I couldn't take it didn't want to to deal with it
with you anymore A test of all my patience
friendship of everything I could give until
finally I had to leave had to cut us apart because
there is no sense in two people drowning
My memories of us are the colors of a palette
smeared together rendered a mess what was
and could have been has dried up Am I through
with this I had thought so I learned I would
rather ignore you and us hoped it'd be enough
to be able to leave it behind You were the first
to call me by my favorite name even that
is tinged by you a result of you I turned on you
because I lov ed you because you hurt me pushed
me beyond any place I could tolerate being
My mirror is just as guilty as yours
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
Taking Flight
Enter the scene en medias res
Determine location
The chill of a beach breeze
touches skin
A smooth rock
alone
catches my eye
I do not reach for it
absorbs my gaze
twitches on the ground
like a muscle spasm before sleep
Just an illusion
tricking my poor mind
It must not like the attention
and spins quickly
in place
Perhaps the wind
kissed it
tickled its curves
I must be seeing things
lack of sleep
strange figments
realistic fiction
elements of reality
purposed to propose the preposterous
I maintain our distance
as it maintains position
Can it hear my thoughts
I look upon it once more
a searing focus
My left hand extends
as if ready to conduct an orchestra
through Dvorak's
New World Symphony
It trembles once more on the ground
casts a shadow above its former home
it ascends
towards my palm
Icarus would be amazed
it stops
allows me to grasp it in my hand
Determine location
The chill of a beach breeze
touches skin
A smooth rock
alone
catches my eye
I do not reach for it
absorbs my gaze
twitches on the ground
like a muscle spasm before sleep
Just an illusion
tricking my poor mind
It must not like the attention
and spins quickly
in place
Perhaps the wind
kissed it
tickled its curves
I must be seeing things
lack of sleep
strange figments
realistic fiction
elements of reality
purposed to propose the preposterous
I maintain our distance
as it maintains position
Can it hear my thoughts
I look upon it once more
a searing focus
My left hand extends
as if ready to conduct an orchestra
through Dvorak's
New World Symphony
It trembles once more on the ground
casts a shadow above its former home
it ascends
towards my palm
Icarus would be amazed
it stops
allows me to grasp it in my hand
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Rocks In Whiskey
Stop worrying about saying something.
Silence is not the enemy,
it never was.
Let thought and emotion coalesce
melt into one another.
There is Whiskey in my glass
making love to Ice,
she melts slowly
and he begins to cool.
I drink them both,
feel their love,
their strength
grow within me.
The glass is empty
and that is fine.
I can go to sleep
and dream the dreams
of two lovers
hopelessly intertwined.
Silence is not the enemy,
it never was.
Let thought and emotion coalesce
melt into one another.
There is Whiskey in my glass
making love to Ice,
she melts slowly
and he begins to cool.
I drink them both,
feel their love,
their strength
grow within me.
The glass is empty
and that is fine.
I can go to sleep
and dream the dreams
of two lovers
hopelessly intertwined.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
An Exercise
This isn't about anything
so don't get your hopes up
There is no plan to have this be inspirational
metaphors will be kept to a minimum
in fact
this will read pretty dryly
By this point you probably expected
something different
but no
this is all this is going to be
At the very least
the lines are flushed to the left
with odd breaks
in no particular order
or reason
Maybe
This isn't about anything
but I've already said that
and I'll say it again
this isn't about anything
I didn't want to say anything
didn't wish to make any comment
that could be worthwhile
or insightful
just a silly note to myself
to not take things so serious
to change the tone
to laugh at myself
from time to time
because I need it
because you need it
because we all need a break
from the weight of ourselves
so don't get your hopes up
There is no plan to have this be inspirational
metaphors will be kept to a minimum
in fact
this will read pretty dryly
By this point you probably expected
something different
but no
this is all this is going to be
At the very least
the lines are flushed to the left
with odd breaks
in no particular order
or reason
Maybe
This isn't about anything
but I've already said that
and I'll say it again
this isn't about anything
I didn't want to say anything
didn't wish to make any comment
that could be worthwhile
or insightful
just a silly note to myself
to not take things so serious
to change the tone
to laugh at myself
from time to time
because I need it
because you need it
because we all need a break
from the weight of ourselves
Monday, October 21, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
Bodies of Water
She had to laugh the day the power
went out at the house-
the next morning she found
a possum that had drowned
in their backyard swimming pool.
Before she found the possum
dead in the pool
she spent the night
placing candles all over the house.
She lit them one by one
with the same electric lighter
he would use to light the grill
during the summer. He hadn't
been coming home
at his usual hour, said he had
to work late,
she believed it
until the day the phone rang
at the house
and a woman's voice said
she needed to come clean.
There was no point in making
a scene over all of it,
at least that's what she told herself.
When the candles were all lit
she walked into the front yard
and admired the glow
of genuine warmth
radiating from the windows
as if the house had been turned
into a massive jack-o-lantern.
When she went inside
she wondered about what night
must have been like
in past centuries,
how foreboding distant sounds
and rustlings must have been
in a world more callous than our own.
She went upstairs, changed,
and waited for him to come.
Her eyes began to tire,
her mind began to close up shop.
She began to remember
going to the beach with her father
when she was a child.
she remembered the first time
she saw the vast and terrible expanse
as they stood there on the sand.
She held his hand as tightly
as her small fingers would allow.
"This is only the edge of the ocean,
the water goes on and on
for many, many miles.
There are people
on the other side of the ocean
who are different than us,
who speak a different language
but we are joined by the same water,"
he said. She understood as best
she could at that time.
How insignificant she felt
at that time
when confronted
with the scale of ourselves
against our home. On the edge
of the horizon
she could have sworn she
saw a seagull fall from the sky.
The candles had all gone out
when she woke. She turned
the tv on just to see if the power
was back, it flicked to life
and she quickly turned it back off.
A fine mist covered the neighborhood
as she stepped into the yard
to grab the morning paper.
His car was nowhere to be seen.
She went into the kitchen
and put on a pot of coffee
so she could drink
while reading the news.
She grabbed a clean mug
from the rack by the sink
and looked out the window,
something was floating in the pool
near the edge. She stood there
staring at the dead creature
and its furless tail. She went inside
and had her coffee,
read her newspaper.
When she was done she went upstairs
and began to pack a couple of bags
of clothes and other small possessions.
She placed them in her car
and went to the backyard.
It was still floating there like a flesh
and furred cork. She crouched
and grabbed it by the tail and pulled it
out of the water. She held it in air
until most of the water had finished dripping
from its body. She walked upstairs
and placed it in the middle of the bed.
She pulled out a pen and paper
from the nightstand and jotted
something down. She placed
the note next to the new guest.
She went downstairs and through
the front door without bothering to lock it.
She put the car in gear and backed out,
looking both ways to make sure
there was no oncoming traffic.
went out at the house-
the next morning she found
a possum that had drowned
in their backyard swimming pool.
Before she found the possum
dead in the pool
she spent the night
placing candles all over the house.
She lit them one by one
with the same electric lighter
he would use to light the grill
during the summer. He hadn't
been coming home
at his usual hour, said he had
to work late,
she believed it
until the day the phone rang
at the house
and a woman's voice said
she needed to come clean.
There was no point in making
a scene over all of it,
at least that's what she told herself.
When the candles were all lit
she walked into the front yard
and admired the glow
of genuine warmth
radiating from the windows
as if the house had been turned
into a massive jack-o-lantern.
When she went inside
she wondered about what night
must have been like
in past centuries,
how foreboding distant sounds
and rustlings must have been
in a world more callous than our own.
She went upstairs, changed,
and waited for him to come.
Her eyes began to tire,
her mind began to close up shop.
She began to remember
going to the beach with her father
when she was a child.
she remembered the first time
she saw the vast and terrible expanse
as they stood there on the sand.
She held his hand as tightly
as her small fingers would allow.
"This is only the edge of the ocean,
the water goes on and on
for many, many miles.
There are people
on the other side of the ocean
who are different than us,
who speak a different language
but we are joined by the same water,"
he said. She understood as best
she could at that time.
How insignificant she felt
at that time
when confronted
with the scale of ourselves
against our home. On the edge
of the horizon
she could have sworn she
saw a seagull fall from the sky.
The candles had all gone out
when she woke. She turned
the tv on just to see if the power
was back, it flicked to life
and she quickly turned it back off.
A fine mist covered the neighborhood
as she stepped into the yard
to grab the morning paper.
His car was nowhere to be seen.
She went into the kitchen
and put on a pot of coffee
so she could drink
while reading the news.
She grabbed a clean mug
from the rack by the sink
and looked out the window,
something was floating in the pool
near the edge. She stood there
staring at the dead creature
and its furless tail. She went inside
and had her coffee,
read her newspaper.
When she was done she went upstairs
and began to pack a couple of bags
of clothes and other small possessions.
She placed them in her car
and went to the backyard.
It was still floating there like a flesh
and furred cork. She crouched
and grabbed it by the tail and pulled it
out of the water. She held it in air
until most of the water had finished dripping
from its body. She walked upstairs
and placed it in the middle of the bed.
She pulled out a pen and paper
from the nightstand and jotted
something down. She placed
the note next to the new guest.
She went downstairs and through
the front door without bothering to lock it.
She put the car in gear and backed out,
looking both ways to make sure
there was no oncoming traffic.
King of Los Angeles
You could often see King roaming the streets
of Los Angeles during the day
and taking up residence in one of its bars
during the evening. His shaggy beard
hid his face well and grew
up to his eyebrows. He didn't really have
an apartment-
he mainly crashed on couches when he could.
His backpack held almost all
of his belongings. He didn't feel too bad
about it. He was out here and he had made
a go at it, had tried his damn best
at being in a band, at singing his fucking
head off about his life, his drinking,
the women he fucked, the women
he loved, the women and friends
who eventually grew to see through
the shit and moved on.
He was a nice guy-
it was hard to argue that he wasn't,
he just fucked up a lot.
Whenever I would see him
he was usually drunk
or on his way to getting drunk.
He was always coming and going.
I stopped paying attention to his whereabouts
because honestly
I had my own shit to worry about.
I hear he's still in town,
still singing, still drinking,
still fucking
things up on accident
and on purpose.
I can't encroach on his dreams
and methods,
I barely know what mine are
or if I even know what the hell
I am doing. Chances are
the next time I see him
I'll pull out my flask
of cheap whiskey
and offer him a long pull
on the only burn that seems
to pull us back from the darkness.
of Los Angeles during the day
and taking up residence in one of its bars
during the evening. His shaggy beard
hid his face well and grew
up to his eyebrows. He didn't really have
an apartment-
he mainly crashed on couches when he could.
His backpack held almost all
of his belongings. He didn't feel too bad
about it. He was out here and he had made
a go at it, had tried his damn best
at being in a band, at singing his fucking
head off about his life, his drinking,
the women he fucked, the women
he loved, the women and friends
who eventually grew to see through
the shit and moved on.
He was a nice guy-
it was hard to argue that he wasn't,
he just fucked up a lot.
Whenever I would see him
he was usually drunk
or on his way to getting drunk.
He was always coming and going.
I stopped paying attention to his whereabouts
because honestly
I had my own shit to worry about.
I hear he's still in town,
still singing, still drinking,
still fucking
things up on accident
and on purpose.
I can't encroach on his dreams
and methods,
I barely know what mine are
or if I even know what the hell
I am doing. Chances are
the next time I see him
I'll pull out my flask
of cheap whiskey
and offer him a long pull
on the only burn that seems
to pull us back from the darkness.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
A Late Start
I did nothing because there was nothing to do.
I read something,
I wrote something,
I listened to something,
because there was nothing to do.
Afterwards, I napped.
When I woke there was something to do
and that upset me terribly.
I dressed myself
and walked out of the house
in order to do nothing
somewhere else.
I read something,
I wrote something,
I listened to something,
because there was nothing to do.
Afterwards, I napped.
When I woke there was something to do
and that upset me terribly.
I dressed myself
and walked out of the house
in order to do nothing
somewhere else.
The Remains of Giants
I like to sit and listen to music made by men
who have been dead for years,
and in some cases decades.
A few of them had been addicts
to the same mistress,
killed by one-sided desire,
a few of them survived their ill-thought
romance.
Those details don't matter,
don't affect my enjoyment of the sounds
streaming from my speakers.
A tenor sax emerges through the groove,
dominates the aural spectrum,
a dry ride articulates
a swung eighth note.
Vamping on the mode is the crystalline sound
of a man
whose hands could have played Satie
in grand concert halls
but decided to pursue his craft
in small, smokey rooms.
who have been dead for years,
and in some cases decades.
A few of them had been addicts
to the same mistress,
killed by one-sided desire,
a few of them survived their ill-thought
romance.
Those details don't matter,
don't affect my enjoyment of the sounds
streaming from my speakers.
A tenor sax emerges through the groove,
dominates the aural spectrum,
a dry ride articulates
a swung eighth note.
Vamping on the mode is the crystalline sound
of a man
whose hands could have played Satie
in grand concert halls
but decided to pursue his craft
in small, smokey rooms.
Self-Portrait Echo
a blank white wall
a circular mirror
fixed firmly in center
rolleiflex resting
on a tripod
standing to one side
gazing ahead
the back of my head
my face alternating
through a visual echo
expanding farther
and farther
beyond comprehension
Note: this piece is based on this self-portrait by photographer Vivian Maier
http://www.vivianmaier.com/portfolios/self-portraits/?pid=256
a circular mirror
fixed firmly in center
rolleiflex resting
on a tripod
standing to one side
gazing ahead
the back of my head
my face alternating
through a visual echo
expanding farther
and farther
beyond comprehension
Note: this piece is based on this self-portrait by photographer Vivian Maier
http://www.vivianmaier.com/portfolios/self-portraits/?pid=256
Ignore All Advice
Don't confuse understanding
for a deeper attachment.
Write freely as often as you
right freely.
Talk slowly enough
so that you are understood.
Think in metaphor,
write in abstract imagery.
Imply meaning,
never state it directly.
Regard all rules thusly:
never trust them.
Kiss lips as often as possible,
let your lips be kissed in turn.
Hide any sense of worry behind
a placid smile and pleasant demeanor.
Do not worry about death
if you can help it.
Sing, especially if you have
no ear for music.
Originality is to be strived for
until it is achieved,
once it has been reached
it must be discarded and sought again.
Cut out the deepest parts of
yourself from your chest,
from your skull, reach in and grab,
rip, tear out all the hidden worlds,
find yourself to be newly unencumbered,
free from everyone and yourself.
for a deeper attachment.
Write freely as often as you
right freely.
Talk slowly enough
so that you are understood.
Think in metaphor,
write in abstract imagery.
Imply meaning,
never state it directly.
Regard all rules thusly:
never trust them.
Kiss lips as often as possible,
let your lips be kissed in turn.
Hide any sense of worry behind
a placid smile and pleasant demeanor.
Do not worry about death
if you can help it.
Sing, especially if you have
no ear for music.
Originality is to be strived for
until it is achieved,
once it has been reached
it must be discarded and sought again.
Cut out the deepest parts of
yourself from your chest,
from your skull, reach in and grab,
rip, tear out all the hidden worlds,
find yourself to be newly unencumbered,
free from everyone and yourself.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Rubber & Marrow
My secrets are a grenade
ready to go off
ready to rend my flesh
into charred chunks
ready to turn bone
into flaked shards
of white clinging
to marrow
readying me for change
readying me for the moment
when the pin pricks
the balloon
and all that is left
is the tattered rubber remains
ready to go off
ready to rend my flesh
into charred chunks
ready to turn bone
into flaked shards
of white clinging
to marrow
readying me for change
readying me for the moment
when the pin pricks
the balloon
and all that is left
is the tattered rubber remains
Shh...
Be still.
I want you to listen.
I have something to say.
If I have your attention
I am ready to begin.
Is there anything important
for us to talk about anymore?
I am asking you this
because I am not sure
if there is anything
worth the time
of our discussion.
This didn't turn out
quite how I planned.
Forget I ever brought
it up, let's open the door
and see what awaits.
I want you to listen.
I have something to say.
If I have your attention
I am ready to begin.
Is there anything important
for us to talk about anymore?
I am asking you this
because I am not sure
if there is anything
worth the time
of our discussion.
This didn't turn out
quite how I planned.
Forget I ever brought
it up, let's open the door
and see what awaits.
Day of the Week
I woke up today and forgot what day it is.
This realization was not met with panic,
it was greeted with a casual indifference
that could only be met by most of the living
creatures on Earth. I eventually found out
that it is Tuesday. This changes very little
about how I feel about the day. It will be
modestly busy, I will go to work, I will
go home, watch a movie, and fall asleep.
It is a predictable comfort that wraps itself
around my neck, warms me like a scarf,
and could choke the air from my lungs.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
For Maria, on a Saturday night in Long Beach
It was Saturday night as I was leaving a reading
that a young hispanic woman approached me in the street.
Her doe eyed look uttered for help before she even spoke.
She asked me if I knew of a church that was on the street
we were walking on. I said I was sorry, I didn't know
of a church being near us. She exhaled and hunched over,
just a little. I wished her luck in finding that church. I began
to walk more briskly to my car, her footsteps were slightly
behind mine. I turned when I saw my car parked in the
neighborhood. I looked back to the street and saw her
walking north in search. I wondered about her, her story,
her need to find a church at 9:30 p.m. on a Saturday night
in early autumn. As I began to pull away I saw her again.
She motioned for me to roll down my window. I did.
She said she was sorry to bother me, but wanted to know
if I knew where a certain street was. I said I did not,
that the only street I knew of by that name was nowhere
close by, certainly no place she could make on foot
in the next forty minutes. I told her to give me a moment.
I called my friend who lived in town and asked him
about that street. He confirmed what I already felt and said
that it was farther up in the far north end of the city.
She pulled out a business card for the church. I told her
I could call them and she could ask them where exactly
they are. I dialed the number and handed her the phone.
They picked up almost instantly. She began to speak
Spanish that was flecked with an English cadence.
There were a few hiccups in her speech when she struggled
momentarily with a word, but nothing that took away
from her need to be understood. I could hear them begin
to give her directions so I handed her a pen and paper.
She jotted everything down quick and handed me the phone.
When she showed me the directions I knew she had
no chance at getting to that church on foot in the time
she needed. "I normally wouldn't offer and you don't have
to trust me, but if you would like I could give you a ride
to the church," she thought for a second."Ok," she said.
I cleared my passenger seat of the bag of cds that had
been sitting there and the books of poetry I had just
picked up. She opened the door and sat down.
She said that her pastor had told her about this church
and that she had been looking for it for hours but had not
been able to find it. She wasn't from here she said.
She began to tell me the why of now:
her name is Maria, she is twenty years old, her fiance
is twenty-two, they both pick up small jobs here and there
to pay for the motel room they stay at, it's been like this
for an entire year, her mother was a drunk and kicked
them out, her mother-in-law was a drunk and drug addict
and used the money they gave her for rent to feed
her addiction, she had just found out she was pregnant
with their child, he had hurt his back the previous day,
they were trying to gather enough money to pay for their
room the next morning, she was hoping the people at church
could help her out with some money, she had only been able
to get thirty-five dollars over the course of the day,
she asked me if I was Christian or Catholic. I told her
I was brought up Catholic but that I wasn't practicing. I said
that I still do my best to help people and be a good person.
She seemed satisfied with that answer. She told me there
was a man who was going to help them out with getting
an apartment but that it wouldn't be ready for them until
a week from now. Until then, they still had to fight to keep
themselves under a roof. We drove along the street,
miles from where we had started, and told her it was still
a little further up. When I first saw her I thought she had
to be a teenager. The truth wasn't too far from that.
I wanted to ask her about school, if she even thought about
college. I didn't. I cared enough to just worry about now.
About getting her to church. This young woman who
could have been my sister, my cousin. I didn't care that
I was going to be late to the party I was attending.
It didn't matter. They would understand. We arrived
at the church and I pulled over. I pulled out my wallet
and said it's not much and handed her a ten dollar bill.
I took the change I kept for meters and gave it all.
I told her I didn't expect anything from her. I wished
her luck as sincerely as I have ever meant it. She said
thank you. I watched her enter the church. I turned
and joined the tides of the streets once more.
that a young hispanic woman approached me in the street.
Her doe eyed look uttered for help before she even spoke.
She asked me if I knew of a church that was on the street
we were walking on. I said I was sorry, I didn't know
of a church being near us. She exhaled and hunched over,
just a little. I wished her luck in finding that church. I began
to walk more briskly to my car, her footsteps were slightly
behind mine. I turned when I saw my car parked in the
neighborhood. I looked back to the street and saw her
walking north in search. I wondered about her, her story,
her need to find a church at 9:30 p.m. on a Saturday night
in early autumn. As I began to pull away I saw her again.
She motioned for me to roll down my window. I did.
She said she was sorry to bother me, but wanted to know
if I knew where a certain street was. I said I did not,
that the only street I knew of by that name was nowhere
close by, certainly no place she could make on foot
in the next forty minutes. I told her to give me a moment.
I called my friend who lived in town and asked him
about that street. He confirmed what I already felt and said
that it was farther up in the far north end of the city.
She pulled out a business card for the church. I told her
I could call them and she could ask them where exactly
they are. I dialed the number and handed her the phone.
They picked up almost instantly. She began to speak
Spanish that was flecked with an English cadence.
There were a few hiccups in her speech when she struggled
momentarily with a word, but nothing that took away
from her need to be understood. I could hear them begin
to give her directions so I handed her a pen and paper.
She jotted everything down quick and handed me the phone.
When she showed me the directions I knew she had
no chance at getting to that church on foot in the time
she needed. "I normally wouldn't offer and you don't have
to trust me, but if you would like I could give you a ride
to the church," she thought for a second."Ok," she said.
I cleared my passenger seat of the bag of cds that had
been sitting there and the books of poetry I had just
picked up. She opened the door and sat down.
She said that her pastor had told her about this church
and that she had been looking for it for hours but had not
been able to find it. She wasn't from here she said.
She began to tell me the why of now:
her name is Maria, she is twenty years old, her fiance
is twenty-two, they both pick up small jobs here and there
to pay for the motel room they stay at, it's been like this
for an entire year, her mother was a drunk and kicked
them out, her mother-in-law was a drunk and drug addict
and used the money they gave her for rent to feed
her addiction, she had just found out she was pregnant
with their child, he had hurt his back the previous day,
they were trying to gather enough money to pay for their
room the next morning, she was hoping the people at church
could help her out with some money, she had only been able
to get thirty-five dollars over the course of the day,
she asked me if I was Christian or Catholic. I told her
I was brought up Catholic but that I wasn't practicing. I said
that I still do my best to help people and be a good person.
She seemed satisfied with that answer. She told me there
was a man who was going to help them out with getting
an apartment but that it wouldn't be ready for them until
a week from now. Until then, they still had to fight to keep
themselves under a roof. We drove along the street,
miles from where we had started, and told her it was still
a little further up. When I first saw her I thought she had
to be a teenager. The truth wasn't too far from that.
I wanted to ask her about school, if she even thought about
college. I didn't. I cared enough to just worry about now.
About getting her to church. This young woman who
could have been my sister, my cousin. I didn't care that
I was going to be late to the party I was attending.
It didn't matter. They would understand. We arrived
at the church and I pulled over. I pulled out my wallet
and said it's not much and handed her a ten dollar bill.
I took the change I kept for meters and gave it all.
I told her I didn't expect anything from her. I wished
her luck as sincerely as I have ever meant it. She said
thank you. I watched her enter the church. I turned
and joined the tides of the streets once more.
Ending The Night
I am awake because I am tired
and cannot sleep.
The neighbors across the way
are as loud at 2 a.m. as at 10 p.m.
When I fall asleep I am good
at remaining undisturbed through
whatever turbulence the night brings.
I have not undone the laces on my shoes,
my bedclothes rest on top of my sheets.
When I am in bed I will listen to the sounds
outside my window, the breath from my lungs,
the steady sound of my internal metronome.
and cannot sleep.
The neighbors across the way
are as loud at 2 a.m. as at 10 p.m.
When I fall asleep I am good
at remaining undisturbed through
whatever turbulence the night brings.
I have not undone the laces on my shoes,
my bedclothes rest on top of my sheets.
When I am in bed I will listen to the sounds
outside my window, the breath from my lungs,
the steady sound of my internal metronome.
dis jointe d
I shudder at the world
when it speaks unintelligibly
and acts through unkind action.
Is my kindness a desire
to spite the world
or a reflection of my inner self?
This is not the way to salvation
I don't want to feel this way forever
when it speaks unintelligibly
and acts through unkind action.
Is my kindness a desire
to spite the world
or a reflection of my inner self?
This is not the way to salvation
I don't want to feel this way forever
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
William
I pulled up to the gas station by my house
when I saw a man about my age
start walking towards me
with a squeegee in his hand.
He looked at me with the sense of recognition
that takes a moment to load properly
in your mind. He said "Hermosa?"
I looked at his face and remembered.
Some time back I was walking back
from the Hermosa Beach pier at the end
of my lunch break. As I made it through
one of the side streets a young looking man
walked up to me and asked if I could let him
use my phone to make a quick call. I said yes.
When he was done he began to tell me of how
he moved to the area and was trying to find work.
He had no place to stay except for the hostel
he was at that night. He asked if there was any way
I could help him out with some money. I'm not sure
what compelled me about him or what he told me
but I opened my wallet and gave him all the money
I had- forty dollars- and wished him luck.
That night at the gas station I could see the struggle
in his hands, in the way he spoke so as to sound
most kind. Before I left he asked me
"You've never been homeless, have you?"
when I saw a man about my age
start walking towards me
with a squeegee in his hand.
He looked at me with the sense of recognition
that takes a moment to load properly
in your mind. He said "Hermosa?"
I looked at his face and remembered.
Some time back I was walking back
from the Hermosa Beach pier at the end
of my lunch break. As I made it through
one of the side streets a young looking man
walked up to me and asked if I could let him
use my phone to make a quick call. I said yes.
When he was done he began to tell me of how
he moved to the area and was trying to find work.
He had no place to stay except for the hostel
he was at that night. He asked if there was any way
I could help him out with some money. I'm not sure
what compelled me about him or what he told me
but I opened my wallet and gave him all the money
I had- forty dollars- and wished him luck.
That night at the gas station I could see the struggle
in his hands, in the way he spoke so as to sound
most kind. Before I left he asked me
"You've never been homeless, have you?"
Monday, October 7, 2013
Spare Change
We began to leave the park
and you saw change
resting on the blades of grass.
"Someone must have been sleeping
and had it fall out of their pockets."
you said. I looked down
and saw three quarters
along with a few pennies.
I picked up the quarters
and placed them into my pocket.
"You should leave the pennies
facing up," you said.
You reached down and turned
them over. Perhaps they'll bring
luck to the next person who sees them.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
The Constancy of Our Substance
What I do not know could fill
almost every book in every library
from antiquity til now.
What I do not know could fill
almost every hard drive
in every computer on earth.
What I do know is very little
and fits into an area no larger
than my clenched left fist.
What I do know is valuable
and cannot be forgotten,
will be carried with me
until its weight is too much
to bear, and when that day
comes we will free each other-
uncoupled from our shared burden
our energy will change states-
become a different kind of matter.
almost every book in every library
from antiquity til now.
What I do not know could fill
almost every hard drive
in every computer on earth.
What I do know is very little
and fits into an area no larger
than my clenched left fist.
What I do know is valuable
and cannot be forgotten,
will be carried with me
until its weight is too much
to bear, and when that day
comes we will free each other-
uncoupled from our shared burden
our energy will change states-
become a different kind of matter.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
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