From gilded paths,
carrying grey blood, apathetic veins
and red eyes,
with letterman jackets,
sporting hometown glory,
staving off the ordinary,
with the slightly above average,
he holds me, and his invisible world,
within sometimes strong arms.
I carry these midwestern sunrises
in my irises, and I watch him learn
Manifest destiny, and why settling, settling
(down), led wheels and wagons
to this place of nothingness.
I watch as I become his something,
and I know exactly when we stop fucking
and he starts holding the word
love in his throat, like a cough, he blames
the cigarettes (I let him).
From his blue moon larynx, when I recall how
to play coquette and can coax out his clumsy truths,
I can feel him printing-press himself into me.
I know he is learning my melody
to accompany his drumline pulse,
I see my skin turn into his medium,
I see art start to matter.
And could I exist in these cream tones, adding my red,
turning these picket fence pastures Easter pink.
Getting lost (sometimes), stumbling through acidic woods (only sometimes),
I could be his familiar adventure- always.
He’d build us a cabin and a fire he would never let turn to ash (even as we did), and I would never truly understand that our always-smoking chimney meant his forevers as he would never truly understand that my always-muttered poems meant mine. But with goosebumps traveling up our medulla oblongatas, and from different hemispheres of the mind, just perhaps I could carve out a thousand more nights with you. perhaps.
isn't it such a delectable pleasure to have secrets?
To relish, to roll in, coil up and into all your little hidden truths and sigh with contentment-
because who can hurt you when they don't know who you really are?
When every insult they think drives a knife straight into the kidney simply bounces easily off a warm, cipherous coat-
isn't that just a lovely, safe feeling?
I delight in the inner smirk that smoothed across my conciousness as I glance around at my teachers in my honors classes and think,
none of you know what I did last weekend
I will squeeze these secrets like wether's originals,
savoring every bit of pleasure from the vaguely illegal and scandalous-
I have come to the conclusion that I do bad things every now and again just so I can enjoy not telling anyone about them
Well you know that I sip on my sadness, my dear,
Filthy palms, filled to the brim.
And I know that you watch those trains passing by
Dizzy eyed, still drunk with sin.
Your teeth reek of reality lately,
You smile facts, figures and cracked calcium.
Now, once more with cupped hands leaking, shaking
Delirium up to your chin.
Well I know that I’ve missed the point, honey
I should get it tattooed on my wrists,
But you know that you talk like firecrackers
So flinching gets awful hard to resist.
I make believe that I’m right like craters
make moons believe.
So I’ll comment on comets and ignore truths
popping between parentheses.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in
You play in pastels
and fake hollywood rhythms
and I’m tired, staring up at your screen.
You're addicted to this diction
My voice is lost, screaming
these words you keep stealing
and twist for yourself what they mean."
Sometimes we sit soaked to the waist in nothing
Fringe Wolves snarl, drool and moan;
I’m afraid that this desert’s left them starving
They crave marrow within bone.
Dripping teeth, curled clawed toes and howling
I swear they feed every time that we breathe.
By cinderblock, flashfloods or whirlpools
Just drown us properly.
Well, one day we’ll resurface to find ghosts reborn
from hallowed shells of Fringe Wolves
Who waltz wicked and crooked a foxtrot to show
sometimes loss is beautiful.
And when I ask for your hand you’ll look tragic
like you never saw what I see
When you walk away, I’m toe-tapping
to some song you kept whispering.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in.
It’s intended for men like you,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."
This clothing, from bedpost to box-spring,
It's all wax-coats and smoke screens,
live lit-candle lasting
When did skin begin to fit wrong?
So when they ask for me at the after party
With neon eyes and harlot tongues,
You can tell them I traded this stale air in
For forest fires and tornado lungs.
'Cause I’ve been reading up in matchbooks
how to ignite with star-gazer eyes.
So feel free to maintain your Truth
but pardon me while I burn up in Lie.
Tell me your secrets
and I'll spill my soul
across that thing you call a brain.
Tell me truths
and I'll spill me life
across that thing you call a heart.
But tell me you love me
and I'll spill everything I am
across that thing you call you.
What a wondrously distraught thing Life is
To pull lives together
And to tear them apart
But Death is the great equalizer of all things
For it cares not for beauty, race, wealth, or even love
It does not lie to us
Only whispering the honest truths
And tonight, it whispered to me
Death whispered to me that it wished to take my Siren from me
To leave me alone at sea, so close to my destination
Oh the way she smiled such a sad, but knowing smile
She knew that it was only a matter of time
And I, so arrogant to that one, blunt truth
He made no apologies, he felt nothing for the shattering of my world
Death only shook its hooded head, blaming Life for my false hope
So she left
Not for a new Sailor, or the murky depths of anchored sea bottoms
But with Death, to the Inky Black
Shocked, filled with an unwanted rage and feeling of helplessness
I followed after to her
I slowly drifted further into the sea
Letting the waves blanket me to the Forever Sleep
But she pleaded with Death for just a simple moment
She caressed my body, and I struggled
She carried me to shore and showed me all the wonderful things that Death couldn't take
The joke of a friend, the leaves in Autumn, the paintings on the walls
In her death throws, she gave me reasons to live
She sang purpose into my heart
And though her song was not long
It was meaningful and it was beautiful and mostly
It was mine
Goodbye, my Siren
I will always be your sailor
I love how good I am at driving in the snow. It's like second nature. Skiing with 2,000 lbs. The headlamps hit snow devil whirl winds and the water crystal's light up in their obviously belligerent dance of rancorous cold. The lungs wince in remembering the soul stealing gusts that bruised me while waiting for the bus to go to school. Every yard on the block is scathed to a thin perfect sheen where snow settles in the drive ways and streets. Winters gentle reminder that the home is sweet and the world outside is raw and dangerous.
I was so worried about how the hellish wind of Lehi, Utah would bleed me this year. Leave me more exposed but the heart calloused just in time to seek deeper truths and guide my soul to a sober path.
We all gave thanks recently, letting the tryptophan calm our racing hearts and heal our mood. Spending much needed time with the beautiful families we call our own. My sisters are more then just glue that holds us all together but key stones. Do mother's ever really know?
Now with thanks on mind and heart, forgiveness and apologies weigh in. So lucky to be alive, and so lucky to have all that we're given, "this chance to be alive and breathing." What have we taken for granted? What people have we unknowingly or knowingly abused?
I have to say I'm sorry again. Not the first and hardly will be the last. My beautiful friend just know it had nothing to do with you. I want to pull away but it would be a lie to say that isn't one of the hardest things to do. Despite what underlying emotions have been persistent in me and despite whatever I feel or felt in a moment your timeless friendship means more then ever. So I say I'm sorry, and with sincerity I ask for your forgiveness.
P.S. Sorry to always be so vague and poetic all the time. My mind doesn't think any other way.
A fox lying languidly on a Persian rug
and a rabbit sits nearby
"Tell me a story," the rabbit asks
and out of his love, he does.
Two men lie across
a planet, and they
What lies down?
Convinced of curiosity,
they dig through the
planet's core, only to
jumps onto the fox as they
play through the night.
Thinly veiled truths excite
life hungry creatures.
They feed upon one another's company to celebrate.
don’t you just hate it
when someone repeats your…
because THEY failed to read
the infinity minus one
then all the souls
who read that cherished verse
will not know YOU
had such a colossal corner
on the market of “truth”
all the devotees
will follow the newer sages
(FURTHER down the pages)
without regard for
the accumulated wisdom
you were so willing to share
YOUR avatar got the
eternal divine credit)
don’t you just hate it?
I've been told so many times that
It is not a pretty sight
For an adolescent boy to cry
Not to cry for petty reasons
Not to cry for ugly truths
Not to cry for the crap he had come through all his entire life
I've been telling myself so many times that
Eventually these bloody tears
Will wear off
No longer running over the translucent sheet that hides the thousands veins
One day it will stop
Walking down stairs hidden behind double doors in the middle of the night,
came little evolutionary creationism girl in warm pajamas and pink fuzzy socks.
From peaceful dreams of Santa soaring through the sky coaxing reindeer along,
hearing faint noises, she wakened, rolled out of bed and with thump, hit the floor.
On tiny feet, curious but sleepy, one step then two then more; noises grow louder.
Eyes wide and breath quickening, she knew without doubt it was jolly Santa Claus.
Through keyhole a little girl discovered truths; parents eating cookies left for Santa.
In that moment she knew Santa was far more than an elf, he's the Spirit of Christmas.
Yes, I believe in creation and evolution.