another page

with words

on it.


     another extraction

     from , spilling

     free.  ashes from


                ritual to the

                dexter , projections

                of intimacy to

                the sinister.


                           this space does

                           not allow

                           anything and yet

                           is open to everything.





a lightning strike



s  l  o  w  e  d



to  the



length



of  a



l  i  f  e  t  i  m  e  ,







happening

behind your eyes.


     the circuit is

     already complete.


but not fate , not

          determined , not

                         catenary.



don't you remember ?




you already let go.

"what, you're too good to say 'good morning' to me?"
     she asks me as she slumps through
     the front doors of work.

"no."
     I say,
"you didn't hear me say it back?"
     . . . she didn't.

some people try
     to drag everything
into their own collapsing
     star.

     but I brush it off and
               walk away, successfully
          escaping her gravitational
               pull.

later, minding my own
     ****-stick, she fires another
     shot,
     "you sure have a chip on your shoulder today,  I'm staying out
     of your way!"

this time I don't
even acknowledge
                         her **** bird trying
                         to land on me,
                                                  just smile right
                                                  through her.





I turn my
head to
look
outside.  

the smeared
clouds are
rippling in
a smooth cadence
of anticipation.  



a storm is coming . . .
it's gonna be a good one.

days on a
leash
of culture
and family.

history
hardwired
into your
own code.

heaven is
a mudslide
barreling down
on you.

hell is
the seed of
your health.

break bread
with your
demons
often.

you know, the
weight of this ****
isn't very poetic.

the long days alone
do ******' hurt
sometimes -
guess i'm not as
tough as ol' Hank
or Ernie -
guess i'm still
just one lazy beauty
away from
having the guts
to end it.

jesus, some days
I just want to
crack my head open
to get rid of
these feelings and
voices and imaginings.

I think ,
      "just one girl who truly cares would make it all ok" , but
I know it won't.
in time, they'll leave
me too
and I'll be right back
here suckin' on the
bone.

****, I need something
to begin in me,
something with grit and
indifference and ingenuity
and terrifying passion.

I'm so tired of
these days of chewing
the gravel and flat
echoes ;
     of waiting to die ;
     of waiting to live.

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.