A Constant Apocalypse, A Constant Rebirth

Men have always prophesied the 
end of days. It has been no different 
in our time. Those men have always 
been right and they have always 
been wrong. The world ends with 
every death and is renewed with 
every birth. Our age is always 
ending, but we are constantly 
reborn.

A Hole In The Dam

How much must we endure
Before we decide that the 
Pattern cannot hold, that we
Must bring change, a new 
Order, to our lives, to this
World. This world is ours
To be changed.

Our Lives Are Increasingly Writ In Past Tense.

All Light Casts A Reflection.

THE MADNESS OF MEN

The Cure to Our Ills

There is no triumph in numbers.
There is no salvation through words alone.
Have our senses dulled,
our hearts weakened
through constant glowing streams?
We gorge ourselves greedily
in a hunger that knows no
bottom to its trough.
Captive eyes are only as helpless
as the mind that sits behind them. 
Our great disease is
one of the mind,
one of the heart
grown cold and
confused.
We wield the instrument
to our cure but
are afraid of making
the cut, the sight
of our own blood.

5 Thoughts to Consider

This mask is only thing

keeping us apart.
______________

There is only isolation through our mechanized means
of communication.

______________

If there is discontent within
you must look for its root cause.

______________

I can't allow this.

______________

Change the scenery to change the experience.

______________

A Rhythm That We Found

Hours pass like minutes

as sounds fill the space

between us. Afternoon

becomes evening as we

depart the heart of the city.

V. Excerpts From A False Novel In Progress

I.
This land of false winters beams down sunny days
for us to admire.  No ice or snow can be found here,
only endless stretches of paved streets and palm
trees in an unnatural perversion of order.

II.
Our twin sons of Faith & Reason
are fraternal, not identical. This has always been a
problem with their Mother.


III.
This dreamworld is a sham.


IV.
The only thing we have to survive is ourselves.


V.
You were in my dream last night.
I was confused. I couldn't
understand what had happened,
why he left you. But he didn't,
did he? Just part of the dream,
the fiction the mind creates
in the absence of a heart to
call your own. What a strange
dream, what a strange dream.
Did we kiss? Did you tell me
you loved me? No one does
that. I can't laugh at it though.

Quote Me On This

Life Is A Permanent Apprenticeship. 
- ME

transition to another year

Hours and Days
spent uselessly.
The change of
dates & month,
the subtle
differences the
calender makes
in all our minds.
We move forward
with slightly more
reason than before.

Pandemonium of the Sun

it's a mess,

thick cords of plot intertwine

allusions to past illusions

streaked glass

we've run out of means

to clean the mess

identity reclusivity

how to best disappear

easily, it would be

when no one knows you

are the streets

faces swallowed

lost in the crowd

the world outside

is never as beautiful

as the one within

only I know to go

to the only place I go.

Lacking

There is never enough time

There is never enough will power

There is never enough strength

There is always too little

It is always too late

And we are never enough.

The End of the Season

There is only this and nothing more.
She shut off the lights and lay quietly in the dark.
Outside a car killed its as two hands rubbed each other for warmth.
A few blocks away the bartender at the neighborhood bar
poured out shots of cheap whiskey for herself and the old man.
A policeman sat in his patrol car waiting for the next speeding
car or suspected drunk driver.
The neighbors next door were mourning their son who
was never going to come back from the war.
Across the street the godless couple sat comfortably
watching a movie together no worse for the wear of the season.
The neighborhood kids who lived in the apartments behind
the house were quiet for once.
The old grandmother a few doors down could only hear
the silence of memory, alone and encapsulating her
more wholly than death ever could.
The streets and freeways flowed smoothly
as bodies everywhere stayed at home with
friends, family and assorted loved ones.
The beaches had grown cold and dark,
the seagulls finally at rest.

Rush Hour Traffic on Christmas Eve Eve

It was rush hour traffic the day before Christmas Eve.
I could see a few patrol cars parked up ahead. They
had shut down the south bound lanes and were diverting
traffic to another street. I could see yellow police tape
cordoning off the intersection up. The policeman waved
us through. I turned my head and for a second glimpsed
the scene. It appears that a motorcycle and car had collided.
The bike was lying on its side, the car had a large dent on
the driver side door. I didn't see an ambulance at the scene,
perhaps it had already made its pick up. What a way to get
into the Christmas spirit.

Fear & Love

The first step 

in overcoming Fear

is embracing Love.

The World's Supply of Truth

Fragments of truth are all we have left.

The ideal has been shattered in the cave

of forms. The sharp angular edges can

easily cut skin and draw blood.

The older we become 

the more truthful our

a faces grow.

As She Wanders The Fields

She wanders the fields in a way that connotes
an otherness and a sense of familiarity.
The wind bends the grasses to its whims
as her hands brush them with her movement.
This distant cradle of reason and civilization
sits silent as its descendants struggle with
the weight of destiny, a fate ordained by the
long count of history.

An Experiment

Is there immortal truth in our thoughts and actions?

Will the tides sweep us aside like those before us?

The challenge of humanity is to temper our natural
appetites and to conserve that which we have been
given.

You fell down so often and I was always there to
pick you up. Now, we hardly talk at all. This brings
a sense of sadness to me. It is a change, we are
becoming different people. I don't think I can keep
 pretending anymore.

What voice do you hear when you read this?

I've conceded, there is only conceit in this.

The body must rest when the mind can no longer
bear to be awake.

Can we construct a narrative from individual lines
and passages? Can we find meaning in disorder?

Is this what I'm talking about?

The Creation of Order

Our minds deem it necessary to establish order
over the constant stream of chaos we see in the
world. Without imposing some form of order
we would wander aimlessly, creatures helpless
at the mercy of shifting sands beneath our feet.

The Mathematics of Life

It is easy to see our lives as the aggregate result
of a game of numbers.


- How man days have passed since our birth?


- How many sunrises have we witnessed

  versus sunsets?


- The number of times we have been in love.


- The number of times we've had our hearts broken.


- The number of times when we have done the breaking.


- How many times have we lied to curry favor.


- How many hours have we spent alone in contemplation.


- How many days remain from the day of this writing.


- How much money we need to not have to struggle.


- How many miles have we driven in our cars.


- How many hours have we spent waiting. 


- How much debt we carry.


- The number of marriage ceremonies we have attended.


- How many friends have told us about their impending divorce.


- How many days were you truly happy?


What matters?
Only a few things.
When do we discover this knowledge?


What are you thinking of right now?

Flawed Heart Memory

Memory can lie to us

when the heart deems it

necessary to rewrite its past.

On Brevity

It is not important to draw thoughts out

any longer than they need to be.

Finding the right words in the

briefest order can be the simplest

and most complex of tasks.

Another Year Past

The distance of a year

is one all too brief

and much too long.

Constructing Narrative

Create your own narrative

or be subject to those

of others.

The Distance of Our Lives

The ties we share

are what hold us together

over the long run of years.

Ms. Cole

Did my face betray my joy at seeing you once more?

A happy reunion after distance and the passing

of our youth. Oh friend, how I've longed

to see you once more. Thank You

for the reminder of your kind

heart and beauty in all

it's facets.

Known History

For all the history

we remember,

think of all

we have forgot.

The Search For Truth

You asked me,

"Is there divine truth?"

I had to think about it for a moment.

"I'm not sure" I said.

You smiled at me and said

"That's the most honest answer I've heard."

There is so much we do not know,

cannot know. Someday,

someday we will.

Life's Lessons

Foolish joy

Gives way to

Hardened reality.



Hardened reality

Hands us the pill

Of experience.



What we do

With that pill



Is solely in

Our hands.

echo chamber

My voice echoes in an empty room.

I listen back to myself

and the silence that

follows.

start/end points

Wondering about these wanderings,

we always find ourselves in

the same spaces we've

known.

We change the time, we change

the places and find where

we've been going this

whole time.

Our Perception of History

We've wasted our kindness

on each other.

Memories or ill-thought

recollections, are

we becoming the

revisionists that

history fears?

The Late Night Line

We watch each other

feed our diseases

one night

at a time.

The Operation of Memory

A deadly silence.

It breaches the surface.

Soft flesh, helpless to react.

No struggle.

Crimson colors the

foam of the tide.

Know Now

What Was

Then Before

The Present

Erases It.

abierto

Open the blinds and let the sun shine
in, lighting the particles of dust
floating in our.

Open the door and let the sounds
of the neighborhood stream
in the house.

When Lungs Breathe Deep

What borders are there within out thoughts?

What fears restrain us in our dreams?

When lungs breathe deep

it is a reminder of life

and the freedom

that is our

birthright.

Fading Yellow

Light enters through the lens
and captures the image on
the film stock.

The form is captured in the
way it existed in that moment
and will not be so again.

That moment lives on in the
relic of memory, a fading
yellow picture in hand.

All Good Junkies

She shoots up heroin at home.

I know because I saw the spoon

sitting on her coffee table

staring back at me like a

witness on trial in front

of a jury. The caked white

in her curve told me

all I needed to know.

We made chit chat

about this and that

and all the expected

small talk bullshit

we felt necessary

to defuse awkward

situations. I sat on

her couch as I

petted her pet pug

sitting in my lap.

The spoon kept staring

at me, telling me,

"You know. You know."

"But what can I do spoon?"

I thought to myself.

Nothing. Nothing.

I don't know her

well enough to say

anything to her, to

say anything to her

friends. It's her own

business if she wants

to find her bliss in a

needle. Her life is not

my responsibility.

Don't tell me I should

do something for

someone hellbent

on their own path.

Freewill, we claim it

so often, we might

as well let all good

junkies go to heaven.

Varying Degress of Proximity

Do we grow apart


as easily as we 


came together?

focused freewrite

Pick your face up off the ground before
someone takes it stop worrying so much
about punctuation is this a full stop or a
pause in the flow of thought youre smart
enough for me not to have to hold your
hand you can decipher this on your own
i know you can just do it just try it dont
be so fearful its only words only words
just try trust me you trust me dont you

A Voice Beyond Sound

I am not trying to be a hero.

I am not trying to be an imitation of my hero's.

I am searching for a voice that is beyond sound.

At times I feel closer to that aim.

At times I feel farther than before.

I am trying.

I am listening to those words

and what they wish to say.

Dear Heart,

Have you been waiting for me

this entire time?

I apologize for my neglect.

How I've missed you.

Oh,

How I've missed you.

Gamblers

My room is filled with music

of my choosing.

The only other sound

are those of my fingers moving across

keys at the same pace that these words appear.

Outside my window,

Outside my door,

there is a world that we share,

filled with every knowable and

unknowable pain and sorrow.

There are those who wish us harm

and there are those who wish us joy.

It's much easier to sit here and wonder

about it all.

But sooner or later

we all become gamblers.

Progress

We have stripped away

classical form.

We have stripped away

meter

and aesthetically pleasing

stanzas.

Instead,

we fill pages with

words that tumble out

like the ones from our tongue.

Is this progress?

Tell me,

can you understand

what I am saying to you?

Tenacity

It is impossible for any one person to save the world.

In some instances, it is impossible for one to even save themselves.

We still try,

Generation after Generation.

Perhaps we don't need saving.

Perhaps we will continue on

in much the same way

we always have.

Always & Never

Never look back.

Never give in to sentimental leanings.

Never believe the falsehood of rose colored lenses.


Always believe in now.

Always act with objective reason.

Always be true to your nature.

Heaven or Earth?

There are no

Holy

places or names,

There are only places filled

Wholly

by the aspirations of man.

Unraveling Fate

our lives are mixtures

of destiny

that are shaped

wholly by

personal decisions.

Searching For Light

life is complicated,

 

there are never 

 

any easy answers.

 

sometimes, 

 

or rather, 

 

oftentimes, 

 

we languish in the dark.

The Woman I Am Looking For

Beauty is Fleeting,


The Soul, 


Eternal.

Reaching For The Bottom

Reach for the bottom,

stretch out your hand

and feel for the ground

before your realize

it's too late,

your head cracks

against the ground.

BE FREE

Destroy your idols 


and bury them


deep in the ground,


forget they


ever walked


the earth.


Only in this way


will you ever


be free.

A Continual Process

My lips feel the smoothness of the glass

as its liquid reward pours down my throat.

The nerves begin to loosen a little,

the fingers and the thoughts running

towards them, grow looser and faster,

as if they were sprinting towards an

unseen finish line. There is no prize

or ranking to be won at the end of

this particular race. The only thing

that remains is  knowledge learned

from a life lived as a new one readies

itself to be freed from the womb.

A Certain Sadness

There is a certain kind of sadness
when one has outgrown a friendship


or rather


it has run its course.

A Note on Love

Do we love each other?

Hold me

and tell me

what is real.

Two Different Types of Pain

I.

hide your eyes beneathe their lids

when memory rears its face again

and the burden of light is too much

bear. 

II.

there is nothing particularly 

wonderful about pain except

for its ability to remind us 

that we are in fact alive and

living.

The Forgotten Never Forget

Two Comments on Memory

I.

clouds gather quick

as particles move

charges build


II.
breath slowly / deliberately

close eyelids / open them / once more

the old film of memory plays back across the screen

the gradient is obvious

but the story is the same.

The Ugly Face

$$$ is always in short supply.

It's the only thing you always hear people talking about.

They wonder how they're going to make their rent this month.

They wonder if they're going to make it to the end of the week.

They wonder if they have enough to buy groceries.

They wonder if there is enough to get gas to make it to work.

They wonder if they're going to have to borrow money.

They wonder if they'll get that raise at work.

They wonder if they'll find a better paying job.

They hope they don't get sick because they don't have insurance.

They wonder if they are going to work until the day they die.

They wonder if their children will have to struggle as well.

They wonder how they're going to make rent the next few months.

They wonder if the job that laid them off will call them back.

They wonder if they'll have to sell the house.

They wonder if they'll have to declare bankruptcy.

They wonder how much longer they can do this.

Hard Times

the embrace of modern concerns 

squeezes me tight. i let go of her

waist, she squeezes harder. I can

hear her breathing heavier, my 

back cracks as my ribs ready to

give way.

the pieces of everything we've left behind.

For the Little Girls

All the little girls think they know me well.


All the little girls don't know me at all.

Voice/Voice

The true voice of a musician 


is that of their instrument 


as it is being played.

The Wind

sounds like


forgotten names


being spoken


all at once.

Midnight Candles

burning through the house.
the acrid smell wafting
through the dining room.
a picture of grandmother,
flowers laid down.
"what are the candles for?"
I asked. "they're for
your grandmother,"
he said. I breathed
in as the wind howled
outside the windows.

Through the fog

a beacon shines.

Becoming the Archaeologist

Exploring the past 
through a personal 
archaeology.

Moss grows upon the trunk of the tree.

The artist grows within the lesson learned.

The Lesson of the Grandfather Clock

Watching the pendulum

swing

back and forth

through the glass

in it's body,

watching time

in the same way

my grandfather did.

How endlessly

it repeats itself,

again

and

again.

BELIEVE 

IN 

PAUL

PROTEUS

Bruised and Aching

DON'T EVER THINK
IT COULD HAPPEN
TO YOU


HAPPEN FOR YOU


PUSH IT DOWN


PUSH IT DOWN


...DROWN.


LOSE HER,


LOSE HER,


....LOSER.

Embrace the inner light.

Recollection

Do we still recollect our thoughts in tranquility

or do we cobble them together word by word,

phrase by phrase, in the fleeting moments in be-

tween all the other falling grains of sand?

Love doesn't understand distance.

Grateful To Be Alive

It could all be so different,
our lives hanging by the slenderest of threads,
the scissor ready to cut
at any moment.
One second makes the difference,
but that's all that counts.
If not for that second
I wouldn't have been there
to see your beautiful faces
and radiant souls.
In fact,
it'd probably be me
that would be looking down,
wondering if you could see me.

Racing Against The Rain.

The secret heart of hidden sin
will always decay the soul within.

gripping dirt

Roots run deep in this soil.

Coming up from the dirt like

gnarled and cragged fingers

they grip tighter with each

passing year.

THE ONLY FACT I AM SURE OF/THE MOST IMPORTANT THOUGHT I'VE EVER HAD

MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION

MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION
 
MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION


MUSIC IS THE ONLY 
UNIVERSAL RELIGION

A Good Source of Laughter

The biggest laugh comes from

seeing how ridiculous a thing is

unto itself.

The biggest cause of this is a

true understanding of the self.

The End of Memory

The tangled years of memory
grow knotted with each passing
day. Memories become fleeting
thoughts brought on by random
sights, words, smells & touches.

If you destroy the photograph,
my memory of it, too, shall pass.

The Old Man & the Scene.

The dour exercise of (our) love.

The Uneasy Peace

You were much nicer before.
Who the hell do you think you are now?

I guess it's my fault for caring.
It just wasn't much fun at the end, was it?

Might as well move away,
forget it all, pretend we died

and returned in a reincarnated
form that is ready to move on.

Do I have it all wrong?
Was I the one that changed?

False Starts & Broken Hearts

fwd/bkwd

forwards can seem backwards
at times but that has only to do
with our perception.

the energy needed to move for
ward at any given time requires
much motivation to move from

an inert state. this can be either
 the changing of mind or the
motion of moving space to space.

I Wrote Her Something

but I never showed it to her.

I showed it to her friends

and they loved it and thought

it be to a great work of fiction

(it was a poem).

It wasn't fiction,

it was about her,

it was about the night

we went out together

to the heart of the city

in one of her old rooms

insulated from the world

by the darkness and drinks

that filled every inch of that space.

I still see her every now and

then but

the moment has passed

when it could have made

a difference

when it would have made

a difference

but that was then

and this is now.

Perhaps I'll see her

again soon someday

and tell her I have something

I'd like her to read.

What she'll say then

I don't know

but it won't matter.

The inspiration was the gift

the failure to act

was my own.

Late Nite Free Write

There are no doors to open and no barriers to break down
there is only space around and within us
it is there for us to fill with whatever we see fit
if we can will ourselves to be free of constricting constructs
we will find that there are modes of thought and expression
to be explored that we have as yet left untouched
I turned the knob with my left hand to open the door
but as soon as i opened it there was nothing
but a feeling of regret
regret at not knowing what was behind
but also the knowledge that was about to be mine
there is no one path to any destination
to limit ourselves to one fixed route
to any physical destination or to any life goal
is to reduce the amount of imagination we
are capable of
when we were children we had no worry
no use for limitations placed on our thoughts
we wandered as freely as the buffalo once did
across the vast plains of the american frontier
those days are long since past
there is nothing there now but the smoldering ash of
good intentions that became preconceived ideas
of greed and domination that came to define
generations of people in our nation
a history built on half truths and deception
we make due with our historical hypocrisy
because that is all we can do short of becoming
blind and indifferent in much the way that many
of our fellow citizens have
where has that idea of good citizenship taken us
where has it gone from our lives
is it living in a fictitious world or has it
entirely disappeared or perhaps it was never here
it was never ours to have and to hold
it was a shapeless ideal that we held to be true
true enough to believe but not real enough for us
to act and make it so
so much passes us by these days as information
sails in front of our eyes moment by moment
our capacity to comprehend has stayed static
while the world and our capacity to innovate
has grown exponentially our poor heads
are like tea cups with fire hoses pointed right at them
ready to break as soon as contact is made
or they are launched and they shatter upon the ground
did i have a dream yes
i had a dream such a strange dream
that I was with someone as we drove our way through and
found ourselves in the company of some famous rock bands
rehearsal space hidden in some dark alley hidden from the world
and we felt alive some how some way that we couldn't entirely
believe or understand we had been drinking in that dream
and were drunk already when we met them but
it was a dream and only a dream
and when i woke the sun was there
and the morning was cold and there were things to be done
placed i had to be but i wasn't sure if it mattered
did any of it matter as
all of it because patterns
recognized and analyzed to no end
and there is no end
there is no end to the cycle of death and creation
but what is there to learn
what is there not to learn
the words all write themselves they find their place
among the page as my fingers fly and give birth to these
children all hoping to find the eyes of an audience ready
to look and to read and to understand
and to close this gap between us
to close these rift to
fill this grand canyon that we have made for ourselves
and between ourselves
there is a space that can be filled
and we can be fulfilled if we can only let go
let go of these notions that bind us and constrict us
and find a reason to wake and to love and to
see and to feel ourselves alive in the way we idealize
those in the past to be but there is a false analogy to the past
there is no past there is only now there is only us
there is only me typing these words out late at night
and there is only you reading those words in another time
and another place perhaps close or far to where I am
or when I am but I am and have been and will continue to be
in some way shape or form as I continue as you continue
as we continue to change our thoughts shapes and forms

Love is always an afterthought to fleeting impulse.

Neither Created Nor Destroyed

What is there to say of us once we are gone?
Does memory persist indefinitely
or does it dissipate
like the particles
of all matter?

Late Night Waterfall

Paralyzed by your words,
you have my full attention.
I sit here
waiting for a waterfall.
It always comes alone
and
late at
night.

Twilight Sounds

When I was living in my old apartment I would often hear
the woman upstairs start singing and playing acoustic guitar
around 7 o'clock most evenings. That's also around the time
I ate dinner most nights. At first it was a bit of a nuisance
since I would get home from work and just want some peace
and quiet. I sometimes thought about hitting the ceiling with
the broom to get her to shut up but I never did. I've never been
too into music. A lot of times I would put the radio on and just
flip around the stations to hear whatever randomness seemed
the most pleasing.

After about a month or so of her doing these evening performances
I began to listen to her. I would just sit there while my dinner
would begin to get cold. Her words were heartbreaking, her
voice strained over certain lines, I could practically see the
tears streaming down her face. I can't really pinpoint what
it is that made her so different than all those other voices on
the radio or TV, it was just a feeling that I couldn't shake. It's
like her voice had set up residence in my chest.

After she was done playing it was almost always quiet upstairs.
I began to wonder about her and her life. Were all those songs
about things she had lived through? Was she a professional
musician? Did she only play for herself? I stopped myself
many times over from going up and just saying hello. I
remember when she moved in, I saw her lugging her boxes
up the stairs from the rented van. I don't remember seeing a
guitar case among her possessions but she obviously had one.

I was in too big of a rush that day to stop and say hello and
introduce myself. She had shoulder length strawberry blonde
hair, she was slender but not frail. There was a certain kind
of resilience in her motions. She had the kinds of movements
that only someone who has lived through hardship can know.
She wasn't the kind of woman who you would say was a drop
dead beauty, but there was a natural grace to her that was
greater than the images on the tv and magazines.

I began to think about her more and more outside of those
evenings that we shared together apart in our apartments.
I had never seen or heard anyone else but her come in or
out of her apartment. She had no boyfriend that I could
tell, or girlfriend for that matter.

One afternoon at work I finally decided that when I got
home that night I would finally go up to her apartment and
introduce myself and tell her how much I had been enjoying
her music. I prepared my dinner in the same I always had
and waited for that familiar sound.

I waited and waited but it never came. Was she running late?
Did she stay late at work? Was she caught in traffic? Was she
visiting with family? Had she gone out of town? It floored me
that the one night I finally decided to meet her she would not
be there. Once I realized that she wasn't coming home to sing,
I turned on the radio but I quickly shut it off because it wasn't
the same, it wasn't her.

The next two days passed in the same fashion. Each night I
got my dinner ready and waited to for her to come back but
to no avail.

On the fourth day as I was walking to my door I saw her
at the bottom of her stairs with an older woman at her side.

Her arm was in a cast and her face looked bruised. She had
her castless arm over the older womans shoulder. They moved
up the stairs one step at a time. I could hear the pain in each
step by way of a groan escaping her lips.

I walked up to the base of the stairs and asked "Do you two
need any help?" They paused and looked down at me. The
pained look on the older woman's face said everything.

"Could you open the door for us?" I walked up a couple of
steps to join them.  The older woman had produced a key and
and put it in my hand. The young woman looked exhausted
and still in pain. "Thank you very much."

I opened up the door to the apartment and waited for them to
reach me at the top of the staircase. In her apartment I saw
her guitar sitting there on a stand next to a loveseat in front
of TV that I had never heard once.

Once they reached me I gave the keys to the older woman
"Thank you once more." The young woman looked up and
feigned a painful smile. "Thank you for getting the door."
"No problem. I just want to introduce myself. My name is
Jacob and I live in the apartment downstairs. Let me know
if either of you ever need anything."

"Thank you Jacob" the older woman said. "My name is
Sylvia and this is Nancy." as she motioned to the fragile
frame in her care. "Have a good night you two." I walked
down the stairs and into my apartment to prepare my dinner
like normal. I sat down in silence and wondered what could
have possibly have happened.

As I lay in bed that night, my conscious mind fading from
this realm, I could have sworn I heard an older voice singing
 quietly, sweetly into the night.

Phrases Written in a Ten Minute Span

Thoughts spill out like seed fertilizing the drain.

Cut off your face to spite your heart.

Her hands speak the anguish of her soul.

I can't help but believe every word from your mouth.

Every story ends the same.

The values of the masses don't interest me.

All candles burn out.

Sunsets prepare us for the Sunrise.

The sound of shards of glass funneled through
an amplifier and played back at peak volume.

Your face befits an angel, your tongue bathes in acid.

There was nothing left once we came.

Everything becomes lost once we leave it behind.

My thoughts towards you are bound between a previous love
and loyalty and an uncertain path.

The wait, the wait, the weight of it all.

When you find it, you will know.

There is no defense, only offense.

A-ttack...Con-so-nants-and find-where-it all-comes-to
-ge-ther-and-falls-a-part.

Languishing In The Pony Corral.

You were more beautiful when you didn't know how ugly you are.

hold on a little longer

just hold on a little longer.

it'll be fine.

just give it time.

The hallowed tree grew hollow

in the dying forest.

The Falsehood of a Romanticized Ideal

Spoon sat on the living room coffee table alone.
There were no cups or plates nearby to keep her company.
They were all sitting in the sink or cupboard waiting
for their usefulness to be called to action.

A cheap cigarette lighter sat next to Spoon
like a lover fallen asleep on the bed on top of the sheets.
She was sick she said. Doctor said to stay at home
for at least 90 days or so.

Spoon just sat there looking at me and then
looked away. We said no words. We just looked
at each other and wondered how we got there
on such a nondescript night.

As I got up to leave
I kept wondering if she wanted to come with me.
Spoon remained there, silent.
Her face caked in dirty white. 

For Everyone Drinking In A Bar Listening To Music Alone

When I find the right words
you always find a better one
that pierces my heart through.
Your voice is an arrow 
sharpened by the sorrow
you sing so deep.

When You Found Me In The Junkyard

maybe this loneliness

will break

through the ceiling

of glass above it.

maybe I'll find you

on the otherside

waiting for me,

wondering where

I have been.

The Journey of One Word to Another

there is only one thing you've been looking for all these years
you've gone in blindly knowing that when it presents itself to
you that you will know that the search has at last come to an
end how quickly the years have passed by in this pursuit they
fall away like so many hairs caught in a comb skin ages like
parchment as memory cracks like a windshield with a rock
lodged in it obstructing the view of the road faces become
raindrops passing before a green screen like a scene from a
movie yet to be made picture of yourself from your child-
hood you can barely believe that to be yourself how many
lives ago was that what has happened to all those memories
lived that have now been forgot add another grain of sand
to the beach before the tide comes in and carries it out to
sea the clouds have gathered at the coast and blocked out
the sun the bathing beach bunny beauties have all gone
home to their apartments in the outlying inland areas their
beach towels left to remember the summer past there is only
winter now for all of us we have found ourselves once more
at the mercy of the cycle of the seasons how strange it would
be if they were ever out of balance if spring lead to winter
lead right to summer but fall wouldn't mind if it still held
its same place but the seasons can't think they can only move
to the motions prescribed to them but our doting mother who
wonders how we could treat her this way but she loves us still
her prodigal children come back to her her embrace as full of
hope as it ever has but we've grown up so fast and she wonders
whether or not we can make it on our own oh mother have we
disappointed you have we broken your heart mother mother
please forgive us all father was never around to show us

that which we stand to lose

your sliding glass face could hide no secrets
once the glass revealed the contents of the house.
it was all apparent then, and what appeared to be
a true image was nothing more than a reflection
of a long lost ideal. all these distractions came
so easily. it is no wonder that the game was lost.

Drop some knowledge and run.

We are all so enraptured at our own 
narratives to see that we are players 
in those of others as well.

The Gilded Age

Oh Sweet One

flitting forth in

your gilded cage

shining bright.


Your wings beat

restlessly as your

pained heart trembles

in the passing wind.


You can hear the cooing

of the rock doves sitting

near, only to have their

voices disappear in flight.

You Are Free

If there is no God and all Religions
are as false as the glint in a cubic zirconia
you are then Free.
Free to make and act and do and say
and think anything you wish.
There is a burden that rests solely upon
your shoulders
with every choice cast,
with every love broken
with every promise kept.
If, for example
this idea is wrong
and there is a God...
what assurance do you
have that yours is the right one?
We can suppose it better to not
think about this too much
or too often and just
keep the blinders of the daily
routine steadfastly in place.

Interpretations of Other Lives.

Parentage

Mother Earth


Father Sky.

Candle Light

Let the candle burn in the center of the room,
it will spread its light against the ceiling
and the walls. The flame will warm your hands
if placed over it or burn the skin if pressed too closely.
Let the candle burn bright, it will shine upon
all that needs to be seen.

indictment

Must there always be a delay
between thought and action?
Or is this merely the fault
in my process that
seeks to sabotage me
at every turn
with my own weakness?

Something to Notice

There is always space


in the darkness


of night.

impasse

What do you want to talk about?

Anything. It doesn't matter.


Like what?

It doesn't matter.


She looked at me like I had lost my mind.
I just didn't get it.
I just didn't get her.


Just forget about it.


She walked to the bedroom and closed the door.
I wonder what she was thinking.

Ageless

Heartbreak never gets old.

We are loathe to experience it

but we can understand it.

When a song comes on the radio,

or we read a novel with a sad ending

we know. It is a common thread

in all our lives. Very often

it comes by more than once.

When we think we have

forgotten we are drawn

back in to the memories

that have pained us so.

Heartbreak lives in an

eternal youth.

Foundead

( )

I bleed tears

as we resume

the custom of

the countries

we find our

selves to be

in. We have

always given

freely of our

selves to each

other. Our

choices have

been made

and the paths

have been set.

There are pass

ing moments

between the

seasons where

we can close

space once

more, only to

widen it again

with the pass

ing years that

age us. I found

grace in your

hands and

cannot believe

I let them go

once more.

The History of the World

As human beings 


we love nothing more


than to hurt each other.


That has been 


a summation


of the history


of mankind.

Music is a language beyond words
when it achieves its intended effect.

The Heart Is a Resilient Machine.

Emergency

Call the ambulance.

Call the Doctor.

Call the Nurse.

Call someone before it gets worse.

All eyes looking for truth.

The Ocean In Between

The hours have closed in on us again.

An ocean sits between our 

hellos and goodbyes

as the passing years 

sink into the tides.

Honey, Oh.

Driving through the night,

The City a fog shrouded memory,

your hand a passing warmth coupling in mine.

Write a melody for your voice to sing,

find the chords on the keys.


Honey, Oh Honey

Did you wish we had more time?

Honey, Oh  Honey

There'll never be time enough for us.


Soft words cry out from muted lips

A passing embrace,

the final goodbye.

Honey, Oh Honey...

how did we come to this?

The Origins of Sand

slide your hand into the hot sand


and ask yourself 


if the hourglass of the God's


broke and spilled


onto our shores.

Look Out!

throwing 
this word right
at you
like a baseball 
flying past your head
the wind
being cut
a whoosh
a turn of the head
to see the scene
of the window
breaking behind
you.

Most Things

Don't forget


it goes


both ways.

A Rule of 6

1.)
She colored the sky with her eyes.


2.)
Drops dripping onto the ground,
your hand extended out
feeling the moisture
collect in your
palm.


3.)
We stole the breath from each others mouths
and gave ourselves no room to breathe.


4.)
Disorder is the only state of being some ever know.


5.)
Your heart dropped a beat
caused a flutter in your chest.


6.)
No more trying.

Restart

Pull up the shades,


let the sun light


crash in 


waves


waves


waves

Embrace

This narcotic

intoxicates me

wholly,

it frees me

to flights of

fancy as

the words

surround me.

Spinning

around

and

around

they

surround

me.

Yeux comme des émeraudes

Emerald burns a hole through me

as porcelain draws me near

to contact once again.

Another fleeting

moment, or the

chance to

begin a

gain?

How Hauntings Happen (or Letting Go Of The Ghost)

We will ghosts 
into our lives 

with every hurt
we hold on to

with ever act of 
revenge, pettiness

or ill will we 
 have thought

or committed.

WAR & PEACE

No War.


Know Peace.

What You Do With Advice

Advice is only 


as good


as what you do 


with it.

Paths

All paths lead us 


from home


and back again.

Eve

Wandering the garden

for the last time,

do you understand

what you're leaving

behind?

A Laughing Nature

Distance needn't be only calculated in kilometers.
Time is a distance that doesn't care for
Miles or Metric measurement.
The cycles of the seasons,
the progression of
Winter to
Spring to
Summer to
Fall
is the only
sense of time that exists,
though if nature could speak
we can be sure she would laugh at our notion
and ask us to watch
the sun and moon crossing the
heavens.

Leaves on the branches
as they brown and fall.

the ones we loved

Every ghost 




is someone 




who was 




loved once.

Every Window Broken

I've broken

all the windows

in this glass

house.

Shards of glass

everywhere,

a cold wind

blowing through.

Pelvis + Criticism = ________

Is there an

equal exchange

between

lust & love

in your mind?

Who cares,

what does

it matter

you might

say...

someone cares

and it

matters all

too much

as well

you know

when the

cards collapse

and your

eyes are

wrapped in

tears once

again, wondering

how it

all went

wrong.

We All

fall into line


eventually


even against


our better


judgement


or in spite


of it.

Honey

we all have fears 

lurking behind

calm brown eyes.

Founded and

unfounded reasons 

share the same 

apartment

in a no good 

neighborhood.

I can do a pretty good impression of myself.

tied

You can destroy 


the reminders 


but the memories 


linger on.

making clean

I'm scrubbing my heart clean


with bars of miniature soap.

movement

We are waking slowly from the dream we have lived.
As we wake, questions escape our tongues
and demand answers.
We ask louder and more steadily
as we wait to hear what words may come our way.
They relent as the chorus grows louder
with every passing day.
Is it possible that
we will never sleep again?
Has the giant been roused
to action?

Eternal Life

Light breaks through ashen gray clouds
on sunday morning.
People have been awake for hours,
dressing instinctively at the sound
of the pealing bells.
Standing in front of the gathered
congregation he delivers
his sermons. Gone are the tones
of damnation, rather, the promise
of eternal life. There is a boy
sitting and fidgeting in a pew,
wondering if eternal life
really exists.
He quickly forgets
and thinks to himself
"I can't wait til we get some waffles
after church."

On Love

"It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know 
what we're talking about when we talk about love."
- Raymond Carver



There isn't a lot to say about the little we know

about the little we've lived and know about

Love. It's a joy, a rare interlude in the moments

between other extremes. An unknown quanitity

that rarely confines itself to the parameters of

language, something others can explore freely

while others read about it in books and maga

zines without ever having any sense as to its

scope and the broad range of troubles and or

complications it is bound to bring about in

either its pursuance or dissolution. We will

commit the most selfless acts for it as well

as the most selfish. We will lie about it to

maintain it just a little longer, both to our

selves and to our so called beloved. It's

presence and absence are constants in our

all of our lives. It inflicts unnecessary pain

and suffering on us, though that problem is

largely self-administered. The hope of it is

enough to continue the illusion that it may

yet still come in even in the unlikeliest of

circumstances. Love is not a ring, it is not

a thing that can be reduced to a physical

trifle. If it exists, it must exist in a world

of platonic ideals. A world of shadows,

but a world where we are finding our way

slowly. A world where even the heart of

a hardened cynic can be made to destroy

the cast iron shell built to protect it from

harm.

Before Anyone Else...

Com


plete 


Your


self

Addition and Subtraction

It always starts out simply
but becomes almost immediately
complicated when you add
a second person to the equation.
There is always some manner
of misunderstanding
that is bound to leave
hurt feelings as the
collateral damage of
action.
There is no fault
with wanting company.
It's so beautiful
at the start
and turns
so dark
so often
that some of us
cease to be surprised
when things begin to change.

"Poetry Is Not A Project"

There is a self that is shown with the placement
of every word in a line.
Some placements are better than others.
Some placements are elegant
and allow the words to become a river
as they flow off the tongue or
the inner voice of the mind.
Other placements are clumsy
and done with little consideration
as they are rushed out to meet
some half-conceived expectation
of production.
There is an internal logic
that is negotiated
every time
a word is selected
and put forth. To give form
or not? To follow tradition and
meter or find a way to make
the words mirror the way I would
tell you these thoughts if we
were speaking to each other
across a table in a bar.
There is no scientific method
for this. There are suggestions
and some of them are quite helpful.
What are you looking to say?
How do you want to say it?
Do you know what I'm saying?

Broken Windows

It is a curiosity

that won't go away.

You keep looking,

wondering if

anything has

changed.

You realize

nothing has,

but look

anyway.

The Dynamics of Power

listen to the hammer

as it does its work.

rising and falling,

it is nothing

without its

master.

an exceeded outcome

Imagine 


a house of cards


catching fire


as it 


collapses.

Cast Iron Heart

You can't 


Break a


Cast


Iron


Heart.

Hole In The Attic

There's a hole in the attic

where the rain always gets in.

You say

"go and fix it",

I just can't seem to

find my way up there

on even the sunniest of days dear.

There's a hole in the attic

where the rain always gets in,

I don't forget that the sun

makes its way through too.

There's a hole in the attic

but it could always be worse dear.

FATE?

All our dreams


turn to


Rust.

Oh Night...

I never 


tire of 


you 


my dear


heart.

Sentient

There is no such thing as sin,

ask any animal about it.

A Musing On Music

Music is Magic


&


Musicians are Magicians.

A Lesson On History

When considered in the present tense


History is not a spectator sport.

Maybe

in the next

life dear

we'll have

learned the

lessons of

this life

and found

a way

to union.

Frail Strength

Next Time

You Drive

By A

Car

Accident

Think

Of The

Snail.

Remember...

All Life Is Imbued With 

Both Strength & Frailty.

A Pox of Lips.

Halves of a Whole

How I loved you once.

Past tense?

Hmmm,

could be present tense

once more.

Perhaps

its always been.

It's hard to say.

It may not matter.

It was there once

and may yet

still be.

False starts for lonely hearts.

It's True...

you can't 


love a 


wild one.

A Quarter til 2 a.m.

Pulling up to the liquor store drunk

as you stumble out

and mingle among the

other late night customers

looking to eradicate the night.

It's the usual mix of night crawlers

hanging around making one last

purchase before they go home.


Long days at work,

relationships going nowhere,

careers stalled out,

endless unemployment,

addictions to various vices,

the emptiness of a hollowed out tree.


You grab your bottle

(or bottles, depending how bad

that day was), it's most likely

in either a black plastic bag

or a paper one, and take it into

the car for the drive home.


Killing the engine in the driveway,

keys are fumbled for as the wrong

one and eventually the right one

battles the keyhole. You push the

door open and slam it shut before

you have the chance to put on a

light switch.


In your room you put on some music

to listen to from your computer as

you begin to change into your sleep

clothes.


There is a glass from last night

sitting there on the desk top.

You empty some of the bottle into it


It goes down fast and burns a path

to the bloodstream. The senses dull

at an alarming pace.


Another glass is poured.


Then one more...


then another...


and


eventually


the darkness finds you


places you in bed and whispers


in your ear,


"Good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

The Rain Reminded Me

of a promise I made to myself a few 
years back to never step on a snail. 
It's a promise I have managed to keep
fairly well, though on occasion
my heart has broken as easily
as their shells when I hear that
crumbling crack. I can't help
but think of them any time
I see a car crash.

The Dark Side of the Dream.

There is always sadness at the end of love.

Lluvia

Falling like words from a thousand


tongues all speaking at once,


forming a new language.

All Under Heaven

All paths lead to water 


All mountains lead to sky


All skies lead to heaven.

Continental Drift

We were too close for too long.


Even Pangaea became


Laurasia and Gondwana


in the primal sea of Panthalassa.

The good old days are long gone...


what should we call now?

Of Men & their Sons

Son, could you ever understand

what I've had to do for you

for all of these years?

If you can steal their eyes


you can steal their soul.

New Visions of the City

The city breathes softly through open windows


as rubber runs fleetly over pavement 


in the space between places.

Destroy The Narrative

Construct a narrative using only individual words

separated from the body of text.

Darkness

Sound

Anger

Catharsis

Relief

Mourning

Peace.

One Subject

There is no last straw

because you took them all.
____

WE ARE REBUILDING.

____

Give me a few months and then tell me I was wrong.
____

When your house of cards collapses

will I still be here?

Or will I have left for the open seas?
____

We have both drawn lines in the sand.
____

Like two crippled dogs readying for a fight.

An Exampled Gleamed

We learn to demonize the ones


we loved the most. The gaze


rarely reaches the mirror.

Weekend Morning

From a sleep you rise


only to greet the day


with a passing hello.

Once again


we've become


the strangers 


we once were.

An Ordered Sense Of Repetition.

Do We?

Who Wants To Live


In A World Of


Endless Fiction?

Dreaming At The Edge Of the World...

The Wind Speaks &

Rustles The Lips 


Of The Leaves.

Arms Outstretched, The Wind In Her Hair...

walking through fields of grain


the woman in that golden tide


knows more than any of us 


could ever hope to know.

When Right Makes Might.

The Essential Problem

Holding on to the wind 


does nothing but leave


one with an empty hand.

When the Flames Consume Us...

even the closest bonds 


can be reduced to 


a smoldering pile of ash.

C & E

there is the matter of cause and effect
in relation to the past and present.
the present is a pair of blinders
strapped to our heads obscuring 
the view of what is to come.
when the past is viewed in light 
of the present the blinders come 
off rarely but do offer a modicum
of understanding not always attained
in the present.

Antagonist

No one likes to think
they're playing the bad guy.
It happens without you
realizing it. Even if you had
the foresight you would be
reluctant to change,
you would still think
that you were in the right.

The Failure of a Seamstress

Wretched seams,


the stitching cannot hold.




Edges fray,

the garment falls apart.

walls

Walls crumbling and rising,
it's a steady part of this
world.

Cutting Fruit

Once you cut a piece of fruit in half

or any other number of numeric

combinations there can only

be one outcome for it.

Sleep Machine

sounds drift endlessly through the late night air
as easily as thoughts wafting from one synapse
to the next. a voice singing words that are lost
in present vagaries of the mind. notes are plucked
out one by one as the room echoes with their
sound how wonderfully we dream when we
deign ourselves ready to experience such
things.

Brief Freewrite

If you allow your thoughts to roam freely across
the screen it becomes easy to dismiss them as no
thing more than the passing fancy of a tired and
restless mind if you decide that they are more va
luable than such you may realize that the overw
helming amount of thought occurs in the spont
aneity of the moment moments that cannot be e
asily predicted or explained the hands find their
place alongside the grey seat of power that rests
firmly ensconced in the seat of intellectual power
of primitive apes with high functioning levels
of cerebral firepower it is best to stop with any
pretense to logic and reason and just let the han
ds find their way to the keys that best suit their
need for expression at the moment of mental
immediacy the river flows forwards and for it
to do the contrary would represent a complete
and utter failure of the world and of its existing
constructs of organization and so called reason.

The Limitations Of.

Beauty can only lose it's power

over the cognitive faculties

when reason appears and

reasserts its place.

Eternal Truth

Beauty


easily enslaves


the thoughts


and actions


of man.

Reptilian

I wore my new skin out in the rain
as I walked through the empty sidewalks.
Cars drove by
with their headlights coloring
the wet pavement like
Van Gogh.
My hair soaked up droplets
as my skin
began to crease
and break like wet paper.
It didn't hurt
so I began to
peel it off in bits
and sheets.
Shedding like a bipedal
snake I walked naked
through the streets
with the kind of freedom
you will never know.

a counterintuitive feline sense

Make the same mistakes


over and over again.


The outcome has to be


different eventually, right?


Doesn't it?


Doesn't it?

threadbare

We can no longer wear the old clothes

we wore when we first met.

Too much time has passed. 

The cloth has grown threadbare

and frayed.

We mark time in very strange ways.

We could try and wear them 

once more for the sake of 

nostalgia but in the end

we can only be 

as real to ourselves 

as we allow ourselves to be.

The Future of Cartography 


is in the Mapping of Both 


the Inner & Outer Landscapes.

Try Again

try a little harder

try a little harder

it's just a bit more

but not by much

try a little harder

try a little harder

it's just a bit more

but not by much

Inevitable End / Inevitable Beginning

When everything is consumed by the sun

in the billions of years that have yet to come

there will only be ashes and hot scorched

rock. Even they will give way to nothingness

as it supernovas and all traces of our existence

is wiped clean. The matter of our world will

follow the same basic rule that all matter

follows. So it will be that we shall find new

existence in different forms.

Between joy and emptiness

the landscape is gray

as it should be.

____

BATTLE

There is

a FURY

RAGING

for

spiritual

supremacy.

Charmer

This

Disarming Charm

will get you

far.

Sequence

trading words

across empty space

we fill it

gradually.

Quiero ver


la manera


en que naturalmente


estas.

Bliss

Sitting at the bar


drinking


shots and brews,


there is little


the outside world


can do to


bother you.

Strange Fates
________
Do the alignments of the
planets influence us?

What Remains After The Rain?

divine submission to 
eternal vibrations.

patience
what a
dull virt
ue to be 
a practi
cioner of.