Dorian

The face retains its youth


while the portrait rots


with the souls decay.

Handle with Care

The heart

is more fragile

than lace

made from

glass.

hunger

you while away the busy day

at your desk, the screen glowing

back at you. 

outside the window

the sound of a dog barking,

leaves bristle against a modest wind.

minds caught up in the details

of their lives. 

eyes continually feed but

what of the soul?

how deeply does it hunger?

a shark swimming

beneathe view, the sun

reflecting on the water.

there

is no

more use

for

this ghost

anymore.

Ghosts in the Brain

wandering around

bumping into

tables,

stubbing toes,

the silly

movements

of inadvertent

action.

Sunday Morning in Watts

Dew covers the 

the glass, my eyes 

move into a slow

focus.

The darkness has

grown tired. It be

gins to reach for 

the sheets.

My hand finds 

the keys on the 

seat. Slide & a

twist, the engine

finds life in the 

silence of a 

neighborhood

sleeping.

The light begins

to flicker from the

sleepy-eyed sun,

readying itself

for the change

in its shift.

Mother Night,

Father Sun,

we raced each 

other to different

destinations.

Bossa

When the song ends

the dancing ceases

and the couples

sit down

wondering

what is next.

Name a for a potential music blog for me:

Muse Sick

Caterpillars and Butterflies

In the life of a writer

the truth is a caterpillar;

the story,

the butterfly.

There is no salvation in your arms

just frustration and scars.

There is no peace of mind

where there are no pieces to mind.

Song of the Rain

The silence of the rain

beating overhead,

your face

a fading memory.

Odd rhythms

splash across

the ground

and the leaves

of the trees.

From the corners

of your eyes,

rain.

They keep

falling,

night has

yet begun.

box

padded walls like couches
spread across every surface
inside a box thoughts shake
around curved enclosures as
hands beat against comfort
into pain sweat dripping from
pores lungs sucking air like
an engine intake reason has
taken a vacation to sea

The Story of a Father

Did you cry the night he didn't come back for your birthday?

When he came home the next morning

hungover, and reeking of the night,

do you wish you could have yelled at him:

"Why did you forget about me?"

You saw your mother crying 

one night and you knew why,

she'd been yelling over the phone

to her sister

about what an unfaithful bastard

he was, fucking 

that young nurse.

You couldn't sleep that night

could you?

As you lay there in bed

staring at the black ceiling,

the memory of his 

face, mocking

you. That was then,

but it's never stopped being

a wound in your heart,

gushing blood 

on your dress,

staining your

hands.

An Open Policy

I find it much easier to be 

impersonal as I write than 

to bridge a gap between

us.

      There is a certain a

mount of vulnerability a

nd trust present at the mo

ment of creating in order

to just

           let go

                     and tell you

what is on my mind. A co

nstant concern for you, th

is world, for us. 

                          I wonder

what you are thinking right

now as you sit there reading

what I

           have to say.

                                It gets ha

rder to connect as I get older. I

could be lying,

                        it might actually 

be getting easier. 

                            What did you 

dream last night? I've never asked

you that but I do wonder

now. 

         I can't remember my dreams

from last night. I rarely do.

                                           That 

could be a neutral thing

neither good 

nor bad

it just is.

              Should we be more open,

more

         honest with

                             each other?

Why not?

I'll try 

I'll try

and

I'll try 

to not 

ramble on 

so lo

ng.

Strangers

you used to love rainy days.
when we first met
you were
dancing in the rain
your hair soaked.
a bulldozer
couldn't have wiped
the smile off your face.
i asked you if you
were cold,
you said yes.
it didn't matter,
the water felt wonderful.
you said
to try it.
i didn't want to,
seeing the diamonds
in your eyes
i couldn't say
no.
it was liberating
standing there,
perfect strangers.
after a few moments
you told me
your name
and offered mine
in return.
you asked me if i
wanted to get
some coffee
so of course
we did.
i often wonder
whose life
that was.
it's a silly question
to ask
for an answer
i already know.
we were different
people
then.

waterfall

there has to be

a better way

there has to be

another way

to the waterfall

arguments

this endless cycle of

catch and

release is

boring.

isn't there

a new game

you want to play?

The screen

glares

back with

a

poison stare.

Remember?

As long as I remember

I promise to not forget.

it's all theoretical

conjecture

                  why

not deal with

some thing

grounded in re

ality in stead?

Fearless

If we don't

live our lives

fearlessly,

who will

do so

for us?

New Conversations

I looked through the stack of

records you gave me

the last time I saw you.


They had been sitting in the

corner of my room for months

like a forgotten houseguest.


I ran my hand over the dusty

sleeve of the one on top

of the stack, cleaning it off.


Bill Evan's caricature stared

back at with a knowing eye

free of judgment.


He seemed to say,

"It's ok. I know. No big deal."

Or so I imagined.


Classical music LP's made up

a good portion of the selection.

As I flipped through them


a few caught my eye,

Billie Holiday, Birdsongs of the

American East Coast,


John Coltrane Plays the Blues.

I set the stack down as I pulled

that record apart from the rest.


It's cover was in great shape,

still glossy. I slid the clear plastic

sleeve off so I could see the


black disc. It looked in great shape,

the afternoon light illuminating

the thin grooves.


I don't know how I had forgotten

that particular record when you

first gave them to me.


My busy mind just wanted to

forget I'm sure. I felt ok setting

the stack of records back on top


of the crate along with the others.

I hope you're ok. I feel much better

these days. I know you do.

finding nothing there

we can only

move on.

l i f e

bursts through

every moment of

our existence

in joyous

rapture.

Do you force

the routine

or

does it force

itself upon

you?

Maybe I'm Doing It Wrong (2pieces)

 It's hard to think straight

keeping those words flowing

maybe I'm doing it all wrong.


What if I just stop

to think, let the words

pool where they may,


let them speak when they

are ready?
_______________________


I found the sound that I lost


wandering outside my window.

We were surprised to find each

other, never expecting a joyous

reunion.

Let's change this

narrative

before the final

draft is

due.

leave your words at the door

i'll see you when i'm home

leave your words at the door

i'll see you when i'm home

Commentary

It's easy to be popular when you move with

the tide of opinion.

Discard After Use

In here I disappear.

This act demands without explanation.

You you you you you you

was was was was was was

wasn't wasn't wasn't wasn't

isn't isn't isn't isn't isn't isn't

any any any any any any any

thing at all. What is the sense

in any of this? Why bother with

the natural prescribed orders or

diction and form? Can there

not be meaning found in the

seeking of new ways to emulate

natural speech? It doesn't need

to make sense, in fact I would

recommend you throw this one

away

A Note On Process

You have to write a lot

of shit in order

to start getting to the

good stuff.

The Art is in the Act.

The Act is a result

of conscious thoughts

turning to motion

through mental

and physical channels.

How

does

someone

meet

anyone

anyway?

dead zone

Numb yourself the way

the fools do

Numb yourself the way

the fools do

It's all you know

how to do

It's all you know

how to do

what to do

what to do

just kill

the dead space

inside of

you.

something we talked about

I'm just

looking after you

I'm just

looking after you

it's our secret

it's our secret

I'm just

looking after you

I'm just

looking after you

cause I

cause I

love you

yes I do

dearest friend

I'm just

looking after you.

Unconscious Dreams of Other Realities

my unconsciousness awoke to find that you

had set sail across the sea.

it was all over the news, you had been

stranded for days with

supplies running out. sickness

and death were

stalking you on that boat.

I fretted and fretted

until I decided

I would do what I had

to do in order to get you

back. Through miracles easy

to gloss over I made it to you.

You were curled up in your cabin,

tired, hungry and evading death as best

you could. I had never been

so happy to see you.

I could taste the joy,

hunger, and pain through every

kiss. 

The scene shifts

suddenly, is this home?

It seems that ordeal had

been someone elses nightmare.

You were in the shower

and I had to leave.

I walked over to the door,

the sound of water coming down

on your body, on the tub.

I heard you say something

as I hurried to the

door, rushing

to the next scene,

the one that brought

this piece,

the one that makes me

wonder about

this reality.

A Late Night Rain

I can still hear

rain drops fall

ing from the

roof. It's midnight.

The sound

of water splashing

on the ground.

as the night passes

there is an understanding

between us

when we meet at these

late hours.

a warm embrace

a smile,

just looking

for a way to

while away our

time alone,

together.

A response to "What matters most..."

The flames are always nipping at our heels.

Simple Arithmetic

_______________________________
there is nothing better to do than let these
words run all over you I dont want to edit
the madness down to a point its much bet
ter to let it come out like gallons of paint
being splattered all over the wall the floor
the ceiling color drying on your clothes a
new canvas everywhere it touches like
porcelain i touch you skin and i buzz elec
tric at your hip underneath my arm just
a sandcastle waiting for the tide better to
have and hold a memory than have never
lived it at all it gets me thinking it gets
me thinking sometimes drinking to relive
to forget to crack loose the thoughts stifled
but ordinary sensibilities of decorum and
taste there is too much at stake always its
best to remember this in order to live and
act id rather not let it all fall apart id rather
know in spurts than to not at all what use
less things I dream and this is all about
the one but will the one become the other
half of a simple arithmetic where the sum
result is two or will it always remain in
solitude or worse a negative number?

non-sensical freewrite

crack the veneer

your plate glass face

can't keep it together

no one can stand it here

just keep praying

just keep saying

there is reason

everything can /

will become some

thing else you can't

stop the change

you're powerless

to enact