Every Broken Piece Together Again

I.
a stare that burns

through false fronts

rips out the carpet

finds the hardwood


II.
a night that does not need you

does not hear you

does not need thing anything from you


III.
There was the one who had a boyfriend
in europe. She said it was ok

it was an open relationship. It was fun
but it got boring.

There was the one you loved

She loved you

once

So what?


IV.
Night-

just this

surrounding me

closing in

close to me

close

touching my skin


V.
ideas bleed slowly
ooze across a non
existent page
pool and dry
on no floor
but the one
you imagine
to be real

flickering light

eyes whose radiance cannot

be fully ascertained-

whose faint light flickers

behind shadowed irises

Enlightenment

ENLIGHTENMENT IS

A STATE OF

CONSTANT RENEWAL.

The Great Failed Experiment

This life only poisons

the beautiful things

it breeds.

What sea

is there left

to see?

Important Details

We do not decide
the length of the journey
or even its destination,

only how we see it,
how we change with it.

This Friendship

He's such a bore now that he doesn't drink. It was fine
at first but now all he wants to do is stay home and read.
We used to go out all the time and get drunk at the bar
by his house. Michelle would buy us a round if she was
bar-tending. He used to have the biggest crush on her,
everyone still does. I'm not sure why he decided to stop,
we always had a good time together. We were inseparable.
I heard he got a promotion at work. He used to complain
about how much he hated going in each morning, but I guess
he got over that. It's not the same when I go in now. Michelle
asks me how he's doing and all I can say is 'good'. It's just not
the same anymore. I just don't get why he stopped. He could
always handle his buzz even when I couldn't. Maybe I should
call him and see about dropping by his house.

Mary

Mary, I have changed
and I worry that you won't
recognize me.

Keep your amber memories
locked away. I keep mine
hidden beneath the bed

in a box wrapped in tape.
If I ever need them
I know they are safe

from passing times.
Mary, why do I worry
about this? Mary,

I know it's just a common
concern of the aging
and aged. I'm not ready

to give them up. Have you
ever held amber up
to the sunlight?

Many Lives

I will sleep
and forget you.

I will sleep
and forget myself.

I will sleep
and live another life.

I will sleep
and wander.

I will sleep
and emerge fully

formed from 
this chrysalis.

I will sleep
and wake 

far too soon
for my liking.

I will sleep
only to fall

asleep once
more here.

As God

I do not like this idea.
Because of its unfortunate shortcomings
I will cease to write it down.
It was promising at first
until the inspiration ran as dry
as the cracked skin of the desert.
It does not whimper, does not 
beg for another chance,
it simply accepts its fate
in the dustbin-
to languish with all the rest.
They do not die
but they do not live.
They wait
hoping for redemption,
hoping for salvation.
Both are possible
though unlikely.
On occasion 
my hand will reach down
and bestow a blessing,
restoring life
to the luckiest of the damned.

All Travels

How many

more miles

to go?

Many,

many,

more miles.

Then-

No Alternative

You awake into consciousness-

how else would you start

the day?
              

sound echoes

what it is to listen

to a voice once silenced


memory engrained

like grooves on wax


each play wears it

a little further


sometimes the record

breaks and it doesn't


matter how well kept

it may have been

Dividing Light

Can you divide light?

If you could,

would you?

There is not light

enough to go

'round some days-

we must do our best

to shine it 

in all the places

shaded into frigid

being. 

The Importance of Action

Inspiration 

without action

is useless.

For Beauty Queens Everywhere

what will 

you Do

when Your

beauty Fades?

What Cannot [ ] [ ]

Reminds me too much of [        ].

Why?

It just does.

In the face,

it's all in the face,

or at least it

[   ].

The [   ] grows

wider

and longs to be [filled]

[     ].

Some [      ] will never

be [      ].

[          ] [  ]

gone.

Raptors

The birds are fighting

but about what?

Wait-

they've stopped.

Now what?

No Help Here

I found his notebook a few months after he had passed away.
It was in his bedroom between the mattress and the box-spring.
There weren't very many people that came around after he passed,
so I just left his things as they had been. I sat on the bed and began
to flip through the pages, reading bits and pieces here and there.
We weren't as close as we had once been by the end, we still
cared about each other but it as different. There were times where
it was hard to read his writing, not so much because of what he had
written but because his penmanship was like mine, atrocious. What
I could read wasn't surprising. He struggled to get clean but refused
to let anyone help him. I tried, I really tried to help out but he just
wouldn't have it. He wrote about how lonely the struggle to get
clean was. He didn't have to go about it that way but what more
can you do when someone refuses your help? What can you do
when someone refuses to ask for help? When I was done I set
the notebook on the bed and looked out his window. It faced
the brick wall of the alley. Below, I could hear the garbage truck
gorging itself on the cast off remains of so many lives.

Alice

They met shortly after the war. She had never been in love
with anyone else before. They eloped and married in Tijuana,
Mexico. He was 19, she was 18. If you heard about a young
couple doing that now you would think them exceedingly
foolish. It was different then, you could meet someone and
know that you were meant to be together. They remained
married for decades until his death. She loved him so. They
had a home filled with children, animals, and the stories of
travels they took. Together, they explored as much of the
world as they could. Most people never get the chance to be
themselves as they did together. They would go to the local
comedy club as often as they could and made friends with
the staff. After his passing she would still go and sit at the
same table she used to sit at with her husband. She would
bring her daughter on occasion, or a lot of times bring a
friend to share the evening with. At age 84 she was still
as beautiful as any human being could hope to be.

Morning Notebook

Do you realize there was a point in time when people
almost rioted during a classical music performance?
It's hard to imagine that ever being the case but we
should understand that things were quite different
in the early 20th century. It is easy for us to imagine
a riot for almost any reason but classical music. That
could be our bias against the form.

Don't leave without saying goodbye, it's rude. To this
day I do my best to say goodbye before I leave any
social gathering. It doesn't always work out but I try.

It's always early.

I don't want to be a bore but it's hard to leave the house
sometimes and deal with all the other voices screaming
at you, vying for your attention.

As much as I like you it will almost certainly not work
out. This seems to be a recurring theme.

Groggy, cold, and hungry. Morning is a cruel time.

She is still in bed. I don't want to wake her but I know
she has things to do.

I remember a time when I remembered how much I
miss you.

All this emptiness could fill a canyon.

Run all day, walk all night. The end will come around
and catch you from behind.

I am trying to voice these thoughts in a cogent manner.
For the time being
this will have to do. Feed
this loneliness it's lunch,
It grows hungry again and again.

Whose voice is it I hear? I have always heard it
echo through these curved walls.
Is it me?

Would we be any better or worse off if there had never been
a first or second World War?

All love is War.

Can these eyes see further?

Q and A

Stop. Do It.

... 

Waste time? NO, DON'T.

Forget? Try not to.

Learn? That would be ideal.

Work? If you are the many,

YES. If you are not, optional.

Create? Sure.

Clarity?  Pick some up.

It's hard to get by without it.

Family? They help make it easier

most of the time.

Friends? Yes. Also, see above.

Laugh? As often as possible.

Cry? As needed.

Belief? If you feel the need-

Absolutely. Don't worry about 

those of others. They'll be

just fine. 

Dance? Anywhere at any

time is always appropriate.

Take a walk? The sun looks 

beautiful today. 

Go outside.

living with shadows

Stop being so easily distracted.

You can barely manage to read

five minutes worth of text before

your eyes begin to fidget and flutter,

looking for something else to affix

themselves to. You used to be able

to read for endless hours without

looking up from the page. You were

a different you back then. This new

you is older and scarcely any wiser.

There are more gray hairs to be found

now, but those have always been

expected. Your mind wanders

to thoughts of a beautiful woman

you saw last night. Soon enough,

even she becomes a shadow wandering

through, until at last, the sun is at noon.

soil erosion

We fear loss so deeply that we say

and do whatever we can to prevent it

as long as we can.

We fear the loss of love once we have

tasted it.

              Twisting words

re:                                   arranging

exist ence into so

meth in g un

re                  cog

   niz                    able

to hold on

                 just

a little longer

before…

                 the canteen

is empty

as we thirst

                     in the desert

and watch visions

of another kind

     

       o f e r o s I o n

wait for no one

Don't spend too much time waiting

for others to call,

to visit,

to do anything at all.

We waste

too much of a dwindling

commodity

to make the wait

worth the effort.

Don't be mean spirited

about your impatience to those

that make you wait,

just make sure to let them know

you may not be around

once they finally are.

The great sin

of the Information Age

is that we are allowed to carry 

informed opinions

on trivial matters

while being ill-informed on 

matters of consequence.

The Art you cannot own.

When The Light Goes Out

The parents died in a car crash in New York. They were
both so young, only twenty-one years old each. She was
pregnant with their first child. The driver and passenger
of the car that hit them both fled the scene on foot. How
stupid a thing to do these days. It is only a matter of time
before they are caught and rightfully vilified by the press
and public. The husband and wife were taken to separate
hospitals were they died apart from one another. They
managed to save the unborn child from the womb of its
dead mother. They said the child was in critical condition
yesterday. The headline of the news this morning said
the baby had died. How many more today? Most will be
unknown. Most will be unmourned by the world. One life,
one-hundred lives, the extinguishing of a flame too soon,
but when is ever the right time for us?

Unfinished Piece

I have no exoskeleton to protect
my internal organs, all of my soft and easily
damaged flesh held upright by a dangerously
breakable framework. My seat of reason
is easily swayed by wandering emotions traveling
throughout, or the slightest sense of harm
that could befall my being. I am no hero, though,
if given the chance I would make a valiant attempt
before falling into a heap. I long to connect
with others but my opinions tend to run in opposing
force to most. I want everything but I am too
scared of failure, too worried about failing to be
nothing more than a never was. I live behind glass
and observe facsimiles that are worthy of the forms
of the cave. My passion runs with the heat of a desert,
and the coolness of winter winds. I am a force
undefinable as I am strong, and as weak as I am
doubtful...

self

that which hinders you,

that which you allow 

to hinder you.

The Crossing

Chavez stood at the intersection and watched the mid-afternoon traffic 

as it whizzed past him. People leaving work for home, parents picking 

up children from school, squad cars cruising for speed demons with 

heavy feet; all of them and more were lost in their own thoughts as 

they sat encased in hurtling means of movement. None were aware of

the others movements as long as they did not cross paths. He set his 

heavy bag at his feet. His left hand was sore from carrying it. There

were still a few more blocks to go before he would be home. He grew

up not too far from this corner. When he was a child his mother would

walk him to school, he always felt safe with her around. She had been

gone for quite some time now. He hoped his car would be ready at the

shop by tomorrow like they had told him. The lights turned green and 

the solid red hand was replaced by the gray lights in the shape of a man

in a walking motion. He grabbed the bag with his right hand and moved

as briskly as he could. He disliked the fact that the lights at intersections

never felt like they gave you enough time to cross unless you were 

sprinting from one side of the street to the other. He could feel eyes of 

impatience glaring at him from behind windshields and being cursed

at under breath. He felt the rush of energy as a car turned behind him

as his feet touched the sidewalk. His pocket began to vibrate and he 

ignored it, he had a good idea of who it might be. When it stopped,

he reached into his pocket to read the text message. It was exactly

who he expected. She must be drunk, lonely, or both to be trying 

to reach him at this hour. Her boyfriend had broken up with her 

recently and there weren't very many people she liked to talk to. 

Chavez had liked her but that had worn off. They went out shortly

after her break up and got drunk at the The Black Crow down 

the street from her apartment. When they got back to her place they

pounded a bottle of wine and began to make out in her living room.

They were lucky because her roommate was out of town at the time. 

He liked feeling needed, he didn't get to feel that too often. There was

something different about it, something that made him uncomfortable.

He put the phone in his pocket and started walking back to his 

apartment where no one waited. 

hauntings

your voice 

is a murmured memory

crept into my dreams-


disconnected of body,

ethereal presence 

are the remains 


I carry of you. 

Pursuing the Thrush

More Stray Lines

I.

Rival Sons

II.

Wax Heart

III.

In space there is no time.

IV.

Labyrinthine Snakes

V.

We move as slowly as slugs
but with far less patience.

VI.

Create new addictions,
revisit old ones.

VII.

Rival Suns


Note: these random lines were from Friday 2/22/13 and Saturday 2/23/13

Internal Mechanics

The heart is a simple machine

that has been given 

the most extraordinary task.

Narcissa

                                       maiden
               in the dusk

                         Narcissa

with hungry eyes




                        Narcissa
                                of free habit and

                                           beautiful
                                               blending    colors




without   rival.

                             "Ain't that elegant?"





                            I guess.



Narcissa

                                sleeps






Note: this piece is a result of an erasure workshop I attended that was led by poet Mary Ruefle on Saturday, February 23rd at the Clark Memorial Library of UCLA.

When Things Go Missing

I woke up one morning and I couldn't find my face.

There was nothing on my bed or tangled in the sheets.

I got down on hands and knees and did not see anything

on the ground. Finally, I went over to my car in case

I left it there on accident, though, if I had, I hope I would

have remembered that. After searching for an hour I decided

to wear one of my masks for the time being. It wasn't a perfect

fit but it was better than no face at all. The problem with my

masks is how hard it is to speak and attempt to be understood

through lips that cannot move. It is frustrating but what more

can I expect from an easy fix? I called my doctor and told him

my situation. He said to come by at one o'clock for a fitting.

As I sat in the waiting room I noticed a few other people

that were wearing masks as well, at least I wasn't the only

one. My turn came up and I stepped into the back rooms.

Doctor Austere came by after a couple of minutes and

promptly took off my mask. He looked at my raw head

and said that he would use the same measurements from

before for my replacement face. He said if I could wait

another twenty minutes or so they would have it ready

and they could attach it right away. I agreed. It's an odd

sensation to be with out your face and wait around for its

replacement. At least I hadn't been out drinking when

I lost it. When he came back he had one of his assistants

with him. She must have been new because I could not

recall having seen her before. She was quite lovely and

I could tell she had received a new face recently. She

stepped out and returned with my new face resting on

a blank head. It looked warm and alive. Doctor Austere

said it would be just like last time. I sat there quietly as

they began their work of connecting nerves to quivering

new flesh, those pathways which give expression to such

an organ. There is pain like a burning light but it is bearable.

After some time they both stepped back with a satisfied look.

"Can you smile for us?" the Doctor said. I felt the skin raise

up into two opposite corners as my new lips curved.

"Looks perfect," he said. He had me do a few more facial

expressions just to be sure. He said to call him if I had any

problems with this new face. I told him I would. As I walked

outside to the car the skin on my new face felt the wind, it's

fine hairs were at cold attention. I remembered that I had left

a bag of groceries in the trunk of my car yesterday. I popped

the trunk and saw my groceries there, fortunately they weren't

of the easily perishable variety. I also happened to see a familiar

some one looking back. Oh well. At least I have a spare.

Feeling It

If you cannot let yourself feel happiness

as it occurs to you,

then what, if anything,

do you have to look forward to?

Bare Essentials

How much,

how little

is needed?


Essence

and nothing

more.


How much

should be 

in place?


Carve past

flesh. Marrow

as a goal.

The Breakup

I wasn't surprised to hear that she broke up

with her boyfriend. He never seemed quite right

for her. Honestly, I was surprised they stayed together

as long as they did. Everyone knew she liked younger

guys, but he seemed like just a pretty face. I'm sure

he was a good fuck. Before they were together she

complained about how long she had been single.

Remember the time we went over to visit? She was

all glassy-eyed when she came out of the bedroom.

I'd suspected he had gotten her into some harder shit

but I didn't want to ask. I noticed the rubber strap

sitting on top of her coffee table as plain as day.

When she sat down next to me I saw the track marks

on her left arm. What could I say? What would you

have said? It wasn't my place to say anything. When he

came out of the bedroom he sat down next to her

and didn't say a thing. He just sat there. After that night

I didn't really go over anymore. They weirded me out.

Maybe now that they're not together I'll drop by

and see how she's doing.

Two Thoughts From The Drive Home

I.

Insects with halogen eyes

stare unblinkingly

as their red-lit rears run by.


II.

cold static burns

your finger tips

touch my lips

to dream

I dream of a universe caged and free,
of contradictions reconciled
and ambitions blossoming
into actions as great 
as the spirit they were
birthed from. 

I dream of a more compassionate people, 
a softer noose to hang from, 
a better way to say nothing,
a silence that is profound,
a silence more powerful
than any word. 

To Be

I am only real

when I am

I am real

I am

I.

post-

How strange and beautiful

would it be to see 

a sunset in the city

with no human eyes to witness?

Rules For An Interesting Journey

Make plans and break them.

Never play with anyone's heart but your own.

Don't give advice not won through experience.

Cry from time to time.

Be nostalgic.

Burn a favorite picture to ash.

Give a cherish possession to a loved one for no particular reason.

Speed along an empty freeway at 100m.p.h.,

stick you hand out the window.

Contemplate the death of roadkill.

Fall in love at the most inconvenient time.

Forget something important on purpose.

Improvise.

Teach someone one of your skills.

Say hello to the stranger who makes eye contact,

smile.

Don't ignore pain.

Don't shy away from self-doubt.

Make out with a stranger at a bar.

Create in order to please only yourself.

Write something with no intent to ever show anyone.

Undo the sky.

Retain

My memory is like 

          
          spools of magnetic tape


spilling from a cracked 

          
          and broken cassette.

Socrates In The Modern World

I told her that I am not so wise.

She said “How can you say that?”

“Very easily,” I said, “with words.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

This all started because we had been

talking about Socrates. He famously

said that all he knows is that he knows

nothing. We can be reasonably sure

that even if Socrates didn’t phrase it

like that he did say something to that

effect. What hope do us mortals have if

such a vaunted mind felt so confident

about his own lack of knowledge?

If Socrates were alive today I wonder

if he would still feel the same. If he were

alive today there are many other things

which he would be ignorant about, such

as the last two-thousand or so years of

history. What would he think of the

monotheism of Christianity and Islam?

Would he convert to either faith?

Or would he find comfort in Buddhism?

I’m sure he would find Scientology to be

a hard sell. I do. He could easily become

a media sensation and have plenty of quick

one line sound bites ready to be easily

digested by any of the news shows. They

would need to find someone to translate

his colloquial Latin. I don’t think most news

outlets would be ready, but it would give

Latin students new job opportunities aside

from the usual high school teaching gigs

to uninterested students who are more worried

about the breakout probabilities of their skin.

I am still not sure why my friend thinks me

so wise. I am glad to be thought of in such

a way but those thoughts don’t seem to take

into account my shortcomings. I wonder what

was Socrates least favorite thing about himself.

Perhaps he never learned to properly tie his toga.

“I am not wise,” I told her, “I am merely a man.

Because of this my existence will always lack.

This is not the worst fate that could befall me

or any of us, it’s just the state of how we exist.

We live in tiny bubbles floating through air

that could burst at any moment. The miracle

is the continued state of the bubble. It is no

less beautiful because of it’s short life, in fact,

it is more beautiful,” I said.

We sat in the silence of the city, the sounds

of wind muddled with the mass of purring

engines and voices blurring into one sound.

recycled into nothing

I have nothing to say.

Recycle the same bits 

of language and hope 

to find a new path. 

No wonder men

go insane in 

perfections pursuit. 

I AM NOW