Life is short;
I've given myself
ample space, to
ponder about such
a thing

It's short in the way
one's favorite
song is short,--

Why end a sweet,
and delicate tune
so soon?

Nothing's a matter,
it's foolish to think otherwise;

Of course, bills must be paid,
their skeletons stored
in metal cabinets
that clink and rattle far away
in some man's office we never see
but he gets paid, and that's enough

What of those out in the streets,
their characters found in books,
their inner voices guide us
through page after page,
and what do we learn then?

Life, you've alluded
every clever mind, and
Purpose, you've slipped
through every hand
that's tried so desperately
to grasp you

How silly we look under
the stars of a Mid-December
evening; it's cold, and the
lightning bugs are in full
bloom;

and so we chase
them until our hearts
fall back into our chests
like water into wooden buckets

Life is indeed, short;

we retire as do most things
of nature retire, and become
one with the earth;

the marble markings
our loved ones leave after
we're gone, remind us

not to come back;

at least for the time being.

I suppose what aches
the heart is a competitive
mind;

It's never win or lose,
but somehow feels mores
like the latter.

With dreams, come
the scenery of futures.

You close your eyes
and it's like you're there again;

crying over another broken heart,
or
better yet,
mourning over a father
who let the needle
love him too deep.

The mind is not
for or against
the concrete reality.

It persists
to perceive.

And what aches
the heart
is the breath
that competes.

My wife hates it when I leave my clothes around the house.
she hates it when I hold a sneeze for too long,
she thinks I do it on purpose; she may be right
because I believe i was a full time birthday party clown
in my past life.

My wife complains to me about
how I spend more effort than I should scratching an
itch on my thigh; she scrutinizes me when I dig
under my nails and pleads for me to just clip them.

When she's not home her voice still remains; it rocks
back and forth like a lifeboat without any
tools for salvation.

I could never love anyone else. perhaps I'm all
dried up; much like the plums we keep in the icebox.

Forgive me,
I don't mean to be so honest.

It's just that i don't have anyone else to talk to at the moment.

...As we were slow dancing
to Nothing Compares 2 U
by Sinead O' Conner
I noticed the sky getting darker,
and your eyes getting dimmer;

You were falling asleep
in my arms and I had to steady
your limp body like
a peasant with a sack of
bath salts.

You started to drool
on my chest and I lifted
you at an awkward angle
and tried to close your
gaping mouth;

My finger slipped
past your lips
and ended up in your
left nostril but you didn't
stir;

Our bodies were
still stuck in
a hypnotic sway,

when I realized my
entire hand was inside
of your nose.

I laid you down
on the harvest rug
and used my other
hand to free
myself but it was
of no use; that hand,
against my will,
slipped in as well.

I had no other
choice but to climb in
(the song started skipping
at the worst possible time).

I was crawling
for what seemed
like weeks; in what
seemed like the abyss,
in what seemed like
any old tunnel,
in every typical
metropolitan city.

I found a light
and scurried toward
it's radiance like
a rat desperate
for a morsel of
Nutella.

But it wasn't a light
at all.

It was a bland
piece of paper;
it was a blank screen
of a computer,
it was a white
sheet of material;

But there was
a fountain pen
nearby.

So I took my time,
rattled the beehive,
managed to regain
my composure

and I decided
to write
this nonsense
to keep myself
from ever
losing my mind.

drained the snake
tonight;
it's still battered
and bruised from
the five minute fist
fight

i could go another round,

that's if you don't mind
getting kicked while you're
down

or knocked up in this
boring old town.

Visualize
then execute
tomorrow is
your open grave
lie in it, kiss
the walls, appreciate
the silver lining
it's all for you
every one get's
one, feel special,
uniqueness comes
in droves

with eyes closed
your heart opens

I'm inside of you
always been

because I am sound

$4 an hour
minimum

scouring
the nostrils
for golden
nuggets
takes a certain
skill

let's sing
along to
Lana Del Rey
songs

in our
best nasally
voices

we're impressions
of impressions
after all

so who
is really a legend?

the popstar
is just
a pop
without
her stars

and
we're all
in sync
with closed
lips

tonight

...Fix your problems? Mother,
I can barely fix mine. Your daughter,
your favorite daughter, the one you've looked
after with all of your heart, brushing
the others aside; others, who like me
longed for your love, and only wanted
your care; nothing more; it was all we wanted.

Couldn't you see it in the way
we wanted you to play games with us?
And when we grew older
we sat with you on the bed
the day Papa left. K had his head
between your legs, whimpering
as you were sobbing;

sobbing there, always sobbing,
and look, you're doing it now;
nothing has changed; nothing
will change, will it?

Fix your problems? Me?
I've got enough of my problems
but the tears of your own sorrow
drown out the crises of others. Sometimes.
Sometimes.

Sometimes someone you love,
has to tell you what you don't
want to hear; what you aren't
able to handle;

and if you're lucky,
that someone, who truly loves you back,
will be there after you have
sobbed yourself to near-death.

Either you can sit there,
remain a limp, tired corpse,
and ****, moan and plead for others
to fix what you
refuse to fix yourself;

or you can do something about it;

something that isn't so *******

selfish;

something that is akin
to giving the abyss
a *******;

Just look at religion,
God, the church, the entire
lunacy of it's overbearing
presence!,--

That, mother,
is giving the *******
to the nothingness
that surrounds us all.

Guess what?

Today, I didn't find the cure for cancer.
I didn't stay faithful to my wife. I didn't
call up my father and tell
him Happy Birthday. I didn't
bother to feed my goldfish.

Instead, I stayed in bed all day
and texted men and women
and anyone just as lonely as I am.

I didn't bother to separate the whites
from darks. I skipped breakfast;
had two large pizzas with
extra cheese delivered. And
you know what? I didn't tip.
I burped in the girl's face
told her it doesn't
get much better than this.
She smiled at me, turned
around and as she was walking towards
her vehicle, I whistled and said
Nice *** there, Sparky.

Then I was suddenly inspired to write
a poem about what I didn't do. And how
much I enjoyed being on the other side
of accomplishment, goal setting, and
your typical, modern bragging rights.

Today, I thought
being a sore on the mouth
of life was much more charming
than flaunting money. I thought
it best to be honest rather than
a sick, fat facade marching his ego
down the aisle; digging through the many
layers of the inferno.

If only mother could see me now.

She'd offer me one more cigarette
from her deathbed; make a racist joke;

hollar, hoot, and hack.

Then tell me she's proud of me.

And I'd shout, you bet your *** you are!

right back.

take it easy
let the poison
takes it course;
through the veins

seep like a willow,
seek
until there
is no more
desire to do so

and breathe
because
it's all you have
till the truth comes home

there are days
when you experience
a one, or two
second delay,

life is a little
on the laggy side;
the movements
follow alongside
sluggish, and
desperate for
rest;

days when you
tell your fellow
teammate to hold
back, but they continue
onward

determined
to attack

and when they're
dead from such
recklessness

aren't we allowed
to sigh off the
woes of the entire
universe?

am i,

your humble
speck

not given

at
least a say

in the matter?

You're at your desk, sitting
on your favorite wooden
stool; the one with
the diamond shaped
chip on it's side

The sound of your
fingers dancing
across squared
platforms of symbols

and digits

A woman's voice can be
heard in the background;
as well as the clanking
of porcelain against
aluminum (all doused
in what seems
to be water)

You're a woman yourself,

But this doesn't bother you
in the least; because outside
the skin, inside the marrow,
flows an everlasting glow

the kind that gets you up
morning after morning;
gives you permission to
go, love, cherish

and hold

And as you get up from the desk,
the sun shining through the windowpane,
your blouse is lifted, revealing
a diamond shaped scar;

the only one you used to
despise having as a
child

3:45 A.M.

Hi. I kno itz been a while. im up l8. Thinkin of U. Yeah. U told me not to txt U ne more but i couldnt help it K? Dad keeps asking why we don't talk like we used 2. like when we were yungsters. i tell him itz cuz U found a GF. Itz not true. Itz hard for U. Hard for me 2. i still replay that night in my head. U came over. We watched horror movies all nite. Ur hand snuck up on me. It felt like a spider. i thought it wuz a spider. i screamed and U paused the movie n told me to shh. i did. Then i realized it was ur hand on my hand. i was scared at first. It wasnt rite. But i went along with it anyway. i was alone. No1 liked me at skool n U were ****. Then ur hand found itz way between my thighs n that was the 1st time i smiled n years...............i just miss U. i miss US. im still here 4 U, K? Letz talk.

4:13 A.M.

O n tell Auntie Jane i said hi plz k thnx bye

You've been discorded,

but you are no enemy of mine,

for we are one in this battle;

the violent dance of

harmony.

Oh gee,
me and this bad posture

I am the hunchback
of Not Enough Food
stuffing my face silly
with seasoned truffle fries;
the grease coats my lips,
and I lick each fingertip,
one by one,
like lighting matchsticks

It's been a while,--

When others are out,
swimming in the latest fashions,
drowning in the recent gossip,
singing the popular tunes;

I people watch and people
watch and people watch
until my belly is full

I over hear a man who
spent his vacation in Rome
hungover; 'two weeks,
I stared at my feet, and
for two weeks
I got no sleep!'

Crunch, soft
like a child's toes
in my mouth

Crunch, hard
like my bones,
is the perfect sound

Oh, gosh
I don't think I
ever want to stop;

A chicken tender
is enough to surrender
my dear old aches away
for good

baby, these are eyes
heavy with guilt;
pupils like dandelions
in the shape of used
tampons;

a kaleidoscope
of secrets whispers
through yellow crooked
teeth

you said don't trust
a sailor, don't let her
come close

but i know better

i've tricked myself
into becoming a father

and now i wait
with my hands over
my mouth

behind a wilderness
without a name

the same greens, the same
browns, the same rustle of leaves
in between the same
frowns

it's your turn, you said
as i started to walk away

but this wasn't a game i wanted
to play

okay, you replied

and then you swallowed me
whole in a thick black duvet

i moaned your name

as i started to feel around
the absolute darkness.

I don't know how it happened.

It started like any other day.

I was rolling the dough in between my fingers.

I was making something. What was it?

I don't remember.

Ma said to get the tortillas ready;

Grandpa, Grandma, Aunts, Uncles,
Nephews, Nieces, and Cousins would
be here any minute now.

The dough, it was the flesh of the dead
in between my filthy fingers. I was
killing something; the space between
me and that thing was only a million
or so molecules...

Between two materials.

I made a break for the restroom.

Clumps of it's carcass were squeezed
in between my brown knuckles. I spoke a few
words. The language wasn't mine.
And yet, I used it to settle bets.
I used it to talk my brother off that ledge.
I gave my lovers the best of days
with no regrets.

How silly it is to watch the tongue click,
click, and click against the teeth!

I washed my hands, but didn't use the soap.

I spoke a few more words, but felt
more like a ghost. I got paler,
and paler,
and

paler,

with each O

I made with my rub red lips.

Snap out if it, I said.

But why, in English?

And that's when the storm came.

A rumble of incessant taps against the door.

It was like my head was in the wrong part of
the clouds. Where lightning screeches like
an eagle on the prowl; where the rain
pours down; pregnant with the intent
to destroy; with the intent to push
the dead infant out.

I never made it past that night.

I don't know who is who
anymore without Mother
or Aunt
or Niece, or Cousin
there to tell me who

speaks to me with such tenderness.

As though I weren't the only

planet outside the stars.

My first American love
was 4 inches taller than me,
had a muscular upper body,
(all they did were push-ups,
day, and night, day and
night) and stood on
skinny legs, pale;
mustached by thin,
fine brown hairs

They wore pants,
nothing but jeans,
black mostly, sometimes
faded when they weren't clean;
sometimes denim if they
were purchased by me
(They had to be Levi
or Calvin Klein)

And their tops
had torn sleeves;
holes punched in
everywhere due to the moths
in the closet;

nothing
but torn seams

It was rare they wore
anything else

We first made love
in a 2004 Tornado Red Volkswagen Golf
they received from their parents
as a graduation gift;
that night my body was just another present
piled on top of it

And on and on
the shape-shifting went
until we got tired
and slept

We were smoothed out
like freshly baked
carcasses under the
rising dawn; and when I woke up

I realized that great American love had gone

A promising horizon peered over the
dashboard, past the Little Tree air freshener
peeking through as though it were
a mother returning for her runaway child,
and saying it's time to come home;
breakfast is ready, father is waiting
and your future has been put on hold
for far too long

My first American love
was found in the form of a song
once the car radio was turned on

silence, i remain

'profound, deep,
intense' she said

'very creative,
good ideas...'

the web was sewn

it isn't the woman
we despise, but
the mother that was
never there

and what of
the thousand year old
tree sitting out back?

where is he?

'you're just like me
when i was younger,
you've got to carry me
to the end, put me
in another,

watch
me get stronger'

more seeds to sow

it has to grow
and grow
and grow

until i am not here
anymore

until i return home,

the unknown

I wake up from a nap,
and it's mid-afternoon

My phone is dead,
I forgot to charge it last night

Would my boss believe
my reason for being late?

I'm sorry sir,

but I came home to a messy room,
her ***** clothes were piled
on the edge of my bed when I got
home, but I didn't have the heart to
clean them

much less get rid of them

There was red flannel shirt
that smelled of menthol cigarettes;
Pall Mall Menthols -- her favorite

and a few tanned bras
strewn across a handful
of Hello Kitty underwear

When I saw the bloodstain
on one of them, I began to cry
and cry till I couldn't take it no more

We could've had a child

A little version of her,
a little version of me,
a treasure from the both of us

But where was she now
except at the house of a woman
who shared this exact same bed
with her?

The alcohol, the arguments,
the abandonment, and the
agonizing pain of wondering
where she was and who
she was with only destroyed
whatever little of myself I had left

There's not much I care about
in this solitary life of mine, not work,
not my things, hell, not
even my rare coins and baseball
cards come close

to what I lost when I lost
her

Do you understand my pain, sir?

Do you see why I don't feel like
making various caffeinated drinks
for busy bodies that slither
like snakes at the bottom of a well?

No, that wouldn't work at all.

I guess I'll have to say I was out
partying last night, and I left
my phone at the house
of a girl I was about to bang.

Works every time.

the bed doesn't
feel like a place
to rest, but rather
like a flu
you can't shake
off, or
an inevitable
sore chest

the mattress
is soggy with the
past resentments;
all those regrets
piled up next
to overdue tests

do I have
to wake
up and do
everything backwards
over again?

return to
the state
of normality

the fingers
retract, the keyboard
never taps,
and the silence
welcomes the space
back

as though
it were capsulized,

ready to be swallowed

i am damage per shot,
a weakness of the lung,
collapsed, i fold into
fours and then submerge
as easily as a freshly
baked American apple pie

i am a 24 hour diner
without a place to sit,
something like
a sack of grains
pouring into closed
mouths and filled
bellies

it begins, another year
around the neck of
two thousand

starving, i wander
the earth in search for amazing ***,
a fertile egg to implant my indecisions
and imperfections in,

one more breath
against the tidal waves
of suffering, we all continue
down this path

not as if it was chosen,
but as if it came naturally

littered with multitudes
of ideas,

i fall into place,

the center of a crooked
angle

Desire suffocates me like a thrift store scarf.

What was I thinking, if I wasn't thinking at all?

I roamed too far from the herd; saw a wolf

I thought I could love and spend my life with;

wanted to kiss the shaking sun so badly; longed

to give the moon my baby; so I wandered off,

far away from the innocence of everything.

The burdens multiply;

The swollen heart heavy.

Now one need remains.

No more questioning.

Hello to everyone,

I suffer from an
paralyzing case
of shyness,

Hello from inside of my head;
I want out, but is
there an escape from within?

Let's greet each other
like the dusk and dawn;
before Time splintered
us into separate halves;
before Space
arrived
and took
everything away

Hello, I see you noticed
the tears streaming down my face;

It doesn't give you the right
to ask me what's wrong
or if I feel
any pain

But would you just stay
anyway?

At least until the voices
become silent
whispers at the end
of this deep
dark
cave

Hello, self
it's been a while
since we last talked;

and if I remember correctly,
it was about

how much a oneway ticket
to hell would

cost.

you asked for your
'oomph'
and got it

that spice of life,
variety in a bottle

sprinkle our assorted
colors across the globe

we are like falling leafs
on a windy day in the midwest

orbiting around you;

for you are the sun,
the centre of the universe

without your precious
privilege we
are nothing

Ever since I moved in with
an old friend from High School
and his girlfriend I've got
nonstop texts from my grandmother
asking if I'm okay, if I need any fresh
water from the well, and am I
getting a full night's rest. As much
as I'd like to say no, because it's the truth,
instead I say yes, because the truth
would hurl me back into
a place where personal space
doesn't exist. A couple of years before leaving,
I went to a friend's house down the street.
I had left my laptop open; it was still on
website I frequent on the loneliest of nights.
I remember the blood curling screams; the howling
for me to come back and explain why there
were guys doing questionable things to dead girls.
Telling my grandmother those girls were just
playing dead didn't wipe that scowl off her face;
it only made things worse. She canceled our
internet service provider and made me give
my laptop to my older cousin Nick.
It isn't so bad here. My roommates smoke ***,
play video games and most importantly don't
ask where I am going or what I'm doing
on the weekend. I like it. I could get used to it.
My phone vibrates almost every hour. But I'm
getting used to not answering every text. Sometimes
I feel guilty for imagining my grandmother dead;
sometimes I let the thought delve further into darkness
and imagine terrible things being done to her. It isn't
that I don't love her. I think I love her too much.
When I'm tossing like a fish out of water
in cold sweats; I wake up and lie there, breathing,
trying not to swallow my tongue; and like clockwork
the AC comes on and hums a little tune, as though it
were only meant for me. I mumble along until
I fall back asleep. I dream the same dream.
I'm small again. And I'm chasing a thousand
dragonflies through a nameless field
somewhere in the Midwest.

Anywhere, really.

Me and my boy, Francis go way back
except now he's no longer known
as Francis, but as Frank da Money Machine.

I never knew it
until he told me,
but we used to
live across from
each other.

in the same ****
neighborhood Da *** Squad
came up from;

I said, ****, for reals?

He threw his third Budlight
into the trash can, asked our
friend, Julio for another and
nodded his head up and
down like a bobble toy.

Sho nuff,

he was right.

Never have I wanted to kiss a boy so desperately
since the last time we saw each other

That was  almost thirty years ago;
and as I'm approaching fifty four
with a family of my own; two beautiful
girls with bristles of fine gold, eyes so
arctic you can catch a cold,--

I realized not much has changed
since I've become an antique
always on the go.

Your lips were puckered up;
reminders of the silver linings in my
life.

Your body trembled beneath mine,
both my hands at your throat like the gnashing
of wolf fangs.

We never got past our soiled clothes,
never stepped beyond our comfortable homes,
never straightened out those fine folds...

I often look back on those days
as a long and hard lesson. You just
don't choose who you'd like to share your body
with; it could be your best mate, his physical features
reminiscent of a porcelain doll; so pale.
So sick.

I took care of you the only way I knew how.

By filling your head with lies.

I was taught by my mother
on a quiet day in November.

I was cleaning the dishes,
and I dropped the
precious china her Godfather
had bequeathed her.

And in the gentlest voice she could muster;
she whispered

It's okay, my dear, we can get another...

And from then on
she threw me into the wilderness
with not one word uttered;

but by her one and only departure.

Not a fan of it, you say
It isn't me, or
I'm not into that
sort of thing*

Oh, honey
we're doing it all wrong
Our egos tie our limbs
to the bedposts; and the self,
the I,

stabs, pokes, and prods

until we lose ourselves
in it's warmth, like a gun
to our heads,

a bullet engraved with
the word Self

and we **** ourselves
every night;

every choice,
a measured note
in a song we can't
call our own

we'll sing out of tune
anyway,

the Western civilization

is a spiderweb of self
deceit

and the entire world
will know the power
of I

as it spreads like poison

through the veins.

Silly me. I thought I had a choice.
I assumed, like most people do, that
I could put pen to paper
some other day, perhaps
during an hour of peace,
or once I've had my
first, second, third
fourth cup of coffee

or wait till later on
when the sun crashes into the
earth exploding dawn everywhere
golden beautiful like *****

one beer, two, a shot of
whiskey, a few puffs of the cigarette
walking back and forth
mumble here and there

My roommates talk over each other

Moving on

Let's put it off till another day
My muses take their turns on me;
a ******* of creativity
So much possibility, and emptiness
is an illusion; the ego is the *****
for the masses

And I shut the door
rock back and forth
I am nothing, be something,
everything hurts and more

It comes to be,
whatever it is,
it comes to be
all that's all there is

It comes to be without me,
these hands, this vessel
the breath, the life
I live, it just comes to be

Silly me. I thought I had a responsibility
I assumed, like most fools do, that
this life was mine, and these actions
were the inevitable outcome of freewill

I'll go to bed,

and the night blends
like half and half
into the morning's
grief

***** posture,
this lady, hunched
over behind the counter
tapping at buttons,
clicks and whistles,
***** and pistols

we go bang, bang, bang
on, in and around one
another

and she's there, ringing
up products, pointing
at slideshow menus

which one is
perfect for an Atkins
diet, "The Carb-o-tastic"
she says with a mild grin

she's being sarcastic,
but no one can tell;
these days our eyes hide
behind screens, brightness
on auto-pilot, the human
race pseudo-connected

come one, this table is empty,
come all, i'm free and a loosey
goosey

the windows wiped
down, heads turned
at a ninety degree angle

appetites like magnets
directed towards red
apples

this garden of Eden
used to be the refuge
for graceful angels

now it's all in ruins,

uprooted and discarded
like ***** napkins

she coughs and signals
her youngest daughter in

and tells her to mop the floor

some ******* spilled
a full cup of tomato soup

and didn't bother to
clean it up themselves

I really couldn't
love another.
Couldn't really claim
to make such
a bold statement.
Random may be
my virtue; and
contradiction my
very essence.
But let's be honest.
Lies come
easy as truth
leaves the body.
Enough falsehood.


There's that.
There's also
the fact that
I've never
wanted someone so badly
as much as I want to live
to tell the tale
of the greatest heartache
I've ever known.


But in order
to speak of such
a feat. I must
continue onward.
The heart beats
and beats. It's
such a silly thing.


And what of
worry, you make ask.


Yeah,
you got me there,


Moon reflecting
from the face
of a nearby pond.

i

I am an echo
the size of an insect;
wingless and translucent,
I stick to the walls
of an endless mouth

it speaks of chaos,
the world is on fire
everyone is burning
for love

please don't leave...


ii.

Love is not
loneliness
feeding upon
loneliness

The curves
of a man's tongue
as it rests against
the teeth

sleeps

until
it wakes once more
to shatter the
earth
and scare all
the little ones

iii.

If it is not within me
to share a heart, be
it bruised or broken,
be it sealed in black
or lost in fog

It if is not within me
to continue on, limp
blinded by the past,
torn asunder
by the hidden
hands of ignorance

Then it's final

There's no coming back
from the depths below

Fate smiles approvingly
on the guarded animals
of fortune

iiii.

And I feel myself
make it back somehow,
courage the size of
a feline fang;

it's enough
to tear through

the sadness,

enough to get me

by for a longer

while

I see what you did there...
We're all alone in this
it's quite a mess we've made
call it sin, guilt, a nightmare
with no name, a shadow
without a face; it lurks
behind the word abyss,
the loosely knit concept
of nothingness;

what great shade our bodies make

for the earth, it's plants and creatures

Tomorrow is on the tip of your tongue
and fate has seized your heart
torn it in two, handed one half
to the night, one half to the moon

and what of the sun, you ask

it's been inside you this entire time

As you wake, you stretch your arms
and mourn over a thousand yesterdays
with a yawn; and you bury it in
coffee beans and freshly baked
pastries; who you were
a day ago, is far more different
than who you are now;

it's a fool's errand
to think otherwise

And like fools
we shall love,
and drown ourselves
in tangible decisions;
such as long distance relationships,
baby making commitments,
and soul seething incisions

Let it all fall apart...*

I am between your legs

and I am of nothing,

and nothing is where I stay.

what to do with a broken
knee cap, tilted mindscape,
loss of stabilized perception?

comb the hair to the right,
let the fringe do all the
talking,
bang, bang, bang

shoot down the rest
of the face;

for it's smiles that keep
us at bay, until we are saddened
once more

by those despicable thoughts

how they cease to persist.

but persist they must
for what is a being
without opposition?

be it
itself

or a finely structured
organization.

and so as organisms
it's our duty to
rise, expand,
fall and collapse

and continue this
without much reason
and purpose

till it's no longer
a viable option.

sung to sleep
by the various
choices; lulled awake by
auto-pilot actions,--

i am a grievance unto myself

and it's this truth that opens
a multitude of worlds to me.

happiness is a warm slum
where all the villagers huddle
by the fire, and speak of good
old days gone by.

they shall come again,
and again. joy gleaming
with viciousness, pouring
out each pupil as though

it were a lullaby searching
for the ear of a newborn.

The summer comes in the form of
a thousand fevers;  I am drenched
with loss; torn asunder,--

At the thought of
being alone forever;

Yet this torture
feels right;

As though the sun
and moon were
perfectly aligned,

and the light
burned a hole
through my flesh
exposing every
atomic function.

There is a spring
in my step, grace
in my fall;

I am one with
what most have
called earth,
and what most
have got wrong.

I wake,

as does my mouth;

Awe is what I speak.

I unwrap the plastic
from your caramel
coated body; you're a bit
nutty, but that's how I like
it

You tickle the tips
of my ribs, leaving
me gasping for air
before the moon
sets

You're on the other
side of the screen,
pixelated, in and out;

stuck in place,

my dear
lost signal

There's no
cure for what
ails; I'm afraid
this is our lot

two chickpeas

in a dystopian pod

Yet

my lips do not
refrain from pursing
into a pair of moist
rosebuds;

desperately
awaiting your

sunshine ***.

i thought we could do this
but i was wrong
at the edge of my seat
in nothing but a thong

i rubbed my *******
hard till they broke off
and fell

i rested my feet
on the desk, then
my *** went to sleep

all these numbers
in front of the camera

for your donations;
for money to spend
unwisely

who said
intelligence
couldn't co-opt
beauty?

for the sake of
the lord's embrace

my body relies
on the path
it chooses but
in the end
doesn't take

so here i remain
yours, on my knees
wet;

your torch
sets me ablaze

and i was wrong
at the start, the middle,

the last few drops
of tears offering no
solace

body's built
to starve, late night
accusations
and the magazine
pages keep
on spinning

land on page 99;
how to lose weight
or lack thereof

someone's yearning
for a ***** chai, grande
no ice

almond milky
way

tonight, it's about
mimicry, with no
soul inside

be free, a copycat
of an adolescent

wake up tomorrow
and prepare the head
for it's inevitable
face palm

You are a bundle of baby blue balloons
tied to the rail of a gate; the entrance
of used car parking lot.

A man, who
goes by the name Joe is doing his
damnedest to pawn off an old mustang,
the year: unknown -- he has yet
to be familiar with specific car models;
he was the manager of
Costco for 20 years before
getting fired for ****** harassment.

His wife is at home.

He speaks two different languages.

You over hear him, and can't help
but giggle to yourself, each of You
swaying in midair like the fur
of a dandelion.

It must be nice to have two sets
of limbs, upper and lower body
movement; it looks as if
a clusterfuck of genius
has taken the form
of flesh.

Perplexed, You
let one of You
go. You never come
back down.

This is easy
You think.

Joe has failed again; this is 3rd time
today; unable to muster up the courage
to call his wife for support he turns
to a little coke he has in an old
Altoids case kept in his left pocket.

The restroom is where
all the *****, shameful
practices of humans take place;

You call it: "The Encasement of Perserverence"

Clever thought, You say to Yourself

drifting there, alone in Your
grave of gravity.

I see You and wave, but You
pretend to not notice me
and continue to float
like a cloud.

Joe comes back, sits on a red
chair outside the main entrance;
where the sliding glass doors
no longer slide. He hums
a sweet little tune; Simple Man
by Lynyrd Skynard.

You sing along, but through
your film so no one can
comment on Your bad pitch.

It's another day in Tuscon, Arizona.

The sun begins to set.

And we're sulking like undiscovered
mermaids under this umbrella
of 'what the **** do we do now?'

Night will come soon; hinder our progress
with it's unique way of settling the score.

There is no stillness, and You're
no longer a bundle of baby blue;

You are a bomb bound to burst
once the needle of morning
discovers where You live.

Her name is Justine and she
just turned thirty a day go;

'You're over the
hill,' her friends say;

'When are you gonna
settle down?' her parents ask

'Single and
damaged'

is what she translates

She walks to the
pharmacy two, or so
blocks down from her apartment;

Buys a pack of cigarettes,
Yellow American Spirits,
and as she begins to walk toward
the door to leave, she realizes
she forgot to buy a lighter

She turns around and notices
the man behind the counter
has been staring at her ***;

He looks up, as though
he were checking the time
of an imaginary clock posted
on the ceiling;

and then he coughs,
or fakes a cough,
and ask how he is able to help her;

'I forgot
to buy a lighter'
she says

'These are the
only ones we have'
he says
pointing to
a collection
of white Bic lighters
displayed on the counter;

'Nothing else?' she asks,
'I'm superstitious
and I'm definitely not
buying a white one'

'Only ones we have'
he says with a slight
southern undertone
of indifference

'Oh what the hell'
she says, grabbing the lighter
and slamming
it on the counter
'You only live once,
right?'

The man behind the counter
shrugs, 'sure' he says
his glasses sinking
into the sockets of his eyes;
and she notices beads of tears
underneath the ***** of skin,
or is it sweat?

He rings up the lighter
and hands it back to her

She takes it, but not without
keeping an eye on him
till she reaches the exit;

Then she gives him the finger,
peels the package of her pack
of cigarettes and lights one up
for the road

hell:

i know it's a silly thought,
but one day i'm going to die

have i broken my
heart enough?

what's loss,
but another reason
to experience
more profound
joy?

if the arms cross out
the chest, who will
welcome the inevitable
snowstorm for me?

there will be a time
and place,

when i'm the
one to be buried six
feet deep
under this holy
joke of Yours;

alaska:**

the long lost strangers
will pass along
stories as though
they were fresh drunken
bodies on prom night

the skin peels, falls
to the floor and rots
there for all
the children to see

and they poke at it,
spit out a giggle or two
and then kick it to the side,
run back to their
mommies and daddies

and talk about it,--

the first footnote
to their long day

What if,
by the time I am forty
all I have are black curtains
preventing sunlight
from coming in;
or a full-time job
on a minimum wage?

What if I lose all
my possession in a fire
caused by a cigarette
I didn't put out properly;
what if all my files
were wiped out
due to faulty hardrive?

Would love still show
it's face around these parts?
Or would love walk
around wounded, looking
to score a fix?

Does redemption
exist for a man
with guilt-ridden fists?

A man with nothing to lose,

and nothing to gain

once the world ends.

What if by the time I'm fifty,
all the progress I made
regresses, and the house
I built collapses,

and every detail

I kissed with *****,

chapped lips,

loses it's preciousness?

If I don't let go of the past now,

it only repeats itself over

and over in the present.

The current state of events

is last year's confession.

a ***** cell,
a gallon of mother's milk,
cradle this heart
in your warm mouth,
teeth like icicles
on a midsummer's
night

the inevitable
death of a lover;
the Other,
so what's left?

the carriage,
hollowed out
like the skull
of Hamlet

haven't you
felt abandonment
yet?

carry on,
skyline of tomorrow;
glistening in the
far right,

flossed nicely

if breathing is this
painful
by nightfall,
i've let each family
member know

how much they
were loved
by one version of
me.

it was
another saturday night
they stood by the door
like vultures above
the carcass
hungry, their feathers
ablaze,
their tongues
swaying
church bells

the ring
so loud
it destroyed
the glass walls

they poured in,
their bodies
crashing
into each other
like waves

when one went
down, another
took it's place

after it was
all said and done

there were no words
to share, no memories
to be had

it was as if
they were born from
zeros, and went
back to zeros

where no
concept could
be formed

what do you do with a
knife covered in blood
that you found under
the fridge?

you just wanted a
leftover piece of
your birthday cake;

you turned 30
and didn't want to celebrate

but the parents surprised
you with an old family
favorite;

double chocolate,
double vanilla,
double sprinkles,
double everything

the blood looks fresh,
there are drops of it
that lead to your
roommates room

let's not go in there
just yet,

let's have another piece
before calling the cops,

before saying goodbye
to Charles

before we muster
up the courage
to go catch that ******.

If I knew I could have you
in a dark alley way,
behind a Latino
club, Desperado's
or something rather,
without any passerby,

no cop in sight,

I'd still decline

You see, it's not the opportunity
I want to sieze, but the heart
I want to freeze, and burn
it down like a suburban house;

and set ablaze all the green

If I knew I could fill your belly
with one, no two,

please you with
three little seeds

I'd refuse, give up,
sign off and leave

Tuck you like a memory
in the back of my jeans,
au revoir, Nacadoches;

My sweet American diet,
c'est la vie

For I am only a finite
creature, on the brink
of immortality

You could do without the
deceit, mi carnal amor,

with velvet blue sky
under your precious feet.

it's midnight
or close to it

the smell of freshly
blown out birthday
candles fills the
air;

i'm on foot, and
walking towards
the horizon;

there's a rhythm
somewhere, i can feel
tapping along,
like the tiny
feet of a dancer

i peer into
the houses
i pass by

they remind
me of ovens,
televisions burning
the precious logs of
our attention spans

some houses
are dark as the
space i breathe in;

doors unlocked,
windows open,
beds made,
rooms occupied,

the rest of their souls
stowed away in
basements and attics

i'm almost home,

there is no porch light
to welcome me, no open
arms to embrace what little
there is left of my wartorn
body

but i'm far from giving
up on planting roots;

this earth is a battleground,

nature is doing what it does best;

beating like a drum,
marching on like a fleet
of soldiers

towards it's only true destination

tonight i've come to learn,

there is no heaven

or hell

for what only comes natural.