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?