Drugging The Panther (You Jitney Bastard)

Fingers Viewed As Mirrors

skeletal fingers

touch

brown buttons.

unfastened,

one by one,

it all

comes undone.

softness exposed,

neither good

nor sin.

fingers reaching

across

familiar features.

where have

the years gone?

where does the dream remain?

hands obscure

ocular occupation,

waiting for

the next move.

punched line

a joke for no one in particular

restlessness

feeds obsession

and

rambling incoherence.

we read each other

well or

badly

at best.

don't make sense

of this

or yourself.

its for the

best.

The Inevitable Conclusion

Permanence

tears shed

into the

river

as you

swam

downstream

away from

me.

addendum:

enlightenment has a price to be paid whether we want it or not. enlightenment doesn't wait, it demands our attention when we need it most.

Only Those You Are Closest To

A Certain Familiarity

we shouldn't be surprised.

how long

have we known

each other?

still getting worked

up over the

same things.

it always comes down,

right back

to where we were before.

Slight Interruption

Why Make Such A Big Deal?

YOU

called

and I couldn't

bear

to pick up the phone.

Just when I was ready to say

I had moved on.

I heard your voice

for the 1st time

in months.

How was I supposed

to feel?

Glad that

you remembered me?

Saw it good and fit

for you

to reach out

once more?

The message goes

listened,

unreturned.

Far across the city

I wonder

if you are thinking

about

me.

Pastoral: an attempt

Burdens of the Field

A dying tree

solitary

among endless waves

of bending grain.

Branches

stripped bare,

roots dead,

dried up.

The hollow trunk whistles.

Fields as vast

as infinite space,

lonelier than the distance

between stars.

Windows rattle

far in the distance,

memory

chooses to

forget.

The night holds you tight

once more.

Fields bend to

unwavering wind.

Memoir Of A City

like this

endless arteries

snake through

concrete canyons

as red luminescence

trails its way

at a snails pace.

an echos hum

permeates

pores

beneath a

glowering moon.

sitting,

everywhere to be,

nowhere to go.

The Morning Walk

Something I Always Notice

The pavement

buckles and cra cks

as the roots

grow at a glacial

pace.

Abuelita

shuffles through

the crosswalk,

longing for home

in midst of the city.

Wire

it flows freely

through the veins.

A Long Day

the weight

drags you down

with the sunset

into the ocean.

as the water

covers

your mouth,

fills your

lungs.

breathing,

the simplest,

most needful

thing.

bit

Consequence?

They are clamoring

for our attention

like

impatient puppies

waiting to be picked.

Is this the

consequence to our

modernity?

Waitresses

Waitresses

Those girls

are always

waiting.

Waiting for life

to find them,

Waiting for love

to find them.

Always

waiting

waiting

waiting.

Romantic ideals,

cultural expectations

drain the soul.

They look

sooo

beautiful

as they wait.

Photographs taken

in front of mirrors

in an empty room,

their soft brown hair

untouched.

Waiting.

Dreaming,

Hoping,

Waiting.

Waiting.

Wondering

if it will

ever change.

But is it good?

Sap

we filled the space

with thoughts

we had been holding onto.

curious questions

bandied back

and forth.

talking to you

like the

adults we purport

ourselves to be.

small honesty

was all it was.

how I miss

that about you.

Left

What We Did

It's an odd thing

to end a

relationship

without ever saying

goodbye.

The years left us

in a state of

emotional attrition

(then

there were none).

No more returned

calls,

messages left,

unheard and forgotten.

Fall turns

to Winter

once more.

King Of The Restless Hearts

I wander too easily.

I slip into tangents with no cause.

I would rather keep moving.

I watch the passing waves.

I don't care for staying still.

I let my fingers rap against every possible surface.

I let my feet move me.

I love hearing you at night next to me.

I would rather the day begin without me

I will catch up with it later.

Stop looking

for that

deeper

truth.

They get you

confused

telling you

where to look,

believing it could never

be near.

Could it be

so obvious

that we miss it

everyday?

Re : In Can't at I On.

Sera?

Shhh...

you should

come back to bed.

The night rests

like a dog

sleeping at the foot

of its masters bed.

We lay

next

to each other,

keeping warm

as the night air

seeps in through

the bedroom window.

It's as black

as the weary roads

outside.

Your breath

on my skin,

the cool calm

of midnight

pulls

our bodies

closer.

Our minds

drift,

slo

wly,

in to the

dar kne

ss ou

t s i

d e.

Dear Old Man,

They have written so many songs about you.

They ask you about growing older,

losing your youth,

asking for your advice

on everything.

How different are we

from each other?

Your face is the same

yet different each time

I see you.

I know you are tired,

weary. I should

let you get back

to sleep.

Don't say anything,

tell me

the next time

we see each other.

People I Once Knew

it starts so late

it always ends early.

Do you remember the last time you cried?

How good did it feel to

let yourself be free

of restraint

for one brief

sob filled moment?

Neither Good Nor Bad (it just is)

We have gotten older inadvertently.

Seeing pictures of you now

it becomes easy to see.

There is a mutual past,

sitting there, waiting

further down the road,

hoping we'll come back

for a visit.

Those moments

served us best

in getting us here.

We have no need

for each other any longer.

The next time I see you

in the city,

we'll say hello

like two strangers

passing in the street.

Early Saturday Afternoon

there is sanity to be found

among the alleys

and apartments of the city.

Walking the Neighborhood

a late night walk around

the neighborhood

filled with sounds

of the ordinary

are symphonies of

this new home.

neighbors passing

in the street

as green goes to red,

back again.

a trip to the pharmacy

to get a drink

before it becomes too late

and the body

settles in

as it readies itself

for morning.

Too Much

Angel(incomplete)

an angel

speaking quietly

into your ear.

she asks you

a question.

you have an answer.

lips stay closed,

eyes shut.

she flies away

waiting for you.

you awaken

always expecting her

to return,

she never does.

it was no dream.

Settling

it has been a week.

books sitting to my right,

all the writers,

subjects that matter to me.

what kind of discussion would

de la Rochefoucauld

have with

Carver?

What would Hank

and Pinchbeck have to say?

Not much perhaps.

The night coils in

like a snake in

the throes of consumption.

Crank It Out

the day wears itself well

on our faces.

night is unrelenting,

Waiting for it

They are sitting,

waiting.

No hurry,

none at all.

Looks like

that old

wristwatch has

finally gone done.

Where could they

possibly be?

Don't they know that

I've been waiting?

They could care less.

They'll come at

their leisure,

never a moment

before.

Be patient.

They do this all the time.

Motivation

Correspondence

Hope is what I have found in you.

An inspiration

that fends off the madness

and offers

a quiet reassurance

that

people like

us

belong

in the

world.

Too Late or Too Early?

A Late Night Visit With Mr. Shaw

We drink from the wine

of ourselves

a bit too

liberally.

It flows too easily

for us to say

"when".

Endlessly

intoxicating

we'll keep on

drinking

until the early hours

once reason has gone to bed

and we're forced

to follow suit.

Better Start Living

We wonder all too often

when it will end.

It's an answer we are better off

not knowing.

We'll still ask

and we'll still wonder.

If we ever got the answer

none of us would be pleased.

Best left to wonder

about that

which we'll find

when it is time.

Sacrosanct

It is nothing sacred.

Too much has been made

of this art.

The Olympus they peer down from

is a movie set,

their tomes

nothing but bound blank pages.

But is there anything to it?

There is.

It happens

between

the thoughts as they

land onto the keys

and are punched

out

one stroke at a time

at an hour far too late

for any reasonable

mind.

Spectate

Voyeurism

We watch each other

through

one sided windows

ever so

carefully.

Shhh...

be quiet,

do not disturb.

Posted pictures

peer into our eyes

as fascination takes hold

in its relentless grasp.

We seem so alive

in our brief immortality.

There are more windows

every day

but

is there anything

worth seeing?

Morning Movement

Cities

Like disembodied segments to a centipede,

cars crawl slowly

along crowded avenues.

The morning sun

blinds temporarily

streaming in through the glass.

Changing colors

regulate the rate of motion.

Mere morning,

routine is engrained,

embraced.

In the evening

it begins again.

Night,

then...

Waking

A Land Of Space And Night

In a space

where all

things feelastic

night curls up like a cat

on the grass

beneath.

Bodies warmth,

comfort,

keep the darkness away.

You leave

and I remain.

Eventually,

sleep.

And now?

Morning.

Edad

AGE

Age is cruel but just.

Much like death, it touches us all.

Some live in denial of ages eventuality.

It can be man’s friend or

woman’s enemy.

Age allows us the chance to see the world renew itself.

It’s often associated with experience,

that’s not always the case.

Age is used to discriminate when you hear someone say

“You’re too young” or

“You’re too old.”

We become happier when we embrace age as a positive

rather than a negative.

Age will rarely be more than two numbers for most of us.

As you grasp the fleeting nature of life,

age becomes inconsequential as you reach

for everything within your grasp.

Age allows us to see the consequences of fear

and the full measure of hope and love.

Age is a silent predator

that strikes us in the mirror.

We shouldn’t lament our lost youth

if we truly lived.

Age is the reminder we need

to strive for unattainable perfection.

Welcome To The Neighborhood!

Kat

3 bags full of groceries

cradled in my left arm

while the other

fumbled for keys.

Tried them both.

They came running,

barking at me.

One

a dark toy dog

looking onward more

in curiosity than anything.

The other hand reached down

and scratched behind the ears.

An older looking boxer mix

came up.

"He's harmless,

he has no teeth."

Keys back in the pocket,

my hand reached down to pet him.

"My name is Kat."

I told her mine.

She leaned in for

a european style kiss.

"I live right up the street.

You should come out

and have a cigarette."

The old white washed wooden

stairs creaked as I went up.

Items arranged

I went back out.

She was

gone.

Last Page Of This Book

Overcast morning.

Last one viewed through this window.

The air is still.

The little comforts will be missed.

Necessary steps towards life.

"Her voice was nothing more than a distant memory that morning. Had it all been a dream?The feeling so strong, his chest pounding. Eyes were still adjusting to the hazy light. A tear rolled down his face. His face flushed red as he sat up. It was still there singing. That voice, unforgettable in every way. The green digital face of the clock winked at him as a minute passed. 7:41 a.m. It was still early. He had beat the clock this time. Feet touched cold floor. The day had to begin. It was too real for comfort. He stood tall in the light and walked out the door." excerpt from "Tall Tales Of An Average Man"

"...and it was her. Too much time wasted wondering, hoping. But was it wasted? Knowing she was real but unreachable in every way. It was a small comfort to know it was not the madness he had feared but the unconscious manifestation of subconscious desire. That floor was a small comfort. Feet touched it cold like so many mornings before. There was an answer. It could all move forward. He could move forward. Her memory would no longer haunt him It would inspire, it would propel. He ran out the room and down the stairs into the street below. They would see a madman running barefoot clad in boxers. Inside was a man grasping his sanity tight and running toward the destiny he had embraced."

- excerpt from "Tall Tales Of An Average Man"

Lexicon by Kelli Anne Noftle

Lexicon by Kelli Anne Noftle

Because you peeled

the top away

just to find another layer.

If I'm a sponge

then she's steel wool.

The harshest things will pull you through.

I went back to the overpass

the one beside your old house

and wrote a lexicon for us

a dictionary for mistrust.

Does language make consciousness

or is it just the opposite?

Your mouth

an empty pocket.

I found your rusted razor in

my medicine cabinet.

Now everythings so automatic.

I went back to the overpass,

the one besides your old house

and wrote a lexicon for us

a dictionary for mistrust.

Does language make consciousness

or is it just the opposite?

Your mouth,

my empty pocket.

I will try

to speak your name.

Like braiding ends,

the place it frayed.

You take this all

so seriously.

If I can't have you,

I can't have you,

If I can't have you

everyone will.

Note: This has been one of my favorite songs to listen to especially recently.

The song itself is not present but I transcribed the lyrics because of how wonderful they are.

She is a a very talented singer songwriter and one of the more interesting writers I have come across.

You can hear her music online at

www.myspace.com/miniaturesoap

2nd To Last Chapter Of This Book

The Lemon Tree

A gentle hesitation sits inside me

looking out and

wondering what lays ahead.

This familiar view

to the world outside will soon be gone

replaced

by new surroundings.

The branches of the lemon tree

bristle gently

in the soft wind,

the sounds of family

in all states of the day.

It is a necessary trimming,

the lemons will be so much nicer

the next time around.

always use soap

Your voice will follow me

from here

to there

of that much I can be sure.

It is a small comfort

that I look forward to

just as much as I always have

hearing your voice.

Book

Waiting for no one

other than myself.

Why the wait?

I always have a hard time

finish the last page

of any good book.

For Stella

Stella

Why dance around

cliche

when it is truth?

You are

too beautiful

for words.

Sleep well

tonight

and let

morning take you

to every place

you need

to be.

20 Hours

The mind is running

at 1/2

capacity.

The senses

dulled,

numbed

to a

frac

tion

of what they

would

normally be.

It is a vice

of necessity

or so

I would like

to think.

The choice is

always

at hand.

This night

our fingers

lock

as I lead us

through the

darkness

to the respite

we all hope

to reach.

Because I'm Still In Love With You

Early AM

Sunrise is a vision

yet to pass.

The vague and distant hum

of the oncoming day

has barely begun.

The darkness turns

an eventual

deep blue

lightened

steadily.

Weary eyes

rubbed

to adjust to

use once more

as feet touch

cold tile.

Threads of sound

can hear

Harvest Moon

drift beautifully

into the open air

again.

Humant

h u m a n t

I destroyed you with

a flick

of my finger.

You bore me no harm

as you crawled across the desk

yet I still found the need

to destroy you.

One flick,

your body torn apart.

I could see

your legs twitching

in those final moments,

how quickly

how carelessly

I condemned you

without thought.

What do our cities look like

from heaven above?

9/9/9

It is not really

an end

at all.

It is a

transition.

As often as words

may be spoken

an equal number

of times I abstain

from uttering them.

I value silence

so that my mind

may run.

So many voices

all speaking,

words tumbling out

like a child

throwing

building blocks

all over the room,

tossed so carelessly.

I can only grasp

my silence

tighter

not wishing to be

part of such children.

Recovery

We poison ourselves far too readily

in the name of relaxation or revelry.

__________________________

The internal world

is changing.

Overdue

and a necessary need

it falls into place

like intersecting lines

forming

sacred geometry.

_______________

Red Dress

Your red dress

made me dream.

In your arms,

held close

its hard to believe

how long its been.

Our skin oozing

the sweet relief

we have partaken

among friends

on such a hot

summer day.

Get Ready

The Safety Of Years

The years

pile up

like an accident

on the freeway,

becoming

sights to be

gawked at from

the safety

of your car.

The traffic clears

and the road opens wide

as you quickly gain

velocity.

The thought lingers

in your head,

you wonder

about the

accident

knowing that

on any other day

it could be

you.

A Night Of Salvation

Bar Scene

The hours of labor

have eaten away

the paths to reason.

A familiar place

friendly to those

in need of a moments

respite.

Her name is Sarah.

A whiskey

and

A beer.

She sets

on the counter

a cardboard coaster

shielding

the wood

from the

cool of the icy bottle.

Nectar and glass touch

the lips

as the fiery libation

pounds its way

down the gullet.

Sweet relief,

sweet revelation.

The music plays overhead,

it is of no consequence.

Words thrown about

in conversation

quickly become

a microcosmic babel

of tongues.

Quickly

the glass is emptied,

the bottle drained,

warming its

barren womb.

Sounds brighten

as the edge is softened

by God' s proof of his love.

Another shot glass,

another bottle.

The left hand

trembles a bit

as it reaches toward

the bottle.

It spills forth

a mouthful of brewed yeast.

It spreads itself on the counter

as a soaked rag

retrieves its aborted contents.

The hand steadies itself

as it reaches once more.

Half way down the bottle

the glass is drained

in a feeling of flame.

Lips reach forth once more

as if aching for the kiss

of a lost lover.

The final drop

touches tongue

and the illusion

revealed for what it is.

A certain warmth

is born,

then spreads

to extremities

waiting for their relief.

Feet touch ground

as the body steadies

itself.

Sarah was her name.

The stool is emptied

as life is muted once more

to make it bearable

to us,

the maddest of men.

Parts, Pieces, Scraps

(an incomplete piece)*

Let it run up your spine

and electrify

your skin.

A mantra

so sweet

so beautiful

so simple

it cuts to the heart

without trouble.

Hearts beating together,

voices

singing en masse.

The ultimate expression

of love and

unity.

*not happy with how its gone with this particular piece

but i also dont want to entirely scrap it so it sits here in

its flawed and unfinished glory.

Our present tense

could not be any more

different than

the past tense

we once shared.

You never realize

how fleeting your

youth truly is

until you watch

another's unfold

before your eyes.

Heat Induced

Expectations

We died so young

we never had a chance to live.

Buried prematurely

under the weight of green

and expectation,

our fate was sealed

before the final breath.

Is that envy in your eyes?

Buried above ground

our flesh rots

as it still moves.

Hair falling out,

skin sags so

gloriously.

Tell the children,

tell the children.

Thoughts Of A Young Man

I think of you

time to time

as I remember

the good things in life.

Dreaming of what

we could do

on a lonely day

takes me to a better place.

I can still see you

sitting on the floor,

legs crossed,

uncrossing,

revealing your

soft flesh.

Oh,

the things done

with that memory.

Wyatt

Wyatt

Dying

sad and alone,

too young to know

better.

Dying

and not understanding,

alone and fearful

far from those

who love you.

What words

could there be

to describe

the sadness

the heartache

of this newly

minted void?

http://www.thepittsburghchannel.com/news/20742620/detail.html

Shititout

IDGI

Behind the hype

where is the substance?

Your fashion speaks

louder

than the amplification

you bear.

You are the cliche

I rail against.

Retreading paths

so worn

they have been

paved over.

Value

What is it worth?

Not much

or

quite a bit.

It depends on

who you

ask.

We can never

agree

on much of

anything

other than

get out of

my way.

Arson Our Son

Summer of this Year

It is becoming the Hell

they have always made it out to be.

Trapped like ants in a farm

of curving concrete

we watch the fires

consume.

The water to the west will not

save us,

the desert to the east will only

hasten our end.

So we sit here

on the endless concrete

waiting together

for the inevitable.

The Limits Of

Drain the blood

Just

allow me

this one

request,

No?

What more do

I have left to say?

Feed me honesty,

not lies of omission

if the trust begins

to carve canyons

through itself.

Age Is Cruel But Just

Age Is Cruel But Just.

We are of great importance to ourselves.

I'd rather be a shark

in constant motion

than an anemone

at the bottom of the sea.

I play with words

the way I would

with my children.

The Unintentional Martyr

A Remembrance of Neda

The world never knew you

beyond those final moments.

Your martyrdom unintentional,

the blood far too real.

The air has grown stagnant over

the land as the reigns of power

loosened, then pulled tighter.

A noose choking you

but unwilling to kill you.

What now?

Your rest eternal,

the struggle never ending.

When will the wind return?

The Beatles Called It A Warm Gun

What We Want

We are all simple creatures

at heart.

We search for the same thing

under different names

through different ages.

It is all the same simple

thing that pushes us forward

and allows our kind

to carry on.

The simple pursuit of...

Advice for ______ _______. RE: Life

Salvation is found within.

You are experiencing now

what many of us find out

only through years of wandering the wilderness.

The search within is never ending.

Don't worry about the tastes of others, keep your mind open.

That will make you bloom.

Memories will serve you well, do not deny the past.

Embrace it and let your tears flow freely.

Do not feel like a fool for any supposed missteps.

Don't worry about your vanity, your awareness proves a greater depth.

Watch movies alone or only with a small cast of hand picked riff raff.

It never gets easier, it sometimes gets harder but we press on regardless.

Always be selfless and sometimes be selfish.

Embrace your loves, whatever they may be.

When The Wonder Ceases

That Which Purifies

It is raining a soft ash

over the city.

It has been very warm lately.

Two firefighters have perished.

One a married man with

two adult children,

the other

only 35,

married,

and only weeks

away from becoming

a father for the first time.

The work of God's hand

is undone by rabid

sparks feeding a

senseless hunger,

one we cannot

understand.

We were so alone once.

Cowering beneath darkness

waiting for the first ray to break.

It is no wonder we have worshipped

Apollo, Ra, Ah Kin and Uriel.

It burns closer by the moment

living to consume

until the whole world

is ablaze.

When The Wanderer Ceases

swimming through a sea

of strange faces

you come at me

like a bomb.

Nighttime Living By The Sea

A sea of darkness surrounds us,

as the music comes on.

The slightly sweet smell

of that heightening smoke

infects our ears,

skin.

Faces gain

in proximity to one another.

Lips waiting

for contact.

Contact.

It overwhelms,

reality has become

a living dream.

The clock loses time,

the music plays on.

The Face

Your face haunts me

as your hands move

around and

around.

Keeping track of

the commodity we wish

we always had more of.

Your lonely face

looks into countless eyes

in different guises.

It is slipping,

it is always slipping

away.