don't you dare smile
in the face of the
day.  don't think for
a second that
you are in control
of your feelings.  
see that person ahead?
don't acknowledge them.
head down, eyes forward,
mouth shut, heart
closed.
...good, now you're
getting the hang of
it.  now, accept everyone
else's authority but
your own, amass financial
debt, relieve yourself
with the proper drugs,
find someone under
the same
enchantment as you
and call it love.  
have kids because it's
the next step.  raise them
in your image.
then,

watch them repeat the
same cycles
and as you're dying, have
a flash-thought-
  "did I even notice who I was?  what I wanted for this life?"
and as the thresh
ceases to be held you
light a candle of hope-
your love the spark,
your children the fed flame.
you say,  
     "they will sever the momentum I couldn't, they will
          see it."
-after all they are made
to be better than you,
not simply blind copies.
yet as the kaleidoscopic walls
usher you on you wonder,
     "how many of my ancestors have lit this same vela del lecho
         de muerte?  how many were hoping it was their daughter or
            son?"

the security of tradition and
the risk-reward of novelty
played out across
lineages.  both correct
and incorrect in their
own ways...

which one reaches through
the ages and hums
in
your spine?

somewhere there is
a man sitting
alone in a cave.

the immensity of
the cavity is obscured
by darkness, he
cannot tell how
deep it goes.

he has resigned
himself to whatever
this absence
holds.

the man hears
nothing but himself
echoing back
at him.

he can no longer
discern whether he
is going deeper
or just laterally.

he stopped here
for a moment
because here
was as suitable
a spot as any
in that Cimmerian
womb.

his heart is heavy
as his mind projects
the images, memories
and emotions
of his most recent
love lost.

he is afraid that
all this shadow will
swallow him
or that
maybe it already
has.  

that ultimately,
this ritual pilgrimage
to the underworld
would claim
him as payment.

but he knows that
this place also
offers unparalleled
boundless healing
and metamorphic
growth to those
that traverse
and
converse
authentically.

all that you find here is you.
all that you face here is you.
everything you didn't realize you were capable of.
every deeply malevolent impulse.
every twisted thought.
every terrible act.

but also the courage
to face them,

the grace to move
into them

and the love
to understand
them.

you will lose
yourself here.

you will find
yourself here.

...once more into the dark.

in place of a
lover's embrace
I fill my chest
with smoke.

I suspect now
there are more
walls around my
heart than ever
before.

there was once
a light called hope
beaming brightly

but that light
was just a trick.

what was once
a raging pyre,
is now but a
few embers glowing
softly in a
charcoal bed
of gray and black.

...it's not any of you.

too much given?
or
the price to learn,
at least for
something like
me.

I sit quietly in
a dark room
just listening
to: cars, planes,
people and dogs
pass in and
out of existence.

there is a pleasing
chill coming
through the open
window,
a delicate intrusion
of Winter at night.

a car locks,

a pipe bangs,

a door opens
then
shuts.

your name
spoken
in ceremony,
no aid will
come.

this fragmented
colossus screams
through my
skull.

my love is poison.
my love is poison.
    
there is no antidote.

my love is poison.

see it now in
full light.

my love is poison.

tell me the
truth, that
my love will corrupt me,
that
my love will devour me.

tell me the
truth, that
this horror sings so sweetly
it draws every moth
to its flame.

tell me the
truth, that
my love is poison,
that
someday,

my love will
**** me.

here is a man, alone but
okay.
here is a man, longing but
guarded.
here is a man, tired and
resigned.
here is a man trying to find a way
to try again; to forgive all the women
he's never known for the way he
was treated by those he has known.
to forgive himself for the tears he no doubt
caused to fall from the women he no doubt
hurt.
he is a broken man
but
glad for it; every crack, every piece, every splinter,
every jagged edge, for he could never know himself
without shedding those parts of him that could
not survive.
the ones that are left are the ones worth being,
no matter how small or irregular they are.
here is a man, in pieces.
here is a man.

put to rest a thousand
ways
the Rest is a parent
the rest is apparent

sleep now and
forever and the
nebulous drippings gather
to coalesce

render the beams
from blood only

to suffer close up...

my perception explodes
above
below
beyond
within
around
and
not at all

..I am he without

here I go,
blundering through another day

trying to show up for my end of
the bargain.

I sit here,
with this pen and this notebook,
and the stuff is
supposed to barrel through me.


it's supposed to shake the debris free.

it's supposed to melt the lock.

it's supposed to blast my cemented mind apart.

it's supposed to summon shadows and make them dance.

it's supposed to swim on the surface of the sun.

it's supposed to show me all the rainbows in the darkness.

it's supposed to shine the silver on all my shredded scraps.

it's supposed to reach through all my ******* and show me:

     emeralds and pearls\teeth and knives\
     blood and glass.

it's supposed to twist the blade and spit in the ****.


but this morning,
it's the big bupkis
     -nada

just the weight
of its silence...



that *******
probably
has the
day off
too.