No More Death

As he readied himself to start his work
Death had a change of heart.
"I will not take any lives today." he said.
And so it was.
No human died,
not a single beast knew death
on that day.
He watched as life carried on
without any idea of what
he had just done.
At the end of that day
Death decided to let life
continued uninterrupted for
a second day in a row.
Once more, Death watched
from his perch in the heavens.
As the second day ended,
still, no one had noticed.
He wondered to himself
"How can no one have not realized
that death has come to no one?"
Death decided on the start of the third day
to do nothing until the mortal world
took notice of his absence.
Death began to watch more closely.
The sick and dying felt their agony
stretched past beyond that which is bearable,
coroners, morticians, and  undertakers
had no work. They began speaking
to one another and came to the same
conclusion: there had been no deaths
for days. They had no answers for why.
After a week had passed
stories began to trickle
onto various worldwide news outlets
about the seeming absence of death.
This triggered a rash of people
to test the boundaries
of this newfound knowledge.
Jumps from buildings, incomplete
immolations, non-fatal gunshots,
none could die.
Death finally relented and
returned to the mortal realm
to resume his work.
He approached an old man
dying at home, surrounded by those
he loved. The old man had heard
of the recent news
and was both surprised and pleased
to see Death arrive.
Death looked upon the man
and felt terrible for having neglected
him so. He said to the man,
"I am sorry for the long wait.
Will you come with me?"
The old man parted his lips
and said "Yes".
His eyes closed and his chest
ceased to rise and fall.
Those in the room began to mourn
but were relieved the suffering
was over. Were relieved
that Death had once more
returned to the world.

In the Heart of Winter

The heart of Winter
is a good time to remember
the comfort of warmth,

both literal and figurative.
The heart of Winter
is a good time to remember

those we have lost and the
memories of them we hold
within, to carry us forward.

The heart of Winter
is a good time to give thanks
for the simple act of being.

The heart of Winter
is a good time to cross the
distances of space

and think of those who
would be at our side
if they could.

The heart of Winter
is the reminder we need,
after the leaves have fallen

and the branches are bare,
that our lives remain in season.
The heart of Winter

leaves me breathless at
the journey so far and
the journey yet remaining.

In The Heart of Winter / The Summer of My Life

The winds have calmed
their anxious conversations
from last night. I listened
in as I fell asleep
and wondered what
they were upset about.

It is Christmas morning
and much has changed
since I was a child waking,
ready to rip apart presents
carefully placed under
our artificial tree.

I have grown to know
love cannot be measured
merely through gifts.
Love is far greater
than any physical object
that can be desired.

My youngest brother
is still young enough
to take part in the ritual
of gifts under the tree.
I am happy it is still
a part of his life.

I don't need much,
don't ask for much,
don't expect much.
I am content
to wake each morning
and see the sun.

Light shines through
my window
and lands upon
my desk.
A gentle, steady
reminder.

He Who Waits

Horatius Augustus was done.

He was done waiting

for others.

He was done 

placing high expectations

on anyone by himself.

He had been waiting

for almost two hours

and told himself

he would wait

only

five minutes more

and then

give up.

He cracked the knuckles

in his left hand 

with his right

and looked 

around

to see

if anyone 

was coming.

He looked at the 

ground between his

feet and brought 

his hands together 

as he breathed in deeply.

He looked up 

and his eyes

saw a figure moving

towards him

with a confident gait

that could not be impeded

by anything less

than death itself.

He breathed in

pulled his shoulders back

and cracked

the bones 

in his upper back.

His right hand reached

for the hard

bit of safety

resting against himself

a final assurance

in the case

of any eventuality.

these final moments

quick
don't even worry about
placing the words
into any sort of order
that would waste
precious moments
that neither of us have
don't fret
say what must be said
before the moment
has passed
that is
if we even live
to pass it by
but i do implore
make haste
and say
what must be said
before the footsteps
reach the door
before we must yield
to the forces
approaching from outside

if the mind can believe
then everything else
will follow.

without this

then nothing.

A Freewrite Disguised as a Poem (and vice versa)

Conversations between sea and sand

carry on in a language far older

than any cognizant creature

is capable of understanding.

The fear of rejection, the fear of failure,

the fear that we are misguided in intent.

Stumbling through light and dark

our elbows still strike nerves described

as bones that clearly have no concept

of humor or anatomy. 

I talk of dreams as though they were children

left at home with their Mother,

that perhaps, if I talk about them enough

will materialize. 

I have no problem dreaming

by day or night. I don't need to be asleep 

to let my mind untether itself from concern.

It seeks you out, or at the very least,

the memory of you, the ideal you

I remember. My mind can be a fool

but it can also see beyond it's impulsive

desires. There is that which holds meaning

beyond idealized memory. 

Memory is subject to revision

but what else can we call forgetfulness? 

I am a house not yet finished.

There are no panes of glass

in my unfinished eyes.

There is wind and sun

and night

pouring through my incomplete

body. There are blueprints

at the ready for when the crew comes back

and finishes the work that remains.

Forgive me 

for being less than what I wish to be.

I take that back.

No one should apologize 

for their being.

We are as beautiful and whole

as we were meant to be.

The waves of the sea

do not need to worry of the water

at the bottom of the world,

it will surge forth in time

and take it's turn upon the sand.

I look out beyond my eyes

and try to look past my limited view

of the horizon. Must the world

always be so terribly beautiful?

It must be terrible

and it must be beautiful

at all times

to everyone

for all time.

Morning Drive

The cool morning air 

necessitated your sweater.

You sat in the passenger seat of my car;

I looked at you and marveled 

at how much more beautiful you are

than my memories.

purify

If only the rain could

wash away more than

just our thirst.

Lens

We are part of the lens

through which nature

views Herself.

Living Among the Stars

So many names 

and faces scattered 

in my memory

I feel awed

by the constellations

in my galaxy

How lucky I am

to live among such stars

There is no choice that is not of consequence. 

fishing

stick the hook in my mouth

pierce a hole in my flesh

drag me up 

rip it out

bleeding and writhing 

bleeding and writhing

on the sand

Three Observations on Sunday, December 14th

Why must we waste love so carelessly?

The past is a strange beast if not treated properly.

How quickly the past moves behind us
and how it strains to be remembered.

For Anna

hold on tight
to this life

grasp for it
clutch it

hold it so tight
your knuckles

turn white
nothing else

comes close
to the precious

moments we
have been alloted

hold on
tight

12 13 14

It is a small thing
in fact
 it is a silly thing
to write a poem about
12 13 and 14

but that is fine
not all poems need to be
serious
or impart cosmic wisdom

The only reason these numbers
matter to me today
is that they compose
today's date

and those numbers will not
appear in sequence again
for another 100 years

I will have long been dead
buried and turned to ash

Everyone I know will be dead

12 13 and 14
thank you for the reminder
of my passing days

How beautiful you look
together in that way

12 13 14

It is a small thing
in fact
 it is a silly thing
to write a poem about
12 13 and 14

but that is fine
not all poems need to be
serious
or impart cosmic wisdom

The only reason these numbers
matter to me today
is that they compose
today's date

and those numbers will not
appear in sequence again
for another 100 years

I will have long been dead
buried and turned to ash

Everyone I know will be dead

12 13 and 14
thank you for the reminder
of my passing days

How beautiful you look
together in that way

Check the Apple

My hunger demanded to be sated

and all I could offer it was an apple.

It said it was an adequate offering 

for the time being.

Instead of bringing it to my lips

to have my teeth pierce it's skin

I opted to cut it's body into slices.

My hunger rolled it's eyes back

with delight as it savored 

each sweet bit.

I paused and looked at 

the half remaining on my plate

and saw one-third of a sticker

remaining on it. 

I felt sickened for a moment

and realized there was nothing 

I could do. So, I finished the rest

and hoped for the best.

Tenant of the Attic

My mind rattles in it's cage
and I grow alarmed

We get along beautifully
most days but

from time to time
it begins to worry

so I begin to worry
I tell it to

hold on
that this will pass

It always does
no matter what it is

Worries of one kind or
another always hang around

like the misfit in the back
corner of a classroom

Mind-
promise me

we'll always make up
after a fight

and forgive each other
for our shortcomings

Im/possible

I am impossible
but was made possible
by two people
who saw fit 
to bring me here.

I am impossible
but continue to be
on a daily basis
until impossibility
gives to inevitability.

I am impossible
but statistically speaking
I was bound to happen
because even the faintest
possibility is possible.

I am impossible
but I sometimes forget
how I defy the odds-
then I remember
and continue

to be possible.

4 briefs

If this is my voice
these are my words
If these are my words
these are my thoughts
____
Patient Mountain
____
Peace in a time of crisis.
____
leaves like wings
caught in the wind
fluttering without body

We were strangers when we fell in love.

We Will Cross These Distances Together.

Thanks

The dining room table is cluttered
with too many things
that shouldn't be there but are.
I sit between my Mother
and Father
as we eat a meal
traditional in the small
rural Mexican town
that they are from,
the same town I spent
three weeks in
earlier this year
in the hopes of finding
answers to questions
I didn't know I had.
We didn't need to give praise
to God, or country
as we sat there.
We ate together
while they commented
on a tv show on some Spanish
language channel
about the cuisine of
the different Mexican states.
My Mom said
she'd love to visit Guerrero
but my Father said
things are bad there because
of all the cartel violence.
She agreed.
My baby brother played
in the background,
he ate something earlier
because he hasn't
developed a taste
for this food.
We ate our meal in peace.
I told my Dad we should go
down to the beach
where I work
so I could show them
where it is I spend most
of my week.
I suggested this
mainly because I know
that the time I suggested
will be around sunset.
The sun will be beautiful
as it dyes the sky
colors that seem unbelievable
but are. The waves
will be steady
and there will be a chill.
I want to be there
with them
to take a moment in
and remember
that despite change
and hardship
we've remained a family
all along.

Hunger

Satisfy the hunger of

this love

or it will starve.

For George

The world can only function

because of people like George

Tonight

he is sitting on a barstool

drunk out of his mind

He's been drinking for

five hours

to get away

from his work

on AC and Heating

His hands are thick

strips of meat

wrapped around bone

He says he's been a

fry cook

plumber

barback

gardener

driver

welder

and still

he struggles

to get by

I offer to buy him

a drink

but

he declines

He's had run-ins

with cops

and car accidents

He's a bit spooked

but needs

this relief

this numbing

to wake

and keep going

keep moving

to survive

in a world

indifferent

at best

Luna Sea

All heart, no brains.

observation

What can a ghost 
say to another

that is not already known?

We see other through 
the glass

and move closer.

A Collection of Scraps

note: each line or stanza separated by white space is an individual idea from the rest. these are just a small collection of recently tossed off lines and ideas gathered together in no particular order.

staying in love
away from the eyes of the world.

through the window
the waves wash the shore clean

walking through the wilderness
of the heart

new cartography of the inner landscape

I am chasing the ideal self I wish to be.

My boredom is contagious.

Stuck in a run-out groove,
locked, so I keep going round,
can't reach for the arm.

Good times, hard times,
all these times together
I prefer to being apart.
Good times, hard times,
sitting without you
out by the ocean,
waves blend into
the sound of passing cars.
Spilling out, I can't hold
the tide surging in me.

All these wasted
useless days
pile up behind me
reminders of a life
before you.

You begin to love
the fire
charring you
from the inside.

How quickly one life can become another.

Hunted by the shadows of our ghosts

what does it mean

to arrive home close to midnight

and discover

a white rabbit

resting comfortably

on the grass

nibbling from time to time

as if hunger

were an afterthought

what will become of these words

tossed off

onto the page

as if they were drops of paint

dripping from the brush

and onto the floor?

I can hear the loneliness

in her voice

her right hand strums

chords

as if she were wiping

dust from a table

I have to believe

that not all people are

short-sighted and callow

  

Why bother with anything if everything

is heading to collapse?

 The fear builds

and I hope

that things are fine

that you

are merely asleep

The wrath of God is no threat

if you do not believe.

The Conflict

I went to my church
to confess to the priest

all of my sins
all of wrongs

seeking absolution
seeking resolution

to the burning parts
of my soul

Hail Mary
Our Father

Rosary in my hands
beads touching fingertips

Forgive me for my sins
Forgive all of my wrongs

I confess
I confess

Make me pure
Make me whole

again

I confess
I have sinned

against you, Lord
Make me whole

For the love of Honey

Honey Bee,
moving through your days,

there are bears
willing to be stung

endlessly
for a taste of 

the sweetness
you create

It is unwise to devalue
that which another
holds dear.

A fragment on love

Our love is human
because it must.
It lives in imperfect
conditions
and is the result
of imperfect people.
It seeks to merely
be allowed to be,
to have the chance
to grow in sunlight
and not in the crawl
space of the house
next to umbrella
shaped fungi.

Other Shores

some people get lost in the tides
of their own shores
that they neglect other beaches

Happiness & Judgment

Being judgmental of the happiness of others
reveals a greater truth about us then of those
being judged.

my heart is the center of it's own world.

The dead have no use for wealth.

open

let the words leave

your lips

as if

they were ghosts

Re: Tragedy

Tragedy is the belief that 
the present can last forever.

the dust from which i come

Fragile Tranquility

paralysis

Paralyzed
                by choice


even thoughts slow

in coming


Hands unsure of themselves

touch each other

                           seeking

                                         a way to grow

                       steady in their countenance


inhaled breath held
until it could no longer be so

in
     and
out


why the wait

why

the prolonged agony

of indecision

                     squeezing

like hands

exerting all their force

Quote Me On This

Modern conveniences lead to many annoyances.

ants

there is no mercy
for the ant
when we feel
it's tiny feet
across our skin

we mete out
punishment swiftly
decisively

flicked off
or crushed by
fingers

we act as though
we were god
and not kin

to such a lowly
creature

Waiting

He couldn't bring himself to go in with her,
so, he waited in the car.
His left arm hung over the side of the door,
it was more tan than his right.
Usually he would have some music playing
but today he listened to the cars passing by.
The sun shone down
as it hung pinned to the blue sky.
He was nervous but not as nervous
as she. His hands oozed
a cold sweat. She told him
it was fine if he waited in the car.
He saw the door open
but it was not her.
How long was this going to take,
he wondered to himself.
He needed to see her.
He wanted to hold her
and not let go.
The wide open spaces of the parking lot
sat between them,
her inside there,
him inside the car.
At that moment
they both wondered
how things
were going to
be different.

feeding

I let go

of the weight

of unnecessary things


and feel the strength

in my body


as I wake

in the morning


Sunlight touches me

I kiss her


on the lips

and feed upon


the light

bursting through me

I am King of my own bad decisions. 

Between Midnight and Closing

Meagan is not Tim

That is apparent from the outset

I tell her about

all the late Sunday nights

spent on a barstool

deep in the decaying guts

of downtown Los Angeles

I tell her

how I got to know Tim

bit by bit

each late Sunday

in those hours between

midnight and closing

Those hours when

everything happens

when nothing happens

She is young

and slings her drinks

with the confidence

of a professional

I rise from the stool

and when she asks if

I would like another

I answer in the negative

That I merely wished to say

goodnight

We say goodbye

and goodnight

and wait for another Sunday night

to say hello

routine

tired after work

so you

drown yourself in a glass

bury yourself in a book

smoke from a pipe

tune out with a tv

and just

do anything

to make everything

ok

long enough

to start again

in the morning

You drown your sorrows in a glass of self-pity.

Faith

When I was in junior high
I remember thinking
how great it would be
to be a priest.

I went to Catholic School
and was brought up in the Church
by my family.

My Father is quite religious
and my Mother
believes
but doesn't go to Church
with the regularity
of my Father.

I remember being inspired
by Father Daniel
after our Eighth grade retreat.

He was such
a sweet and gentle man.

Father Daniel
passed away in my first year
or so of
high school.

I went to his funeral
ceremony at our church.

I was sad
at the potential
that was lost
with his passing.

I remember wanting
to be a priest

because of him.

Since then
I have doubted
my faith.

I have wandered
through the desert
of years

and wondered
from time
to time

the what ifs
of faith.

Father,
I have not forgotten
you.

I remember.

I remember.

canvas

the canvas is drunk with possibility

her words are slurred

     i listen closely

only the drunk

are honest to a fault

What thread through what cloth?

You do not miss that which

You do not need

I can leave the unnecessary

Parts of my life

Without any care or worry

My heart is not a metaphor

It is literal

My mind is ephemeral but

Retains corporeal housing

It cannot find a better place

To stay so it remains

Your better judgment is a

Captivating bore

You say you thirst only

Because your body

Pisses away all that which

Passes through

You say you’ve been in love

But never with anyone

You lie to no one but yourself

That is how it must be

You said to no one in particular

Even your heart didn’t listen

Fountain

There is a fountain within me

that does not care

which way the water flows.

The Gods have been good to me

but why?

On Sleep

I do not like to sleep
unless 
I have drained all the life 
within me
or numbed myself
into submission.

After Midnight

it becomes easier to drive
through city streets.
Drive fast enough
and lights blur
into the darkness.
You yawn because
you are supposed to be
sleeping and your body
wants to remind you.
There is a red light ahead.
You approach
but do not let your foot
touch the brake.
Playing chicken
finally
the light relents.
You continue un-
obstructed.

a measure of happiness

I asked her once how
often she masturbated
and was surprised
when she said
at least once a day.
She laughed a little
after she told me,
I laughed as well.
I remember thinking
that women
didn't masturbate
as often as men.
I don't know
how I could have
held that thought,
but I did.
We haven't seen
each other in a very
long time.
She's been married
and from what
I've gathered-
recently divorced.
I hope she continues
to bring herself
happiness
because this world
doesn't always
spread it
as evenly as
it should.

Two Versions of the Same Idea

1.)

If something is valuable to you
you must
give it away.

2.)

In time
we all give up
that which
is most valuable
to us.

F.A.I.C.

FERAL

AND

IN

CONTROL

How strange it is to feel
broken
and not know
where
or how. 

Quote Me On This

Complacency is a slow growing cancer.

erase the words written in pencil

upon the page

though the page is marked 

it is still ready to be written upon

Questionnaire

Do you know how your grandparents fell in love?
Did they struggle and if so, how?
Did they lose a child,
a relative you never knew you had?

Have you asked your parents how they fell in love?
Did they wait for approval?
Did they elope
and leave home?

Have you ever been in love?
Do you remember how you felt the last time
someone broke your heart?
Are you in love right now?

Special instructions: attach any additional paper
required to provide an adequate response.

Pool

toss your heart into the pool
and cross your fingers

if it is strong
                    it will not sink
it will swim 
                    if it is weak
it will sink

blood red streaks
like dissipating clouds

you watch
and hope it's will 
can carry it through 

corporeal

I never found out
whether they buried him
or turned him to ash

I suppose it doesn't matter

I remember his memorial
service
filled with people

shocked and in grief
at such a premature departure

I don't need to know
the answer the my question

it changes nothing

Cold bruised skin.

What was the story

before the hard stop?

A Day Like This

I cannot will my mind to nothingness
on a day
such as this-

sitting at my desk
the ambient sounds
of birds in trees
while a plane
flies overhead.

I cannot decipher the language
being chirped
because it is not for me to know.

Stillness cannot be bought
only attained
in measured doses
with much effort.

Even then
there is no guarantee
of finding that elusive
state of being.

My mind fills with thoughts
of worry and
needs to be filled.

Unease is an easy thing to find.

My worries are temporary
stops that are given too much weight.

If I could speak to you directly
I do not know what words I would have
for you.

              Do you have words for me?

If either of us have any questions
let us raise our hands now
and call on each other in the order
our hands went up.

all music is obscure to someone

so lips may kiss
proving themselves real
doing away with all doubt

There is comfort in our grief.

Piece of Truth

There is much we have yet to learn about 
this world we profess to have mastered.

Going to Church

bleached white pigeon bones
resting on the dewy grass
as I walked to church with my family

I stared at the nearly complete skeleton
I had never seen anything like that
in my young life

the form of it's former self
firmly in place
as though flesh and feather

had left for an appointment
the bones were not invited to
I stared as long as I could

until they pulled me by the hand and
I ambled along thinking
about something I can longer remember

three scenes from a notebook

the heart can always break   further
frag menting into
shards of glass
glittering in the night


the startling difference between who I've always been
and who I was


Time is the unknown quantity
and we are
always trying to solve for x

use this line wisely
do not make waste in this space
words as black as night

start here

write a love poem
but do not talk about love
talk about everything else
anything else
but love
fill it with non-sense
and the occasional bit
of sense
until there is a semblance
of cohesion
though
that will be illusory at best
do not mention
a beloved
at all
for any reason
you don't want
to be too sentimental
or others will think you
to not be a serious writer
do not mention
the word
love
and especially
don't leave it to stand
on it's own line
that would be annoying
use obtuse language
to form vague images
you do not wish
to make things too easy
keep working
until no one is sure
what the piece means
until the reader
starts to question
their idea of love
if your loved one is
sitting next to you at any point
while you are reading this aloud
or silently to each other
this is when you
turn to look at each other

Bored to Deaf

When does the princess

get to rescue the prince?

unseen compass

You are magnetic
north

pointing me to a pole
I cannot see

I follow
because I must

I follow because
nature compels me

The Choices of Freedom

How are we free

if all we are free to choose

is the cage that suits us best?

breaks

If our hearts could not break

how would we know

we still lived?

Possible

Everything impossible

will happen

given enough time.

Those Passing

Waves wash over my heart.

It trembles.

I shudder

as the ocean moves

within my chest.

Togetherness

Through this window
the dawn.
For now,
the silence of early morning
echoing
between houses.
I listen intently.
Dreams are being seen
and finished
before eyes open
and interpretation begins.
Restless bodies tossing
between sheets,
others comfortably asleep.
Bodies pressing close
or pulling apart.
A man's stubble grazes
the skin
of a woman's face.
She does not pull away.

Recovery

My mind will not sleep

so I indulge it this evening

as we stay up together

listening to the night

    steady sounds beneathe 

    the tips of my fingers

caked sweat dried 

on my skin from 

    another time

 

    another place

beasts

Hearts are wild creatures that 

can't help themselves 

when it comes to those they love.

"Wild, irrational beasts."

The sky will always be impossibly beautiful.

Give up everything that doesn't matter.

The Way We Say Goodbye

I hit play on the song

you wanted me to listen to.

Parting goodbyes 

and acoustic guitar

together in harmony.

I remember waking together,

night a fading sight 

through the curtains. 

Brief moments

lingering on in memory

I think of loving you,

holding you,

being held

in turn.

I play the song again.

I see the light 

of that morning

once more.

A Practical Guide to the Impractical.

Beauty is not rare,

it dares to exist in a world

of indifference.

Realistic Expectations

I will have to settle
for a piece of the sky.
It is much too cumbersome
to attempt to contain
it in my room. This small
piece I found on the ground
will be enough. Most people
never even get to see
a piece of it fallen to ground.

Tired Poem

This poem is tired.

It has no reason to be so tired

especially since it hasn't

done anything of worth yet.

This poem could use

a drink, or at least

some concrete

imagery. How about

the foaming white

of the waves

at the seaside

as they touch sand?

That's ok. It's not enough

to be tired yet.

In fact, this poem

is still pretty short.

Where is the narrative

or form?

A lumpy sack

of potatoes barely

counts as a form.

This poem is brimming

with untapped

potential. Let's face it-

this'll have to do.

The Tired Sigh of Submission.

The Architecture of Dreams

At Some Point

Everything is 
broken or
breaking and
there is 
nothing I
can do
to help
everyone.

Movement

Love and Light

Light in Love

Move in Light

Move into ecstasy

Submit to the sound 

surrounding you

Breakdowns

It's always something
breaking down.
A friend getting stranded
during rush hour
on the freeway-
her engine finally
gave, my car overheating
that same night.
I was certain one of the fans
had gone on the fritz
or the radiator had begun
to crack. When I lifted
the hood with the engine
running I saw both
fans working.
I turned the heat
all the way up
as I drove home
with my windows
rolled down.
The moon shone brightly.
It didn't know
any better.

My ABC's

Accept consequence.

Be ready to let go.

Change by force or will.

Do not be the flame to extinguish itself.

Exemplify your values.

Fear less, live more.

Give without judgement.

Help often.

Inspire others, be inspired.

Just in all things.

Know the depth of experience.

Love without restriction.

Move briskly.

No is as powerful as Yes.

Observe everything.

Print legibly.

Question your motives.

Refrain from excess.

Surrender thoughts of how things should be.

Trust.

Understand limitations.

Value Silence.

Wander with purpose.

X: account for it.

Your life is yours alone.

Zero is an acceptable starting point.

Dinosaurs in the Garden

Rubber Ducky

Rubber Ducky,
towering over people
and buildings,
you are fit to belong
to Poseidon himself.
As you sit in the harbor
I can't help but think
how delighted
I would have been
as a child to see
you, and think how
strange and beautiful
a place our world
can be. In fact,
I'm thinking that
right now.
Rubber Ducky,
long may you float
in the waters
of our hearts.

Father & Son

I can't imagine
what it must be like
to be fifty-nine.
I'm only thirty-one
and I think I'm old,
but I know that
isn't quite the case.
My father was
in his late twenties
when I was born
and was given his
name. I disliked
my name as a child.
I wished I was one
of the kids with
a common name.
Eventually I got over
that and began to see
the gift that it was.
I am the son of my
father, I bear his
name as well
as I can. I told him
Happy Birthday
this morning
and gave him
a hug. Sixty is
next for him
and thirty-two
is almost here.
We'll be fine.

You and what God?

2 lines

Predatory Illusion

Secret Lives

Greed

What the heart wants
is everything.
It can accept nothing less.
What a greedy child
it is.
It is incapable
of learning.
It wants
without care.
It wants
and will do
anything to achieve
what it desires.
Greedy child,
what have
you wrought upon
us all
since time immemorial?

Fundamental Desire

I want to be 
the best version 
of myself
in both thought
and action.
That is enough.

Dichotomy of Noise

Oscillate

My fan has grown weary of Summer
and I can't say I blame him.

All he can do is oscillate back and forth
at three varying speeds.

When we are together in my room
on those warms nights I thank him

for the pleasant air on my skin.
Other times I glare at him for doing

nothing but circulating hot air back
at me. He is a simple creature-

almost as simple as I.

Lingering Hunger

I wake but do not eat.
I let myself empty
as fully
as I can
before anything
is consumed.
The morning blazes
across the brown
grass. We both thirst
for incompatible
reasons. My tongue
assumes the quality
of sandpaper,
like the tongue
of a cat. I will rid
myself of thirst,
though, I will let
my hunger remain.

The pieces have been
scattered to the wind.

Is there anything left
for those who remain?

This Business

What I want to tell you is something
I wish I could speak into your ears
late at night as the stars get close
to saying goodbye.

I will have to settle for these words
to be read by your eyes, my voice
a shadow in your  mind.

What can the seasons tell us that
we do not already know?

At My Departure

When it is my time
to go,
please let me go
gently.

If I love you,

I am terrible

at saying 

goodbye.

Keeping the Light On

I felt the light switch toggle
back and forth
in my mind as I was running.

The darkness shifted behind
my eyes as I moved
under the afternoon sun.

I let it switch on and off and
on and off until
it reached the on position.

A self-correcting problem
that comes
and goes at it's leisure,

I don't have it figured out,
though, I'm not sure
there is anything to figure out.

The Gods do not worry 
about us hearing them move 
the heavens into position.

I am awake

I am awake because I have to. I am awake
because I am not dead. I am awake
because I am fully rested. I am awake
because I must work. I am awake because
I must run. I am awake because to further
sleep would bring me discomfort. I am
awake because the sun is bleeding through
the blinds. I am awake because I had to use
the bathroom. I am awake because there
is someone I love. I am awake because
sleep becomes boring. I am awake because
my hands cannot bear another moment
of inactivity. I am awake because the Earth
continues it's rotation. I am awake because
the news is an annoyance. I am awake
because I have something to tell you. I am
awake because I wonder where you are.
I am awake because I have nowhere to be.
I am awake because I have plans. I am awake
because my ambition needs little sleep. I
am awake because I hunger. I am awake
because I wake at a similar time most days.
I am awake because I am repetitive. I am
awake because because is a good enough
reason. I am awake because I seek to be
delighted by the unexpected. I am awake
because I expect nothing. I am awake
because the dog kicked me in its sleep.
I am awake because to not do so would
be disappointing but not altogether un-
foreseen in the grand scheme that people
seem to talk about from time to time. I am
awake because my fingers are at work
relaying words from my cpu. I am awake
because out there is a woman walking her
dog and I wonder if she knows I am
thinking of her.

My heart is a spectacle

viewable both day

and night.

The gesture is the weight.

Waking Up On The Moon

Without Proof/Only Belief

It is not that I was born
at the wrong time
as much as
I have been here before.

pencil marks

Eraser rubbing out
all the pencil marks
from the page

leaving phantom
impressions

Stranded by Choice

My Heart is on an island somewhere
off the coast of Southern California.
It missed the boat back to L.A. Harbor

My Conscience almost missed it too
but got there just in time. I just received
a text message from my Heart telling me

to not worry, that it's just going to enjoy
the island for a few more days,
it really wants to go on a hike and see

more of the nightlife there. I can't blame it.
I'd have stayed there longer if I could have.

In Memoriam

Open the room
where your Mother
once lived.

Open the windows
she once looked
through.

Open her closet
to the clothes
she once wore.

Open the album
of photos where she
held you as a baby.

Remember how
she loved you?

The ache of absence.

In A Moment

You echo within me

Touch my hand

Turn me electric

Here and now
Hear now

Pulsing current

Primal heat

Fingers laced together

Here and now
Hear now

To Forgive

We learn to forgive

in time.

The pain must subside.

Thoughts must be

collected into

a box and sealed

with a ribbon.

We learn to forgive

in time

because forgiveness

is a growth of love,

of maturity.

I can forgive

because I love you

still.

I can forgive

because

your love

is only yours

to give.

I am lucky

to have had you

in the way I did.

Tears Are Salty Like The Ocean

It looked like us

sitting in the sand

because we were

We both wanted

our feet to touch

the ocean

Your eyes began

to leak drops

of salted water

so I held you

as best I could

Soon the drops

stopped Our feet

edged over rocks

trying not to slip

A bracing shock

of cold covered

every toe

Standing on the

large flat rock

we looked out

our feet in water

boats nearby

a horizon to reach

Leaving Avalon

Sitting alone in the back of a boat

taking me home

I watched the last of the passengers embark

The lights of Avalon 

color the dark water 

We depart slowly though
as soon as we are far enough away

the engine kicks in to a full roar-

white wake trailing behind

as the lights of the city grow farther

and farther away

Soon they morph into a singular line

and eventually into a point

and shortly after

even the point has gone

I close my eyes and let myself

breath deeply 

In time I see the lights of home

begin to emerge

I start to wonder

if something has changed

if everything has changed

My Heart & I

I cannot sleep because
my heart is wide awake

It knows me better
than I care to admit

So we are keeping
each other company

on this lonely night
away from the crowds

alone in mutual silence

passing through

We've been here so many times before

Always forgetting

as we move from one frame

to the next

Forgetting and

remembering and

forgetting

again and again

Entering through light

and passing through it

once again

Forgetting and remembering

forever

Every Ghost Was Once Alive

Tell The Ghosts

to be quiet. It's hard to sleep
when I hear klutzy bumps
in the living room.
They don't scare me
the way they did
when I was a child.
They've kept me
company all these years.
I'd be more scared
if I didn't hear
them bump in the night.
We're ok these days.
It's good to know
someone is out there
in the dark
looking out
while I sleep.

let them be

Don't start a gray day with tears
streaming down your face
but if you have to
let them go
where they need to
Let them find their way
They know what you need
to make it better
for a moment
before you get dressed
before you step out the door
to face the day
the traffic
the heat of the summer
the ambivalence of the world

A failure

I poured cheap courage into my mouth
and felt it burn all esophageal corridors.

I was only there because I needed to use
their bathroom.

Two shots and a beer later it didn't matter
why I was there. It was daylight outside.

There were things to do, tasks to
accomplish, tasks to fail at.

Now, at home, I think of my failure,
and look to another morning

for an answer, for a better way to
what is coming next.

Loving Her

I love her when she's mine and bored.

I love her in silence.

I love her in secret.

I love her when I am lonely.

I love her when I am bursting apart.

I love her when reason laughs at our foolishness.

I love her beneathe stars who do not judge.

I love her by ocean waves of ceaseless conversation.

I love her beneath trees.

I love her when I am alone

and remembering

loving her.

submission

Turn up
             the volume

Press your ears

to    the speaker

Distort dis tort dis t ort dis t or t

everything must
distort

transitions from music
to     white  noise

hissing
           feeding
back


amplified

noise


your subconscious ablaze

projected

through until

permanent silence

rules

Incarnations & Incantations

Religious Inquiry

Do God,
the angels and saints
still watch over you
if your faith is shaken?
If you've ceased 
to believe?

Worn Down Paths

Uninspire me

Retread muddied paths

I will criticize

everything as a result

of my own thwarted ambition

I am fine with this

until I realize

I need this too

I need the salvation

we're all striving for

Of Course I'm Going To Die

I'd rather remember

my death

as an inevitable event

than live

oblivious to it.

your cheeks became a

rainforest and all I could 

think of was deforestation

Washer & Dryer

The city breathes as one 

in Summer heat.

I stand in the open garage

and see no one walking by

and no cars in the distance.

It is a rare stillness.

The washing machine spins

it's load. It has thought 

about retirement but doesn't

think it would be happy.

The dryer is sleeping 

but will have to get working

soon. They sit next to each

other like an old married

couple who can enjoy

long silences without worry.

I lean against my car.

It too has been thinking

about retirement. I know

this because of the check

engine lights on its dash

board. When its time comes 

it will be easy

to let one another go.

Balthazar

In the field among the sheep

legs buckling

a small rest

is all

a small rest

is all

Father calling you home

sheep surround you

Sun reaching your eyes

Father calling you home

One more breath

unknown

Every night must end

in silence.

A clarity that burns

eardrums,

that purifies heart.

The crickets hum

outside my window,

this night is not yet

done. We listen

to one another

and wonder

what more

there is to know.

Even night

must end.

storms

shelter in a storm

battered 

beams cracked

glass jagged

huddled

cornered 

by darkness

stillness

in the eye

another pass

unrelenting power

life rearranged

new order

arise

Love & Time

Love is not a waste of our time.
It is the best use of our time.

This animal which I became.

Natural Strength

I am the water. 

I the river flowing through.

From here the bears feed.

Hunted to Extinction

It's open season on 
liars, thieves, and 
whores. Hunt us until
only the righteous
remain. Hunt us until
our cities are empty
and the forests take 
back what is theirs.

Apple

Bright red,

waiting for me to halve it,

the apple sat.

I cut it down the middle

only to see

writhing life.

Our only mistake

was to desire

the same thing.

Over Rum

Let the ants overrun the glass of rum

Let them grow drunk

Let them drink their fill

Let them drown in their mistake

Let their brothers drink

            Over the bodies of their siblings

Let their bodies rot in a pool of black

Let them learn the lessons of man 

Dig

The land is still

wild. It is we 

who have forgotten

our roots.

setting/restoration

I need the Ocean

I need the Sky

Tides wash me clean

Wind dries my soul

Take me apart

Make me whole

Future Band Name

BEACH CITY PIGS

On Being

Be present in the present.

The Great Desert

The End
will come and
be far quieter
than anyone
in our time
would imagine.
Our cities
will have long been
reduced to dust,
our species
forgotten by the passing
epochs. The End
will be nothing more
than the shriveling
of leaves of the last
remaining plant.
Only then,
with the world
barren at last,
will everything
be silent,
ready for
another start,
in another way,
in another time.

Streetlights

guide me through darkness.

Thoughts formulate, collide

like meteors into heavenly bodies,

taking new form as others

are destroyed entirely.

Streetlights do not overwhelm,

they illuminate far enough to see

possibilities, leaving choice to me.

What streets must I wander

to find the places I wish to go?

There are many things
I wish I could be
but alas
I must be content
with who I am.

three brief trains

Gloomy June mornings in the land of eternal
sunshine is a thing that should not be,
though, it occurs often enough to elicit
observations of how unfair
the weather is being to us. As if
the weather owed us anything. As if
life owes us anything at all.

I will not wait for what I desire,
I will go to it
with both feet running,
lungs breathing deep,
exhaling essence,
straining to attain
what matters most.

My tongue has grown tired of itself,
wonders what you'd taste like,
wonders if we'd be agreeable together.

interpreting space

Words are only part of the narrative.



Pauses in your voice


where commas and hard stops would be


if I were reading a page.



Late night

listening  to   you


reading   silence

carefully-


wondering

what the gaps


between my words

have been telling you.

Sitting At Your Desk

calculate every word 
by the clack
of the key 
striking the page
black ink impression 
made permanent

Write your dreams in the water
I'll carve mine in ice

Ice turns to water
Water turns to ice

Let us give easily
to one another

Intuitive Mathematics

A partial view of the 
unobstructed universe. 

Our desires are older than civilization.

Neighbors

The neighbors across the street were yelling
at each other. They hurled the racial epithet
of America's first sin as easily as a pitcher
hurling a ball to a catcher. Summer heat

baked the walls of homes and tensions
of the day until they spilt over when people
are trying to get children to sleep, or trying
to rest before waking at six a.m. Someone

yelled at them to "shut the fuck up." It didn't
go over well. I thought about calling the police;
they're the same neighbors who mauled the rear
of my car a year ago. I won't call the cops tonight.

If it happens tomorrow I will. That is, unless one
of the other neighbors does so first.

After the Fire

let our grief be shared

leaves will fall, forest persists

bears hibernating

Writing Freely, Breathing Deeply

It is a shame we cannot breath water
as easily as air. Imagine what beauty
would be open to us if we could.
My head is no heavier than the air
filling my lungs. I'm sick of waiting
for change. That can only mean that
change has to come through my hands.
What can this change be when I feel
so mute and helpless? I have love
but it is bound to a small room
for the time being before it can be
allowed to move freely through the
crowd. I am sick of playing things safe.
I am ready to set fire to the comfort
of which I've become accustomed.
I wish to feel the heat of fire and breath
ash and let my skin be covered in soot.
I am ready to smell the scent of burnt
wood in a decimated forest. I am ready
to feel the sweaty heat of the jungle.
It is true when they say you cannot
run away from yourself. You will only
persist in your continued existence
and become hyper-aware of the limits
and strengths of your own flesh. How
can our consciousness exist comfortably
in this imperfect housing unit? I'm sure
it would move out if it could but it makes
due until it can find a better place to crash.
An eraser used on a blank page is a futile
exercise. Turn up the volume, I cannot
hear the voice singing to me, I cannot
make out the words that seem to mean
so much. I remember at that moment that
there are no words, just music. Just emotion
running through the filter of mood and
interpretation. There is a place nearby
where we can go. What will we find there?
Nothing but wind. Nothing but water.
A calmness needed as the storm rolls in,
a calmness needed as it rolls out, and when
it is here, an acceptance that this too
is something that can be survived,
can be used to strengthen what lurks inside.

Geologic Time

Existing is a very beautiful thing.
To realize how insignificant we are,
how insignificant our species is,
merely look at the life of our planet
in the scale of geologic time.
The stages of its life are quantified
in terms of Eons, which divide into
Eras, which divide into Periods,
which divide into Epochs, which
divide into Ages, all of which are
folded into the Supereon. My life
will only span decades. It will divide
into individual years, which divides
into months, which divides into weeks,
which divides into seven days, which
divides into hours, which divides into
minutes, which divides into seconds.
All of which fold into the total life
experience at the time of my death.
I do not worry about my death,
it will come to me at its time. It will
come to you at your time. And in
time, our home will die as well.
This does not make me sad. It is
the cycle of existence wrought
on a scale that dwarfs the physical
limitations of everything our minds
can comprehend. Existence and time
are the great and even hands of
the universe. Everything matters now.
Everything won't always matter.
How still will the universe be
at the moment the lights turn off
once more?

June Storm

The Sun is being lazy today.
Night lingers weakly. Gray
smears the sky like melted ice
cream made of cinder blocks.

Is this a premonition?
Should I await heavenly tears?
It would be a welcome change
from days of perpetual warmth.

Bundled up on an overcast beach,
the bite of cold wind,
the anguished churning of tides,
small beach bars all but empty.

It would be a perfect day to be
together, to find peace in a storm
where others would flee
to rooms of warmth.

Nature is just as beautiful
in moments of distress.

under construction

There is a better version 

of myself

I have yet to create.

bridging

Mute transmissions
sent through psychic vibrations

you don't believe in any
of that

Stepping back
through antiquated means
of communication:
-fax machine
-rotary phone
-telegrams

though, morse code
still has its uses

bridging distant shores
one continent

cannot kiss
the sand of another

water serves as messenger
winding around the cape

of good hope-
reaching for another shore

Mid-daylight

Waking and falling back
to sleep. Waking and falling
back to sleep. Reading
a familiar book, finishing
quick, hold lines safe
from forgetful memory
with posted notes
marking pages.
The Sun has been out for
hours and hours,
but you've been home
reading and dreaming,
reading and dreaming.
Unblemished blue
raining down
as if night were
merely myth.

Drinking Amber

Nothing is as peaceful as an empty bar 

on a Sunday night.

The bartender walked over and asked

what I would like to drink.

I asked her for an Old Fashioned.

When she set the drink down

I noticed she had turned it 

into a miniature art installation. 

The cherry sat perfectly centered

on top of the large square ice cube.

The orange peel rested across the glass 

like a support beam for a roof that would 

never be built. I told her I had never seen 

a drink be so well presented.

She thanked me for noticing.

It's evident when someone takes

pride in their work, no matter 

how small it may be.

I drank it slowly, the ice gradually

melting into the rye.

The glistening cube towered

over the orange slice and cherry

as they moved within the glass.

Despite small measured sips

the drink was gone all too soon.

The bartender came back 

when she saw I was done. I told her 

she had done an excellent job.

She smiled. I asked her her name.

She said Christina. I ordered a beer.

The bar was just as empty as when

I arrived. I was fine with that.

Bored and apathetic is no way to live.

don't call this advice

They say it could be worse

and sometimes it isn't

though oftentimes it is.

They say things will get better

and sometime they do, though,

often they remain unchanged.

Let's not give hollow platitudes

in lieu of advice.

It will be hard.

There will be uncomfortable sacrifice.

There will be fewer friends and family

after large reorganizations.

The right ones will remain.

Take my advice when I say

stop listening to the voices

that populate our cities,

that fill our eyes with flash.

Turn off your computer,

your phone, your television,

your car, and walk outside

for a moment. It might be sunny,

overcast, rainy, nighttime,

it doesn't matter. Listen to the world

around you without headphones,

see the world around you

without a screen between you.

What you hear and see

will be more honest than

what is given to you, to us,

every day. It is not my place

to tell you what to do then.

There will be a voice speaking

once you have agreed to listen.

It will know what needs to come

next. It may be wrong, but more likely,

it will be right. Excuse me.

I need to leave right now.

There is some place I need to be

with someone I have yet to meet.

E without the accent mark

My Happiness lives by the ocean,
she is beautiful.

I don't wish to sound so cliche
but I supposed it's hard to sound cliche
without the appropriate accent mark
over the 'e'. In lieu of sounding cliche
I wish to say nothing of worth.
I wish to say that my time on this world
has been spent searching for something
beautiful that I have yet to define.
I know I have found it when my skin
bumps with geese, when my eyes close
yet see the world I have been seeking
with no map. I don't wish to sound
so scatterbrained but it beats having
no brain at all. I wish to not have to justify
my existence through socially defined
confines of worth. I don't recall seeing
crocodiles clocking in for work.
When I sit in traffic I marvel at red lights
marking my slow way forward. Other
creatures like myself sit, wait, wonder,
and hope to sit home, either alone or
with someone worth whiling the time
away with. I know she waits for me,
though, at this time we occupy two
places, for now.

My Happiness lives by the ocean,
I will go to her.

Not Every Lost City 

is Waiting to be Found

Broken Hearts and Spare Parts

Beneathe the Harvest Moon

We have yet to dance beneathe 

the light of the full moon,

still, I dream of this future memory

as though I were remembering

the last time I held you.

Actor

I am a flawed actor

playing out a role 

I was born into.

Common wisdom 
isn't as common
as you would think.

A Wait

It was four in the afternoon but it was his first time outside
that day. His eyes took an extra few seconds to adjust to
the overwhelming brightness of the sun. It was no surprise
that the driveway was as hot as it was on his bare feet.
She had left him a message saying she would be there
but he didn't see her or her car anywhere. He stood on the
sidewalk with his left hand shielding his eyes. She had
 to show up. She never ran late. Five minutes passed,
nothing. He went inside, disappointed. It wasn't like her.
He cracked open a beer from the refrigerator. He sucked
down half of it in one pull. His body began to sink into
the soft cushions of the couch. Where was she? Why had
she not called? He finished the rest of the beer and sprawled
himself on the couch. Each breath rose and fell with precise
regularity. His mind went on standby. As he lost track of
the time he could have sworn he heard the doorbell.

I don't want to cheat death,
I want to beat it fair and square.

This Is All

There is not enough time.

The alarm didn't go off.

The hot water is too hot.

There is only decaf.

The car is almost out of gas.

There is too much traffic.

There is an accident on the freeway.

There was a fatality.

The parking lot is full.

The meeting was postponed. 

There is talk of rain.

The wrong person just called.

There's no time for lunch.

The body is hungry.

The hours are crawling.

The daylight slips away.

There is too much traffic.

There is an accident on the freeway.

There was a collision.

There is a note taped to the door.

There is nothing to say.

Past Lives/Present Fictions

Let's get rad together, forever.

Sometimes it's just nice 
to be awake
early in the morning.

The Past and Future Lives of Ghosts

Am I ready to go back?
I ask myself this question from time to time
as I remember
the pains of my bodies as I aged,
as woman and man,
as baby, child, and adolescent.
My heart and mind suffered
the changing times,
the constancy of our fallibility.
To be freed of corporeal restraints,
such joy! My lives have become
a continuous film with moments
of intermission as I drift
in the bliss of renewal.
There is a bit of sadness as
short-sighted perspectives rule,
it will not always be so,
though it may seem that way.
I cannot wait for my moment
to return, to feel the touch of a world
ready to be changed once more.

Breath & Buck

Dreams breath and buck
against soft restraints holding them
by the wrist.

I leave the window open at night
so I can feel the chill of evening.

Work will be the same today
as it was yesterday, as it was
a year ago, as it will be in a week.

My heart slows when driving,
my mind begins to wander
restlessly.

We are not trapped in amber,
merely in a place of our own
voluntary surrender.

Have we sold our eyes for a vision
that is a facsimile of life?

My feet miss the water, miss
the waves, miss the rush of the tide
as it desires to run up my legs.

I do not wish to be numb or blind,
only to achieve a closeness,
only to be free of the unnecessary.

bells

The church bells echo through the neighborhood
as they always have. I can not think of a time
where their sound did not punctuate the day.

As a child I always wanted to take the stairs up
towards the bell tower. Those steps were gated
off so I have yet to see them. I thought of what

it would be like to stand by them in their silence,
how massive it would be to stand in their presence
as they were struck and began to fill the world.

Perhaps

once we have fallen 

we can look up 

and see how vast 

and beautiful 

the sky truly is.

5 fragments

invocation of the apocalypse

united through mutual fear and awe

sights too wondrous to be denied
to horrific to question eternity

my bones are not for sale
I haven't even died

There's nothing alcohol can't fix or fuck up.

Singing into the void.

There is life growing in the dirt, like it always has.

The World Above

Conquering the sky

We swallowed each others light

God could have laughed but maintained
established silence

Fields of fractured black
and broken blue

Walking hand in hand

Swallowing light

A new Eden
found in conquered plains

Leaves Speaking

The leaves are restless
and have begun to speak in waves.

Are they speaking to the Sun?
Is there an urgent message for me?

I'm not sure. I am listening,
hoping to decode an ancient tongue.