watch me unfold,
from my contortionist dance,
swallowed by sound,
my vision most entranced,
senses overcome,
so that hearing is erased,
every picture detailed,
i remember every trace.
and we rolled over in circles,
and i went graceful through the skies,
surroundings settled into slowness,
as my brain shattered in the whys
for the briefest moment i knew i died,
and i woke,
after seconds,
five?

I am a spectator.

Thick ticked scratches crash across all silhouettes
Flickers of faces and vestiges of voices,
Who aren't quite people yet.
Rustle the pages, turn as I write
Blistering, shimmering, radiantly white.
Nothing to nothing,
It comes and it goes.
Traces,and ages,
And nodbody knows.

Terrified already and i haven't even  began to be able to express
all that I've realized with this vulnerableness
I have begun to helplessly and at the hand of God invest
i don't understand at all and i find little rest
in the fact that I've said the same words to a lover but they didn't likewise
peel back the skin to reveal the heart, or sometimes, in some places
the lack of one in my chest

You're unsure if i am even worthy to know
and granted i understand that before you've
heard the antagonist of what you've been shown
but to hear that, be shut down, when so far, so hard i push,
to open places in you closed for ages past,

I am not struck with rage but with confusion
, and pain, and paint on faces,
that i can see through but do not know what lies behind
the transparencies, and their clarity,
do not ease my mind

God i am trying.

What is this hocus
With a pen?
I cast your focus there,
Now,then.
Upon a prec'pice -
I'll push you off,
Into the pathos
I have quaffed.

we are
Brothers not of blood, but of a bond that bleeds
brothers stronger than the boughs of any family tree
brothers truer than any of our parent's sons
brothers that are brothers despite all the hell we've done
brothers more honestly than i can say to all my kin
brothers
we are brothers, despite the color of our skin
brothers, ever, the color of our hearts the same
brothers, loyal, brothers, through the final days

weaver, weep for me,
i am a seeker, wandering,
in the bonds of freedom,
trying to find the way to be free,
i need you, weaver weep for me

weaver, weep for me
i am weary, i need sleep tonight
eyes blurred by what's before them, restore my sight
cleanse my eyes with tears,
wash my eyes clean
weaver, do not weep, but sing.

weaver, sing for me,
the songs you write, the dreams you weave for me,
i am not lost tonight, nor am i alone
my feet fall in your light, as white as bone
weaver, with you, i am not alone

weaver ,wait for me
I am traveling slow,
I don't know which way my feet will take me,
but where they do, I go,
weaver wait for me,
at the end of the tapestry,
weaver wait for me til dawn.

weaver, skies I've seen have worshipped thee,
the dawn has risen, the earth has shifted
the clouds have formed to clear our vision,
weaver mountains deep have bowed before thee,
weaver, may i meet you there this morning

The sky is gray. Everything is gray really. The ground is grey brown. The the trees are gray green, and the sky is gray blue. A lonely man jogs beneath me in the cold. Most everything is still save for the gentle swaying of trees in the edge of my panoramic window view. There stand in the middle of the lot two trees that have traded their resemblance to stoic poets for the whims of the winds. They make me wonder about my brother. I remember how he used to mow the lawn on sunny days, rhythmically flexing his jaw as it rang with the vibrations from the machine at his fingertips. I remember the smell of fresh cut grass. I wonder if he was as trapped in his head as those other autistics who prove to be quite sentient. I imagine holding a conversation with a brother who is more intelligent than i ever imagined. I wonder how he's doing? I havent heard much about him since he tried to **** mom. Ticking time bomb. Set free to nurses in a hospice center. Released into the hands of a familial tyrant bent on pimping my brother for pills and potential children. Fake flower petals nestled in the window attempt quite faintly to soak up the silver sunlight. The sun is lazy today. It hasnt taken the time to run around the sky and warm itself up. It's laying asleep in a bed of clouds and contrary to what people say about them, i don't see a single silver lining. Just blurred edges. But somehow they manage to still be beautiful. They are a tired sort of beautiful. Cold stones lie in a shallow grave atop the rooftop awning extending from the outer edge of the building. They are splotched with tar and mold. Rainwater takes it's toll. The trees are tipping again. sideways and sideways back again. They seem to be fond of that tick tock triage. Much like mine. But i am less fond. Mind goes back to autistic rocking again. Sometimes i feel like my heart does what special needs people do on the outside. If my heart had a mind it would no it were in a cage consisting of cracked ribs and the dreams of a miser. If it had fists, depending on what day it is, let's say a dreary tuesday, like this, it would likely lay down on its wall hung mattress and resign to twiddling with it's thumbs. If my heart had a tin cup it would rattle it against my ribs. I would feel it in my spine and try to remember why i was built this way. But my heart doesnt have a cup, so it's thirsty, and restless. Without instrument. on days like this i would rather stare straight into the face of a room more brusque, floor covered in dust and hinges tinged with rust than to pretend that i am blemish free. on days like this i would prefer mongering war with my self and wallow in a pile of my own pelts, flayed from me by my own sharp words. The truth hurts. But tomorrow. . .tomorrow. . . who knows, i might hang some curtains.

countless emptinesses charactized as virtues
countless directions when we really dont know what to do
abundance of the lack of truth
lack of abundance of much of anything
wells run dry
we are ready
waiting to be filled
pour into us
we will be powerless not to overflow.

time is money
because its current, see?
I would pay you or get payback
but i dont have time currently
i would settle my debts without dollars and cents
it makes no sense
that no one is with me right now

I might rail, might take the wrong road
might, fail, to hear the morse code
throw pennies on the tracks and hope to make a change
flip switches to trick attentions
i guess i may have another track intended
may be making people notice only things im okay with them not missin
maybe give them my name and not much else,
pass by and remember that train kids dont need much help
(they could always help themselves)

but lets get real

i could turn a dollar into more
change if a quarter was worth for names
asked from people,
stories, i could give them two
for each way
life has treated them like it's treated you
i could feed them once with no fast food
in sight, I, could
invest, gamble, roll the dice
and expect more than crap when i
first, not second, give them even a second of my life

disregard my self inflicted fun,
forget my little ticks and triggers, and tricks ive rendered,
signifigant
lay down my hands, they quiver, and sweat, im shivering,
im not serious enough to hold a gun to
my own head, not hungry enough to
make someone else eat lead

i could help find hope where its lost because the truth there is lacking
speak life in the streets where people are cracking
and stumbling home to slum thrones,
garbage cans the only thing theyve got to sit on,
to **** in,
their pillows only hard times and peoples harsh tones,
dreams gone, face down, can only see grime and cobblestones
shaped like the next **** day
and moving on
again,
less than a fox theyve got no hole,
but we all act like they just shoudlve known
better, than to set out on their own,
like we're less broken and more whole

we should speak hope,
but no.

it might rain, we might get soaked
undoubtedly there will be pain,
and there's never enough soap,when we
shake the hands of those hobos

we are tired of looking for something different with the same hints,
tired of looking for new colors with different hues
theyre still the same people, must be the same clues, ignore them,
theyre even all wearing ruined clothes,
they havent sobered up or dried out,
theyre worth about  as much dryer lint
you want to argue?
okay, no. ****.
thats what you meant.


when it comes to whats current, whats common
we say why not stay soaking wet
why not flow with the currents, and sink to the bottom,
well, as you wish,
forget change, we'll throw ours in fountains when we visit malls
i was there yesterday, it didnt cost me a thing.

we say
why not remember
that money more often than not brings rage and riches, rags on people til they need stitches
spikes need and hunger and breeds unscratched itches,
but it can pay for needles and
women lay on their back for a ruble,
a nickel, swallow the bitter truth just like...well... um
let's just say
not one of us cares about em

sadly i think it's us whove lost our scruples,
is that what theyre calling it nowadays?

why not scratch them anyway?
why not always wear the trends that fade?
become the thing that fades, to gray?
away...
why not say
okay?

i miss talking to you like i miss writing
their absence is frightening
like something inside is only just alive
like over time it 's fading...
like my reflection in your eyes as i'm forced to walk away
i say
we have our lives ahead of us
but that don't dictate what the distance does to us
I'm afraid of this

was it right and just the wrong time?
or was it wrong?
did i break it, or just bend it?
should have i begun it? should i ever have ended it?
the fact of asking questions
makes me think i know the answers
I still wish i could be with you.
I am sorry for what i have put you through.
I know i am forgiven. That is not my worry or my hurt.
My hurt is in the dashing of what we had upon the rocks
as if it was an infant, and i just couldn't take care of it,
or it was sick,
but it was a beautiful child, and i will miss it,
even though i never really knew it.

I feel even now, as if in my aimlessness,
my direction, my weakness,
in my search for truth, and  the strength to make the  change i know i need in myself,
I am only destroying any and every inkling, of anything that's left,
if there is any at all
with each breath,
with each kiss,
with each time i try to fill this place you fit.

with each time i try to move on, or distract myself, i fear i give up my future,
the one i know God wants for me.
Yes, he is sovereign, and if it is meant to be it surely will,
but, i can't help but wonder, can't help but feel
if i can thwart it,
that i broke it.

What have i done,
and what have it done it for?
yes there is love but,
love like pearls
on the floor.
I keep trying to pick them up.

What can i do but try to see their luster through the dirt?
What can i do now that i have figured out what they are worth?

what if
what if i was always wrong
if life
has always been a half sang song
a crescendo
with a gentle backbeat
the sound of a heartbeat
a gentle end
that slips softly into silence'
leaving only the remembrance
of the last three notes as they breathed their last
easily forgotten in the next ten seconds passed
going back to sleep on the paper forever
a whisper in the mind of a music reader


a conductor
moving to the rise and fall of my breath
what if
what if i was always right?
...
i was always right.

at the last moment
as i perform a masterpiece
i look past the crowd
and there stands the conductor
clapping
and i am gently napping

she still makes my chest burn
but this time it's not warmth, it's fire...

What today shall come to light?
What shall break and what shall bite?
What shall mend or what shall fall,
what shall rise, and what shall call?
Today will illuminate,
whether it obliterate or masticate,
whether it heal or whether it fly,
whether it fall, or whether it beckon,
in much, today, the light shall reckon.

Hurt is inevitable.
Especially when you love.
And i do, with everything i have.

i could write in my own blood
and you wouldn't see the hurt in my words
I still cannot believe that i can tame my tongue.
But i turn it from a dagger, and hide the dagger in the churned earth
among the spring seeds,
maybe when the flowers bloom,
they will bare a sharper sort of beauty.
Maybe when the pain returns pain
maybe then it will rain, and in the rain
I will see past  lies that looked so like truths
and they will be more plain
Perhaps naked petals will unfurl,
and wildflowers will change their minds to be replanted
Memories of that sincere girl will sprout,
and i will be refilled with trust to uproot my doubt,
Perchance i will trace the stems up to the flowers
and pick each golden oval, off of its shadowed bower
hidden there among the aged leaves and cowering
under the trustworthy arms of an ancient oak tree
look deep and remember that it has a place etched deep in my craggy heart
but that place is empty and not the same, as was the carving,
from the start

a day to remember and never to forget
because of what came of it
and when one day we know it's right
God will restore and we'll love in his light

you're talking about walking over broken glass:fast
your past it lasts - no matter if you want it to or not
if you don't or if you got it under control
you feel like you hold it all in one hand
like you're an man and no one can
change a thing
that you wish
but your'e wrong
as it all turns to dust

He was renowned for his humility
even to his friends, he was fatherly,
he walked through life limping,
and yet in some way, his limp was triumph.
he had been told he would never walk again from his early 20s
he walked until the day he died what felt late in his 60s
he never abandoned those he loved
a father like no other
even when he was unsure if he was enough
he boxed my ears occasionally
sometimes he chewed me out for doing foolish things
but never did i think he did not love me
he told me almost every day until my teens
and then his voice got quiet, and i saw him less often
but he didn't have to say it
by then i understood
his was a love that -though a bit tough
a bit rough around the edges
stood. would always stand
perhaps a bit broken
but always, always there.
Daddy, without you
i would not be me.

Is this our only season? Have we by jaded hearts and mediocre reason
Undone ourselves at the seams from each other, unraveled all that we used to be
I knew things were changing but I didn’t know that they were disintegrating
Is this our only season? Is this how it all ends?  
Will you be another person I never forget, but who I never get to love the same again?
Have those hardass roses in the garden that spent forever too scared to bloom but doing a hell of a job surviving - have they just died?
Have the colors gone from my heart like they did when I lost the color in my eyes?
Is this our only season? Will we turn out to be perennial lovers?
Or maybe even lovers that bloom in rarity once in so many years – twice in a lifetime if lucky?

I know that I will at times struggle for words…or even use too many to say too little.  Expect this. It is part of me. I will try to connect myself to the world, to circumstance, to people, with words. I attempt to stitch my fingertips to what I touch, see, and feel, with what I say. I attack with words. I defend with words. I seek, run, build and dismantle with words. There is sometimes in me a necessity for silence. But it does not come often enough. Why? It is because I fear it. I fear what silence means, because words are tangible, hey can be defined, put in boxes, made to be straight or curved, applied in context, and analyzed even for meaning separate of context. But silence? Silence can mean so many things.  There are clues with softer edges that require much more foreknowledge to obtain. Silence can be shaped by emotion into something in the mind of the beholder that it is not to the one who sits quiet. Words too can be misconceived, but with words, things are definable and misconception is almost always evident to one or the other. With silence, misconception is often left in ignorance. Both the silent and the listener are unaware of the other’s thoughts and intentions with silence. Silence is at least as powerful a tool as words.  They may both change the courses of lives. There is a time for silence and for speaking. But it is my mind which fails to know when silence is more necessary, because my mind almost by nature uses words to explain or ascribe meaning to almost everything and anything I experience.  See how long this single entry is? To explain words and their role and importance to me I am using words, because in my emotions, words are bridges, and silences are those bridges burning.  I am using words, but I will learn to use silence.

everything blurrs
almost into an objective view
an out of body experience
you find yourself in a minor rock
back and forth
you're focused
you only care about that one person
Is she okay?
you wish you could know
you wish you could help
Is she okay?
     Is she okay?
            Is
                she
                    okay
                           ?

writers
chew on pens like
they're smoking
their favorite cigarettes

i'm writing on the backs of broken dreams
hows and whys echo, they're my screams
you see, it's been weeks, months, and all of these things
your promises, your smiles and all they mean
are so indefinable, yes they're blurred to me
and i want so hard so much to believe
that  with everything you were unsure of
you were still so sure of me
that you just couldn't admit it
that you wouldn't just give up and quit it
that you couldn't believe everything you were saying
that doubting is as easy to you as praying
is becoming hard for me
because when i look up
it's nearly impossible to see a grander plan
its like
my belief in God is nearly as strong as my belief in man
but my belief in how good he is
is shaking, nearly breaking, even making
me indescribably angry
because
if he was good how could he do this to me
how much pain can really have a happy ending
how much must i brave
how close must i come to the point where i would cave
to see the beauty in the blade
i feel cascading through me
leaving a hole so deep
that when i look through it
i don't see thin air, i wish for a bullet
a single one and the gall to use it
the end this, because i'm sick of it
i do not want to just exist
if this for me is all there is
if i among all of these cannot live
oh, but i wish sometimes that i could do it
but every time i indulge in the images i just know it
i am spineless, that i am alive will show it
that ,
and that i keep my promises

writing on the backs of eagle feathers
nows and nevers play before my eyes
possibilities stomp and my cries
bleed from my lips as i
breathe in knives

Do my words satisfy anyone?
Not you,not me.
Writing for satisfaction is not an option.
I write for expression.
For description.
For discovery,
For decryption.
For fantasy,
For religion,
For analogy,
For inscription.
For acknowledgement,
And for knowledge.
For rendition,
For depiction.
For sleep,
And resurrection.

when i imagine, attempt to fathom, the essence of the color red
i am overtaken by the autumn leaves,
i, happily am brought to my knees ,
at the hands of the shivering breeze i,
imagine that the change is as true to the leaves as,
the reality of change, even of the color red, is to me, i
ought to remember flame thrown in crooked sweeps across my face,
fire spat against me when i sought embrace,
anger and hate, hurt and bitter traces of,
memories of crimson dipped lace, it,
was dipped in blood, see i remember that color too, but
if it was dipped in rubies it would look less like her and more like you
then, i might just be able to forget,
the times where she was wordless and my words were spent,
in her mind worth only the spit i spilled from my lips when
i, decided i would in good faith let my love of color loose lips,
shhh, this is not a time for painful trips.
divine roses i think have thorns embedded in their petals
their beauty is more  entwined, inseparable,
than those dying plants i find scattered at the will of God and whimsical gardeners
i have found earth that is so deep rich and red
that i forget about all the dreams i had of my last lover, and past lovers in my bed,
then i realize just how mixed up in my head this color is, i
twist to do what i think is untwist, my
head is wrapped up in this corundum conundrum
, but less i think than the rust flecked fist sized
writhing flesh in my chest, doing its dance more erratically than  explosions from
bombs dropped on cities where i don't live
(why should i care?)
well, red. . .
red. . .
is the color of your hair.

I understand insecurities, the scars i have are real,
i understand issues with trust, i know just how you feel.
I get trust where i can, and seek it where i lack,
i understand to seek it there, even though behind my back.
so do not think that all i do is paint pictures of trust,
remember that i hold you dear, i pray, believe, you must.

Even if I keep silent, hold the beast back, fail to fan the flames, resist change
There is no stopping the pen in my mind from moving across my metaphysical page
I am writing in my mind, even if I attempt to hold my hand still
And forget the feelings and words
That so seem to have me do their will
“Write me”
“Write me”
When you’re not writing, you’re dying.
The words mock me and yet beg me to do them a kindness
“Pour us out for the world to see”
"Let them come to see you’re not mindless "
And some days it is not the words that I have an aversion to, but the truth that they hold
And so I hold onto them, starve them; hope they die out in the cold
Far reaches of my mind, a place I hope I can manage to fail to find
And others I **** them not out of hate
But for the simple thought
That they all seem to echo an ex-lover’s face
For the thought I sometimes in my mind dare to mutter to her
“You do not deserve to be my inspiration”

step back
from the glass
and realize
that our eyes are foolish things
believe
believe that you are beautiful
believe that you are loved
believe above all else
that there will be a day
when all else fades away
i guess what im trying to say is
you
you dont make me sick
not at all
you are human
you are beautifully created
no matter what secrets you could keep
no matter what you do wrong
have done wrong
no matter
you dont make me sick
not at all
you see
you make me smile
and i miss you
best friend
i want to ease your pain
i want to make it ok
if i could make it just ok
well...id give a lot to do that

so what im trying to say
is
you are not alone today

Love is never about a placement list. It is not about if i love you more or less. It is about how i love you, not how much. And i love you differently than i could love anyone else.

You make me sick
What you did to me won't let me go
And I'm just supposed to act
Like i never needed you to take it all back
But you did it
And you didn't
Ever think of what itd make me
You make me sick.

weight behind my eyes
i'm tired
tum tum drums and craving cries
music in my ears
words whistle-swish through my brain
i'm thinking
I have never felt this way
and I'll never feel the same
so Just this once
this is what a moment is
passing to the next
just this once
and then i'll let it slip
sleep will subtly sweep me down
and then i'll lose my grip
sight will  fade out of my eyes
my head will be a cloud
but for now...
for now Im young and alive

your body is a temple
too many times I've taken time
to try my skillful hand at desecration
Heretic!
i scream into my own face
in the mirror
used to be I'd think myself better
than this
the truth always comes out
even if you try to hold it in your fist