gesture laced with a touch, and its enough,

to drive everyone back to their respective darknesses.

And whats the hardest is this clam is an artist.

Every note his hands have wrote or his vocal chords have thrown

has only gotten better with despair.

How comforting is magnificent grief?

How nourishing is beef? Steamin and bleeding, and energy fiendin,

but still it makes us feel like men.

Beamin we achieving, but we cheapen the earth

and we even cheapen us.

Instead of spending all this energy on beef,

let’s spend it on something that doesn’t need a bit of heat.


He helps to makes us perfect, and i mean that as an adjective

He flashes compassion like pants hug asses

and always passin on the passion,

he casts his spells in noble fashion

Try to stop him and you’ll only join his side, or play possum

he shows you the truth, and laughs at its revelation

will you laugh along with him?

or self consciously find nothing with frustration.

So he would float on our cloud of compliments, coasting for a while

but after all this time, he still would never give us a smile

and when we asked him then he glances up at us

and the way he looks away conveys he aint really fine.

But he plays along, and starts to give the scene a song.

he feels the fire and we start by singing along.

thinking that this unity would let him belong

instead he walks away, confused or flaccid

and i could rock a thing to say,

could plumb my brain for the sweetness to say,

but i just cant make him happy.

and i could stock his thoughts with his favorite “oughts”

but that just wouldn’t make him happy.

so i leave him alone, just hopin that someone else can finally give.

it’s going to be a long year.


In the past year or so, have you heard about my friend?

the one that loved to pretend?

it’s been a while since i’ve seen him,

but much more recently have i dreamed him.

The last time i saw him he could barely rock a party

simply talking quickly stopping he was nervous

all i could do was ask him he been

when he had mentioned his sadness

i tragically asked questions.

And he kept it pretty straight, but

turns out he found another scene to give up all his dreams

and they treat him real nice,

he cant complain about their seems

but he still has too much time to think his thoughts to himself.

He doesn’t really care unless his name is in the air

but we cant really force into being that old person

who would make us laugh and make us dance

and make us so secure in our romance.


His sadness makes us perfect, and i mean that as a verb

but what he wants we just cant give,

so let’s do him the favor of keeping our love  to ourselves.

Is it gonna be another year?

-ptr. Nov 23, 2011.