A Thought That Occurred While Listening To "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea"

The Heart's Capacity To Grow In Love

Is Only Matched By The Ability Of The

Mind To Learn.

Old Friends

There is no blame,

these things happen

slowly over time.

It definitely

happens

when you get

pregnant

married

and 

have a child.

Oh well.

We have clearly

out lived the use

we once had for

each other.

The Age of a Soul

How does a Soul age?

It cannot be in the same way

that a body ages.

A Soul when freed is no longer

bound to the temporal world

we inhabit.

Can a soul measure time?

Or is time a construct it has

no use for?

I hope to find out

some day.

The Meaning of Life

Standing at the edge of the pier,

the wind blowing an icy chill,

waves rippling beneathe my feet

a thought occurred to me:

Life is the meaning of Life.

It's the only answer that has ever

made any sense.

I wanted to share this with you

so I sent you a message.

Your response:

"Love it."

My reply to you:

"Glad you dig it. Listening to the

waves and watching them roll

beneathe me is as close to 

church as I get. They're crashing

right now."

The Dream ( For L.B. )

I had to fix the curtain from backstage

otherwise the magician (

or was it a juggler ? )

would have performed against

a backdrop of half remembered things.

I walked around into the room

as he performed for a half filled show.

I had the uneasy feeling that an

ex-girlfriend was sitting in the

shadow filled corner of the alcove.

I didn't stick around to find out.

It's not clear if you were already there

but it feels as though you were.

The landscape changed abruptly

( or so my conscious mind thinks )

and we were somewhere else.

It must have been outside,

a prairie wind blew and rustled

the tops of grain stretching endless

into a landscape I have never known.

You face was so bright in my eyes,

that smile always lit up my heart

there again before me.

We exchanged pleasantries

and picked up without a

hitch from where last we left.

Not surprisingly

I couldn't stand to look away

from you. What fortune

brought you back to me?

I can remember looking down and

seeing our hands committing

a small act of love

and affection.

Things turned biblical

when an older couple

entered the scene.

There was a small

building nearby,

more a shack than

anything.

They asked if we could take

a picture of them.

The words appeared and

arranged behind them

as I focused the camera.

I read the phrase and laughed

at the timing of it all.

I awoke with the feeling that

it could mean something.

I awoke feeling

that I have missed you

so utterly and thoroughly

as our lives have become

rivers flowing in

opposing directions.

Broken Pieces Looking To Fit Together Once More

we wear our ease
comfortably.


carve your name into
the table, your memory
etched in wood.


this distaste taints the flavor of life.


the sound of your voice
a ghost
born from life.


assembling meaning
from nothing


the faint moan
of pain or
ecstasy.


all these broken pieces
looking to fit together
once more.


this saint doesn't care
about your sins.


I could
stare into the eyes
of the goddess
endlessly.


from where
to here.

All these pieces
hoping for meaning.

"The Emptiness of Youth"

water flowing

into the drain,

circling,

circling,

gone.

Eulogy

Our words dance

around each other

eternally.

"You and me 


in time,


You and me


in time."

No Singing, Only Rhythm

If I could sing

you a song

I would,

I'll have to

let you feel

my heart beat

instead.

Oh!

How young

we are!

Let us

marvel for

one day this

too shall pass.

A Question of Balance

What would 

Winter

be without

Summer?

What would 

Fall

be without

Spring?

Mary said

that happiness is a


violent pursuit.


Remember that


next time a


smile crosses


your face.

The Soundtrack To Imaginary Landscapes

Insert imagery


here:



___________

The Human Condition

feed my ego


and


watch it


grow


grow


grow.

Rhetorical Love

there


are always promises


of undying love


made


but the reality


rarely matches the


rhetoric.

don't come back

don't go back

come closer

stay away

make up your mind

you've never been

good at that

absence

When you disappear

I wonder,

were you ever really

here?

place position

No   one


thinks


of     their


where


as     being


no


where.

Post

after the fury there is 

silence

             growing 

from the tendrils 

                           that

wrap around synapses

& caress thoughts into

docility

               deepest sleep

is never far away

broken faced mirror

Memory becomes a

flood of broken


glass


sparkling

in the light, each

piece cascading to the

ground, breaking further

and coming to rest with the

sun shining bright from its face.

Nothing Out of the Ordinary

I could see them from

across the street,

drunk

and stumbling.

I turned my back

only to hear

the sound

of the first trumpet

heralding

the apocalypse.

Wait,

the brassy sound

echoing through

the empty street

was not a call

of impending

judgment,

it was the sound

of a few

mariachi players

serenading

drunks in the

midnight

hour.

They danced

in streetlight,

barely able

to keep from

falling over.

I wonder

which of

the two

found it

funnier.

Just like

*that*

the music

ended,

both players

and dancers

lost to the

night

once

more.

A Request To A Higher Power

Dear God,

I know I've been inconsistent in the times we've had to chat

but you know I try to bring about more good to this world

in the time I've been around. I'm not perfect by any means

but I have been very appreciative of my time so far. There

are things in my life I can say were a result of your divine

intervention and others that give me pause.
  

      Let me cut to the chase, I need a miracle.


I know I've asked for things in the past but this isn't so much

about me, this is about trying to keep one fleeting, hard earned

life together. You see, my father has been a big fan for some

time. From what I know, he's done his best to live a good

Christian life. He's worked hard his entire life in support of

his family and children. I still think if I had even half of his

work ethic I'd be a much better man.


Please, give him the miracle he needs. I don't know what form it

should come in, but I know it has to be big; it has to be enough

to weather the next two years. I have to swallow my ego and

my own petty notions of self. There are things more important

than just my own interests, this is one of them.


Give him this one thing.

Please.

Sincerely,

 R.C.J.

a modern nero

you would watch


the world burn it


self up from the


comfort of your


room and still


wonder what


the weather


would be like


in a few hours.

hey

Chet,

too bad you couldn't stop

being an asshole

long enough

to save

yourself,

you stupid,

wondrous

junkie

you.

Another Shore

Our feet gripped and slipped


against rocks


wet from the tides.




You took my hand


to gain a better


footing. Standing there




at the edge of the world


in search of another


shore.

everything that


ever was


will always be


until it fades


from earthly


memory

Change

can only come

through immense hardship

and will.

Variation On A Persistence Of Memory

you



fall asleep in
a haze



the hours

long
since melted




into the detritus






of



the day.

Memorial Service

I bury my tears for you


by the glass in the darkness


alone


        wishing that none of it


were true.


        

there is always work to be done

mourning a stranger

is a selfless act

mourning a loved one

a mandate



death doesn't wait

for a season

there is always

work to be done

A Written Self Portrait

letting the day go to waste


ignoring things that need to be done


preferring solitude during the day


needing sound and company at night


bathing in the morning


reading silently


writing alone


letting the voice rest


the mind running free


the heart restless


voyeurism to assure normalcy


everything is always falling apart


and coming back together


all at once


all the time


every moment has already happened

that which

isn't but once

was

will always be

Patter n Order

I found these words at the

                                          bottom

of a trash bin.


They were cut up in p

ieces
&

were in        no particular

or
der I

looked at them for some

time

wondering  what I
shoul
ddo


              with nothing else


in mind i
be


    gan

piecing themtogether

looking for the

reason in a pattern


of


r n d mn ss

The Short Act of Living

It's strange to think that we'll never meet.

In a way it feels like we have, that you

have been a familiar friend sending me

music every now and then to let me know

how you've been. Each time your familiar

voice sounded through a different sea.

No matter the sounds it was always you,

in that I took great comfort. If we ever

meet it will be in a form most unconven-

tional to the rational mind. There will

be one thing unchanged.

we while away

the day with

nothing left

to say.

Write What You Know

What do we know?


Heartbreak, despair, depression,


drinking, dreaming, passing


moments of passion, hours


spent on paved roads in the


madness of others, work,


consumption, exhaustion,


violent change, gradual change,


death of loved ones, hope


buried but still breathing


somewhere deep inside.


Somewhere a child throws


a tantrum, writing what I


know.

The Debate of Pencil or Pen

When writing in pencil one must always be careful in

their penmanship. It is commonly believed that the 

presence of an eraser would make the pencil superior

to the pen. When words have been laid out on the

page by pen, the writer has committed them to an un-

changing permanence. While it is true that writing in

pen does have a certain finality to it, the pencil reveals

its weakness in its defining characteristic; the page 

that has been touched by an eraser becomes at once

flawed, irrevocably so. A crisp white page then bears 

soiled marks where clumsy words made a scene,only to 

be ejected like uninvited guests. The page never recovers 

from this transgression, it is always marked, flawed with 

no hope of attaining perfection. 

Apart

We are two seasons


separated by the rhythm


of the world.

Thirst

When ones environment doesn't match

their natural temperament, the spirit

drowns in the absence of sustenance.

shard

silence


like a lung


collapsing


the day is


not yet done.

A Failure in Mathematics

o ur lines run paral  lel across the plane


proximitybreeds d i s t a n c e or desire


we run endlessly across the axis (


X & Y )


               never quite finding the


place to cross


                      has this geometry


failed us both


                       ?

Tears In The Typing Pool

thoughts succumb to memory

endless amber renders you

eternal 

            moments pass 

                                      your

voice always calling from a 

mist

       my tears in the typing pool.

days

move so swift


I  forget


when I am.

The Girl with the Broken Compass (Draft 1)

She set sail in search of life in the midst of her 

youth. Home was a familiar place that had been

kind to her, but her spirit was ready to wander to

sights unseen. She packed a few possessions she 

would need including her fathers compass. He 

told her it would take here everywhere she ever 

needed to be, if she ever got lost or afraid, it 

would always know how to get her back home. 

She traveled for many years finding adventure

and sights she never could have seen by staying 

home. She began to miss the warmth of her family

and friends she had left behind. She set sail once

more happy that she lived and seen so many things.

During the first night of her journey back a storm

rose from the sea like an angry god, rain pelted

the small boat on the open sea, thunder and 

lightning cracked across the sky with a fury she 

had never seen. She gripped the compass tightly

in her fist, the boat rose and heaved down, she 

fell harshly against the wooden deck, her head 

ached, her fist opened, the compass flew from 

her hand, cracking against the inside of the boat.

The warms rays of the sun were hot against her

face, eyes opened like thin slits adjusting to the 

light. The storm felt like a nightmare, the pain in 

her head told her otherwise. The compass! She

searched the deck frantically for the compass.

she found it caught beneathe a collapsed sail,

the glass cracked, the arrow of the compass 

 broken loose and sitting uselessly on its face.

She fought the urge to cry and mourn its injury,

but she still had it in her hand. All was not lost.

A small portion of the arrow remained where 

it had broken off. The wind billowed against

the remaining sail, she held the compass out

gaining her bearings once more.

The End of Everything

You only play the fool


when you kiss the hand


that hits you.



You always play the victim


when there's no one there


to watch you.



You only give up when it


gets too hard to go on


dreaming.



Pose for the eye that's


always watching you


unseen.



The ruin of your dreams


will be the end of


everything.

the wait

You stood around

waiting for him to

come around,

he never did. 

Who played the 

part of the fool

then? I'll give

you a guess,

_______

Two People Out There, Somewhere

Every thing I mean to say is taken the wrong


way. I try again and again, just to hear her...


"Say what you mean not what you don't.


Can't you just tell me what's on your mind?"


And she cries and cries, "Why can't you be


who you were when we met?' This has been


me all along. Did you only see what you


wanted to see?

Caras Hechos de Espejos

I can't look at  your face for too long.

I get dizzy and want to fall over.

You've told me the same thing before,

it's always been a problem with us.

What do we expect, its hard to look at 

two mirrors facing each other,

endlessly expanding.

Passion

ALWAYS ACT WITH FULL AND PASSIONATE INTENT

senora noche

You always find me here,

that's cause you know

me so well.


Bed?


Sure.

Ovid

Is what they say true?

I wonder about us.

Hindsight always

comes too late. 

"Sic ego nec sine te nec tecum vivere possum."

no hay mentira en estas palabras

Aunque no lo sepas

yo quiero que

tu sepas

que yo te

quiero con todo

mi corazon. Y eso es

la verdad.

Poetics of Life

the mind is a strange thing when it is roused
from its rest. thoughts and imagination blur
together into the fabric of rational reality in
a way that makes you wonder if our under
standing of reality is far more limited than
we imagine. it is not impossible in my mind
to think that the dream state or state achieved
through ritualized or recreational drug use are
merely glimpses into other states of existence
that can be labeled as uncharted territory. if
science can posit the idea that matter can
neither be created nor destroyed then does it
not stand to reason that human consciousness
which is an expression of a physical body
that is matter and energy is also then part of
a larger expression of a collective consciousness
that we all draw from? this consciousness
allows us to create freely if we are able to tap
into it. the role of the artist then becomes to
draw from this well of thought in order to
reveal universal truths for the time in which
it finds itself present. in this way then timeless
works of expression are thus so because of
their origin. Human consciousness and
expression constantly evolve and change
both by design and accident. this is true on
both a micro and a macro level. consciousness
can also be viewed as the universe finding a
way to experience itself subjectively through
the eyes of sentient creatures. these ideas may
run counter to popular views espoused by
the majority of religious and political factions
of the present or of any age. Mankind and
its relationship to both itself and its home is
in a state of flux. whether or not we survive or
evolve into a greater form is something that
has always been in our hands. we are fond
of petty divisions divide rather than unite.
creative expression is then the ultimate
force of unification in our species because
of its ability to transcend any religious or
political ideology. The artist must create
as both a responsibility and imperative.
Not only the artist but all of man, all
creatures exist in order to create, propagate.
Life is creation. Existence is creation.
This shall be the whole of the law.

______
Note: this was written in one unedited burst following
a midafternoon nap after reading Raymond Carver.
This is either a joke or serious business.
What do you think?

beautiful creature

The heart is a wild thing that cannot be tamed.

It is content to gallop across plains,

wind rustling through its mane.

Haunting

The only ghosts


that haunt us


are the ones that


we permit.

The Artist (Draft 2)

by nature is a creature given to feeling the tides
of life in a hard and passionate way. Each mom-
ent and emotion has the potential to be immortal
-ized in a creative act. This is best exemplified by
the work crafted in the passion of loves creation
or dissolution. Each end mirrors the other in an
opposing spectrum of emotion and action. The
Artist mourns its passing with a fury uncommon
to the average love; creation flows in a torrent that
cannot be held back. One can view the strata of
the Artist's life as periods of work with identifiable
bursts of creative output. The internal conditions
that lead to creation are representative of universal
themes that are identifiable and relatable to others.
Ultimately, the Artist perseveres and embarks on
a new era of creativity.

A Saying

What awaits us

past the darkness?

Everything.

The Artist

by nature is a creature given to feeling the tides of life
in a very hard and passionate way. Each moment and
emotion is amplified and shined into something worth
immortalizing in creation. This can best be exemplified
by the work crafted in the passion of loves creation or
dissolution. Each end mirrors the other in an opposing
spectrum of emotion and action. What may have been
a unifying force now tears apart bonds. The artist will
mourn the passing with a fury uncommon to the aver-
age love. It becomes a point where creation flows in
a torrent that cannot be held back. One can view the
strata of an artists life as periods of work with identifi-
able periods of creative output. The internal conditions
that lead to creation are representative of universal
themes that are identifiable and relatable to others who
may or may not be creatively inclined in a traditional
sense. Ultimately the artist will persevere after a period
and embark on a new era of creativity.

What We Want

is a simple thing. On occasion we act against

instinct. Choices can be held or broken. 

Late night professions of love mirror the past, 

to what end? Is this regret or understanding?

Flower, you bloomed beneathe pastoral skies.

Are you wilting? Would you wilt in my hand?

A voice calling through the darkness.

empties

Spent of their use

they pile up like

orphans, their

use long since

pissed away.

A reminder of

sins past and

present, gathering

dust as the days

pass into the

sewers, the

current rushing

out to sea.

the late night breeze

warmth melted the ice

standing in the 

cold of night

 together

not so alone

Caged

Be ready to rid 

yourself of this 

cage one day. 

When you do, 

the answers

will be at hand. 

Stories of the Apocalypse

When it comes 

will it be every

thing we ever 

hoped and 

feared? Or

will it be

merely a 

whimper

as we pass

into the 

dust of the

years?

Rolling Dice

roll the dice

hoping for

a chance to

change this

luck. Snake

eyes.

                                      break the lines free


These ghosts are faces I've known.
                              
                                      from context to ascertain


Whose face do you wear when you escape?


                                       a new understanding


Every ghost looking for a home.

The Remaining Sap Of A Dream At Morning

We traveled invisible distances to places


at once familiar and strange. It felt like


love once more, one that was never fully


realized. We were so happy together, so


happy together.