Moving forward

upward

never down

ward

Against

Caught here

jammed against

myself

and me

I struggle

squirm

and wait

for it to pass

but it

never does.

Fine Print

The rules of the heart 

are subject to change

without notice.

Scatter me into the wind

Do not cry for I am free

Fell in love

with a ghost,

now her image 

is haunting me.

"I Only Gave Up On You 


Because I Gave Up 


On Myself."

Impending Collapse

Empire decays

like the grin 

of a rotting corpse.


Skin and muscle

reveal hardened 

white. Urban 


prairies, a frontier

reclaiming the 

fields of progress.

Three Pieces

I.

I won't tell you how to live
if you'll do the same for me.

I need help now and then
I hope you don't mind If I call.

What are we for 
if not for small acts of grace.

I need you more than ever
it just gets so hard some days.

We are all the world has given us.


II.


You said
I'd be happy at the end of world
as long as you were around.

I am gone and I know what it means.


III.

Carve up your fears into ghosts

Another Random Collection of Odds & Ends

What I have found has been lost.

Don't bother looking for it

I don't need it. It's time with me

has passed.

It begins its life anew without me.

This is a perfectly acceptable 

turn of events. How boring

we would all be 

                          without some

instability in our lives. Routine

grows expectation, cages spirit.

Vision guided by invisible blinders.

Mandatory Extinction

I've got something to say but I've lost my voice again.

Something has to change.

Everything is going to change.

The Future Isn't The Kind Of Place I'd Like To Be.

Honesty will get you nowhere.

I heard about what happened.

I'm not blaming you

for his actions

but you didn't help.

You didn't have

to offer him any.

You know he was 

trying to stay off

the junk. All it took

was one last time.

Tear down temple,

the statues have fallen

and cracked upon the floor.

Dreaming the Gods to life.

Converge into light.

Selling the Sky.

Reclamation

I am not lost,

I have returned to a home

never known.


I am not afraid,

I am finding the birth right

bequeathed to us.


Bird song fills

soft-lit afternoons,

a different kind of silence.


Feral kin step quietly

nearby. We exchange

a knowing glance.


I do not speak.

My voice has become

a stranger to myself.


I do not fear.

I will be provided for.

Reclaiming an ancient legacy.

According to No One

Living In America

Amplify the conversation,

heat up the argument.


Bring reason to a boil,

hot water spills again.


Facts measured by numbers

too painful to be real.


Voices bay and echo,

distorting into static.


Patterns are a well-worn

footpath where nothing grows.


The script is never rewritten,

wait for the next act.

Gathering Forces

Clouds gather

as evening closes in.

The lamp turns on

in your neighbors

window. From the

porch you watch,

the breeze cools

your skin. Shut

the door.

Somewhere

Doe-eyed beauty

how young you are.

Your son delights

in the world with

you. Where is the

X to this Y axis?

Somewhere.

Somewhere.

Impulse and Need

Don't write about
boredom. Don't write
about the ocean. Don't
write about love. Don't
write about happiness.
Don't write about your
sadness. Don't write
about the changing of
seasons. Don't write
about writing. Don't
write about writers.
Don't write about
drinking. Don't write
about rejection. Don't
write about suburbia.
Don't write about your
kids. Don't write about
your traumas. Don't
write about your pets.
Don't write former loves.
Don't write about you.
Don't write about your
parents. Don't write
about death. Don't write
about politics. Don't
write about your lack
of understanding. Don't
write about academia.
Don't write about this.
Definitely don't write
about that. Don't write
to write. Don't write
for them. Don't write.

Open Page

Note: everything in this post was written/scrawled over a period of a few days. just pure randomness.


glances meeting over short distances

validating narcissism

I have probably had a crush on you but you never knew about it.
I try to not tell people if I like them or have a crush on them.
Rejection will erode your confidence like that.
You end up finding comfort in your solitude.
You guard your heart against those that come too close.
It's nothing personal against them, you just don't want
to keep using glue and tape to hold the shattered pieces
together any more. It beats all the same.


Waiting and receiving no answer, seeing no one.


When
I died
she came looking
for me

only
to find me
every where


The longer one stays awake at night
the further mind stretches
and contorts itself
into forms unrecognizable
during the day


So far away
so far away

Chlorine In The Gene Pool

I woke up early because I didn't know what else to do.
10pm is an early bedtime for me,
it's something I'm just not used to.

It rained last night.
Our paved driveway is covered with
alternating splotches of wet and dry.

If it is raining while you sleep
do you think that it affects your dreams?
In what ways, I wonder.

The neighborhood is as quiet
as I have ever heard. There are no
helicopters overhead looking

for suspects. Everyone is asleep,
or at least most people. This is perfect.
The day has yet to make its demands,

they are not always unreasonable
but they can be taxing. Everyones
dreams are closing in on reality,

I wonder what the final moments are.
Though I have just woken, I cannot
remember mine. Only the silence

of early morning, sitting here,
keeping me company. Always
such a faithful friend.


Every pair of eyes do their best to lie.


THERE ARE NO SECRETS FROM OUR FEARS


If you come around
I won't be here
Don't expect to see me again
Don't expect me now and then
Don't expect to see me again

I should have known better
but now I do
Learning lessons the hard way
you've always been a teacher
teaching me out of school

When you get sick
of doing
seeing
the same
things
places

the same outcomes
from the same actions

your habits are the only molds
you need to break


Truest Love or a Divorce waiting to happen

evolution

wear no face

walk into the crowd

what we have become

The End of Us

Some relationships end 

with neither a bang

nor whimper,

merely the sound 

of flames extinguished

by wind.

Your heart is pestilence.

Love All Ways


Go beyond the zero,

don't hesitate.


Redraw the margins,

color in, obfuscate.


Relief relieved again.

When did you end last night?


Don't wonder, baby.

It's fine, it's fine.

Soon

How soon is now?

How soon is forever?


Don't tell me soon.

Don't tell me why.

Lie to me again,

it's all I need from you. 


How soon is now? 

How soon is forever? 

Soon enough, 

soon enough you said.

Speak in a voice I can hear.

Invoke sense and experience,

recall that which has passed,

is passing. 

I've learned to stop 
wishing for the impossible.

White Desert

III. Random Thoughts

I.

I have become driftwood.

In your life I sail.



II.

Get up with the boogey-down.

III.

All memories to the back please.

Stop being so conveniently placed.

Soon you'll be drowned to the point

of forgotten remembrances.

Silly things, why do you persist?

-done

30, 29
We keep falling

28, 27-
We still descend

26, 25-
We're barely alive

24, 23-
Crashing through branches of a tree

22, 21-
This is nothing fun

20, 19-
What I've heard I've unseen

18, 17-
Fists squeezed tight

16, 15-
Become unstuck

14, 13-
Closer, closer

12, 11-
Who watches from above

10, 9-
establish rhyme

8, 7-
steps to Heaven

6, 5-
exiting essence

4, 3-
near finality

2, 1-
become un

I'm not interested in forever,

only today.

TIME WILL CHANGE US ALL

A History of War

You don't need the things that hurt you.

You don't need bad memories to burden your heart.

Learn.

Grow.

Pain will come to you, life assures that.

Don't forget to revel in joy when it comes. 

Learn.

Grow.

Love those around to be loved.

Books gather dust sitting on shelves.

The edges of the pages grow discolored.



Everything has passed between us,

nothing remains.

Precious Amber

Can you play like Bill Evans on 'Blue In Green'
from the 'Kind of Blue' album by Miles Davis?
I love that song. It's romantic with an underlying
sense of sadness. Times both passed and missed,
the fulfillment of aging, the stable instability of
change without end. I don't know how it can
make me feel this way, but it does. I can't help
but feel this every time. I listen to it more and
more, hoping to make sense of everything. I
reach a point where I don't need things to make
sense any longer, I can look at the moment and
see it for what it is. Amber containing an insect,
a speck of pollen. Did the insect know it would
achieve an abbreviated immortality? Set in a neck-
lance, dangling by chain on the chest of a woman?
Life has a way of making us laugh when it's not
breaking out hearts. Notes as pure as glass sparkle
through the darkness, haunt the air with their sound.
Miles has been dead for years, Bill, even further since.
Their amber floats through ether, makes them unstuck
in time, breathes their hands to life once more, how
they would love this morning, clear blue, radiance
warming everything. We watch the same sky. How
many more times shall we see this? Precious amber
glinting in the sun.

Hazards Ahead

Red hair the color of nuclear Kool-Aid,

a flare signaling danger-

warning those that may come near.


There is no fire,

no sudden threat to life,

only the hidden flames


scorching the invisible

landscape. An onlooker

approaches. Pity.

11/14/12 Freewrite

you start by writing about nothing and hoping
that it will go somewhere you eschew any type
of punctuation and instead decide to keep at it
to keep the words coming regardless of the gib
berish quality to what may be said it never stop
ed you before and it wont now stray observations
pile up like gridlock on the 110 freeway on a
friday evening everyone trying to get home all
the grouchy bastards stewing in their portable
pots and cursing those in front of him impeding
his path home just a drink just a little something
to take the edge off of the day it sounds so simple
but it can go so wrong so quickly who would
have thought not the one drinking thats for sure
thats the story weve heard before and over and
over again its like watching the same movie and
thinking that the plot will change it wont and
instead you will remember the plot the way the
scenes change the way their faces twist and con-
tort into rubbery expressions the face can lie but
the eyes cannot how you can fake the way light
reflects from the innerflame you cannnot will not
be able to make this change so you keep searching
for a better way to lie a better way to mask truth
truth never wishes to hide it is only our cowardly
leanings that seek to mask that which is that which
must be seen will be seen suffer for this trespass
and learn the meaning of atonement for sin that
guilts and gilds itself to the spirit atone a tone
how meaning can change with hardly a change
in sound in timbre just another mystery another
quirk to language to these words you read to
these words I type and wonder who is reading
why are they reading why am I typing why am
I writing for who and what purpose or no purpose
at all it doesnt matter only the act itself ascribe
meaning at a later date we can only do so when
time has given us the means to gain perspective

Where The Road Ends.

Connect Them

Resonance

Frequency

Oscillate 

Swing 

Pendulum

A Few Words On This

Better letters than no words at all.


Better to be in thought than not thought of.


Distance builds better friendships through longing.

_____

Communicating through cul-de-sac's of meaning-

meaninglessness comes to stay awhile.

Upon

waking, being

uncertain as to the time,

the day, 

and wondering 

if it matters.

What Wing Biddlebaum Knew

I always notice a persons hands.

They are not the most obvious thing,

but they tell far more than the face or eyes.


You cannot hide a lifetime of work

in cragged, sinewy hands that bear

a resemblance to the claws


of some terrible lizard; soft, callous free

hands tell their story just as clearly.

Hands of privilege and work


wear no masks, they are afforded none.

They wear ease and hardship in even strokes.

Be weary of anyone unwilling to shake hands.

In No Sense.

Past Life Marathon

Peace/Piece

Are you searching for 

peace of mind

or

piece of mind?


There is a big 

difference

between 

the two.

Take this advice

You know what you need to do
yet, you always find a way 
to undo your work.

Motion is not perpetual, neither
is willpower. It must constantly
be reforged.

Remind yourself of this: there
is constant struggle in the soul,
it suffers self-inflicted stings  

for trespasses others have no
understanding of having 
committed. 

Compassion and Kindness 
are your strengths. Give some
to yourself time to time.

Let the inner gaze find the clouded
mirror. Clean it. See things 
as they truly are.

Rely on your strength, reinforce it
with that of those around you.
No solider fights alone.

Lose your desperate pose, 
remove the poison from your blood-
WORK, WORK, WORK.

Collective Truth

Broken Gauge In A Gas Crisis

He was pining for something that didn't exist.
In all likelihood, it was something that had never existed.
This was both comfort and pain.
Intangible constructs, memory, longing,
the sources of so much anguish,
the heart of so much Art,
part of the condition borne by simply being.
The sun barreling through your window,
forcing a squint,
your eyes adjusting to radiant force.
Sound strains over echoes of empty streets.
Has he missed the boat on Love, normalcy,
sanity? Faces so happy to proselytize the good life
while offering you none in return.
Oh, how he wished he were beautiful,
how he wished he could sing with a voice
fit for a choir of angels.
How he wishes each word he wrote
could live a life immortal from his own.
He pined for the absence of absence,
a needful togetherness, a touch that is inimitable,
a kiss that is connectable, a love that is infallible.
Instead, the fretted typing of a fundamental lack,
that which pains and propels. Such fuel is of indeterminate
sustenance. One thing is sure, it is bound to run out.
The gauge is broken, only the sputtering sounds
of a run down engine will let us know for sure.
 

Messy Piles of Words Grasping for You

It is frozen in mid-gallop
through unnamed plains.

Memory is a half-remembered jaunt through a blurry field.

Only so much I can do right now
without you here.

I don't have any use for all this wakefulness.

Turn off the faucet
the plumbing is plugged
and the water is spilling
onto the floor
who is going to clean up
this mess? who did this
in the first place?

Hope for the metaphysical,
accept the typical.

She wondered what happened to God,
how fervent her prayers once were.
Now, she hardly even remembered
him. He is lucky if she thanks Him
once a week for anything. Their
relationship has changed and He
has done nothing to fix it.

In the absence of Love
we will great Violence
against those who spurn us.

Jesus had a day job.

Fragmentation as narrative Representation.

How can you read a novel when every other chapter is missing?

Finnegan is still traveling along
a circular path of time and existence.
Why should it be any different?

I cannot think
ICANNOTTHINK
I can wonder
BUT
ICANNOTTHINK
this is no fault of yours
of mine alone.

Why? Right.

We are only as close
or as distant as we allow
ourselves to be.

No great story begins

"I woke up early on a Saturday morning
at a time I would normally be asleep. I saw
the time and respected the choice of my 
circadian rhythm. The air felt chillier
than it usually does. Fall was encroaching.
People said it was fall, though, the wavering
heat seemed to say otherwise. It is supposed
to be in the mid-80's today. That is hot for 
this time of year. Has fall forgotten itself?
Has it decided to try something new? I think
it picked a bad time to experiment. 
I am by myself. I have grown used to this.
I spend more time alone than you would 
suspect. Solitude is familiarity, is peace,
is a madness I cannot part with."

Love doesn't solve anything.

wreckage

wreckage of a decade 
sorts itself 
into half-remembered nights,
bleary-eyed interstate drives
and moments too awkward 
to have lived through.

photos smear at the edges
as the scene inside is slightly
out of focus again. you make
a narrative from the pile
that you are sure is close
to how things were. 

words seek comfort from 
one another, hoping to bridge
the chasm they have made.
each word reinforces what is, 
what has dissipated. read
the page. another sunken ship.

Palette Run Together

It was a mistake
that kept happening
over and over.

No use regurgitating
myth as metaphor
for explanation.

Are we more safe
now seeing through
all windows?

How calm horses
are with blinders
to guide them.

How much sight
is too much?
How much sight

is too little? We
forgot the comma
in the sentence.

Ceaseless blur-
allourthoughts
bleedingtogether

Just Stay

Just stay
can't stand this
without you
what do I become

Just stay
wet cheeks
drying soon
just say....

I will stay
here with you

Breaking promises
changing plans
Will you,
can you?

Just stay 
Just say
what I want 
to hear

I will stay
here with you

Money In The Garden

1.)You wake with aching teeth
and a mind too busy to stay asleep.

2.)Sun rise, moon set

3.)What world do you carry within?

4.)Paper Crane


5.)
Wake Up
Get Out
Move 'round.
Like this
Like This

Wake Up
Get Out
Move 'round
Like this
Like this

6.) Politics is a waste of mind.

I AM NOT THE ONE YOU LOVE

Tourist

I have been traveling through time 
for as long as I can remember.

People never believe me when I tell
them, nor should they. There are

enough crackpots out there as it is.
When asked to prove it, I can't

will it to happen. When it does, 
I become unstuck as easily 

as closing and opening your eyes. 
I used to think they were dreams. 

Entering other ages I can watch 
and be watched, like viewing 

the set of an historical period piece. 
Returning to the present feels 

as though a great distance has been 
crossed.I understand neither the how 

or why. If there is a reason, I'm not 
sure I could understand or would want to.

Who Are You Talking To?

I can see you mouthing the words right now.


Don't blush,


we all do it.


Be careful,


they might hear you in the other room


and wonder who you're talking to.

Letter

Dear You,

I decided to write a letter because it seems like quite
the anachronistic thing to do these days. It must have

been utterly barbaric trying to communicate with one
another over long distances back when. I had to find

a piece of blank paper that I felt would do an adequate
job, and a pen that whose ink wouldn't smear all over

the page if my hands touched it. I still need to find an
envelope and some stamps; writing this is the bigger

task at hand at the moment. I can't imagine it was easy
to erase ink if you made a mistake, perhaps they would

just mail the letter off like that anyway. I have seen
those documentaries on the American Civil War

where they have actors read dramatic interpretations
of letters soldiers would write home. Did people

really write and talk like that? I suppose they did.
How did they understand what the letters were

saying? Some of that handwriting looked so elaborate.
Maybe they used some sort of interpreter. I couldn't

write or speak like that if my life depended on it.
I don't really expect you to write back, though,

it would be great if you did. I hope your family
is doing alright. I've missed having you around.

What a silly exercise this has been. To think,
people used to do this all the time.

Sincerely,
________________

transitions

perpetual

eventual

inevitable

what is

was

wasn't

to be

you are

I am

ticking

tocking

dripping

slowly 

rushing out

all at once

behind us

history writ

forgot

every word

ready

to be taken

peddle expectation

defy demand

await crucifixion 

storm over 

the ocean

more drops

of water

she hardly

notices.

Divination

Speak like the Ocean,
in tomes of foam 
gathering on the shore.

Words are bubbles bursting
as air becomes meaning
and language is rewritten.

The pier marks a permanent
page, a line tattooed 
inside your pale arm.

Divine meaning, read 
the signs. Lines criss 
cross your palm.

Speak with your hands.
What have they to say
of what is yet to be?

Late Night Transport

400 trees fell to the passing

of interstellar transport

through the heart of the city.


Helicopters whirr over the sleepless

city. Black pacific breathes

in slow tones.


No footsteps in the hall

as the pillow dreams of the head

waiting to rest upon it once more.

Politics is a cancer upon 

the body of Reason.

Cellophane

Your cellophane heart cannot hide

its desires.

It beats and yearns

for the sky 

it wishes to kiss.

Remains

Curved and pointed black iron fences

the parking lot of Christ's church.


Light guards spaces of an absent

congregation. The cross stands


watch as it hangs against the wall.

The parochial school across


the street is guarded in a mirrored

way. An old woman walks her dog


past the statue of a Spanish friar.

We notice each other as I drive by.


Three trees shelter one side

of the church. One of them bears


the initials of five young boys.

The church sits silent late at night,


the praises of holy names live only

on the tongues of sleeping parishioners.

Silence

You go to where Silence lives,

She is waiting, she can love you.


You go to where Silence lives,

She knows how long you've waited.


Midnight flowing through her windows,

No more waiting.


Silence, only this,

Silence, only us,

Silence, no more.

Alarmed and Dangerous

photocopies

We were LOUD and DRUNK

and talking in the kitchen in the way that

LOUD DRUNK people do.


Your voice carried OVER the DIN

of VOICES  CLAMBERING

over each OTHER.


You HIT me

in the center of my CHEST

and I fell BACK from you.


You were ALWAYS

TOO cute for your own

GOOD, so I did


NOTHING. I dreamt about

your EARTHLY attributes

and let you BECOME


a memory PHOTOCOPIED

over and over AGAIN

until the IMAGE


has BECOME

a BLURRED and

UNRECOGNIZABLE mess.

Swan

The swan has died

dry your tears

the swan has died

bring me near

the swan has died

all pain lives in fear

A series of random lines upon waking

We could dream forever
but how would we live in the real world?

Does this night bother you?

Venus- how you triumph over me.

No more always.

Wondering can lead to knowledge but shouldn't be confused with.

All our nightmares are the ghosts of what we wish to forget.

My past lives are catching up with me.

I can't begin to breath

What do I remember? I remember
nothing but this something
I can't define.

I can hear the stillness of the morning
and the distant voices of the city.

inconsistent analogy.

typing and hoping to make sense,
hoping to make a narrative from the fragmented
bits appearing in no manner of logic,
no manner of reason or rhyme.

I wake to find your words waiting for my eyes.

Alone? Better to embrace solitude
than years of failed company.

Words are the skeletal system keeping
my body in form.

The tree cannot live without its roots.

You should ask the mirror to stop talking,

it's very distracting.

Warren Paice

Shortest Story

I heard a lonely voice

talking to itself again.

I love you

and you'll never 

know it.

Space Bar

Hit the 'space' bar.

 It will push you along.

Hit it three times,

   and go a little further.

Hit 5 times

     see?

Now-

keep hitting it until

there is nowhere left to
 

















 go.

First Hand Account

I can tell your from first hand experience that God
writes a little bit every day. It may be hard for you
to imagine the way time is perceived by God. You
have no reason to believe my account except to
take it on faith.

I have seen him sit down at his desk made of sequoia
and pull out parchment and quill from his desk drawer.
On the occasion he uses a pen he prefers to use Pilot
G-2 pens with the 05 fine tip because of how fine
the lines are and the minimal bleed.

The difference between when He writes versus you
on the physical plane is that He has the power to make
His words into actual reality. He doesn't do it very often
but He does from time to time. You don' even notice
when He does. It just happens.

He has also had high aspirations for all of you. He never
ceases to be disappointed at all your doctrinal in fighting.
The angels tend to take bets on how many of your will
die over religious conflict on any given day. They need
something to do on their breaks.

You may ask, 'If He can change anything at will then why
doesn't He do something about X?' That's a good question
but that's not for you to know. I sure as hell don't. Don't
get me started on Hell, that's a whole other story the Big
Guy is dealing with over here.

He's not a bad guy. Well, he's not really gendered, that's
just for your convenience. In any case, He's great to hang
out with once you get to know him. You may not believe
it, but He has such a great sense of humor. Ask him about
it sometime.

Black Is Not A Color

I do not wish to mourn for it is unbecoming
to bleed salted water from my eyes.

I do not wish to mourn because it is a reminder
of my own mortality.

I do not wish to mourn because that is not
you there any longer.

I do not wish to mourn because I can still
remember you.

I do not wish to mourn because I am still
alive.

I do not wish to mourn because according
to some faiths your return is imminent.

I do not wish to mourn you because I would
not wish for you to shed salted tears.

I do not wish to mourn because of everyone
else mourning across the world.

I do not wish to mourn because I do not
believe it is you any longer.

I do not wish to mourn because there is
much yet to live.

I do not with to mourn because my black
clothes don't match.

I do not wish to mourn because your mother
never liked me.

I do not wish to mourn because your father
was always kind to me.

I do not wish to mourn because your brother
never really knew you.

I do not wish to mourn because I am mourning
you know.

I do not wish to mourn because this is an elegy
for you and I know how you would have disliked it.

Negative Space

It's not what is
it's always what isn't.

The fixed quantity of loss
is one we try to reverse

and fail at so many times.
Absence shapes

in far greater detail the world
than any thing we possess.

Religion professes to give us
a world greater than which we

behold. Politics seeks to restore
glory which may or may never

have been. Art becomes a mirror
showing us a present that we

gaze into or away from.
Imbalance is a fragility

that we know too well.

Getting Out

Turn off the fan, it's fall for Christ's sake.
Do you know how ridiculous it looks
with that damn thing on?
Are you hot? It's not that bad,
if anything it's a bit chilly.
I don't care if it's summer somewhere
else. It's not summer over here.
You need to get out of this damn room.
Who do you think you are, Howard Hughes?
Leave your pity party and do something
with yourself. It's starting to get pathetic
with all your moping around.
I'll even give you money for gas
if that's what you're worried about.
Stop being like this- just get out.
It'll do you good.

A Short Lecture

Please, don't wait, time is in short supply.

They will say you are impatient, brash,

and impulsive-

why should these be negative qualities?

There is far too much at stake

at any given moment.

You must act, not for the sake of anyone

but your self.

This symphony is improvising itself,

it isn't worried about the score.

I'm not surprised

no when it comes to you.

I gave up understanding long ago.

It is much easier accepting moments as they

occur than questioning any logic or lack of such.

___________

You daydream about leaving

and smile.

Trembling

He tried to steady his left hand. It had started shaking from time to time recently.
He was having trouble getting over it. He had needed it, used it for far too long
to not escape it unscathed. It was in his blood, in his dreams, calling quietly,
insistently. At least he didn't have to go in to work until tomorrow. Ghosts lay
scattered across every surface of the bedroom. They could only stare back with
blank curiosity. He needed to get out of the house. On days like this he could 
barely manage to get himself in the shower, much less out the door. He was 
trying to avoid getting treatment. He wasn't some fuck-up that needed others 
to help him out. He was a goddamned man, he could do it by himself. He looked
at his phone, no missed calls or new messages. It was 10:30 in the morning on
a Tuesday. Two Tuesdays ago he would have woken up with a killer headache
and slouched into the kitchen to get some breakfast of whatever was there. He 
remembered he needed to get his laundry done today. He had to get out of the 
apartment, he needed to get to the laundromat. He hated sitting there and waiting
for his clothes to get clean. If he had the money he would just throw his dirty 
clothes away and buy new ones when t hey became too dirty to wear. He wasn't
that rich, probably would never be. He had a bad habit of wearing the same 
clothes for years until he would be forced to buy new ones after the old ones
had fallen apart and wear one step beyond wearable. At least his parents couldn't
see him now. They had such high hopes for him, especially because he was 
their only child. They were dead. They could care less now, in fact, they couldn't
care at all. He finally got to the bathroom and took a piss. He looked in the mirror
and could see how deeply the lines were carving his face. His face started to 
resemble the drift that led to the end of Pangea.  He grabbed a pair of relatively 
clean underwear and his towel and set them next to the sink. He turned the knobs
and began to calculate the proper heat and cold ratio he deemed suitable for 
a morning shower. He wet his hands to make sure that it wasn't too hot to scald
his pale skin. He stripped off his clothes and stood under the shower head. He 
raised both hands and covered his face as the water wet his hair and soaked
his body. 

A Hard Morning

His hand reached for the lever

and pushed down. The swirling

sound of water filled the room

as the faucet drenched his hands.

Eyes stared back at themselves

and adjusted. He rubbed his chin,

decided that shaving could wait

until tomorrow. She was still curled

up in bed. He had no interest in waking

her so early after the last few days.

He walked over to the kitchen

and started a pot of coffee.

Leaning against the counter

he saw that he had a new voicemail.

The pot was half filled with warm brown.

He listened to the message

and wondered if he should wake

her after all.

Unnatural Acts

Speech is an unnatural act,

writing, more so.

I can thread words together

as easily as a needle

passes through cloth.

Finding the right sequence

is paramount in any situation.

It is also important 

to know when to minimize

language for maximum effect.

Other situations call 

for dizzying displays of rhetorical

elegance which can cause no

doubt as to the skill and intent 

of the arranger. When the voice

speaks it can tremble and shake,

giving the impression of weakness

or uncertainty. When the voice

Booms and Towers it can instill

fear or confidence in others.

How great is the task that we have 

deemed language fit to carry?

Its burden is a weight beyond 

our understanding and root

of misunderstanding.

This was then.

I'm not cynical

It's just typical

It's not complicated.

Mistakes are the answers to questions you didn't ask.

Glass Stones, Rock Houses

Beauty is irrelevant without 

Love in the present tense. 

Drawing Along A Plane

My life is fiction lived in present tense.

It exists at the intersection

of the ex and why? axes.

The connection of two points on a plane

marks the line that forms the image.

Coordinates are found haphazardly

and ordered according to no plan.

If a point is removed another

will appear to take its place,

altering the final image. At most

only a partial view is visible at any

given time.

Being

To be one is to be all.


Who is not the child?


Who has not been the child?


Who will not be the child again?

5 Lines

I.

a pantheon of useless gods

II.

a century of cadavers looking for their ghosts

III.

god didn't fail, you did.

IV.

Soul Contraption

V.

It's hot in Hell.

battling entropy

take the time out
on grey days
to get out

you want to right
you hold part of yourself
hostage
for a better time
that never comes

pin hope on ambition
it can only be fulfilled with action

idle time is death
death is a given

do not relent
raise the colors
of the regiment

have you surrendered
will or grown in apathy

feet go nowhere
if they are not moving

still water stagnates
and festers with disease

something more
something else
something somewhere

stop being so so so
tied to static
ready yourself

self is the hardest part
to understand
it as tangible / ephemeral

sit comfortably
closed off from harm
closed off from experience

it pains you to hurt
it hurts you to breath
you exist all the same

undocumented terror
insecure in flesh
mind as still as rusted gears

falling into
an increasing state of entropy
the fate of everything

cities grow empty with steady ease
wild grasses grow taller than men
glass breaks and iron rusts

stone remains
it too will be eroded
by the steady winds

no one knows

when you're sinister

the challenge

The emptiness is the challenge. It cannot give you

anymore than what it is. You can look upon it and

ask for it to provide guidance, it will simply stare

back and marvel at your laziness. "What do you 

think I am? Why are you here?" it would ask itself.

You start to ponder the first thought. Many are half

formed children that are discarded with ease. Some

are more developed but lack refinement. They might

be of some use given the chance to change. The words

can do more than what you are willing to do with them.

The sentence begins

with one word.

It is often something as simple as

"Mama" or "Papa".

It gains competence and complexity

over a period of time

as it begins to grow in understanding.

The sentence continues

in an unabbreviated river of thought

expressed and hidden.

Punctuation is hardly ever a concern

in the moment as it

writes itself unceasingly over the years.

There is a final maturation

where it begins to stutter and shake with

the unease of its origin.

The sentence is only one thought unfurled,

the chapter was never

finished, never mind the entirety of the book.

We are in mid-sentence

and if we are lucky we may finish it.

A Rising of No Consequence

Hazy light and hot air circulating

on a humid morning. The fan has

been on all night, whirring back

and forth. You slept with no sheets,

the fan blowing air onto your legs

from time to time. Night crawled

into your thoughts through sounds

familiar to daytimes sibling. You

sit up, drink water from the cup.

Day can only grow hotter, will

grow hotter. Feet touch tile, you

yawn instinctively. Everything

and nothing all share the same

starting point.  

Worry

Worry came in for a visit and sat down on the couch.

She picked up the doily from the armrest and stared

at it. I asked her "Would you like a drink?"


I could see white enamel as she said "That would be

great." She put the doily back and said "Do you have

lemonade?" The corners of her mouth spread to their


fullest. Her cheeks glowed red warmth. "I should have

some" I said. I walked to the refrigerator and saw the

open box of lemonade I picked up last week.


The glass held a pink sea of sugared lemon as I brought

it to her. She nodded to me as she took the glass from

my hands and pressed it to her lips.


Her shapely legs crossed as I sat down opposite her.

It was always hard to say when she would come by.

She always overstays her welcome.

The Eternal Season

Grief stains like red wine spilt

on a white linen shirt.

Loss calculated by

what-ifs and almost-weres.

Eternity, a place

of safe conjecture

for those still running

from Marathon.

A warmth that brings

no comfort

begets a blossoming flower

that endures a lifetime.

A mountain-top in Winter,

A desert in Summer,

Branches in Fall.

Spring…

when?

Don't paint yourself in Black and White.

When 14 was 7.

We are melting in place.

6:45 a.m.

It's an earlier morning than you're used to.

The whirring sound of fan blades,

summer has been warmer than usual.

An elongated y a w n d r a w s i t s e l f 

out. No words uttered. If they were,

to whom? The news has nothing new

to say, recycled stories repeat in cycles.

Good morning. Good morning.

Dangling Carrots

We are pleased with ourselves.
Couched in luxury unthinkable
by generations barely decayed.

Problems persist, happiness
illusory at worst, fleeting at best.
It's definition recently revised.

Perfect planes of plastic, baubles
to be held, admired, possessed,
litter thought and aspiration.

Convenience is a given, sense
gathers dust in gray corridors,
falls asleep on the watch.

Glowing light as an anesthetic,
soothing, calming, the hand
of the unseen, falling lids,

the mind at rest.

Rope

Pull the rope.

Its frayed ends

gripped in your fists.

The knot tightens,

no more to give.

Staring out the window

and into the glare of a mirror

Bringing a Bear to a knife fight.

elemental

The color of the water

the movement of the sun

The volition of the tides

the color of the skies

The voice of the wind

the chatter of the leaves

The blood of the rivers

the passage of the clouds

The sadness of the prairies

the ages of the canyons

The children of the fruit trees

the sympathy of the moon

The tides passing soon

Rock scraping against rusted iron.

Faulty Navigation

Navigating imbalance-

a foot slipping inside a worn out shoe.


The lizard scurries along the bottom

of the wall, hides behind the fridge.


Tossing within sheets, the unbound

landscape in turmoil.


Pauses for thought, searching for

that which lives elusively.


Roads buckle in the heat as

plates slip beneath.

Summer Canines

Pity our heavily-furred friends on hot summer days

as they swelter in their skins. Coats built to endure

harsh winters to conserve warmth, not the rain 

parched climates of former and future deserts. 

Two Way Mirror

Pictures of women you've loved,
their boyfriends, fiancées, husbands,
and children posing in their happy homes

you realize how the years have passed
slowly enough for them to find partners
and bear children.

Expected lives of normalcy and tranquility,
easy lives marred by the uneasy nature of Life.
The world is filled with them.

You begin to wish it were you.
That you were their boyfriend or husband.
That you were holding your first newborn.

You wonder what it is you hold on to.
What of yours has been so valuable
to forsake that world of experience?

Is it the life you seek?
You don't know-
can't know.

So many happy lives
all staring back-
wondering how you've been.

Wanting

The last I heard about L was that she was married and had a
small child after moving back to her home state. We had worked
together for a few years and had gotten to know each other fairly
well in that time. I always thought she was beautiful. She had a
southern accent that was charming every time she spoke. It only
added to her beauty.  We hadn't seen each other since she had
moved. Thinking about her filled me a sense of regret over what
had never been.

 ***

She was lying face down in my bed, the sun was streaming in a muted
tone through the white curtains at my window. She kicked her legs up
and turned her head as I walked in through the door. She smiled.
I did a double take when I realized who it was.

"What are you doing hear?" I said.

"I thought I'd come visit you for a little bit." she said as the corners of
her mouth turned upward.

"How did you find out where I was living?"

"It wasn't too hard. I really wanted to surprise you."

"Where are you staying at while you're here?" I said.

Her smile widened to show the white of her teeth.

"I figured I'd stay with you since you have a bed and all. That is if
you don't mind, of course."

"I don't."

"Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come over?"
I hadn't moved since I froze in place at finding her. I walked over
to the bed and took my coat off and placed it on the chair of my
desk. I took off my shoes and set them near the edge of the bed.
She moved her body from the center of the bed to make room for
me. I got into the bed and laid on my back. She rolled on top of
me and said "I've missed you."

She held me close. Our noses were about to touch.

"I've missed you too," I said.

A Night at the Black Crow

"Shut the fuck up. She's at least a six." he said.

"Why?" the other man said.

"Her rack. Just look at her rack!"

The second man watched as she pulled bottles and
poured them into glasses. Her breasts hung large over
the rest of her body. Her cleavage plunged deep and
brought in good tips on that kind of night. She had just
started working there again. The two men could barely
hear each other.

"Her tits are sagging." the second man said.

"What? You've never been around older women?
You probably can't even remember the last time you
had a tit in your mouth." said the first man.

"Fine. She's not bad. I'm more of an ass man."

She had just turned around to ring up a tab.
The second man stared at her jeans with an empty hunger.

"Her ass is too flat."

"You're a picky motherfucker,"said the first man.

They finished their beers. The first man put the empty
bottles in the well of the bar, a sign for another round.
She finished serving the people at the end of the bar,
it was a bunch of young girls from the neighborhood
who had grown old by staying there. She saw the two
empties when she turned around. She pulled the cooler
open and pried the caps off the two bottles and set them
in front of them as she grabbed the empties with her
other hand.

They sat there in the midst of the blaring jukebox, awash
in cigarette smoke, the roar of a late night silencing them.

Won't / Will

I won't talk with my mouth.
I won't touch things with my hands.
I won't sing with my voice.
I won't taste with my tongue.
I won't think with my mind.
I won't love with my heart.
I won't see with my eyes.
I won't cry with my tears.
I won't walk with my feet.
I won't listen with my ears.
I will disappear.

10 Lines of Etc, etc...

1.) Loneliness tastes like white chalk.

2.) A perfect peace.

3.) Walking/waking into reality.

4.) Steady hand, fluttering heart.

5.) Character name: Ambrosio

6.) We are not good to each other much less ourselves.

7.) Violation vs. Annihilation

8.) The body slows twice as fast as the mind does.

9.) ...and they look like young girl
     getting ready for sunshine on the beach.
     One carries a baby in her arms.

10.) For a bartender in a neighborhood dive bar she is beautiful.

Finding beauty in my tears.

Pupa

Roads move us

from destination to destination

with minimal deviation.

We acclimate to ebbs

of time and traffic,

traveling by cocoon,

never emerging the butterfly-

we retain our larval form.

With No Tether

"Did you see the old guy walking up and down the block?" she said.

I haven't. Should I?

"Go to the window and look."

It took me a moment to see who she was talking about. There was the

usual cast of surfers, drunks, and yoga moms walking up and down 

the street during the early afternoon. When I saw him I knew who she

was talking about. He was tall with a slight stoop that gave away his 

age. His hair was a dome of gray while his face was sprinkled with 

stubble a day or two old. Each step moved him forward in a stilted 

shuffle. He stood in front of the window with his back faced to us as

he gazed out at the people on the beach. Sky blue shirt and khaki pants

hung off him with a little room to spare. A plane with a banner advertising

beer flew overhead as his head tilted to the side, as if to read it better.

His gaze moved downward to his feet as he turned around. I walked

behind my desk and sat down. I saw his hand reach for the door.

"Hello." he said.

"What can I do for you sir?"

"Have you seen Barbara?" His eyes searched me, hoping I had the answer.

"I'm not sure I know Barbara, Sir." I said.

"We...we came out here years ago when we first met. It was different then.

There weren't so many people around. The people that were around were

so nice. You could talk to anyone. I first saw her near the pier. She didn't

know me but she was beautiful. I'm not sure where she is. Have you seen

her?"

"What's her last name?"

"It's the same as mine. It's...it's..." his hands fumbled to his pockets, hoping

to find his wallet and ID. "I'm sorry. It's slipped my mind." A nervous laugh

escaped and hung heavy between us. 

"It's hot out there today. I was looking for Barbara. Her hair is long and brown

and she is very kind. We talked for hours that first day we met. I talked to God

out there when I was looking for her. He said she was alright. That she some

times worried about me. I told him to tell her to not worry. That it's ok. I'm

still here and I'm doing the best I can." 

I could hear her voice in the back office speaking in a hushed tone. 

I heard the hard plastic receiver come to rest. I looked back at her, her

lips were pursed and she nodded at me. He leaned against the top of the desk

and looked out the window.

"I drove so far to get here. But I had to get here today to find her. I hope she's

not worried. That's the last thing I'd want, is for her to be worried. That's just

no way to be."

I saw the shadows outside the window get closer. They came into view of the 

window as they opened the door. He turned his head slowly at the uniformed

men as they walked in together. 

"Hi, boys. Are you here to help me find Barbara?" he said.

One of them looked no more than 25 said "Yes, we are. First, you need to

come outside with us because we know she's not in here." His face lit up

and said "I know. This young man has no idea who she is. I'm glad you do."

The older of the two men leaned over and looked at me, "How long has he

been here?" 

"Not long at all." I said.

"We got a call from here as well as some other local businesses about him.

He seems harmless but we'll make sure we get him to where he needs to be."

They walked out with him in arm. 

After they had left she walked out from the back office.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I had to call them. The guy was just creeping

me out. Didn't you feel?" she said.

I looked at her and thought for a moment, "I just hope he finds Barbara." 

Out There --->

What ever joy

there is

is found out there,

not locked away

in small rooms

waiting to

get out.

The Creation of - - - - -

--------------Space is the condition
between us.----------------It marks
-----------emotion.----We tolerate-
--it--------------------------------------
-----as-best-we-can.---We--create
it-be-----------------------------cause
we need-----------------------------it.
Space has always been-------------
a necessary----------------------------
in----------------------------------------
--vention.------------------------------
------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------

It fills everything---------------------

------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------

and yet---------------------------------

------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------it

never-----------------------------------

------------------------------------------

needed us-----------------------------

------------------------------------------

to create-------------------------------

------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------it.

tu eres

Passion without end


Nerves feeling sensation


Skin always tingling


Permanent euphoria


Faucet always on


Candle that outlasts the cake


Volume all the way up

K /// NO /// W

WHAT I KNOW


             I CAN'T FORGET


WHAT I FORGET


             I CAN'T KNOW

What It Means

You dreamt you were walking into the Earth.


The path of descent was lit by unknown hands


guiding you further as your curiosity would allow.


You told me that after hours upon hours of walking


the path opened up wide, a chasm bigger than any


space that could be known. A beautiful forest sat 


still within these deep reaches.You moved forward, 


observing whether or not it was inhabited. Branches 


and leaves bore an uneasy stillness. You walked 


to the edge at which is began, your hands reached 


and touched the ancient trunk. It felt like hardened 


rock. It must be a fluke you thought. You touched


the one next to it, feeling for the warmth of life.


Nothing. Just hard permanence. It went on like this


until you realized the forest was petrified. Nothing


moved. Nothing could. Only you, moving in awed


wonder at what had been shown.