Journey Home

I and the water
  flowing through the street
  are the same
Passing through
  looking to meet
and be part 
  of the great Ocean
once more

Slave to one thing or another. 

To Rise

I will rise 
because there is still
life in me

I will rise 
because my will 
is strong

I will rise 
because I must

Buyers & Sellers

Most of us have very little
So we sell the only thing 
We can possibly provide
In order to survive
The very little time
We have been given
In which to be alive

I'm at the bar or liquor store
about as often as I work.
This is not a coincidence.

Non / Work

Do not tell me 
what does not work

Tell me what has 
despite all obstacles

Consent

Did your day pass without notice?
Did work bury your mind
under a rainfall of urgent matters
and routine procedure?
As you sat in your car
and readied yourself
for the drive home
did you roll down the windows
so you could listen to the hum
of idling engines?
Are you staring at another
screen right now
or cradling pulped trees
in your hands?
I wonder about you.
Are you ok?
Is this fine?
Can you remember
when all of us
agreed to this?

Thrown Into The Water

I'm a tired bore
Driving home from work
Every day
This traffic
My time
This grind
Wearing me away
Smooth like a pebble
In your hand
Throw me into the water
Watch the ripples
As I sink

trust

must I guide the horse
can i remove her blinders
let us be fearless

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

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

The Tired Sigh of Submission.

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.

When Sunday is Friday

The week ends
with a few beers
and shots of well-whiskey
poured down
my throat.

It's a small effort
to drown
the sounds of the rambling
stream of my consciousness.

I hear my own voice
echoing back
at me.

I don't know what
to do but

search for silence.

After Work

The brown bag would have fooled no one had anyone 

walked by and seen it. There aren't many reasons to grip

a brown bag and put it to your lips. 

Work had been a bore that day, it usually was. He drove

to the liquor store near his house and bought a cheap 40oz.

bottle of malt liquor.

It wasn't just work that was boring, his life had fallen into

a rut that got deeper every time he woke up. The drink

was always something that soothed the dull ache.

From his porch he could see the glowing lights of neighboring 

windows. Occasionally a car would drive by at the speed limit.

His body glowed with an inner warmth.

It wasn't so bad now. Sleep would come soon. Night became 

a fading memory as the newspaper landed in the driveway.

What Is Missed

a waking amnesia,

sunlight brings

focus once more.


perspectives shift,

align, as needed.


everything rearranged.


the drive to work,

a new flower bed.


speeding by, new

blossoms don't worry

if you don't notice.

With No Tether

"Did you see the old guy walking up and down the block?" she said.

I haven't. Should I?

"Go to the window and look."

It took me a moment to see who she was talking about. There was the

usual cast of surfers, drunks, and yoga moms walking up and down 

the street during the early afternoon. When I saw him I knew who she

was talking about. He was tall with a slight stoop that gave away his 

age. His hair was a dome of gray while his face was sprinkled with 

stubble a day or two old. Each step moved him forward in a stilted 

shuffle. He stood in front of the window with his back faced to us as

he gazed out at the people on the beach. Sky blue shirt and khaki pants

hung off him with a little room to spare. A plane with a banner advertising

beer flew overhead as his head tilted to the side, as if to read it better.

His gaze moved downward to his feet as he turned around. I walked

behind my desk and sat down. I saw his hand reach for the door.

"Hello." he said.

"What can I do for you sir?"

"Have you seen Barbara?" His eyes searched me, hoping I had the answer.

"I'm not sure I know Barbara, Sir." I said.

"We...we came out here years ago when we first met. It was different then.

There weren't so many people around. The people that were around were

so nice. You could talk to anyone. I first saw her near the pier. She didn't

know me but she was beautiful. I'm not sure where she is. Have you seen

her?"

"What's her last name?"

"It's the same as mine. It's...it's..." his hands fumbled to his pockets, hoping

to find his wallet and ID. "I'm sorry. It's slipped my mind." A nervous laugh

escaped and hung heavy between us. 

"It's hot out there today. I was looking for Barbara. Her hair is long and brown

and she is very kind. We talked for hours that first day we met. I talked to God

out there when I was looking for her. He said she was alright. That she some

times worried about me. I told him to tell her to not worry. That it's ok. I'm

still here and I'm doing the best I can." 

I could hear her voice in the back office speaking in a hushed tone. 

I heard the hard plastic receiver come to rest. I looked back at her, her

lips were pursed and she nodded at me. He leaned against the top of the desk

and looked out the window.

"I drove so far to get here. But I had to get here today to find her. I hope she's

not worried. That's the last thing I'd want, is for her to be worried. That's just

no way to be."

I saw the shadows outside the window get closer. They came into view of the 

window as they opened the door. He turned his head slowly at the uniformed

men as they walked in together. 

"Hi, boys. Are you here to help me find Barbara?" he said.

One of them looked no more than 25 said "Yes, we are. First, you need to

come outside with us because we know she's not in here." His face lit up

and said "I know. This young man has no idea who she is. I'm glad you do."

The older of the two men leaned over and looked at me, "How long has he

been here?" 

"Not long at all." I said.

"We got a call from here as well as some other local businesses about him.

He seems harmless but we'll make sure we get him to where he needs to be."

They walked out with him in arm. 

After they had left she walked out from the back office.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I had to call them. The guy was just creeping

me out. Didn't you feel?" she said.

I looked at her and thought for a moment, "I just hope he finds Barbara." 

Vacation

We never went on vacation like most other families did when I was growing up.
I never thought about it much as a child. We never took long family trips in the
summer to Yosemite, Big Bear, or any places like that. We rarely ever left the 
suburban sprawl that we called home. Dad worked and worked, he worked two
jobs to get us by. A vacation for him meant having a full weekend without having
to be at either job. Even so, he would still be working around the house, fixing 
things, getting the recycling together, mowing the lawn. We would see our family
every now and then at parties where the kids would hang out together as all the 
men would get drunk on beer and talk about work, money and everyone back 
home. I don't know how much I missed out on, I wonder if it would have changed
me. I rarely ever take vacations, even now as an adult. The times I have taken 
vacations have tended to be working ones. There is too much to do. A vacation 
would only take time away from my work. 


There were a few times growing up when we visited our family back in the home
country, the one my parents left. I never really got to know my father's parents. 
My mother's parents I know somewhat. I want to, I need to. The distance between
here and there gapes wide inside me. The old country is nothing like here, a small
backwoods town in a second world country. The next time I go back it still won't
be a vacation, at least not in my mind. The weight of history, of reconnection is a
necessary task unto itself. That's not a vacation. I wonder how others do it, how 
they can manage vacations and not enter financial ruin. Some of us might be lucky,
others- not so much. 


I dream about leaving. Not just home, everything. Packing up one small bag and 
going somewhere. I would tell no one, I would disappear as best as I could. I'm
sure that sounds selfish, but if I could, I would. It might not be forever, just for a 
time. Time to be alone, to see things as they truly are in all their cruelty and beauty.
There is always much of both. It would mean freedom, freedom of staggering 
proportions, freedom of unbridled anxiety, freedom to flourish and fail as much
as I am willing to allow. I suppose that is my idea of a vacation. 

Work and Non-Work (draft 2)

Roots spread into the soil like fingers finding their grip.

Abstract latticework finds nutrients to fuel the building

of stems, leaves and flowers. Growth is assured, though

not a given. Neighbors arrive and take root. Miniature

forest canopies spread. Pillbugs, Beetles, and Ants traffic

the dirt. Down pours arrive with casual certainty upon

stems and colored blossoms. A life of simplicity begs

for no complexity, only the chance of continuance

for  perpetuity. A clear oozing trail is blazed early

amidst dew as the snail begins its long commute.

Epictetus In The Modern World

Epictetus In The Modern World: A Novel in 18 1/2 Chapters


I. Breaking the Wheel.

II. No More Why.

III. Onyx Index

IV. I'd Rather Have a Smart Girl than a Pretty Girl.

V. The Past is No Place to Live.

VI. Gardeners of Our Own Lives.

VII. Dyslexicon / Lexigraphical / Hyperlexical

VIII. The Waves Paint the Shore in Foaming White.

IX. Painting Memory

X. A Clock Echoing in an Empty Room

XII. A Lost December

XIII. I Don't Need To Know The Truth To Know What Is Real

XIV. Vatican Talisman

XV. Kiss Your Lemon Lips (a.k.a. A Conjecturing Glance of Half-Formed Attraction)

XVI. Always More Water

XVII. This Illusion Meant

XVIII. This Page Intentionally Left Blank

Post-Script: "... a chain of flowers into the mysteries of life."