this defiant romance

we could burn all the books that suggest our love is anything but perfect

but our enemies would call us fascists

we could paint slogans on underpasses declaring our soft, nefarious intentions

but our enemies would call us socialists

we could drink wine with the crazed and the penniless, kissing under streetlights and dancing in the acidic rain

but our enemies would call us anarchists

we could spend sleepless nights rejoicing in the drunken luminescence of the city’s sleeping avenues

but our enemies would call us vagabonds

and so

we do nothing for fear of our adversaries sword-tongues

and in doing so

the battle is lost before it’s begun
without a shot fired or feeling hurt

let’s tear down these barricades of safety
and tear forth into the inky night

oh comrade

this love will keep us warm
and draw allies to our cause

let’s set ablaze these prisons of stability
and scream our defiant romance into the night…

Published in: on November 19, 2009 at 10:41 pm  Leave a Comment  


it’s strange
how different the world looks
when all those pretty angels you kissed in the rain
are somewhere far away
feeding another man’s children

and you’re just treading water in a new pond
slightly bigger than the last
and calling it progress

so let’s pull this bus over to the side
of the bad idea highway
and have a row where everyone can see
just how far we’ve gone from where we started

we can spend another night pretending
this isn’t as bad as we let it get
that this fuckup is fixable

or we can shake hands and say “good game”
and walk off the field
bloodier and wiser than when we started

before this love kills us both
or ferments into hate
like a bad wine

and i have to add you to the list
of those i held so tight i let go

can we build a bridge over these waters?
or should we sink
into the soft and silent darkness?

darling, i’ll hold your hand as we descend…

Published in: on October 15, 2009 at 9:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

split 7 inch

I have records older than you

and less played


some warped from that cruel orb

nemesis of icarus and first-pressings alike


some pristine

purchased for sentiment

taunting me from within their cellophane prisons


all reminders of when music meant more

than numbers on a balance sheet

or the soundtrack to a cola war


the songs of joy

and teenage rebellion

lovingly pressed into permanence


these are so much more

than the three chords screaming out of the grooves


this is church






this is paradise


hello old friend

I’ll be playing you tonight…

Published in: on October 8, 2009 at 7:10 am  Leave a Comment