Blood Memory

Entertaining the Muse

she is bored but likes to come
over in between jobs
and bouts of inspiration
I've told her to not worry
about work when she is here
but that doesn't always work
I tell her to take a nap,
read a book, watch a movie
but she will ultimately look away
and say "that's crap!"
more often than not she is right
and I cannot argue
and must agree
She is asleep on my bed
even though I hate finding
her long hairs on my pillows
She is a sweet creature
but I must sleep on the couch
because she tosses in her sleep
and she once slapped me
across the face as her arm
flailed out from some terrible
unseen dream
She will be gone in the morning
after she has some coffee
and remembers her busy schedule
She will look me in the eyes
and mouth something to me
as she walks out the door
and gives me a freebie
for giving her a place to crash

Let It Write Itself Freely

parched tongue like that of a cat
licking my skin seeking a way
to convince and cajole into the
petting of spine and muscle
I have to unwind the narrative
from my head it has spooled tight
and will not give easily to being
unthreaded and left in a pile on
the floor but how are we to make
cloth if we do not have wool or
cotton at hand I am not as scared
to be naked as I once was being
without clothes I realize how
defenseless I am how I am aging
how I am in a race towards an end
but the end is not the end or so I
believe I do not need to believe in
God or gods or goddesses to know
I am eternal that part of me will
continue to be long after I have
ceased to be anything even remotely
recognizable to this form will my
consciousness disperse into space
and become particles to be absorbed
into the stars and gaseous clouds
floating in the nebulous beauty of
boundless space oh to be something
so beautiful and immortal will we
know such beauty in our waking
lives or must we dream and dream
long nights of our lives away in
search of unconscious visions from
our subconscious thoughts but our
consciousness is a mystery I am
willing to conceded as divine and
if we are divine then i must tell you
that we are gods and that we have
power to wield or abdicate as we
please but please is always the word
of magic and it is what we wish
to achieve with others and others
to ourselves though ourselves
are fragile things that we hold on
to as best we can as long as can
but we need to let go of this of
each other of everything of loss
because everything will be lost
and broken and rebuilt into new
visions of ancient worlds in future
kingdoms of kindness where we
will cease the endless wars we have
waged in our ignorance but we need
not be ignorant we must see but
i cannot see my eyes are closed
and heavy with the weight of a long
life that is much too short and i am
short and this world is short and we
are all far too aware of our height
how majestic we would be if we
were sequoias rooted in the ground
towering over the land as creatures
grew in our branches far overhead
where they have only heard faint
rumors of land and have come to
heaven then any of us ever have

Me Myself

Even when I change I'm still the same.

Blinding White

snowblind

in a box of blazing white

unable to extend my arms fully

      not quite a coffin

standing upright

unable to
               crouch
                           or sit

my fists hit walls
with a deadened thud

i lose focus

close my eyes

a black inner sea

the only contrast

Close the door and turn off the lights, please?

I walk in silence through the corridors
of my mind. There are many thing I cannot
recall but I do not deny their occurrence.

This museum is of little interest to most
but I am both subject and spectator,
surprised and knowing of everything.

How much more space can I fill
before the curtains are drawn
and the building is shuttered?

Company

There is a mouse in my kitchen
but I am not afraid.
He is hungry
and scurrying to remain
out of sight.
I don't wish to impose
an end to his life,
nor would I wish
an end imposed on mine
because of a desire
to sate my hunger.
I sit alone at my table
but I no longer
hear those tiny paws.
I eat in silence
and watch the steam
rise above my mug
of coffee as it dissipates
into the cold air.

Your Kindness

you tied my shoelace for me
like a mother would
for her child.
a small kindness- 
one that will not 
be forgotten.

Being Good

We must be good to one another. 
No religion can lay exclusive claim
to that simple idea.

What is there to be seen?

I stood mute outside my door as I watched
the sun set fire to the sky.

Cars drove by without their tired occupants
taking notice.

Even the waves appeared to be still
under the fiery heavens.

Hues or orange, red, and pink
smeared into one another

by an unseen hand. Surely,
out there on the water,

there must have been passengers
on a boat watching in awe

as a whale swan below reach.

A Few Thoughts On Love and Related Subjects.

I.

When love sparks
it sets off a blaze
that could burn down
all the trees on the Earth.


II.

Not now. Perhaps another time.
Perhaps when we are ready
to receive the full measure
of the gifts we are ready to receive.


III.

Can love be renewed and restored?


IV.

I am better for having had you.
I am better for having loved you.


V.

Morning/Mourning both mark a change
into something new.

Prayer

I pray
but I do not pray
to the God of Abraham,
to the God of Christ,
to the God of Mohammed.

    I do not pray to Gaia,
    I do not pray to Buddha,
    I do not pray to Vishnu.
But I do pray.

I pray so that my thoughts
can find their way into the world.
I pray so that my intentions
can be known.
I pray so that I feel a measure
of comfort and relief.

I pray in private.
I pray silently.
I pray when no one
would imagine me doing so.
I pray as I walk
before I break into a run.

I pray to keep those I love
in good fortune.
I pray for strength.
I pray so I may make
the right choices
and learn from my missteps.

I pray so my tears can find their way,
I pray so I may smile when I am happy.

I pray for you, though, you may have
never asked me to do so.

I pray because I have no faith,
I pray because my faith envelopes
the whole of the world.

I pray so I can enable creation
and be at peace when
the world is rearranged.

I pray before I drive,
I pray to be more whole.

I pray because I do not have to.
I pray because I wish to do so.

I pray because I wish to give thanks.

I pray because I continue to be.

All Possibilities

The page will remain blank for as long
as you wish it to be so.

It cannot speak, cannot wield the pen
onto itself.

My own words are not enough to say
what should be said.

I stare at the page as though it could
reveal more than it can.

I cannot think, cannot find the way
to pry anything out

worth thinking, worth saying.
I have become impossible,

but perhaps, I am finding that
I have always been so, and

will continue to be as such.

Fishnets

I try to remember
but I can't

and I let the invisible wheels
spin for a bit
longer than they need to.

I remember nothing
worth remembering at the moment

and must content myself
to think of the way

fishnet leggings look
on the legs

of a woman you love.

tangential connections

My boredom stares unblinkingly at me,
it is I who turns away from it's gaze.


I judge my happiness and self-worth
by the numbers between my feet.


Self: what name would I have given
myself at birth?


Inaction and failed patterns of behavior
are cancer within me.


My hands have only ever acted out
the whims of their master.


If I were water I would act and retain
no memory of my actions.


Sand can only remember in the moments
between disturbances.

When It Is Time To Sleep

I am tired but I do not wish to sleep.
I wish to stay up until my eyelids
fall down like bricks in a building
being demolished to make way for
a new strip-mall. I want to stay up
long enough to be able to hear the
sound of snores wafting through
the neighborhood like an out of
tune orchestra. I wish to stay up
because we waste so many nights
in pursuit of rest as the moon moves
across the heavens like her brother
during the day. I wish to stay until
my yawns begin to choke my mind
of the required oxygen, until I feel
my hands tire and my eyes begin
to tear. I wish to stay up until my
body can no longer tolerate the
whims of a tired mind.

The Agenda

I must live so fully that it will be
unnecessary for me to be a ghost
haunting the living world.
I wish to spend my afterlife traveling
the realms of spirits and gods
without restraint or hesitation
to experience that which
my living flesh has been denied.
I will live as an eternal explorer
for all time after my mortal time
has expired like a carton of milk.
My remains will be nothing more
than a decaying curiosity
that has ceased to be of any use.
My spirit will be neither gas
nor mineral, ephemeral and eternal.
I will close my eyes and feel
the infinite fibers tether my being
and illuminate my vision
into a truly cosmic scale
as infinity weaves herself
into me and I into her,
and become as I have
always been meant to be.

...falling through the ceiling of your dreams.

The Guest

The passage of time mutes the pain you carry

but you carry it nonetheless. 

It weighs no more than a breath

upon your skin,

if that.

You wake up in the morning and hurry along

to work, to deadlines, to bodily needs,

to lovers, and social commitments,

just like a good person.

At night you fall asleep alone or with a spotter.

When your eyes have closed and your 

breath steadies like a stream-

it is there.

It doesn't want you to forget.

It needs you to remember as long as you can.

It can't live without you, it needs a safe place to stay,

buried within, waiting for a time to say hello.

directions

Dismiss the voices external voices that clamor
for your attention. Silence them as best you can
so you can hear that voice speaking slowly,
quietly, but firmly, in your mind.

It knows something helpful. It just wants to help.
Let it. It knows what the next step should be
even if you have no map on which to rely.

An Exercise In Memory

I feel bad every time I see the young woman
at the burrito place by my work

because I always forget her name. It's not her
fault. Today I asked her again.

Madison is her name. She's quite pretty
and nice, at least as far as I know.

Walking down the street to see a band
this evening a young woman said hello

and asked if I was going to see one
of the bands. I told her I was.

She introduced herself as Carrie, though,
that might not be how she spells her name.

I chuckled on the inside when she wasted
no time in telling me she had a boyfriend.

I felt like telling her I have a girlfriend
but decided against it.

Once inside, and in-between bands,
I ran into a former co-worker. It took me

a few moments to remember his name
when he came up to me, but I remembered

his name: Jeff. He looked quite different
than the last time I saw him. His hair was long

and he sported a beard. A nice enough fellow
to have seen once more.

I walked over to the counter to buy myself
a drink, a diet soda, and told the heavily tattooed

woman I was digging the venue. We introduced
ourselves. Her name is Robin.

There is no point to any of this. I just wanted
try and put some effort

                                     into remembering a few
names for once.

An Orphan

Wear the mask 

of your face

until you must molt

I Did Because I Could Not

I could not swim across the ocean

I could not fly 

I could only walk 

   on my two feet

     one step

      after the other

I grew old walking

as I chased the Moon and Sun

I slept by moonlight

and walked by day

I let my hair grow long

and watched it grow grey

I saw my skin darken

and grow wrinkled

I kept walking through seasons

both furious and calm

I walked until my feet would tire

and my nails began to fall

I walked until I slowed

and could scarcely move at all

I walked until I had to sit

and sat until I had to walk

I walked until I found shade

beneathe the arms of a tree

I sat in comfort as I listened

to the birds sing

I sat and listened and listened

until I no longer desired to walk

until I closed my eyes

and I could hear the song no longer

mating rituals

Your tongue slithers towards
my mouth

       I turn

and

      feel it lick my cheek


Lashes flutter
while my metronome

goes off beat
        for a moment

Be Focused and Willing.

On Running

I will run until I'm happy

I will run until I forget

   what I need to remember

More Life

We dare
to begin again

despite experience
to dissuade us

we are foolish but
hopeful

hopeful
but aware

aware
but willing

to try it all
once more

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.