I am here, risen up
from dust
and I sit in the sand
beneath the mangroves
as fruits fall around me
thudding softly in the
strewn leaves.

We sit here,
where I am,
these fruits
and these insects
and small reptiles,
watching the clouds roll in from the east,
where the ocean sprawls,
lavishing the beach with delicate hands
under the phosphorescent moon.

We all sit here,
the fruits,
insects,
reptiles,
the ocean,
and I-

We watch dense clouds roll in
as distant flashes of light
and gongs of thunder
grow more frequent-

we sit-
we watch-
and we wait-

for the rain.

Maybe it's just the drugs fading,
but tonight I feel hollow.
And maybe it's just the feeling of coming home,
but right now I feel stuck.

Stuck on the simple sensation
of a warm body adjacent
as the night is erased and
a new dawn awakes us.

I laugh often, but I'm hardly ever
amused
mostly I just like to make people feel funny
when they are.
I sigh often because I'm hardly ever not tired,
tired of waking with hopes floating on hot air balloons
only to be set back down with the dipping of the evening sun.

And maybe it's just the ringing in my ears,
but everything is much too quiet right now.
Maybe it's just that the blinds are drawn,
but it is
so dark
in this room.

The fact of life is that you will change.
The secret to living is knowing you are changing.
And the trick to growing instead of decaying, is taking responsibility for your own personal evolution.

You are not bound to this instant, This moment is at the mercy of your influence.


-Rowan A. Eyzaguirre

The wind is always blowing here.
It rushes down out of the canyon
to the east
like a cavalcade of rhinoceroses.
The cyclists
struggle against it
the pedestrians
have to lean into it
the motorists
spend two dollars and ninety cents extra
each time they gas up
to compensate for it.
The trees on the eastern edge of the cemetery
are bowed-
to the west-
and their leaves don’t fall
they’re ejected
like screaming pilots from flaming cockpits
at wonky angles
until they crash into the grave markers below them.
And the headstones are all weathered
prematurely,
names and dates and histories
erased

while below,
wrinkled shells dressed in sunday suits
sit in metal boxes
pretending
that some shred of them
will last forever.

No streetlight penetrating the double-paned glass from the outside tonight,
just a faint flicker, faltering
in the hollow of my chest
to illuminate the room.

Dim shadows cast are drawn with
menacing cartoon faces-
they laugh animatedly.

There is
so little light
when you are alone-
sometimes.

Gilded, sickly yellow
glowing from a smattering of phosphorescent streetlamps
under homogenous grey skies,
which have finally started to sprinkle rain, after a day's worth of deliberation.
A late night songbird gives one feeble attempt at melody in the distance
and then is silent.
Tip-taps
of droplets
sent from heaven above
as they clatter against plastic car hoods-

to have travelled so many miles, just to terminate there. What grief.

the faint whoosh of engines still on the highway.
People running home,
or running from home,

I can only imagine.

It's grey, but it's
warm
and the people almost all smile and
wave
as you pass, even the
kids.

Early afternoon,
and the street's still dry,
the clouds are too lazy to drop
their payloads down on your head.

It's a bad part of town,
or at least it looks that way.
*****,
a little worn-down
rubbed smooth about the edges
and rusting at the seams.
But you're an outsider,
you don't live here
and maybe this part of town isn't bad-
not worse than any other part anyway.

The clouds are grey overhead-
but it's warm-
and the people are nice-
and they almost always
smile and
wave
as you walk by.

Silent street
punctuated by a single stag
stalk-still
against the asphalt all around
ten points
facing up at the firmament
fixed frame
the steam on easy breath
pools, puddles.

Noble beast-

neither needs nor heeds my blessings.

You were my very first memory, as far back as it goes.
Playing in the grass of the backyard, the day we brought you home.
Through the years, you became such a constant source of love.
Our long walks kept me sane, helped me find much needed clarity, for years, and years.
16 years, you were on this earth, a long, loving life.
When I met you in the vet's office for one final goodbye,
You looked up at me through foggy cataract eyes and strained to wag  your tail.
I'll never forget that last look you gave me,
so loving,
so peaceful.
You were ready.

"Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."

Rest in peace Mocha dog.
I will always love you.