Thursday, June 28, 2012

Colours of Motley

She felt joy in the arms of the tree.

It's branches a perfect place for shade,

a comfort no talking mouth could offer.

Dressed in bright motley, her smile grew

to cover that which the motley could not.

Employed by no King or Court, instead,

whim was indulged. The branches of her 

tree was the only home she knew. So it went

time after time, alternating between comfort

and joy. What of the pests feeding from 

the fruit of the tree? Holding its fruit in her

hand she found it ripe with decay. Barely 

visible feet crawling within and without.

She reached for another, and another,

and another, only to find the same face

of decay. The colours of her cheeks

became streams converging at her chin.

Poor tree, poor me  she thought.

Poor, tree, poor me

She pulled buckets upon buckets

of water from the well and poured them

over the fruit, the branches and leaves

hoping to stop the approaching pestilence.

Her arms burned with pain, the muscles

unaccustomed to this strain. She collapsed

and fell into a damp sleep at the base 

of the tree. The water began to overwhelm 

the roots as the dirt flooded. Slowly,

they began to decay out of sight.

When she awoke, the leaves and fruit

surrounded her, the trunk dying.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Work and Non-Work (draft 2)


Roots spread into the soil like fingers finding their grip.

Abstract latticework finds nutrients to fuel the building

of stems, leaves and flowers. Growth is assured, though

not a given. Neighbors arrive and take root. Miniature

forest canopies spread. Pillbugs, Beetles, and Ants traffic

the dirt. Down pours arrive with casual certainty upon

stems and colored blossoms. A life of simplicity begs

for no complexity, only the chance of continuance

for  perpetuity. A clear oozing trail is blazed early

amidst dew as the snail begins its long commute.

To Grip / To Hold

Keep your grip tight 


until the fingers give way.

Afternoon Rest

You sleep so much 

you wonder if 


you have ever 


been awake.

Preparing for Winter

Standing in the shallow end


of an empty pool, your steps 


echo back at you 


from the concave curvature.


A puddle of filth stagnates


around the clogged drain.


Disease festers, a mosquito


circles, lands on your arm.


Monday, June 25, 2012

Hidden Library

Books and love letters age hidden from view. 


Touching, smelling the passage of time, 


the distance between every point. Ink, 


the permanent record of thoughts scrawled 


or printed upon the page.




What has been extinguished, what has


endured, can be seen, held, cradled.


Pages recall that which memory cannot. 


A whirling pool ensnares you into deeper


depths, widens your eyes.




Bundle the papers, close the book.









This Morning

A waterfall of liquid


silver cascading, 


your eyes adjust.


Light reflecting brightly,


you inhale.


Immersed within it


you are purified.  

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Thirst

The soul 


is the part 


that thirsts 


the most.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Turning memory into commodity.

Monday, June 18, 2012

On Forgiving

The True Measure Of Our Humanity
Is Found In Our Capacity To Forgive.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Epictetus In The Modern World

Epictetus In The Modern World: A Novel in 18 1/2 Chapters


I. Breaking the Wheel.

II. No More Why.

III. Onyx Index

IV. I'd Rather Have a Smart Girl than a Pretty Girl.

V. The Past is No Place to Live.

VI. Gardeners of Our Own Lives.

VII. Dyslexicon / Lexigraphical / Hyperlexical

VIII. The Waves Paint the Shore in Foaming White.

IX. Painting Memory

X. A Clock Echoing in an Empty Room

XII. A Lost December

XIII. I Don't Need To Know The Truth To Know What Is Real

XIV. Vatican Talisman

XV. Kiss Your Lemon Lips (a.k.a. A Conjecturing Glance of Half-Formed Attraction)

XVI. Always More Water

XVII. This Illusion Meant

XVIII. This Page Intentionally Left Blank

Post-Script: "... a chain of flowers into the mysteries of life."



Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Work and Non-Work

Roots spread into the soil like fingers finding their grip.

Abstract latticework finds nutrients to fuel the building

of stems, leaves and flowers. Growth is assured, though

not a given. Neighbors arrive and begin their process

as well. Miniature forest canopies are erected. Pillbugs,

Beetles, and Ants traffic the dirt below the leaves. Down

pours arrive with casual evening certainty upon the stems

and colored blossoms. A steady life of simplicity begs for

no complexity, merely the chance of continuance in abject

perpetuity. A clear and oozing trail is blazed early each

morning as the snail begins its long commute.


Monday, June 11, 2012

What could you say to a turtle riding atop a pegacorn

that it hasn't already heard?

Sunday, June 10, 2012

IV

I
an amnesiac haze clouds morning thoughts
the same way a gray marine layer shrouds
the beach before burning off by mid-afternoon.
Past and Future become rearranged into 
a manner that refutes present ideas on
the nature of time. 

II
100 miles
A thousand paths
Each step a journey 
Roads without end
A circular path 

III
The mind wakes slower then the body
at morning. 

IV
Vacant Sea

the grinding of the wheel

I woke into the dream to find myself with Annie
in her room. She was upset. The orientation of the
bed was in a North to South alignment and not an
East to West one. This upset her greatly. Though
the bed orientation didn't please her, it was far
from being the sole reason for her reaction. We
began to talk. I had to be cautious at first. I wasn't
entirely sure what I was getting myself into. She
was lying facing up on one of the beds with a
glassed over look of inevitable defeat. This was
perplexing to me because of the presence she
radiated onstage during her performances. In her
present state she appeared as drained as an empty
bottle of water. The natural beauty that possessed
her was ever present though it reminded me of the
way a cut flower appears after some time in a vase.
It was the tour, the demands of the management,
the constant need to give the audience everything,
and if you saw her perform you could understand
what is meant by everything. The rigor of the road
was a joy that was grinding her down. She didn't
wish to admit it, but it was becoming clear that this
passion was beginning to unravel the parts of her
that needed to be kept under wraps. She couldn't
even remember if it was early or late anymore,
in a way it didn't even matter, in some ways it
was the only thing that mattered.


Friday, June 8, 2012

I
NO MORE WHY


II
Onyx Index


III
Naming the Angels

city trees

Trees cannot be caged by mere concrete

or iron bars. They do not recognize 

the power we ascribe to each 

as absolutes. Pavement will crack

and jut from odd angles as roots

spider throughout without regard

to our conceptions or concerns.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

At the end of the day (Draft 2)


Two boys running loudly through the room

of adults standing in line, one woman working

the counter. Mutual impatience crept through

tapping feet and exhausted sighs. Their father

told them to sit down, be quiet.  His uniform

was as exhausted as his face. Empty threats

were repeated as their voices echoed farther

and farther into those listening.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

7 Street and the 5 Freeway

The sound of a thousand hissing snakes
weaves between creaking brakes,
the audible miscellany of industry.

Insects bathed in primary colors
of various shades and dullness
cruise by, a parade contained on

ribboned strips of black and gray,
pathways from A to B and undesirable
destinations  populating in between.

Trees grow in scattered isolation,
glints of color in a place
of dreary practicality. They grow

in a jungle of hardened expectations,
caged by concrete, their roots can only
resist their capture by cracking sidewalk.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Whittle (edited freewrite from 2/18/12)


thrash about
throttle back and forth
pound walls louder
an eighth note
pulse pulverizes
every grey cell
paint in colors of fuzz
sound as meaning
meaning as annihilation
sheer over-indulgence
hands against the wall
can't help it
too much
not enough
give up
let me hold you closer
jarred to life
live wire electroshock
become electric
city strobed in light
this connection
this disconnect
hear yourself think
gut the soul of sound
pour out vomit
purged away
the same way
I’m just
Like you
I love you
ready to destroy
everything starting over
it shows
repeat / repetition / partition
a life once beautiful
she said
I couldn’t understand
I could only see
what I could see
still bathed
a useless romantic
show me where there is
time when there is time
the when is or is the when where
when its not
still clutching past life memories
call it regression
uncovering the past
searching for the hidden lives of ghosts
we've always been
been here before
the scenes have changed
dressing never stays static
speaking in static
we can’t understand
any thing any more
simple reason has no reason
it is its own need
breathes its breath
the chilly morning
a ghost leaving
the body knows
the mind knows
the last one to know
is always
you know this
no to this
know this
to know every thing
and yes, yes,
yes to everyone.


Cells

Thought matters,

is an extension of matter.

Intangible,

breath slipping between 

fingers 

trying to grasp. 

Thought,

rivers, oceans,

accumulation of essence,

vital to experience of sense.

Self, an outgrowth of I,

We, an outgrowth of selves.

Cells, the many as One.






Sunday, June 3, 2012


swallowing rocks will only weigh you down.


Friday, June 1, 2012

Merciless

Pecked to death by the black crow's pointed beak,

pathetic chirps of pain

echo as you are grabbed and carried away.