scattered over the lawn
two cats
seven crows
a freeway
more crows
my mind is scattered
I try to focus on counting
but I lose my place
1...2...3...
the dark corners of your smile
4...5...6...
a cool gleam in your eye

and when I find myself starting over
it's useless
thousands of organisms
on the lawn
but only me here
and one
bright
you
1...2...3

In the wasteland of my mind
an idea like a tumbleweed
interrupts the landscape.

space folds around its pointed form

time scatters like mice before its untethered gait

as it makes its way
to the bright center of the barren mound it was born to,
leaving no stretch of its path unchanged,
intruding upon the atmosphere's stubborn scarcity
                  with the fullness of a growl
darting from the mouth of a shapeless traveler
forced upon the world through birth.

Howling with the bittersweet memory of the womb, calling out for its home in the stars.

Reaching the mound
it lights up with the flame of intention
and seizing its grasp on action,
finds its way to the mouth

and in telling you how I love you

       the silence swallows it whole

                  when you don't say a thing.

35 people in a row
and 2 that go where no one knows
upon a beach of golden sands
with elderly grandmas holding hands

and giant birds
and ferocious sharks
and dogs that leave their golden marks

in vicious depths
dead children play
never to see
another day

and I with you at the very top
floating 'til we never stop
opening eyes to look at stars
forgetting all the mangy cars

and the bars
and the bars

I've never liked my name,
so I tell you to call me Josie.

The O, an arc over the roses of my childhood
the garden in the front yard
where I fell asleep listening to Ravi Shankars' sitar.
Slipping, dead to the world, among the night blooming jasmine.

A beautiful thing.

Tonight,
future uncertain,
the stone weight of your head, adrift in dream on my hip,
feels a comfort to my blues.

A beautiful thing.

Napoleon for his Josephine,
can feel
the breath that you leave heavy on my thigh.

A beautiful thing.

Clinging to an old idea
of a red lip
a torn pair of black jeans
a swing set at a memorial
Where were you in September?

your wide eyed child misses his daddy
and we all miss our friend

I sit here
jealous
of your endless sleep
I am tired too, Adam.

Supposedly you are selfish
That's what is said in a low whisper,
but they don't know
the tearing pain.

Old man Death had already taken you before you tied the noose.

Sleep well.

You are not in pain
and you are not what hung you.

a dog barks to start a fight with bubba
and he gets
mean like an ant who's
sugars' been stolen and I tell him
             that's an ugly dog
when ugly people populate the planet, I get mad,
but I don't bite their heads off.
                                        He got really calm after that
and I waved at a gardener
as if to say,
                   'It's okay,
                                   it won't happen again.'

in the meantime,
soft air pooling around me

the ghost of you
sleeping soundly on the porch

only waking to tell me
that we were meant to be an oak
how we were meant to peel
ourselves down to our cores
holding the part left
with closed hands

as the moon rises over the end of summer
the wind lulls you
and I am wanting

The 18th century
is here
30 million antichrists
and only one who
is not embarrassed

I am.

take from me this white rose
her sunken eyes
follow me across my room
where I am seated at my desk
her pale hands play at the skin of my wrists
and her mocking laughter eats at my joy

she is the bird
perched on a branch above my bed
her lullaby, a nightmare
tossing me awake from my dream
her teeth rip at my chest
I am young
I am young
I say
and she, with her cool rasp
breathes a death rattle into my lungs

you are old
you are the night
you are mine

The up side
everyone knows your name

The down side
everyone knows your name

When the aliens picked you up,
they said they'd take you on a trip.
Fly you around the galaxy,
and give you galactic tips.
Like, how to wash your car
without leaving water drips.
And, how to dance and laugh and sing,
be happy without drugs,
and overwhelm your children
with the stacking of coffee mugs!
But, when they take you up again,
by that blinding, grey-blue light,
tell them that you'd like to be
home the very next night!
'Cause if they take you
all the way
to planet Hullabaloo
and leave you at the spaceport
to wander to the loo,
you'll probably get yourself lost,
and find you're somewhere sniffing glue
and that's no way to spend the night
on planet Hullabaloo!

the streetlight glows
on a black spider in the bush
a cigar, slowly burning
stone-faced, a blue angel appears
hand extended, palm up
a car alarm goes off
and the moon goes slanted
a naked pain works it's fingers into my chest-plate

As he puffed his American Spirit, a handsome Asian business man said good morning. To the low hum of cars streaming by, I sang back, "Have a nice day!" We passed, two birds on their way to summer. I hope we don't get the emphysema.

Wearing black without a reason,
I sit in a well-lit room at one in the morning.

A dark window facing me
with no moon peeking out from it's depths.

Two nights ago,
the rain drooled from a sleepy sky
and I was a sorrow on fire.

Now I am only fire.

The dogs escaped the yard,
biting a hole in the fence.

Here I am,
a dog with dull teeth.

I cling to a mad comfort.

Wearing black without a reason.

black coffee
and
the radio
    and I'm still battling
    my demons
shooing them away
        "give me a break, I'm so young"
        I say
They argue amongst themselves
loudly
                                and  come to no decision
black coffee
and
the radio

my apartment is empty
except for me and my fat cat
he is good company
but I wish he could talk
I like to wonder what he would say
             got any whiskey?
where's the nearest pool hall?
I haven't seen my woman in
8 years
            and I'm lonely.

Me too, I would say,
lets smoke and drink all night
                            lets conquer
                            these blues.

if you sit upright
type well
stare at a screen
wear the right clothes
they'll call you a fashion plate
the old men
you'll get a good job
hell, maybe they will marry you

not me
I slouch
stare out the window
make up stories about the bluebird

At my review they tell me I can do much better

why does that matter when my heart is breaking into a million pieces?

there is the bluebird again

when will he leave me to my work?

I have seen blue
the green blue of waves
an ocean of hope
I have seen blue

I have seen blue
in the eyes of a man
who woke up one morning
hopeful to start
I have seen blue

I have seen blue
the tear drops  from my own blind eye
wading toward an ocean of peace
I have seen blue

I have seen blue
a baby born cold
love only for his family
I have seen blue

I have seen blue
the man who saw
a flashing light
a weary spirit gone homeward
I have seen blue

I have seen Blue

I have seen blue.

Sunday morning,
and the sun is peaking through the blinds
after a long sleepless night.

The monster that hung over my head all night
is sticking around for the light, it seems,
and it is scaring my Pothos'.

As they wilt,
I am changing the song that's playing,
It's too haunting, too obvious.

An old friend, this specter has become.
I laugh as he spills my coffee.

The times I burn for you the most,
we burn in separate beds.
The ocean sends it's waves
crashing to the shore,
fighting with the land.
Darling, I want you.
The stars, they fix themselves
to their black nests.
The trees, rooted.
Not a cloud to send for rain.
The times I burn for you the most,
we burn in separate beds.

You take an hour
to do it the way
it should be done,
and I listen in
shocked delight
to the moan
of the train,
calling me away.

I can't stand to be without you
but if you were here,
I wouldn't remember why.

My cigarettes are surrogate lovers.
Each with their own demands.
Lung cancer,
Birth defects,
Emphysema,
It's our imperfections that make us special.

Thinking of the time they did coke in my apartment,
and they suddenly realized
I was beautiful

I would have been before, too,
but you were always worried about your tutor
and the white sludge
dripping down the back of your throat
tap tap tapping
on your brain, that couldn't take it anymore, but did.

Now, you live with a woman who works with children
they hear the tap tap tapping
on their brain
and they would have been beautiful, anyway.

You are somewhere with no answers to questions,

no weeping
no laughter

and the tap tap tapping on your brain.

You are old, and you cannot see the sky.

a man runs down the road
exercise brings comfort
but who needs comfort
when you have
beer
cigarettes
and a summer afternoon

Where is the feather light
pile of leaves to fall
into?
        Instead, I find a brisk descent into
        a pitch dark night of the heart.
Here, there are only
Monday's and the 9-5, forever,
                                                     with the
                                         pitter patter
                                                  of someone else's fun
                                                                ­                 in the other room.
I tear at the red dirt, screaming,
to find new growth.
    but find only
                           bones.
I rattle my cage, and spit at the lock
singing a hymn
for an autumn
                          in black.

I go out, a sorcerer, in the dark, damp, early morning air
flicking my eyes towards the shadow of a passing thought
shedding my skin for the coming day.

That song comes on, and I try not to let it register.

We are, all of us, whirling galaxies
asleep but awake
crashing
crashing
into one another
and then falling apart
again and again

"...nice to hold...when I'm tired..."

A breeze sends a chill down my spine
and I realize
I let myself fall sad
an oak tree struck by lightning

"...when I die...will I go..."

I go out, a sorcerer, in the dark, damp early morning air.

It is late,
and the beer drips down my throat
                                                          ­   goes to my head
meets the silence
            tomorrow is too hard to think about
                                                           ­           but tonight
my youth dances with the alcohol
                                                         ­  they aren't good dancers
but no one is watching
and tomorrow is late

Why doesn't it come through the window, like it did?
The moon?
With it's white night thoughts?
Pouring in
Now, pouring out
Why don't you cry to me?
Now, I see the tears welling,
but, a steely-eyed anger holds them back.

I can tell you a thousand things.
Your hair, a black sky I look out on tonight
And where is it?
The moon?

I can tell you a thousand things.
You are my beautiful boy.
You are my beautiful boy.

Where is it?
The moon?

When I watch you meditate, you are so fully taken to the heart of the earth. You are a true little Buddha. With your golden hair and a twinkle in your bright but distant blue eye, you speak of the astral plane, the whole universe in the center of the earth, your twin flame. You drink a Coca Cola, but it takes you two days because you cherish every sip. You have become my warm home. My sweet soul friend. We smoke sage together and the light from the smoldering pipe glows greedily as it burns away. We drift. You work at a thrift shop. Carrying crystals in your pockets, you greet the customers with joy, but treat everyone fairly. It is no one's place to treat you like an inferior. Sister, don't ever cry. I will sing to you a sweet song. Deborah, seashell eyes. In the morning you make your coffee with just enough for one cup. That is your treat. Other treats: your mermaid oracle cards, a grape cigar, chakra incense, a cinnamon candy. You will never grow old. My sweet sweet sister, you are a cactus flower. At night, you look up at the dark purple clouds and see angels you've seen a thousand times before. Friend, you are infinite. A wild rose. A shell at sea. A pearl.

in the psych clinic's waiting room
a microcosm of
organisms react to their environment
eyes check a watch
a security guard yawns
a woman in black taps her feet
a man in a hat grumbles to himself
all searching for an answer to the thing
that seeps, silent, from their eyes at night

when my name is finally called  
I explain symptoms
to a man that doesn't look me in the eye
who asks,
can you laugh at the things that used to make you happy?

I think how those things have changed
and how I could turn to stone
immovable
sitting, unaffected, for a millennia

the last two days
the sunlight interrupted winter in California
bringing with it a brief pause
from a hectic electric winter
and leaving me waiting, impatiently, for spring

so I give you this gift
disrobed doll parts
with baggage
and you love it
it is your first broken toy
and you fix it up
breathe life into it's smile
until it's eyes no longer gleam
and you throw it to the dogs
on the patio in the night
and they love it
it's their first broken toy

More than this
blank wall,
a good morning
a relationship that lasts.

Bored to the teeth
with excuses
with a cure
with a death hum

More than this,
keeping heads eye
keeping the night black
I slept for one dose

A pink pill
a blue
the end of a love
the darkness escaping for a moment
of light,
the only truth I knew
expanding and reviving
the only soul I know.

Mine.

sitting in a coffee shop
a man is grinning while
he stares at his laptop
the light from the screen
reflects off his glasses
and his eyes are great
white orbs and he
smiles and smiles and
all I can think is
that I will never
hear you sing again

In the summer
a great blue sky
no ants
a warm blanket
but no fleas

the house i live in

40 acres of nothing
to the left or right

no one in my head that is not me

happy
with a man I love

and loving myself completely
as well

not old
not grey

wearing whatever I like

muscular
healthy

and going where I like to go

trickling down the walls
the thick red blood
of a dying thought
drips onto my head
drip
     drip
           drip
all I see is red

I turn on the light in the kitchen, and three roaches scatter to the corners. Deb bought peppermint tea, but I can only have bitter black coffee tonight, to keep me from sleep. At 2:30am, I am the only one awake, and when I catch a glimpse of my tired moon face in the mirror above my desk, the years face me starkly. Have I done it even half right? Have I become the sun? I fear sleep because I fear death. Here it comes with it's pale grin, and am I resting? No, not until the light streams in through the curtains, and I collapse on my bed, a lone marionette without it's puppeteer.

Oh dear, she said
there comes a time
when all things
they cease to shine,
and looking up at frail moon's fade
she lost her way
she lost her way
ever toward an inner light
ever toward  a mundane night
you cannot ask for want of asking
ever toward the soils crashing

oh dear, she said
there comes a time
when all your dreams
will lose their rhyme

and so on past
the child at play
and past the girl
on bridal day
an further past
the humming hag
until she reached the grave at last

oh dear, she said
there comes a time
when all things, they cease to shine
and looking up a frail moon's fade
she lost her way
she lost her way

at night
the sound shifts
and in the low hum of voices
I hear a silence hiding
a flower growing in concrete
laughter and sadness live
in this place
beacons, shedding light
on darkness
and how the dark
        will break your bones
        and turn your stomach
without the silence

The bright green leaves picked at by tiny fingers
and your mother taking your boyfriend
red blood
it must have turned from her shirt to your eyes
the night you found them drunk.

Now, it is 30 years later,
those same eyes focused on mine,
Shouting at you in the parking lot of the hospital
to take your badge and burn it
'You aren't my social worker.'

Playing with my life as she did yours.
Me, learning.

How we crawl into the crevices of a mind, crouching in wait
to find a dent
a scratch to pick apart
and send screaming into the light.

We only want the best.
Though, is it for us, or for them?
We never know.

Or do we?

At night, I think of  how we are the same
Twenty-four years apart,
still jumping from man to man like dragonflies,
our colorful wings, torn and glistening.

I found mine, but lose his bright orange youth nightly.
And love is never further away than the next place we look,
but always at just the tip of our tongues,
if we use them right.

I remember at twelve,
practicing break-ups in the bathroom every night.

'I'm sorry, I know you love me, but I have other commitments.'

You were the one with the damage, and it crept over me
a tarp over a clear blue pool on a winter afternoon.
Dead leaves crowding the corners,
tiny bee carcasses: my insecurities piling over the top.

'I'm just not good enough, I must do something about this weight.'

All of your ways boiling over into mine.

The morning I got my first period, you laughed with my sister at my excitement, instead of leaping for joy, and I watched the two of you giggle, my cheeks growing red with anger and shame.

'Aren't I now a woman?'
'Aren't I now yours?'

You always pointed at the corners when I cleaned:
'Do You see that dust? It isn't enough...it's just not enough.'

I've had enough, mother.

The wind blows smoothly into the arms you gave me.
As I write, I am met with a penetrating silence.

This is enough.
It has to be.

the boarded up windows of the hospital
they were making renovations
et moi, et moi, et moi
wanting to see the sky
the night before
a police officer with kind eyes
asking if everything was alright
in the back of an ambulance
having just swallowed the charcoal
et moi, et moi, et moi
nodding a yes
wanting to see the sky
it would be a year till I saw it
sitting in the passenger seat of your car,
Jacques Dutronc playing
et moi, et moi, et moi
wildly singing
only by chance
when the song changed
looking up to see
a yellow sun setting

cold cement under my feet
contemplating a deep colorful galaxy
humming to myself the tune we love
you are not mine
as the breath within my lungs is not mine
I take you in, and then you are gone
we are worlds apart
a century between us as we embrace
the soft night air is our home
adrift on a sea of doubts
lovers and friends
and at last friends
the universe expands
and you float away from me

I smoke a cigarette
at 11:30 p.m
it is cold
even with your absence
I am alive in a world that is home to you
that is enough

Three weeks
my face
bored
old
threatened by science
ate calories that
belong to someone else
a toad
a wart
another green menace

in the 80's
thirty was young
they say it's even younger now
I'm 33

cool breezes
ancient poets
gilgamesh
and a shirt that never fits
empty rooms
filled to the brim
with a long *****
19 days


the odyssey
pulls my left arm
my old brain
with nothing in it
sleeps naked
with my right

I went to the end of the hall, your voice echoing
a cool breeze in a hot, dense mind
                         "we are going through the same thing, aren't we?"
you were up early that morning, and I had been up all night,
counting the wood panels in the cabin walls

we sat looking out over the lake in silence that morning in 2004,
not knowing that it would be our last trip.

                            I was up late that night in 2016
                              thinking of you
                                      in my mind
                                                  no hair on your head was missing

everything comes down to this
the way the night falls around
my cold hands
and fast feet
on the pavement
thump thump thump

and your heart beating
thump thump thump
until it didn't
and how they didn't really try to keep you alive
because you were old
but how they kept me in the hospital for weeks
in and out of coherence
my body heaving for air
my mind just asking
            for a break
and
        when I think of you now
clean air over the lake
           a smile on your face
as you died
I didn't know what you meant then
              but now, Ron
                                       I do.

the world carries on outside my apartment
fighting
drinking
laughing
sleeping
a girl finds a flower
a man drives to work
a woman eats some green beans
a soldier wonders why he signed up
for this
a fat law maker *******
and me
I sit
and think
sometimes, cry
don't know what else to do
summer breathes hot air down my neck
and somewhere a baby is born
it is cold there
and her father is dead

In context,
"You're a ghost to me now."
doesn't seem so bad.
it only continues my legacy
with imagination.

If I'm a ghost,
you're a priest.
Just don't be surprised
by the haunted belltower.

Happy Valentine's
the drapes have caught fire
the lovers have died
your friends are all liars

the moths eat your clothes
the spiders spin webs
the children put ropes
round your very neck

your heart's broken up
into small jagged pieces
two angry pit bulls
are off of their leashes!

oh, sweet valentine,
how will we fare?
where will we go?
when God isn't there?

nowhere
nowhere
nowhere

It's hard to meet new people
they're so foreign
they do things like wear hats
and play baseball
they listen to bad music
they like crossword puzzles
I don't like to hear them talk
but
      at night
when I get very cold
and sometimes it hurts to breathe
I'd like one of them next to me
or I'd like to hear them talk
anything to make me warm again
I can't have it all
but sometimes
I want it.

Here is a night where I've hardly just awoken.
Here is a wet dog on a patio with rain.
Here is a strawberry cigar.
Here is coffee with light cream.
Here are pants, slightly too big.
Here is the murmur of my reflections, coloring the skyline black.
Here is a bottle of gin.
Here is a swing set with no one swinging.
Here is my hair growing longer, with no one there to notice.
Here is my father's one single tear, dropping and being wiped away.
Here is a moth's wing, torn and dusty, swept into the trash.
Here is my face turning tomato red, and a stutter.
Here is an endless walk, a car ride, a sleepless night.
Here is a pill, a hospital stay, a night in white.

Here are the things I leave in the dark
So I can hear you when you say,
"What's on your mind?"