turning

And where did it go?


Behind us dear,


Behind us.

riddance

the water circles the drain,


flows down the pipes


into the sewers below

Odd & Ends From My Desk Over The Last Few Months

-There are nights when the rustling of the trees sounds like the baying of the tides. -


-YOU'RE NOT HAPPY UNLESS YOU CAN'T GET WHAT YOU WANT. - 


-Roots run deep in this soil. -


- Shit don't fly, it gets thrown. -


-This abiding boredom. -


-Your voice echo's the answer. -


-We are able to create and understand technology more easily
than we can ourselves or others. -


-This false start stalled out my heart. -


-Our avarice is contagious. -


-Note to self: buy Vanilla Silk, pour over frosted mini-wheats. -


-The hard plastic plink of rain hitting an empty bucket. -


-She crawls like a snail, viscous and slow. -


-The girl made of soap. -


-Idea for a Character Name: Olivia Soap. -


-Have Pants, Will Travel. -


-Time has worn some of your grace, enough remains in the
lines of your face. -


-This Constant Condition. -


-We lack everything but soul. -


-Primate Psychology. -


-It's easier to deal with what you love once you don't have it. -


- A ghost passing the hours of the day until twilight. -


- Everything turns out differently from what you had imagined. -


- Your memory is an embolism. -


- The Inevitable Decay. -


- Don't be a fool your whole life. -


- It is a means of coping that is also destructive. -


- Tears always mar your smile. -


-The King of Hearts Always Misses His Queen. -


- Your Hunger Feeds From An Emptiness. -


- We watched them like sleuths sitting at the end of the bar. -


- I threw down the umbrella as I leaned in to kiss you,
bad romantic comedies are guilty of scenes like this. -


- These broken teeth cut so jaggedly, a failed symmetry.


- Where The Inquiring Mind Runs The Subconscious Will Follow. -


- Hear The Wind My Brother.
  Here, The Wind, My Brother. -




LIKE PICKING WORDS FROM THE WIND

Address to Self

just wait


let it come


let it find


you when


it's ready


patience


be kind


to me


once more.

The Late Night Drive

wandering through


the darkness


alone, there is


only enough time


to question everything.

Unedited Freewrite Excersize #3

the day dies as I sit in stasis beneathe my own
impoverishment my pockets empty I am not a
person by standards defined by the present the
will of money the will to desccribe and assign
value and worth the brain rattles words out of
me like some river pouring out endless for no
one but is it for naught or not it is difficult to
know no no no no no know it is our will this
will to create your hand feels like silk against
mine your kiss sweet like honey your my lips
needful against yours play the part of fiction
beneath thinly glazed reality masquerading in
these words all words that authors write down
for consumption what happens when your
compress the narrative down to the most base
construct lets find out don't be playing those
love games just an in joke for us to know from
those days we laughed for no good reason but
to laugh laugh as freely as we could before
the weight began to press down on our chest
the weight grows like a cancer in our flesh
i have given up giving up as a resolution I
will become the power of will and change I
have always imagined myself to be there is
nothing but reality and the power of thought
to shape and bring semblance to this supposed
order of cognizance are you as scared as I
imagine to jump to change to destroy yourself
to gain what you need so am I so am I it is
always there staring boldly and without fear
waiting for an answer there is only a few choices
we can make but we never see it that way
hello former muse do you remember me cause
I remember you reminders litter the remains
of a forgotten age its been over and the present
is as bright as its always been dark the world
is so beautiful and we are so limited by our own
hang ups and self destructive habits did you
sleep alone again last night in a sexless obligation
this cold grows colder and my skin get used to
it no more than it has to whats the point the box
chatters on endlessly and i am as distant as i've
ever been its just a living burial your mouth
choked full of dirt tears streaming down and
wondering why there is no why and there never
will face it live it know it it is all there ever is.

remains

What is left of me


as I sit here waiting


for life?

L'arbre de la memoire

there is a tree where i tie my memories


to keep them safe from the wasting days.


she is a lemon tree basking in the gaze of


Helios. leaves rustle with joy at the touch


of the breeze. she sounds like an ocean


breathing deep outside my window. we


grow older together, seeing the seasons


turn in familiar colors, a palette endless


as its canvas. you shiver and shake at


the touch of the rain, a jilted lover


returned, tears falling through your


branches, the night howls.

bloom

the flower which

blooms in the dark

blooms only for one.

Haunt

I'm the ghost


you've always


known.

the passage of time

sand falling through a sieve,

your hand beneathe it.

a pause, you

pour it on the ground.

"Forgive"

was the last thing she said

to me in her hospital room.

Her eyes sang the ache of 

a heart shackled by its own

grief and regret. When she 

was gone there was only 

one thing left to do.

Obsidian

cracked black mirror


mounted steady on the wall,


this broken obsidian eye.


what remains?

The wreckage of the past

reaches out to give its

benediction to the present.

Sonny

Your hands sang more beautifully than any singer,

a singular sound that could speak in tongues, shriek

in agony, wail in ecstasy or soothe like a mother's 

voice. The words have fled elsewhere as I write

this, leaving only your sounds in the room.

for Sonny Sharrock

Love Poem (Draft #2)

I want to write a love poem, problem is they have all


been written. Every sentiment of fondness or desire


now seems trite and insincere. The modern writer is


then faced with appearing sentimental and cliched,


incapable of expressing sincere and heartfelt feelings.


How many ways are there to describe a lover? How


many ways can we reveal a burgeoning fondness?


How many ways can that inexplicable feeling be


expressed? Cliche is an honesty everyone knows.



____________________________________

Note: This poem was first posted on Tuesday,
November 9th 2010. This is the 2nd draft of it.

1st Draft of this Poem.

Christmas Morning 2010

the wheels spun quick on the hollow

arteries of the winter morning. 

at the off ramp home, two buckets

full of bright red roses sat in the 

morning light. a middle aged man,

probably of Mexican descent, stood

there waiting for customers. an older 

homeless man crossed pushing his 

cart along. his beard was a long and

dirty grey. he looked like a santa that

had fallen on very hard times. red

turned to green as I made my way 

home.

Imperfection is an endless state of being

whilst perfection is the ideal against which

we live in the shadow of.

Ghost

Your shadow haunts

us through

memories too recent

to forget.

Blue eyed boy

you gaze

back through old

pictures

into a present you

could not

have foreseen.

Somewhere

you are waiting for

us.

el cielo azul

the open sky

wonders, its

thoughts

marked by

clouds.

jabon

the last

glass goes

down easy,

your words

a lullaby

taking me

to the

unconscious

embrace.

After The Storms

I've missed your

warm face beaming

down on us.


Seeing you once

more makes it

easier to forgive


all absence.

Life

is like a cat

running against traffic

on the freeways

of Los Angeles

on a rainy day.

Midnight Image

This flower bloomed

in the wet winter

of the midnight moon.

Kalmia Street On A Late Night

Plucking strings,

vibrations float

invisibly through

air, magnetic tape

picks them up,

plays them back.

And your

voice

And your

voice

And your

voice

singing

Oh

so

beautifully!

Jill

This is how I will

try to remember

your name. I love

the curl of your

blonde locks and

the brightness of

your smile. Seeing

you at Casey's in

the heart of Los

Angeles gives me

hope that conversation

will grow from the

soil of these years.

________________


For Jill, curly haired
bartender at Casey's

La Cara

Que

cara

tenias

antes

de que

nacistes?

Nap

I fell asleep

to the sound

of endless

drops falling

onto the

ground

outside

only to

wake to

their rhythm

once more.

What Is A Thing That Collapses?

Stacking 

cards

on a 

folding 

table,

they 

maintain

a form 

like lace,

fragile

to the 

touch.

The slightest 

motion 

could

collapse it.

What then?

Time wasted,

an exhausted

sigh.

__________

for K.A.N.

finding

Lost in this darkness

I stumble blindly

groping for walls,

finding nothing at all.

Editorial

The words I am searching for are all there, the problem is finding the order


in which to best arrange them. It seems so easy to have a thought and place


it with the right words in order to achiever a maximum degree of clarity but


that is not always the case. The idea sometimes languishes in my head or is 


forgotten altogether. When that happens there is only regret at what might 


have been. Other times I have the idea and the words but suffer from the 


gall to make it so for fear of the parts of myself that would need to be laid


bare in order for it to happen. 

Dearest,

I never told you why I left, and for that I apologize. It was nothing either of us could have foreseen. I find myself thinking about you now more than when we were together. I cannot undo the things I have said or done, I can only trust that you can accept my sincerest apologies. Even if you cannot I am ready to accept that as well. My departure was a foolish errand, that much is clear to me. Though I cherish your love, I am unfit for it. I hope you have found someone more worthy of it than I. There is little that any sort of explanation by me could clear up for you. Know you were loved by me as deeply as could be felt. Though these words are drenched in saccharine you shall always own a piece of me both body and soul.


Your once beloved.

______

Archaic Expression

We have no qualms 

               with falling in love,

even less with falling 

              in lust to the thought

of one who is desired.

3:15 A.M.

Waking late,

or is it early?

It's hard to

say at times.

Mouth and

throat work

together to

express the

tiredness of

the hour.

The house

is still,

my sneeze

echoing in

the night.

The Company of One

the silence of the morning

is the greatest

pleasure

I share with no one

but myself.

wind passing in a grey sky

outside my window

the raven squawks.

in the distance

a dog barks,

its master

gone

for the day.

Voce

I found it sitting there

in the darkness of

the basement.


I descended the stair

case with flashlight

in hand.


Sitting in the chair,

it looked at it's watch

and said,


"I was wondering

when you would

find me."


I wasn't sure what

to say. The first words

out of my mouth were,


"I'm sorry if I kept you

waiting, I didn't know

you were on a schedule."


"Let's go," it said. It stood

up and followed me up the

stairs into the afternoon.

A Searching Intellect

Our love is a function of our intellect.


The gray chapel in which it resides is


a dark and lonely place with only two


windows to the world. As it travels


peering into other windows, searching


for a matching gleam that can remove


the loneliness of its dark home. With


patience & chance the matching gleam


can be seen setting alight the beating


engine, running it into the red, hoping


it can slow down and enjoy the view


inside another's home.

Whales & Goldfish

the tires grip the curved onramp

as cars race by like salmon going 

upstream. suddenly a whale appears 

in the freshwater concrete nearly 

tossing my goldfish off the side. we 

roll forward, trailing in its wake.

Process

type type type type


*pause*


furrowed brow, chin stroke.


type type...


*sigh*


type type,

typetypetypetypetypetype
typetypetypetypetypetype
typetypetypetypetypetype

hmmm,


"good enough for now."

For Mary Ruefle

I type out words with soundless clacks

as you read poetry to an audience I was 

never in. 

Should I say that your voice sounded

smooth like the surface of a marble

table?

Or that your words sound like those 

of an imagination of a life well lived?

I'd rather not think of how to describe 

you, I'd rather just listen, and watch.

Naked and Screaming

We came into

this world

naked and

screaming,



if we're

lucky we'll

leave it the

same way.

The Truth of a Kiss

I long to taste your kiss again,

soft, and wet against my lips.




Like rose petals, moist and

fragrant,we exchanged




breath between our lungs,

inhaling and exhaling,




longing to live eternally

between pages we




will never see.


____________________
note: looking at this the morning after, ehhh.

I don't think that ending really works.

Maybe I should rewrite it.

Truth In Advertising

the liquor

goes down

easy even

when every

thing else

in life

doesn't.

Dulce

Who picked this sweet bloom I wonder?


Sitting there on the wooden table,




leaning against the gaping mouth of the


vase, her head tilting down. A white




petal landing soundlessly, like paint


drying in the sun.

Darwin, darlin'

Don't you believe in evolution? I asked her.


"I'm not saying it's not right, there's still too


many gaps in the theory." I wasn't sure what


to say to that. What can you say to that?


Darwin, darlin'. Saying nothing, she


shook her head and walked away.

Rough Times

As the clerk at the convenience store was

ringing me up, I overheard the stranger next

to me, "She was bleeding out from the mouth

before she expired. I cried three times."

As I walked away I thought to myself,

"These are rough times stranger, rough

times."

writer

We walk around writing

our story every day 

wondering if anyone 

will ever want to

read this novel we've 

spent our whole

life writing.

A Master and His Servants

My hands run at the beck and call

of the master upstairs.


It is strange to think of the master

and servants as being one.


Their differences are many though

they share the same vessel.


Master can be uptight at times,

the servants don't mind being


carefree. They get along as

well as strangers like them can.


I wonder what they would make

of being described this way?

heart & body

I taste just like like your lips

          I still burn from your hips

                     I'm bruised but not broken




The love of the world
        
               lives in your sweet flesh

                                  give me your heart

                    

                          

broken pieces

There is not hing

I can d o

a b

out

t his bro

ken

coven

ant

w/

ith

you

.