Cover to Cover/ Reel to Reel/ Beginning to End

I wanted this notebook to be

The color yellow.

Why?

I'm not sure.

It's a color that spoke

To me.

/

Yellow as a dead leaf.

Yellow the color of caution.

Yellow.

/

Instead it is white.

White the color of frost.

White as cocaine.

White like a pain-killer

/

I also wanted this

To be a bit larger in size.

But that is life.

We don't get what we want,

Need or deserve.

We get what is thrown

To us.

/

We call ourselves writers.

Why?

I was never too sure

On that either.

/

Everybody has their reasons.

To paint honest pictures -

To have therapy sessions -

To make confessions -

To impress women -

To keep themselves from

Falling into madness -

Because it is all they can do -

Because they see big rewards

Behind it -

Because they feel it.

/

I have no legitimate

Answer as to why I'm

Doing this. Or why

It spoke to me.

/

The lines in this book

Are blue as depression.

The bars between them

Are white as innocence.

The ink which fills in

Is black as corruption.

/

I wanted the cover

To be yellow.

Imagine how this poem

Would've panned out

If it was.

/

How would life be if I

Hadn't made the mistakes

Which shaped today?

What kind of writer would

I be if I received all

I desired?

/

We don't get what we want,

Need or deserved.

We get what is thrown

To us.

Then we take it from there.

I believe that is all

That can be done whether

You're an actor or a

Trashman.

I believe that is all that

Can be done whether you are

A psychic waiting for

A curious soul or a

Hitman waiting on that

Phone call.

/

We get what is thrown

To us.

Be it karma, fate,

Destiny or lifes simple

Pattern of chaos

Coming into form.

Whatever the case.

/

I wanted this notebook

To be the color yellow.

I don't know why that

Color spoke to me but

It did.

For some reason before

I left for work I

Envisioned mizuna as

A corpse. A dead leaf.

/

It inspired me to want

A new book after failing

To write a poem that was

Substantial to me an

Hour before.

I guess I felt it was

Not too late to carry on

With what I felt was

In me

No matter how hopeless

It looked to be.

/

I say "we" call ourselves

Writers because "we'

Means the Ones who

Are like you and myself.

Putting together fictitious

Stories -

Piecing together parts

of our lives -

Making sense or

Making cents.

BeLIEving or lying.

Dead or dying.

/

I'm dying.

That doesn't mean I'm dead.

When I get there I

Get there.

We all get there

Whether as actors,

Trashmen, hitmen, animals or

Writers.

Peace to the true

Psychics who know their

Final minute. I hope

It is not as painful

As you would think.

/

We get what is

Thrown to us.

We will never know

What 'that' is.

We go on from there.

/

We go on from here

To wherever.

/

Wherever

Ever

Takes

Us