There’s a dam out on Farrington where
when we were dumb, numb and young we
would make ourselves hated
       for the precious time we wasted

We would take the ghosted road
just before Hoover
gravel-paved past the power box gates
the pebble flicking legs of the Liberty strumming the bumper
as we stumbled and shook into the shallow glade

we’d make our way to the northeast corner of the lot
finding some dark to park in under the lamp
stone broke from when we were small
croaking like Jim Morrison through the burnt tea-smog
smiling unseen besides for a torch lit face at a time

the hiss of the lake lazily rolling over the dam
leaked in through the windows                   only
slightly cracked open; hoping for something fresh
just to settle for an old familiar musk

and we sat in that spot              in that lot
steel-shielded from starlight,             still
highly inspired with eyes stirred in nimbus structures
never chasing
never trying.

What’s that?
            I’m sorry,
you make a lot less sense attempting
to shout through that rag in your mouth.
I could untie you, sure
             let you free to walk about
but for now you mine and baby, when I’m
done I’ll drag you out.
Your squirming helps me keep awake and
            I hate to miss a minute
of perfect dark and the best part is drowning with you in it.
Blood,
         is not red with no light
                   and love
          is no fun with no fight
so kiss me, and please feel free to bite
          so you can taste the ink in
my lips and feel me sinking.

I’m caught up
            crippled in between fate and philosophy, so
I suppose I should be leaving
armed with my refined and feathered weaponry
draped over my shoulder so
            expressively, yet
less deadly indefinitely.
My healthy dose of daily danger seems stranger to me
with every staggered step I take towards dreams
             of sanity
                       humanity
and the grays of my complexion
          fogging my reflection by the day will do their damage
                    as I fade into black just like
most everything, even the sol
            even the kittens cosmos the Kardashians and those
                       most favored and faithful foes we hold
so close to our leaking hearts.

The hole in the wall
            Above my head in my
Blue car bed
            Taught me as a child
How close asleep was – to dead.
The yellow and death-black insects
            That worked and dug still buzz above me
As the moon mocks me with it’s
Up-lit inconsistency.
            The “anything can happen” isn’t
The thing that frightens me, but rather
            The fact that I could miss it in
The midst of my wildest dreams.

I wonder
            who is laughing at me
while you lick clean the black and blood-stained talons that
                 grip you
                                  the way I wish to.
I wonder
                    what ugly slugs and empty shells you've smuggled into my home
what secrets you have slipped between
                                               my sheets while I was sleeping
                                or if; while I do care for you
I even have a right to.

I wonder, now
          if, while I am away
                        my attempts at love and soul-exposure stay
afloat in your desires
                                awake straight through the day
or if my novelty has shriveled up;
                                             brightly burnt, just- to fade.

Without mind to ears or eyes, my
chords and cares alike are
simply things slipped idly
from me
and though my tunes and melodies
are not among your memory,
for listening - I wont forget
to always thank you kindly.
My shattered shell has got me
well versed and out of hiding trying
for funs sake and not so much
success
but even through untimely trials
I’ve been blindly finding I’m at
the universe’s mercy more with
every breath and step.

There was a tide that day
that consumed me and
took advantage of my calm surrender
as the gulls overseeing bore witness
lacking remorse; but they will miss me…
They will miss me.

Down.
The fire tamed falls to the floor
again and,
again.
Those I shared myself with now
ugly stains and shells sown shut; oak
                                  softened by the sea
laying at my feet silenced and
seeming so wrong that I
can’t be here right now.

Another.
To the pavement but I still stand tall and proud and
loud enough for the rest to hear
but the gaping wounds of shredded flesh show that
                           they weren’t ever listening                                    to me.
and that the signs they held and cries they yelled were nothing
but a way to get themselves killed.

BANG.          BANG.

Two more.
And I need to leave before something happens to me.

But who could turn away?
How could I not watch as my rebellion was crushed
under the violent inconsistency of my own self-discovery?
How could I shy from witnessing everything I
         convinced to love me
like empty shelves in libraries crashing to the floor
               but
just as quietly as they ever were before in a brilliant display of justice only seen by my eyes
caused by my hand.

People in their right mind they just,
        tell me I should leave
but I think I’ll stay here and

           keep shooting, so
when the time to hit the target comes, my
                                                               aim
                                                           isn’t
                                                        off.

Don’t silence yourself before you’ve

        heard what you have to say!

You know, minds restricted by

                                      their company

don’t usually end up

                                   far from home, so

please, repeat that poem and

            this time

                    put your back into it keeid.

I’m picking at these strings again
humming in tune with the vibrations of my aura
drowning out the sounds around me with
something simple
something delicate but well protected and
         entirely my own as I
                   manufacture meaning out of morality.
I am keeping perfect pace
rowing with my palms,
          wrists dipping in and out of the cool and easy current
chasing destiny on the bank as she
dances between branches
            picking and twirling at pretty random petals
as they dangle in their moments like promises and possibilities.
             My life is flowing out of me
steadily and soundly
unlike the curdlings that use to splash in the wake of my
                                              insignificant molecular motion.
I am intentionally dizzying myself
          smiling and spiraling, trying to touch love before anyone else does
and I will graze it with the backs of my fingertips
               just
a light strum to make a sound smooth enough for
           everyone to hear.

I’m lifting you

                        into me

humming, warm and why

                   did we wait so long to do this?

I’m panting trying to

            breathe you in

electric flesh against me like

wet lips and licks to batteries

            having these

                 hungry spells of clawing clutching and I’m

lost amongst my instinct

                                        and you.

You, my
        friend
I will blatantly ignore
          from time to time out of
sheer respect
                            and give us both a moment
alone; perhaps to
            assess or
appreciate a situation.
                 Either way I would prefer you
reciprocated this courtesy for trivia has
                                  no place among any
memorable moment.

They swept us through the terrace
to the empty other side as we were,
                         settled and
           extraordinary
but unaware of and,
not understanding

the clear-headed but
cloudy-shouldered giant.

He closed us in the coffin.
Sounds of drills and fading thumps and we are buried
as though our minds were less brilliant than before

as though the things that used to trickle from our brows were now just
dust
           like swallows with red ribbons laced through their beaks
parading through the sky like something quiet and
                                                                                                 sad

drifting and following the setting sun into the sea hiding tears
because there’s no one here to dry them.

All this time we watched with pity from their feet
        not knowing,
        never knowing that we could one day sift through the grate

just like all the “invincible” things our minds created while we laid in the dirt.

Cold
         you don't need to please me
                           i've
learned to love you anyway;
             how do you stay
       so
                               still?
        I've been
trying since I started moving
                              to
                                    slow down
                                                           but
the warmth of the world won't let me!
               People could learn from the
icy empty air
what it's like to live life as an inconvenience
              watching faces turn red in your presence
children and
senior citizens
                   with the same gut reaction to
cover up
not look up and
just keep moving
       and anyone who's watching will
soon be the one warning
        everyone they love
to shield their fragile skin
                    even
                            when it snows.
But cold's got me to talk to!
      To walk with and
feed off of for some fresh body heat
               that i'd gladly give
for just a bit of frozen peace
                  unworried about my diet, since
i've got no food to eat!
Not concerned with being quiet
          because
                                no one can hear me!

God bless the gifted for
          who I am now
able to be.
      Ages of ancient power and wisdom
fused to my bone and spine forever or
                                  for whatever time i've left to teach
the code that
                                 keeps me going.

G’mornin’ Mr. Reaper man
          may I have this dance?
I used to be afraid to sleep
                                 but I’ll give you a chance
because
           hey,         what you promised me
                 doesn’t sound so bad
                        I
could probably get used to sleeping in a
                                                          body bag
                       and who has any right to say
you’re someone I can’t trust?
             Is it just
because the others say that you are
                                               after us?
                               Or was it the soggy bodies
                                                        that still are washing up
on shores with fears of seas unknown
                                 with waves who’ve lost their touch
foamy waters raging aching
                    for
the dip of your sickle
                              the tickle of
the ripple made by you, God and Satan your
           genius plan to
                              free all of man
                  and save the world from waiting.

I’m warmer in this
new skin I’m in
                   than I think I’ve ever been
I’ve struck oil
                  not for riches but for fuel to fix
the sad and tired way
                 that I have been living
the  hawks that used to
peck and squawk
            and  latch my lungs like frightened helpless prey
have perched upon my shoulder
                guarding me while I walk and
showing me the way

No one seems on track to me
it’s as though
the door is swung open violently to
absolute obstruction
but, not the kind that leaves you
shell shocked or out cold or
knocks out wind
just the harmless empty kind that leaves you
    unfulfilled
like a ghost waiting for a glance
walking tracks left train-less
scared
of everything but death.
What kind of place is this?
A place where anything can happen
where shells of people roam railroads old and unused
until they’re filled with plastic bullshit unholy religion
or perhaps something vaguer like mist
from the likes of me.

If I weren’t so tired I could keep
                                  calm
calm enough to give things like affection and warning

             to collect my sullied thoughts like unpackaged celebrity figurines

or a distorted clash of past and present views of sharing
                        but it’s been so long since I’ve had it together.

With lack of focus comes
                        inevitable loss
and knowledge like that (for me) came with a high school degree and
               blurry countless nights far from home  (most of which were spent in my house)        
            
and though I try
   with pills and poisoned juices
to repair my gazes
                my memory still regrets itself.

What could I do with the energy I use to carry the weight of my eyelids?

Remember how to learn, perhaps?
                                                      Or maybe
extend my tongue to greet the rain
                      instead of squirming through the earth in search of moisture.

It’s no wonder my mouth is full of dirt
I haven’t had a mind (or a need) to keep myself clean
for the same reason wolves don’t trim their coats or prance around the tundra until the rest of the animal kingdom has had their fill
                                to seek approval
                                                is to die searching
                                                                  
but to deny the requests of the masses
   is to die young

and, I’m expected to waste time sleeping..
but, for some reason my logic is flawed and I’m
caught up in cycles not knowing when to
relax
or even begin to fall asleep.

Sure, I’m smart
but
                                    make no mistake I
                        know not how to
                                    exist
to my potential.
            I know about
energy osmosis from
                        physical
            to                         mental            
                                                            passively passing off
                                    responsibilities
LIKE
            survival
like foreign swirls of passion the
                        most interesting
yet
                                    un-introduced of
                                                                                                intruders
weeding my mind with cheap beauty and
            useless truth
                        embers of understanding
                                                            burning holes in my vision
through which I see
                        the Devil’s face in places
                                                                                 I’d
                                                                                    always guessed he’d be.
I know all windows close for
                                    more than one reason
                        and that
                                                how eyes respond to open ones
depends on the season
            and
                                        at least in            my mind             I’m
continuing to rhyme
                        even though from
tick
            to
tock
                                                                        my scheme is just
                                                                                                      a little                        off.