Shortest Story

I heard a lonely voice

talking to itself again.

I love you

and you'll never 

know it.

Space Bar

Hit the 'space' bar.

 It will push you along.

Hit it three times,

   and go a little further.

Hit 5 times

     see?

Now-

keep hitting it until

there is nowhere left to
 

















 go.

First Hand Account

I can tell your from first hand experience that God
writes a little bit every day. It may be hard for you
to imagine the way time is perceived by God. You
have no reason to believe my account except to
take it on faith.

I have seen him sit down at his desk made of sequoia
and pull out parchment and quill from his desk drawer.
On the occasion he uses a pen he prefers to use Pilot
G-2 pens with the 05 fine tip because of how fine
the lines are and the minimal bleed.

The difference between when He writes versus you
on the physical plane is that He has the power to make
His words into actual reality. He doesn't do it very often
but He does from time to time. You don' even notice
when He does. It just happens.

He has also had high aspirations for all of you. He never
ceases to be disappointed at all your doctrinal in fighting.
The angels tend to take bets on how many of your will
die over religious conflict on any given day. They need
something to do on their breaks.

You may ask, 'If He can change anything at will then why
doesn't He do something about X?' That's a good question
but that's not for you to know. I sure as hell don't. Don't
get me started on Hell, that's a whole other story the Big
Guy is dealing with over here.

He's not a bad guy. Well, he's not really gendered, that's
just for your convenience. In any case, He's great to hang
out with once you get to know him. You may not believe
it, but He has such a great sense of humor. Ask him about
it sometime.

Black Is Not A Color

I do not wish to mourn for it is unbecoming
to bleed salted water from my eyes.

I do not wish to mourn because it is a reminder
of my own mortality.

I do not wish to mourn because that is not
you there any longer.

I do not wish to mourn because I can still
remember you.

I do not wish to mourn because I am still
alive.

I do not wish to mourn because according
to some faiths your return is imminent.

I do not wish to mourn you because I would
not wish for you to shed salted tears.

I do not wish to mourn because of everyone
else mourning across the world.

I do not wish to mourn because I do not
believe it is you any longer.

I do not wish to mourn because there is
much yet to live.

I do not with to mourn because my black
clothes don't match.

I do not wish to mourn because your mother
never liked me.

I do not wish to mourn because your father
was always kind to me.

I do not wish to mourn because your brother
never really knew you.

I do not wish to mourn because I am mourning
you know.

I do not wish to mourn because this is an elegy
for you and I know how you would have disliked it.

Negative Space

It's not what is
it's always what isn't.

The fixed quantity of loss
is one we try to reverse

and fail at so many times.
Absence shapes

in far greater detail the world
than any thing we possess.

Religion professes to give us
a world greater than which we

behold. Politics seeks to restore
glory which may or may never

have been. Art becomes a mirror
showing us a present that we

gaze into or away from.
Imbalance is a fragility

that we know too well.

Getting Out

Turn off the fan, it's fall for Christ's sake.
Do you know how ridiculous it looks
with that damn thing on?
Are you hot? It's not that bad,
if anything it's a bit chilly.
I don't care if it's summer somewhere
else. It's not summer over here.
You need to get out of this damn room.
Who do you think you are, Howard Hughes?
Leave your pity party and do something
with yourself. It's starting to get pathetic
with all your moping around.
I'll even give you money for gas
if that's what you're worried about.
Stop being like this- just get out.
It'll do you good.

A Short Lecture

Please, don't wait, time is in short supply.

They will say you are impatient, brash,

and impulsive-

why should these be negative qualities?

There is far too much at stake

at any given moment.

You must act, not for the sake of anyone

but your self.

This symphony is improvising itself,

it isn't worried about the score.

I'm not surprised

no when it comes to you.

I gave up understanding long ago.

It is much easier accepting moments as they

occur than questioning any logic or lack of such.

___________

You daydream about leaving

and smile.

Trembling

He tried to steady his left hand. It had started shaking from time to time recently.
He was having trouble getting over it. He had needed it, used it for far too long
to not escape it unscathed. It was in his blood, in his dreams, calling quietly,
insistently. At least he didn't have to go in to work until tomorrow. Ghosts lay
scattered across every surface of the bedroom. They could only stare back with
blank curiosity. He needed to get out of the house. On days like this he could 
barely manage to get himself in the shower, much less out the door. He was 
trying to avoid getting treatment. He wasn't some fuck-up that needed others 
to help him out. He was a goddamned man, he could do it by himself. He looked
at his phone, no missed calls or new messages. It was 10:30 in the morning on
a Tuesday. Two Tuesdays ago he would have woken up with a killer headache
and slouched into the kitchen to get some breakfast of whatever was there. He 
remembered he needed to get his laundry done today. He had to get out of the 
apartment, he needed to get to the laundromat. He hated sitting there and waiting
for his clothes to get clean. If he had the money he would just throw his dirty 
clothes away and buy new ones when t hey became too dirty to wear. He wasn't
that rich, probably would never be. He had a bad habit of wearing the same 
clothes for years until he would be forced to buy new ones after the old ones
had fallen apart and wear one step beyond wearable. At least his parents couldn't
see him now. They had such high hopes for him, especially because he was 
their only child. They were dead. They could care less now, in fact, they couldn't
care at all. He finally got to the bathroom and took a piss. He looked in the mirror
and could see how deeply the lines were carving his face. His face started to 
resemble the drift that led to the end of Pangea.  He grabbed a pair of relatively 
clean underwear and his towel and set them next to the sink. He turned the knobs
and began to calculate the proper heat and cold ratio he deemed suitable for 
a morning shower. He wet his hands to make sure that it wasn't too hot to scald
his pale skin. He stripped off his clothes and stood under the shower head. He 
raised both hands and covered his face as the water wet his hair and soaked
his body. 

A Hard Morning

His hand reached for the lever

and pushed down. The swirling

sound of water filled the room

as the faucet drenched his hands.

Eyes stared back at themselves

and adjusted. He rubbed his chin,

decided that shaving could wait

until tomorrow. She was still curled

up in bed. He had no interest in waking

her so early after the last few days.

He walked over to the kitchen

and started a pot of coffee.

Leaning against the counter

he saw that he had a new voicemail.

The pot was half filled with warm brown.

He listened to the message

and wondered if he should wake

her after all.

Unnatural Acts

Speech is an unnatural act,

writing, more so.

I can thread words together

as easily as a needle

passes through cloth.

Finding the right sequence

is paramount in any situation.

It is also important 

to know when to minimize

language for maximum effect.

Other situations call 

for dizzying displays of rhetorical

elegance which can cause no

doubt as to the skill and intent 

of the arranger. When the voice

speaks it can tremble and shake,

giving the impression of weakness

or uncertainty. When the voice

Booms and Towers it can instill

fear or confidence in others.

How great is the task that we have 

deemed language fit to carry?

Its burden is a weight beyond 

our understanding and root

of misunderstanding.

This was then.

I'm not cynical

It's just typical

It's not complicated.

Mistakes are the answers to questions you didn't ask.

Glass Stones, Rock Houses

Beauty is irrelevant without 

Love in the present tense. 

Drawing Along A Plane

My life is fiction lived in present tense.

It exists at the intersection

of the ex and why? axes.

The connection of two points on a plane

marks the line that forms the image.

Coordinates are found haphazardly

and ordered according to no plan.

If a point is removed another

will appear to take its place,

altering the final image. At most

only a partial view is visible at any

given time.

Being

To be one is to be all.


Who is not the child?


Who has not been the child?


Who will not be the child again?

5 Lines

I.

a pantheon of useless gods

II.

a century of cadavers looking for their ghosts

III.

god didn't fail, you did.

IV.

Soul Contraption

V.

It's hot in Hell.

battling entropy

take the time out
on grey days
to get out

you want to right
you hold part of yourself
hostage
for a better time
that never comes

pin hope on ambition
it can only be fulfilled with action

idle time is death
death is a given

do not relent
raise the colors
of the regiment

have you surrendered
will or grown in apathy

feet go nowhere
if they are not moving

still water stagnates
and festers with disease

something more
something else
something somewhere

stop being so so so
tied to static
ready yourself

self is the hardest part
to understand
it as tangible / ephemeral

sit comfortably
closed off from harm
closed off from experience

it pains you to hurt
it hurts you to breath
you exist all the same

undocumented terror
insecure in flesh
mind as still as rusted gears

falling into
an increasing state of entropy
the fate of everything

cities grow empty with steady ease
wild grasses grow taller than men
glass breaks and iron rusts

stone remains
it too will be eroded
by the steady winds

no one knows

when you're sinister

the challenge

The emptiness is the challenge. It cannot give you

anymore than what it is. You can look upon it and

ask for it to provide guidance, it will simply stare

back and marvel at your laziness. "What do you 

think I am? Why are you here?" it would ask itself.

You start to ponder the first thought. Many are half

formed children that are discarded with ease. Some

are more developed but lack refinement. They might

be of some use given the chance to change. The words

can do more than what you are willing to do with them.

The sentence begins

with one word.

It is often something as simple as

"Mama" or "Papa".

It gains competence and complexity

over a period of time

as it begins to grow in understanding.

The sentence continues

in an unabbreviated river of thought

expressed and hidden.

Punctuation is hardly ever a concern

in the moment as it

writes itself unceasingly over the years.

There is a final maturation

where it begins to stutter and shake with

the unease of its origin.

The sentence is only one thought unfurled,

the chapter was never

finished, never mind the entirety of the book.

We are in mid-sentence

and if we are lucky we may finish it.

A Rising of No Consequence

Hazy light and hot air circulating

on a humid morning. The fan has

been on all night, whirring back

and forth. You slept with no sheets,

the fan blowing air onto your legs

from time to time. Night crawled

into your thoughts through sounds

familiar to daytimes sibling. You

sit up, drink water from the cup.

Day can only grow hotter, will

grow hotter. Feet touch tile, you

yawn instinctively. Everything

and nothing all share the same

starting point.  

Worry

Worry came in for a visit and sat down on the couch.

She picked up the doily from the armrest and stared

at it. I asked her "Would you like a drink?"


I could see white enamel as she said "That would be

great." She put the doily back and said "Do you have

lemonade?" The corners of her mouth spread to their


fullest. Her cheeks glowed red warmth. "I should have

some" I said. I walked to the refrigerator and saw the

open box of lemonade I picked up last week.


The glass held a pink sea of sugared lemon as I brought

it to her. She nodded to me as she took the glass from

my hands and pressed it to her lips.


Her shapely legs crossed as I sat down opposite her.

It was always hard to say when she would come by.

She always overstays her welcome.

The Eternal Season

Grief stains like red wine spilt

on a white linen shirt.

Loss calculated by

what-ifs and almost-weres.

Eternity, a place

of safe conjecture

for those still running

from Marathon.

A warmth that brings

no comfort

begets a blossoming flower

that endures a lifetime.

A mountain-top in Winter,

A desert in Summer,

Branches in Fall.

Spring…

when?

Don't paint yourself in Black and White.

When 14 was 7.

We are melting in place.

6:45 a.m.

It's an earlier morning than you're used to.

The whirring sound of fan blades,

summer has been warmer than usual.

An elongated y a w n d r a w s i t s e l f 

out. No words uttered. If they were,

to whom? The news has nothing new

to say, recycled stories repeat in cycles.

Good morning. Good morning.

Dangling Carrots

We are pleased with ourselves.
Couched in luxury unthinkable
by generations barely decayed.

Problems persist, happiness
illusory at worst, fleeting at best.
It's definition recently revised.

Perfect planes of plastic, baubles
to be held, admired, possessed,
litter thought and aspiration.

Convenience is a given, sense
gathers dust in gray corridors,
falls asleep on the watch.

Glowing light as an anesthetic,
soothing, calming, the hand
of the unseen, falling lids,

the mind at rest.

Rope

Pull the rope.

Its frayed ends

gripped in your fists.

The knot tightens,

no more to give.

Staring out the window

and into the glare of a mirror

Bringing a Bear to a knife fight.

elemental

The color of the water

the movement of the sun

The volition of the tides

the color of the skies

The voice of the wind

the chatter of the leaves

The blood of the rivers

the passage of the clouds

The sadness of the prairies

the ages of the canyons

The children of the fruit trees

the sympathy of the moon

The tides passing soon

Rock scraping against rusted iron.

Faulty Navigation

Navigating imbalance-

a foot slipping inside a worn out shoe.


The lizard scurries along the bottom

of the wall, hides behind the fridge.


Tossing within sheets, the unbound

landscape in turmoil.


Pauses for thought, searching for

that which lives elusively.


Roads buckle in the heat as

plates slip beneath.

Summer Canines

Pity our heavily-furred friends on hot summer days

as they swelter in their skins. Coats built to endure

harsh winters to conserve warmth, not the rain 

parched climates of former and future deserts. 

Two Way Mirror

Pictures of women you've loved,
their boyfriends, fiancées, husbands,
and children posing in their happy homes

you realize how the years have passed
slowly enough for them to find partners
and bear children.

Expected lives of normalcy and tranquility,
easy lives marred by the uneasy nature of Life.
The world is filled with them.

You begin to wish it were you.
That you were their boyfriend or husband.
That you were holding your first newborn.

You wonder what it is you hold on to.
What of yours has been so valuable
to forsake that world of experience?

Is it the life you seek?
You don't know-
can't know.

So many happy lives
all staring back-
wondering how you've been.

Wanting

The last I heard about L was that she was married and had a
small child after moving back to her home state. We had worked
together for a few years and had gotten to know each other fairly
well in that time. I always thought she was beautiful. She had a
southern accent that was charming every time she spoke. It only
added to her beauty.  We hadn't seen each other since she had
moved. Thinking about her filled me a sense of regret over what
had never been.

 ***

She was lying face down in my bed, the sun was streaming in a muted
tone through the white curtains at my window. She kicked her legs up
and turned her head as I walked in through the door. She smiled.
I did a double take when I realized who it was.

"What are you doing hear?" I said.

"I thought I'd come visit you for a little bit." she said as the corners of
her mouth turned upward.

"How did you find out where I was living?"

"It wasn't too hard. I really wanted to surprise you."

"Where are you staying at while you're here?" I said.

Her smile widened to show the white of her teeth.

"I figured I'd stay with you since you have a bed and all. That is if
you don't mind, of course."

"I don't."

"Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come over?"
I hadn't moved since I froze in place at finding her. I walked over
to the bed and took my coat off and placed it on the chair of my
desk. I took off my shoes and set them near the edge of the bed.
She moved her body from the center of the bed to make room for
me. I got into the bed and laid on my back. She rolled on top of
me and said "I've missed you."

She held me close. Our noses were about to touch.

"I've missed you too," I said.

A Night at the Black Crow

"Shut the fuck up. She's at least a six." he said.

"Why?" the other man said.

"Her rack. Just look at her rack!"

The second man watched as she pulled bottles and
poured them into glasses. Her breasts hung large over
the rest of her body. Her cleavage plunged deep and
brought in good tips on that kind of night. She had just
started working there again. The two men could barely
hear each other.

"Her tits are sagging." the second man said.

"What? You've never been around older women?
You probably can't even remember the last time you
had a tit in your mouth." said the first man.

"Fine. She's not bad. I'm more of an ass man."

She had just turned around to ring up a tab.
The second man stared at her jeans with an empty hunger.

"Her ass is too flat."

"You're a picky motherfucker,"said the first man.

They finished their beers. The first man put the empty
bottles in the well of the bar, a sign for another round.
She finished serving the people at the end of the bar,
it was a bunch of young girls from the neighborhood
who had grown old by staying there. She saw the two
empties when she turned around. She pulled the cooler
open and pried the caps off the two bottles and set them
in front of them as she grabbed the empties with her
other hand.

They sat there in the midst of the blaring jukebox, awash
in cigarette smoke, the roar of a late night silencing them.

Won't / Will

I won't talk with my mouth.
I won't touch things with my hands.
I won't sing with my voice.
I won't taste with my tongue.
I won't think with my mind.
I won't love with my heart.
I won't see with my eyes.
I won't cry with my tears.
I won't walk with my feet.
I won't listen with my ears.
I will disappear.

10 Lines of Etc, etc...

1.) Loneliness tastes like white chalk.

2.) A perfect peace.

3.) Walking/waking into reality.

4.) Steady hand, fluttering heart.

5.) Character name: Ambrosio

6.) We are not good to each other much less ourselves.

7.) Violation vs. Annihilation

8.) The body slows twice as fast as the mind does.

9.) ...and they look like young girl
     getting ready for sunshine on the beach.
     One carries a baby in her arms.

10.) For a bartender in a neighborhood dive bar she is beautiful.

Finding beauty in my tears.

Pupa

Roads move us

from destination to destination

with minimal deviation.

We acclimate to ebbs

of time and traffic,

traveling by cocoon,

never emerging the butterfly-

we retain our larval form.

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." 

Out There --->

What ever joy

there is

is found out there,

not locked away

in small rooms

waiting to

get out.

The Creation of - - - - -

--------------Space is the condition
between us.----------------It marks
-----------emotion.----We tolerate-
--it--------------------------------------
-----as-best-we-can.---We--create
it-be-----------------------------cause
we need-----------------------------it.
Space has always been-------------
a necessary----------------------------
in----------------------------------------
--vention.------------------------------
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It fills everything---------------------

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and yet---------------------------------

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----------------------------------------it

never-----------------------------------

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needed us-----------------------------

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to create-------------------------------

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----------------------------------------it.