Unfinished Piece

I have no exoskeleton to protect
my internal organs, all of my soft and easily
damaged flesh held upright by a dangerously
breakable framework. My seat of reason
is easily swayed by wandering emotions traveling
throughout, or the slightest sense of harm
that could befall my being. I am no hero, though,
if given the chance I would make a valiant attempt
before falling into a heap. I long to connect
with others but my opinions tend to run in opposing
force to most. I want everything but I am too
scared of failure, too worried about failing to be
nothing more than a never was. I live behind glass
and observe facsimiles that are worthy of the forms
of the cave. My passion runs with the heat of a desert,
and the coolness of winter winds. I am a force
undefinable as I am strong, and as weak as I am
doubtful...

self

that which hinders you,

that which you allow 

to hinder you.

The Crossing

Chavez stood at the intersection and watched the mid-afternoon traffic 

as it whizzed past him. People leaving work for home, parents picking 

up children from school, squad cars cruising for speed demons with 

heavy feet; all of them and more were lost in their own thoughts as 

they sat encased in hurtling means of movement. None were aware of

the others movements as long as they did not cross paths. He set his 

heavy bag at his feet. His left hand was sore from carrying it. There

were still a few more blocks to go before he would be home. He grew

up not too far from this corner. When he was a child his mother would

walk him to school, he always felt safe with her around. She had been

gone for quite some time now. He hoped his car would be ready at the

shop by tomorrow like they had told him. The lights turned green and 

the solid red hand was replaced by the gray lights in the shape of a man

in a walking motion. He grabbed the bag with his right hand and moved

as briskly as he could. He disliked the fact that the lights at intersections

never felt like they gave you enough time to cross unless you were 

sprinting from one side of the street to the other. He could feel eyes of 

impatience glaring at him from behind windshields and being cursed

at under breath. He felt the rush of energy as a car turned behind him

as his feet touched the sidewalk. His pocket began to vibrate and he 

ignored it, he had a good idea of who it might be. When it stopped,

he reached into his pocket to read the text message. It was exactly

who he expected. She must be drunk, lonely, or both to be trying 

to reach him at this hour. Her boyfriend had broken up with her 

recently and there weren't very many people she liked to talk to. 

Chavez had liked her but that had worn off. They went out shortly

after her break up and got drunk at the The Black Crow down 

the street from her apartment. When they got back to her place they

pounded a bottle of wine and began to make out in her living room.

They were lucky because her roommate was out of town at the time. 

He liked feeling needed, he didn't get to feel that too often. There was

something different about it, something that made him uncomfortable.

He put the phone in his pocket and started walking back to his 

apartment where no one waited. 

hauntings

your voice 

is a murmured memory

crept into my dreams-


disconnected of body,

ethereal presence 

are the remains 


I carry of you. 

Pursuing the Thrush

More Stray Lines

I.

Rival Sons

II.

Wax Heart

III.

In space there is no time.

IV.

Labyrinthine Snakes

V.

We move as slowly as slugs
but with far less patience.

VI.

Create new addictions,
revisit old ones.

VII.

Rival Suns


Note: these random lines were from Friday 2/22/13 and Saturday 2/23/13

Internal Mechanics

The heart is a simple machine

that has been given 

the most extraordinary task.

Narcissa

                                       maiden
               in the dusk

                         Narcissa

with hungry eyes




                        Narcissa
                                of free habit and

                                           beautiful
                                               blending    colors




without   rival.

                             "Ain't that elegant?"





                            I guess.



Narcissa

                                sleeps






Note: this piece is a result of an erasure workshop I attended that was led by poet Mary Ruefle on Saturday, February 23rd at the Clark Memorial Library of UCLA.

When Things Go Missing

I woke up one morning and I couldn't find my face.

There was nothing on my bed or tangled in the sheets.

I got down on hands and knees and did not see anything

on the ground. Finally, I went over to my car in case

I left it there on accident, though, if I had, I hope I would

have remembered that. After searching for an hour I decided

to wear one of my masks for the time being. It wasn't a perfect

fit but it was better than no face at all. The problem with my

masks is how hard it is to speak and attempt to be understood

through lips that cannot move. It is frustrating but what more

can I expect from an easy fix? I called my doctor and told him

my situation. He said to come by at one o'clock for a fitting.

As I sat in the waiting room I noticed a few other people

that were wearing masks as well, at least I wasn't the only

one. My turn came up and I stepped into the back rooms.

Doctor Austere came by after a couple of minutes and

promptly took off my mask. He looked at my raw head

and said that he would use the same measurements from

before for my replacement face. He said if I could wait

another twenty minutes or so they would have it ready

and they could attach it right away. I agreed. It's an odd

sensation to be with out your face and wait around for its

replacement. At least I hadn't been out drinking when

I lost it. When he came back he had one of his assistants

with him. She must have been new because I could not

recall having seen her before. She was quite lovely and

I could tell she had received a new face recently. She

stepped out and returned with my new face resting on

a blank head. It looked warm and alive. Doctor Austere

said it would be just like last time. I sat there quietly as

they began their work of connecting nerves to quivering

new flesh, those pathways which give expression to such

an organ. There is pain like a burning light but it is bearable.

After some time they both stepped back with a satisfied look.

"Can you smile for us?" the Doctor said. I felt the skin raise

up into two opposite corners as my new lips curved.

"Looks perfect," he said. He had me do a few more facial

expressions just to be sure. He said to call him if I had any

problems with this new face. I told him I would. As I walked

outside to the car the skin on my new face felt the wind, it's

fine hairs were at cold attention. I remembered that I had left

a bag of groceries in the trunk of my car yesterday. I popped

the trunk and saw my groceries there, fortunately they weren't

of the easily perishable variety. I also happened to see a familiar

some one looking back. Oh well. At least I have a spare.

Feeling It

If you cannot let yourself feel happiness

as it occurs to you,

then what, if anything,

do you have to look forward to?

Bare Essentials

How much,

how little

is needed?


Essence

and nothing

more.


How much

should be 

in place?


Carve past

flesh. Marrow

as a goal.

The Breakup

I wasn't surprised to hear that she broke up

with her boyfriend. He never seemed quite right

for her. Honestly, I was surprised they stayed together

as long as they did. Everyone knew she liked younger

guys, but he seemed like just a pretty face. I'm sure

he was a good fuck. Before they were together she

complained about how long she had been single.

Remember the time we went over to visit? She was

all glassy-eyed when she came out of the bedroom.

I'd suspected he had gotten her into some harder shit

but I didn't want to ask. I noticed the rubber strap

sitting on top of her coffee table as plain as day.

When she sat down next to me I saw the track marks

on her left arm. What could I say? What would you

have said? It wasn't my place to say anything. When he

came out of the bedroom he sat down next to her

and didn't say a thing. He just sat there. After that night

I didn't really go over anymore. They weirded me out.

Maybe now that they're not together I'll drop by

and see how she's doing.

Two Thoughts From The Drive Home

I.

Insects with halogen eyes

stare unblinkingly

as their red-lit rears run by.


II.

cold static burns

your finger tips

touch my lips

to dream

I dream of a universe caged and free,
of contradictions reconciled
and ambitions blossoming
into actions as great 
as the spirit they were
birthed from. 

I dream of a more compassionate people, 
a softer noose to hang from, 
a better way to say nothing,
a silence that is profound,
a silence more powerful
than any word. 

To Be

I am only real

when I am

I am real

I am

I.

post-

How strange and beautiful

would it be to see 

a sunset in the city

with no human eyes to witness?

Rules For An Interesting Journey

Make plans and break them.

Never play with anyone's heart but your own.

Don't give advice not won through experience.

Cry from time to time.

Be nostalgic.

Burn a favorite picture to ash.

Give a cherish possession to a loved one for no particular reason.

Speed along an empty freeway at 100m.p.h.,

stick you hand out the window.

Contemplate the death of roadkill.

Fall in love at the most inconvenient time.

Forget something important on purpose.

Improvise.

Teach someone one of your skills.

Say hello to the stranger who makes eye contact,

smile.

Don't ignore pain.

Don't shy away from self-doubt.

Make out with a stranger at a bar.

Create in order to please only yourself.

Write something with no intent to ever show anyone.

Undo the sky.

Retain

My memory is like 

          
          spools of magnetic tape


spilling from a cracked 

          
          and broken cassette.

Socrates In The Modern World

I told her that I am not so wise.

She said “How can you say that?”

“Very easily,” I said, “with words.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

This all started because we had been

talking about Socrates. He famously

said that all he knows is that he knows

nothing. We can be reasonably sure

that even if Socrates didn’t phrase it

like that he did say something to that

effect. What hope do us mortals have if

such a vaunted mind felt so confident

about his own lack of knowledge?

If Socrates were alive today I wonder

if he would still feel the same. If he were

alive today there are many other things

which he would be ignorant about, such

as the last two-thousand or so years of

history. What would he think of the

monotheism of Christianity and Islam?

Would he convert to either faith?

Or would he find comfort in Buddhism?

I’m sure he would find Scientology to be

a hard sell. I do. He could easily become

a media sensation and have plenty of quick

one line sound bites ready to be easily

digested by any of the news shows. They

would need to find someone to translate

his colloquial Latin. I don’t think most news

outlets would be ready, but it would give

Latin students new job opportunities aside

from the usual high school teaching gigs

to uninterested students who are more worried

about the breakout probabilities of their skin.

I am still not sure why my friend thinks me

so wise. I am glad to be thought of in such

a way but those thoughts don’t seem to take

into account my shortcomings. I wonder what

was Socrates least favorite thing about himself.

Perhaps he never learned to properly tie his toga.

“I am not wise,” I told her, “I am merely a man.

Because of this my existence will always lack.

This is not the worst fate that could befall me

or any of us, it’s just the state of how we exist.

We live in tiny bubbles floating through air

that could burst at any moment. The miracle

is the continued state of the bubble. It is no

less beautiful because of it’s short life, in fact,

it is more beautiful,” I said.

We sat in the silence of the city, the sounds

of wind muddled with the mass of purring

engines and voices blurring into one sound.

recycled into nothing

I have nothing to say.

Recycle the same bits 

of language and hope 

to find a new path. 

No wonder men

go insane in 

perfections pursuit. 

I AM NOW

Technology is the umbilical 

noose that will kill us all.

The View From The Hill

Crouched on the dark hillside 

by the gas station, cars sped by 

not knowing we were watching.

Drinking tall cans of cheap beer,

the intersection of hope and delusion.

He was a drunk, his bandmate

was a sweetheart. I still see her 

from time to time.

My friend, how quickly 
we became past tense.

Point the gun at the mirror.

Ink-stained cheek

Don't sleep,

stay up late

with the drunks

and the losers

who don't have

to wake up

early and get

to work.

Stay up

with your

mind to keep

you company.

Read a book,

fall asleep

with your face

in its pages.

Mid-Winter

I devour your thoughts

like a wolf

starving in Winter.

Waiting Their Turn

These lost dreams

begging to be lived,

waiting their turn.

Patient gaze

staring into you.

Act in kindness with no expectations.

My heart is still beating

even without my consent.

Inner Face Discussion

Get bored of the same lonely routine?


Do something about it.


Like what?


Like anything.


It's obvious the present

no longer works.


Fix it.

needless noir

she bathes in cigarette smoke and soft lighting,

her soul is a mirror in need of cleaning.

she sees you looking. you were trying not 

to stare. so much for that.

you drink your drink, pretend you're cooler

than the ice melting into the liquor.

the pump is working double-time, aqueducts

overflow. hot and cold fluids intersect.

cigarette in hand, she approaches. drink 

your drink. be cool

Excuse The Mess

City in progress,

incomplete avenues.

Red lights and fumes.


Wandering through,

in search of anything

thick air

Choke on the air

too thick to breath

                        it sits heavily

comes to rest 

            in our lungs

heave
           with heavy


discomfort

WIthout Price

Money, what good are you

to me 

when 

                   the only thing

     I want


is

     what you cannot buy?

Son Of Thorns

The Secret Language of Dogs

Chromium Smile

Cooing sighs 

and lullaby drones.

Last Things

I was sitting on the couch of two people I didn't
really know. I was there because my friend who
had been living there didn't feel entirely safe going
back by herself to get the last of her things. The
couple had an older pug who struggled to breath
as it moved slowly across the floor. She paused
at my feet and tried valiantly to jump on the couch.
I helped her up and petted her. There was a large
lump near her hind legs. I would be told later on
she had a tumor. I could hear my friend gathering
the last of her things from her former room when
I noticed a burnt spoon with white crusted in the
concave cavity. There was a rubber strap nearby.
A dazed woman emerged, disheveled blonde
strands lingered about her face. An athletic man
emerged, shirtless, following behind her. Polite
greetings were exchanged, an offer of something
to drink. My friend emerged with a few bags
bundled around her. I walked over and grabbed
a few. The older woman asked if we needed
help. We looked at each other and politely said
no. I looked down, my black pants were covered
in freshly shed fur. The pug was standing where
I had been sitting. Setting the bags down, I went
and scratched her head, for good luck. We all
need it as often as we can get it.  

Youth & Laughter

Let's face it,

most Christian denominations

are pretty similar

give or take minor disagreements

over diet and damnation.

Petty squabbles over

interpretation have blossomed

into full blown feuds

over the rightness of their path.

When you're a child

you believe as strongly as you

let yourself believe over

things like faith or

Santa Clause. In my early years

there was a Baptist church

I went to. They were very

kind people, or so I remember.

When we had recess

we would go to the playground

while Mrs.Benevidas

would watch over us. Hard black

rubber was fitted beneath

the merry-go-round, jungle gym,

and swings. There was also

a large hollow tube made

of concrete the color or brick.

It could fit two, maybe three

children inside. My parents took

out of the school when I was

accepted into the Catholic school

nearby. We are Catholic.

This morning I drove by the old

Baptist church and it's playground.

Through the chain-fence

all I could see were the black rubber

mats surrounded by encroaching weeds.

I am 

Shadow

& Fire.

real eyes

double-time

no use saving it

when we're wasting

voices in a wind tunnel

somewhat here in now

someone no longer here

squalls like a cello

sparks like a roaming candle

could try to realize

never materialize

only wicked I's

and ifs lost in this

everyone knows

what do we no

say so say so

know know no

real eyes

real eyes

helicopter panning

sound left to write

right to lift

center this place in me

roman sea

the space inside

mi mi mi

what I sea

what i be

live live

Fruition

I kiss her with my

warmth as she

kisses me with hers.

The Wait

I am waiting for the sun

only to find I am waiting

for myself.

When is Now?

Everything we could

have been is waiting

for us still.

Constants

Each life is a scale

model of existence

rendered in miniature.

On Memory

Memory

is a house

filled with

trap doors.

On Memory

Memory

is a house

filled with

trap doors.