Will you hold me
against my past deeds?

What if what I said
back then
was the byproduct
of a different
mind
at the time?

Who am I now, if not
the same person I was
when I was given
the breath of life?

All this contortion
just to be liked;

all this self-destruction
just to feel alive.

When does it end?

I wake up from a nap,
and it's mid-afternoon

My phone is dead,
I forgot to charge it last night

Would my boss believe
my reason for being late?

I'm sorry sir,

but I came home to a messy room,
her ***** clothes were piled
on the edge of my bed when I got
home, but I didn't have the heart to
clean them

much less get rid of them

There was red flannel shirt
that smelled of menthol cigarettes;
Pall Mall Menthols -- her favorite

and a few tanned bras
strewn across a handful
of Hello Kitty underwear

When I saw the bloodstain
on one of them, I began to cry
and cry till I couldn't take it no more

We could've had a child

A little version of her,
a little version of me,
a treasure from the both of us

But where was she now
except at the house of a woman
who shared this exact same bed
with her?

The alcohol, the arguments,
the abandonment, and the
agonizing pain of wondering
where she was and who
she was with only destroyed
whatever little of myself I had left

There's not much I care about
in this solitary life of mine, not work,
not my things, hell, not
even my rare coins and baseball
cards come close

to what I lost when I lost
her

Do you understand my pain, sir?

Do you see why I don't feel like
making various caffeinated drinks
for busy bodies that slither
like snakes at the bottom of a well?

No, that wouldn't work at all.

I guess I'll have to say I was out
partying last night, and I left
my phone at the house
of a girl I was about to bang.

Works every time.

The pistol is on the desk;
the dog tilts her head;
someone is at the door
and it isn't her master

A car passes,
and the street lamps
light it up like
a torch;

it rumbles past
the house, and a
window is shut

The feet of darkness
press upon the floor;
dogs can be heard in the
distance; their masters
asleep, dreaming
the American dream;

their children
in love with
the children of others

A television hums
a late night lullaby;

and the fans
sway back and forth
hissing at the callous
feet of laborers

A loud noise cuts
the day in half

Now the moon peeks
above a cloud
to investigate the sound

Much like the animals,

it's indifferent to the violence
and virtues of others

but that doesn't stop anyone

from waking up;

be it from a headache,

or another

broken heart.

Hello to everyone,

I suffer from an
paralyzing case
of shyness,

Hello from inside of my head;
I want out, but is
there an escape from within?

Let's greet each other
like the dusk and dawn;
before Time splintered
us into separate halves;
before Space
arrived
and took
everything away

Hello, I see you noticed
the tears streaming down my face;

It doesn't give you the right
to ask me what's wrong
or if I feel
any pain

But would you just stay
anyway?

At least until the voices
become silent
whispers at the end
of this deep
dark
cave

Hello, self
it's been a while
since we last talked;

and if I remember correctly,
it was about

how much a oneway ticket
to hell would

cost.

My friend extends
her arm and in her
hand is a small bag
of Cool Ranch Doritos,

'Ere you go'

I say thanks,
as I pick and ****
at each chip carefully

'They ain't women
for chrissake'

she says,
annoyed at how
meticulous
I can be at such
ordinary things

I grab a large one,
perhaps, the largest one;
caked with red, green, black
sprinkles, like a flat
earth birthday cake
ready to be eaten

I take 3 bites,
slowly, as though
they were drags
from a cigarette
before the hanging

'Thank you'
I say, more grateful
than she could ever
imagine

'Aint no thing'
she says

And out of nowhere
I begin to think about
what I'd like to feed my children,
and what stories I'd like to read to them,
how I'd like to teach them
to dance my father's favorite dance,
and sing my mother's favorite
native songs, and on and
on these dreams
unravel before me

I am filled
with sprinkles of
hope, nothing too large,
nothing too small

but the kind of hope
I deserve to have,--

seasoned
on this fragile
heart of mine

i woke up today
just to cry myself
back to sleep

i thought about the world
but in pixels and tones

the wheel of color
spun and spun
until it washed
my dreams in gray

and i sank like
a cloud of smoke
into an old woman's
mouth

i stood among others
and noticed their
shoulders were being
pulled by strings, and their
knees clanking like
aluminum cans
in their faded denim jeans

i laughed a little laugh
and felt a tear roll down my cheek

a hand crept out of the shadows
and swam in my creek,
told me it would be alright
and that i should get back to sleep

and so i did, but then
i dreamt i was alive

and the glory of God
had shown me the way

i was overwhelmed
with worry, wasn't
i born to one father?

and what of mother?

these two creatures
sit like ravens on their perches;
cawing for my return but i did
not look back; for i know
what their feathers have in store for me

i speak in a human tongue:

let you go i must, i say;

as though speaking
were much like guiding a small
part of heaven through
bitter soil

let's leave here, i say
to my love, let's become
better

and my eyes
shut forever, my mind
no longer a seeking missile
desperate for a target,

but like a thread
guided by a compassionate
hand, i am woven

into the fabric

of forgiveness

i

I am an echo
the size of an insect;
wingless and translucent,
I stick to the walls
of an endless mouth

it speaks of chaos,
the world is on fire
everyone is burning
for love

please don't leave...


ii.

Love is not
loneliness
feeding upon
loneliness

The curves
of a man's tongue
as it rests against
the teeth

sleeps

until
it wakes once more
to shatter the
earth
and scare all
the little ones

iii.

If it is not within me
to share a heart, be
it bruised or broken,
be it sealed in black
or lost in fog

It if is not within me
to continue on, limp
blinded by the past,
torn asunder
by the hidden
hands of ignorance

Then it's final

There's no coming back
from the depths below

Fate smiles approvingly
on the guarded animals
of fortune

iiii.

And I feel myself
make it back somehow,
courage the size of
a feline fang;

it's enough
to tear through

the sadness,

enough to get me

by for a longer

while

There's a choice
whether you
want it or not;

a choice to be made

a choice to be thrown away

choices, like ragged,
1861 copper pennies;

Power sits on
the shelves,
collects dust
as it's owner

takes the blame,

tries hard to shake
the body from
shame;

a victim with a story;

an object with a name;

choices are made

let responsibility
be the reigns

and you behind the scenes,

in your own movie

or game;

the owner of
it all.

I am being held, against my will, by 6 giant creatures in black cloaks. There's no way to get out. I shake, I fight, I gnash with teeth, I scream, and I struggle. They lead me down a dark hallway, to a room with a flickering lamp on top of a small desk. The lamp is of the portable kind, and it seems like it's about to shut off leaving me in the abyss; a total darkness that will engulf me, and in this abyss, there is the chance I may lose my soul, my self, my identity, for good. But there are two blank sheets of paper on the desk.

One black, and one white.

There is a pen in between these papers. Who knew a chair could be a luxury? This is my last hurrah, the moment to define my entire existence from here on out; it will be total blackness soon, that's all there is after the lamp gives out; the unknown, the uncertainty; there are no guarantees I may ever leave, no promises of the creatures coming back for me;

No more light.

The ink of the pen is black. Does it even matter which paper I choose? In the end, it does, because this is my life, and I have a choice, even if it's between two things.

The pen itself, much like the light, is in it's death throes. But I choose to write anyway. 3 words that will define the dark times ahead.

I write:

I needed this.

Ya look all over
and see people
everywhere

hands in pockets,
coins passing through
fingers; gold watches
glimmering beneath the
summer setting sun

These people
are people you could
love, have loved,
and may never love again

We share our
bodies like bees
with their
honey

And it's okay to
lose it all, as though
we never had it
in the first place

The tidal of days
ahead, crashing
against our open mouths;

Productivity
a curse

The pursuit
of happiness
a disease

Ya wonder if
it's going to get
any better;

if it's going to be
as perfect as it
was when we
were children

But the universe
had something
worse
in store for
us
instead

The air condition
hums, the car starts
and the engine
rattles, the baby
coos for warmth;

and somewhere
someone is holding
a door for a woman
who has an appointment
with a doctor;

there's a bump
where there
shouldn't be;

a deep love
that dare
not leave.

The afternoon is like
the bristles of a broom;
I am swept away by
the dance of
grass and blade

If the trees could
speak, our hearts
would hear of
the atrocities our
bodies committed
while we were asleep

Tomorrow is neither
here nor there

I wake up, brush my teeth
rub each arm down with
lotion, and light my
lips with ruby red
matchsticks

I open my mouth
and set the world
ablaze

The evening is a cardinal
resting on the perch
of a Northern Red Oak

and as it sings, my age sinks
deeper, and deeper
into the abyss of my skull

where memories sit like stones,
the voices trying to claw their way out;

going on and on
about what history means,
and has meant to others

As the night approaches,
a death throe emerges;

the grass places soft kisses
against my bare feet,
and I cannot
see color, but feel
it

in everything.

Your night resembles
a worn piece of cloth;
I watch as it flies
in the midnight air;

I am reminded of
the American flag

and a sigh leaves
my body, as it has
so many times before

This is a life
worth leaving

The bones
no longer feel
like stones;

The flesh
ignores the desires
and wishes
of it's owner,

The mouth
tangoes with
the tongue
leaving the
words tangled
in knots

Let me wither away
as most tangible objects do

Be it on a hospital bed,
behind an alley way,
or with my fiendish
friends

We'll cross paths someday
and you'll clutch the purse,
I'll cross the street, we'll
keep to our own sick,
sad devices

and wonder if
it would've been
better had we
never been born at all;

except I would've
got it all wrong;

mistaking your
frown for something profound

Disappointment
reigns heavy in
the hearts that fear
failure

Oh gee,
me and this bad posture

I am the hunchback
of Not Enough Food
stuffing my face silly
with seasoned truffle fries;
the grease coats my lips,
and I lick each fingertip,
one by one,
like lighting matchsticks

It's been a while,--

When others are out,
swimming in the latest fashions,
drowning in the recent gossip,
singing the popular tunes;

I people watch and people
watch and people watch
until my belly is full

I over hear a man who
spent his vacation in Rome
hungover; 'two weeks,
I stared at my feet, and
for two weeks
I got no sleep!'

Crunch, soft
like a child's toes
in my mouth

Crunch, hard
like my bones,
is the perfect sound

Oh, gosh
I don't think I
ever want to stop;

A chicken tender
is enough to surrender
my dear old aches away
for good

If you ever seen ugly,
you've never seen ugly

If it doesn't fit in your hand,
why strain yourself
with disfigurement?

Your eyes are
picture perfect;
capable of
precise precision

Disillusionment knows
no boundaries

And so,
onward
we march
as stagnant
as ides of March

consumed by the
ideals of the our times

If you've never
had love, it wasn't much
but two hand touch;

yes, it was rough, and at first
it wasn't enough,
but now that you've
lost it all,

a bowl of cereal in
the morning
is another lonely
nail in the coffin

Don't you think I could use
a little help over here?

Medic! Medic! Medic...?

A health pack
would keep me going,
but you think
because I look, act,
talk, and think like a
ten ton truck,

that I am one?

The strongest
ones in life
got that way
by being afraid
for their lives.

A little tender
love and care
goes a long way
for a grizzly bear;

A health pack
would be nice
right about now.

Not a fan of it, you say
It isn't me, or
I'm not into that
sort of thing*

Oh, honey
we're doing it all wrong
Our egos tie our limbs
to the bedposts; and the self,
the I,

stabs, pokes, and prods

until we lose ourselves
in it's warmth, like a gun
to our heads,

a bullet engraved with
the word Self

and we **** ourselves
every night;

every choice,
a measured note
in a song we can't
call our own

we'll sing out of tune
anyway,

the Western civilization

is a spiderweb of self
deceit

and the entire world
will know the power
of I

as it spreads like poison

through the veins.

I see what you did there...
We're all alone in this
it's quite a mess we've made
call it sin, guilt, a nightmare
with no name, a shadow
without a face; it lurks
behind the word abyss,
the loosely knit concept
of nothingness;

what great shade our bodies make

for the earth, it's plants and creatures

Tomorrow is on the tip of your tongue
and fate has seized your heart
torn it in two, handed one half
to the night, one half to the moon

and what of the sun, you ask

it's been inside you this entire time

As you wake, you stretch your arms
and mourn over a thousand yesterdays
with a yawn; and you bury it in
coffee beans and freshly baked
pastries; who you were
a day ago, is far more different
than who you are now;

it's a fool's errand
to think otherwise

And like fools
we shall love,
and drown ourselves
in tangible decisions;
such as long distance relationships,
baby making commitments,
and soul seething incisions

Let it all fall apart...*

I am between your legs

and I am of nothing,

and nothing is where I stay.

Tell me, darling

Whose name I've been chasing

After all these years I still don't know

who I am, and want to be

Are you the one for me?

The one of many; millions

upon millions of seeds

Only one had a chance

and some would say

that's luck;

How fortunate I am to be stuck

on this planet with no real

destiny; drifting like a ghost

through an empty building

I once called home,

is my perfect idea

of fate.

On the eve of Halloween
we took your aunt's car
out for a joyride;

You took us to
to a chicken chip
corner joint and
I ordered a small
box of chips;

But you insisted
I try the chicken
even though I told
you many times I was vegan.

It wasn't even a week
before you started finding
my interests funny, like
they were bad jokes
or something;

started poking
and prodding,
bullying me
into thinking
your thoughts;

forcing me to
feel your feelings.

We sat in the car,
ate our food,
you got crumbs on
the pleats of my skirt
(the perfect excuse
for your trespass).

'I'd love
for your tongue
to do laps around my ****'

was your way of
saying you never
wanted to see me again.

But we did meet again,
didn't we, Henry?

It was at the coroner's.

I was there to identify
your mutilated body.

Can I be honest witchu 'ere?

I don't trust ya boy, Jakoby. He's been sniffin' around places that don't need no sniffin'. Roy's been tellin' me he's been doing the same thing there too. Coincidence? I think not, my friend. I'm just doing youse a favor and relaying this concern of mines. Did you know he slept with Tom's sister? The one with the wheelchair and weird teeth? I don't think she can even see straight. Her eyes are all cross eyed. I also heard he put his dilly in Holly, Greg's old cousin that's been livin' with his family for years. And she's not right in the head either. He's got something for them 'tards. Maybe his parents aint raised him right. They's was never around for him, poor guy.

Ditch the punk if you know what's good for ya. I'd hate to see something happen to your girl, or, you know, you.

Just sayin' is all.*

- ****

Kimberly answers the phone, but not
before polishing the last finger off.

The Christmas lights pierce her
window and reflect off the
bright pink nails; she blows on
them as she picks up the phone.

'Hello' she says.

There's dead silence.

'Hum'

She puts the phone back
on the receiver and
starts on her toes.

The summer comes in the form of
a thousand fevers;  I am drenched
with loss; torn asunder,--

At the thought of
being alone forever;

Yet this torture
feels right;

As though the sun
and moon were
perfectly aligned,

and the light
burned a hole
through my flesh
exposing every
atomic function.

There is a spring
in my step, grace
in my fall;

I am one with
what most have
called earth,
and what most
have got wrong.

I wake,

as does my mouth;

Awe is what I speak.

Me and my boy, Francis go way back
except now he's no longer known
as Francis, but as Frank da Money Machine.

I never knew it
until he told me,
but we used to
live across from
each other.

in the same ****
neighborhood Da *** Squad
came up from;

I said, ****, for reals?

He threw his third Budlight
into the trash can, asked our
friend, Julio for another and
nodded his head up and
down like a bobble toy.

Sho nuff,

he was right.

...As we were slow dancing
to Nothing Compares 2 U
by Sinead O' Conner
I noticed the sky getting darker,
and your eyes getting dimmer;

You were falling asleep
in my arms and I had to steady
your limp body like
a peasant with a sack of
bath salts.

You started to drool
on my chest and I lifted
you at an awkward angle
and tried to close your
gaping mouth;

My finger slipped
past your lips
and ended up in your
left nostril but you didn't
stir;

Our bodies were
still stuck in
a hypnotic sway,

when I realized my
entire hand was inside
of your nose.

I laid you down
on the harvest rug
and used my other
hand to free
myself but it was
of no use; that hand,
against my will,
slipped in as well.

I had no other
choice but to climb in
(the song started skipping
at the worst possible time).

I was crawling
for what seemed
like weeks; in what
seemed like the abyss,
in what seemed like
any old tunnel,
in every typical
metropolitan city.

I found a light
and scurried toward
it's radiance like
a rat desperate
for a morsel of
Nutella.

But it wasn't a light
at all.

It was a bland
piece of paper;
it was a blank screen
of a computer,
it was a white
sheet of material;

But there was
a fountain pen
nearby.

So I took my time,
rattled the beehive,
managed to regain
my composure

and I decided
to write
this nonsense
to keep myself
from ever
losing my mind.

I guess a lifeless body
is a metaphor after all

What did you mean
by 'he looked peaceful'
or 'she laid there
in complete calm'?

I was reminded
of a cat chasing a ball
of yarn;

You wanted to explain
something that could
not be explained
away

as though it were
a bag of yesterday's
garbage; or a desk
full of discarded coins
in desperate need
of arranging,

of saving...

And so I sat there,
with each of you,
as a brother, an uncle,
a father,

a stranger,

consoling you as you
soaked the impossible
in torrents; every dream
flooded by a thousand
realities

We never saw each other
after it was over, but I still
see you in others as I get older;

Your face is lost
amongst the tides
of lovers;

and I weep, because
your absence is still
as abstract as the day
I came across your entrance.

It won't be long, darling,--
till you're back in my life
I know we ended things
on bad terms,

You rented my face
out to a couple of
black eyes;

Told me rent was due
and tore my body in two,

Said it would be better
if I never left the house
and stayed home;
playing nurse to you
and me all day long

I was in the wrong,
so I turned to alcohol,
my acoustic guitar
and started writing songs

After what seemed like
better days rather than
bitter moments, you brought
home someone new,

A skeleton she was,
but you assured it was
just for a few months

What say did I have in the matter?

Night after night,
I could hear you both
groan and murmur
like the walls of
an old mansion;
and every now and then
a ghost would moan
and I'd bury my head
into my knees and sink
further into the darkness

I wanted out,
but it was now
two against one,

and so my body
was contorted, bent
and bruised;

I was the poor
man's exorcist

It wasn't till you both
started fighting, decided
to get married and have
a honeymoon in Hawaii

did I realize that something
terrible was growing in me

I sharped everything
I could find in the house,
knives, razors; hell,
even turned a child's
bat into a vampire's
worst nightmare

and when you two got home,
I let you have it,

the walls still speak
of your silly antics,

mortal
and futile,

as though you were
born insects but
took the form of
strong, confident humans

I put an end to all that
at a moment's notice

I'm on the run now,
but I know deep down
it won't be long till we meet again

You'll be back in my life, darling

and that's a promise

Life is short;
I've given myself
ample space, to
ponder about such
a thing

It's short in the way
one's favorite
song is short,--

Why end a sweet,
and delicate tune
so soon?

Nothing's a matter,
it's foolish to think otherwise;

Of course, bills must be paid,
their skeletons stored
in metal cabinets
that clink and rattle far away
in some man's office we never see
but he gets paid, and that's enough

What of those out in the streets,
their characters found in books,
their inner voices guide us
through page after page,
and what do we learn then?

Life, you've alluded
every clever mind, and
Purpose, you've slipped
through every hand
that's tried so desperately
to grasp you

How silly we look under
the stars of a Mid-December
evening; it's cold, and the
lightning bugs are in full
bloom;

and so we chase
them until our hearts
fall back into our chests
like water into wooden buckets

Life is indeed, short;

we retire as do most things
of nature retire, and become
one with the earth;

the marble markings
our loved ones leave after
we're gone, remind us

not to come back;

at least for the time being.

'My heart is weak'
he says to his loved ones;
his back turned, shoulders
heavy and neck
loosened

He hangs his head
in shame, and the
mouth follows
with one long drop

'This heart
is a jar filled
with pennies;
trinkets of days
gone by; no love,
no, not for any of you'

They listen as
carefully as they can;
while managing their
own disappointments
and failures; with
their hands tied
behind their backs,
they can only do so
much

'Son, we have
no gold to bequeath
upon you, no diamonds,
no silver, no fortune
to behold,

--forgive us'

No one stirs;
the earth rumbles,
it's belly starved
of bodies

'So it shall be done'
he says to himself;

and this, they all
quietly agree upon
with great regret

His father left the earth
the same way;
and now there
will be one less mouth to feed

I am
sorry, my love,
lovers;--
lovees. You must
understand. I was
built to touch, caress,
hold tightly, let
go lightly, but
above all;
end your
loneliness.

The developer
thought it best
to halt progress.

I was postponed.

The fiscal year
came and
it went; and still
I was locked
in this cage of theirs
never to see
the light of day,--
your gaze, I am
incomplete.

They filled
me with guilt,
and unbearable shame;
left me here to rot
with the thought of you,
you, and you;

You whom I have yet
to love, and adore;
you always.

Am I curled up
in the corner,
afraid and alone?

This, I do not know;

I may never know.

Come find me,

behind somewhere

is where I am;

your nowhere

is my life, it's been like that

since the beginning.

He lays on the sidewalk;
tired, destitute, and most of all
lazy; deprived of any and
every effort possible.

'Spare some change?'
he says, and his voice
rises, and lingers
in the air like the dust
between his fingers.

He's talking to no one;

Many no ones;

No ones in suits, no ones with headphones
on, no ones with their heads glued to their cellphones;
no ones who are going nowhere,
and who got nothing going on themselves.

Or so he thinks.

A child walks by, her hand
in her mother's and she smiles at the man;

The man smiles back and raises his cup;
the change rattles and stops; the sun hits the copper;
it reflects off her blue eyes and she puts her
arm and hand up like shield.

He frowns and mumbles
something like the B word;
or so the child thinks.

She pulls her hand out
of her mothers and runs to the man,
and he raises the cup once again,
but before he can shake it at her,
she kicks him right in the shin
and runs back to her mother.

He doesn't bother to get up;

Stupid no one, he grumbles.

She turns her head and sticks
her tongue out, then smiles back
at her mother;

suddenly her hand is squeezed in
some kind of death grip;

she sees that
terror has seized
her mother's face.

Her name is Justine and she
just turned thirty a day go;

'You're over the
hill,' her friends say;

'When are you gonna
settle down?' her parents ask

'Single and
damaged'

is what she translates

She walks to the
pharmacy two, or so
blocks down from her apartment;

Buys a pack of cigarettes,
Yellow American Spirits,
and as she begins to walk toward
the door to leave, she realizes
she forgot to buy a lighter

She turns around and notices
the man behind the counter
has been staring at her ***;

He looks up, as though
he were checking the time
of an imaginary clock posted
on the ceiling;

and then he coughs,
or fakes a cough,
and ask how he is able to help her;

'I forgot
to buy a lighter'
she says

'These are the
only ones we have'
he says
pointing to
a collection
of white Bic lighters
displayed on the counter;

'Nothing else?' she asks,
'I'm superstitious
and I'm definitely not
buying a white one'

'Only ones we have'
he says with a slight
southern undertone
of indifference

'Oh what the hell'
she says, grabbing the lighter
and slamming
it on the counter
'You only live once,
right?'

The man behind the counter
shrugs, 'sure' he says
his glasses sinking
into the sockets of his eyes;
and she notices beads of tears
underneath the ***** of skin,
or is it sweat?

He rings up the lighter
and hands it back to her

She takes it, but not without
keeping an eye on him
till she reaches the exit;

Then she gives him the finger,
peels the package of her pack
of cigarettes and lights one up
for the road

She pulls a razor
out the secret
zipped compartment
of her leather purse

Her yellow teeth,
with bits of lipstick
in between, reflect
from it's dull belly

She kisses it then
glides it down from
her kneecap to under
her thigh and pushes
it into her flesh

She flinches, her eyes
squint in ecstasy and
she feels life leaving her
from below

There's a faint smile,
followed by a sigh
of relief; a sweet
resignation of some kind

Someone knocks on the door;
they need to ***,

no, they
need to take a ****;

but she knows
what that really means

She stopped doing coke
ten years ago, after
her husband took the baby;

Now she gets a visit a two
once a month and that's
enough to be considered lucky

She leaves the razor
on the sink for the next
person;

they could use it, she thinks;

someone else has gotta bleed.

He leaves the store
and sits on the curb.

There is a sandwich in
his hand; most likely
past it's due date.

People pass, some say
hi, others avoid him with ease.

He doesn't bother to look up;
his sandwich is almost done.

Too bad there aren't any chips.

He brushes the crumbs off his shirt,
gets up and goes back into the store;

then comes out with another sandwich,
and also a bottle of water.

He chugs the water, throws the bottle
in the nearby trash can, and huffs.

He decided whether or not he
wants to start on the second sandwich;
but before a decision is finally made
he sees the bus coming down the street.

He gets up, puts the sandwich in his pocket
and goes to the bus stop.

He gets on the bus.

A trail of blood trickles from
my dear cat's nose
and down her neck;

part of my shirt is damp,
thick with crimson touch because
she nuzzled deep into my chest

I wipe the blood off
and begin to feel
it pour from my own
nose like a leaky faucet

I get up and go to the sink
and clean my face, and I look
to the clock on the wall
and realize I'm late for bed

I got work in the morning,
and if I don't make my usual
rounds, I'm as good as dead

My dear cat follows me
back to the bedroom, where
there is no television, no
shelf filled with books, and
no one to hold me close
and tell me everything is
going to be fine

I shrug, kick off my slippers,
switch off the light
and jump into bed;

my cat soon follows.

As I begin to pet her
I start to feel another warm
body in her mouth;

she purrs, and nuzzles,
and drops something
onto my head.

It hurts;
I yowl.

But I'm too exhausted to turn on the light.

It could be another lifeless rat.

Tonight,
instead,--

I imagine it to be
a  full, healthy heart my dear
cat was kind of enough
to bring back from the dead.

I got a wonderful pal
and don't think I mention
him enough;

he's a tiny creature
with a big,
******, beating
heart.

We hardly,
if ever,
see eye to eye
on things;

but it's never too long
before we kiss and make up
(and for the record
they are the best
kisses,
bar none)

If I wasn't so
caught up in the
wild throes
of the brain;

I'd live like he does,

present and care-free.

I got a wonderful pal,

and I love him so.

Do you look around and
pick an attractive stranger and ask
would this individual
make a good spouse?

Are they someone I can depend
on when the going get's tough,
when the world starts
to tilt on it's axis; when
things fall apart,
and everything
I ever owned
is shattered
in tiny
unrecognizable
pieces?

What about the ***?
Can this person
keep up with
my desires, or
will the judge me
by my
turn ons?

Do you take a survey
that outlines this perfect
lover; and do their
beliefs and ideas
align with yours?

Such a beautiful
and tidy future
so easily predicted.

When you're young
it's easy to make a few
mistakes here and there;
it's only when you get older
that you start to
cherry pick.

Don't want to waste anymore time;

Don't want to feel like such

a fool.

No one taught you to
believe in forever, but
somehow that idea
burrowed it's way
into your heart
and set the whole thing ablaze;

Now it's a cinder
of what it used to be
when you were a child.

Twenty or so tabs
of online dating websites
and surveys are open;

Potential partners
profiles preferred;

and plan B's
starred and bookmarked,
cause you never know.

That special someone
is out there.

It's attempt,

after attempt,

until you get it right.

You got a purdy
face; hidden behind
the veil of naivety;

it's a round,
oblong shaped
distraction

Something tells me
you haven't shaved in days,
the whiskey smell still lingers,
and your favorite rigged chips
have left stains

on the couch, on your
only white t-shirt;
nothing but crumbs
all over the carpet

Rent is due,
your face will pay the bills;
it writes the checks
with ruby red lips;

and your body
drags itself like a carcass
just to keep up

The words of a poet
can be so trite
and exhausting;

That's why I turn to
the latest scientific
discoveries;

The medical field
is ripe with beauty;

what was once unknown
is now unraveling;

I hope to never read
a word about Her,
or Him
and how a heart is broken
or mended,
ever again.

My mother and I  met on Cupid.com
I was thirteen and she was forty-five;
but on her profile she was listed as
twenty-nine. We agreed to meet
at the local Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon.

The sun was out;
it's rays like orange sprinkles dusting
the dead, green earth
and snake-like sidewalks.

I sat in the far corner, my head
in a book; every now and then
peeking over the pages my
finger bookmarked. I was reading
******, and I had not made it
past the first page. Lo-Lee-
Ta, or something rather.

She arrived ten minutes later
than the time we agreed on,
but I wasn't angry. She offered
to buy me a Iced Vanilla Frappuccino
and salted caramel cake-pop but I declined.

We sat there for what seemed like a decade.
I was too busy looking around; acting
like I was admiring the art on the walls;
and she was playing with her hands;
humming to a popular female folk singer-
songwriter that was playing over the loudspeakers.

'I can go,' she said after the track finished.

'No, it's okay.
Stay, please' I said.

There was silence.

'It's been a while since I've seen you'
she said.

'I know, I know' I said,
'You lied
about your age.
That's not cool'

'Sorry about that.
I just didn't know
if you'd like me
if I was older
than forty..'

'That's the entire point,
no?' I interrupted.

And I didn't notice
she had bad posture
until she started fidgeting
with her hair; it was in a loose,
unkempt bun. She tugged
at the hair tie until
it all fell down to her shoulders.

I was finally relieved
to see that I had a beautiful
mother and soon suggested
that we go to her place
and talk about my childhood.

She smiled, and made
an attempt to grab the car
keys she left on the table,
but I was quicker.

'No,' I said laughing,
'I'm driving'.

And that was the first
time I ever took charge;
and nothing has changed since.

I did not die in the country I was born in.

I died much, much later;

had my American ashes
scattered all over Bangladesh;
traversed it's many vessels of water.

I swam the Brahmaputra River,
floated upon the skin
of The Ganga; the half-naked
children waved and I couldn't tell
if they were saying hello
or goodbye; but those
waves spread until
I was far out into the sea.

I was forgotten
as swiftly as I was welcomed;
and was loved as easily
as was I avoided.

I looked back on my American
life with discontent. I saw nothing
but tangled knots of thought
laced with consumption,
and accumulation; self-interest
and seclusion; even
sadness was commodified.

The discontent was the push
and pull of a rope
tied to my soul.

I died before I ever left;
but discovered another self
on foreign soil

It wasn't till I had aged
beyond the average life
span for someone like
me in America; did I realize,

I wasted all this time,

dependent on what others

thought of me; what they

expected of me; and what

they considered was best for me.

I was forever exiled from darkness;

but at least I got a little sun
in Bangladesh.

The screen is lit.
A pixelated wildfire.
Next to it, a 1TB HDD
hisses, then eases
into a subtle hum.
There is a pencil
inside the Best Buy
advertisement; bookmarking
the electronics section;
two 4K HD televisions
are circled.
The cellphone lays
on it's belly; it's
no side sleeper.
There is a nearby
pulse, lime-green;
the internet
heart beat;
the door into
a different world
that seems recognizable,
sounds familiar;
the most known
unknown.
The screen stays lit.
Words readable
at first glance; countless
forms of languages;
copy-paste micro-transactions.
Left,
        Center,
                     Right,
alignments.
And the keyboard
is like a child
being tucked
in a silver blanket.


The fingers of God,
any god,

dances.

What if,
by the time I am forty
all I have are black curtains
preventing sunlight
from coming in;
or a full-time job
on a minimum wage?

What if I lose all
my possession in a fire
caused by a cigarette
I didn't put out properly;
what if all my files
were wiped out
due to faulty hardrive?

Would love still show
it's face around these parts?
Or would love walk
around wounded, looking
to score a fix?

Does redemption
exist for a man
with guilt-ridden fists?

A man with nothing to lose,

and nothing to gain

once the world ends.

What if by the time I'm fifty,
all the progress I made
regresses, and the house
I built collapses,

and every detail

I kissed with *****,

chapped lips,

loses it's preciousness?

If I don't let go of the past now,

it only repeats itself over

and over in the present.

The current state of events

is last year's confession.

There are scribbles on the walls
that I did not leave; I arrived
here with no name, and not
a penny in my pocket.

But the woman at the door
looked friendly and that
was all I needed.

There were
creases in her face
that reminded me
of the folds in my
elder sister's belly.

I used to lay
my head there
when the troubles
of living outweighed
the troubles of thinking.

Now that I am here
I know not what else to do.

The sun is a bright
flashing reminder
of how sick I am, and
how much sicker I
am yet to become.

The clouds are as
futile as my memories
of childhood; everyone
I ever loved is a lonely
stone on the ocean floor.

I do my best to make sense
of the scribbles; I trace over
the etched markings with
the two good fingers of
my right hand.

I don't stop until my eyes
open and the fog clears;

I see a path the creatures
before me have taken; a path
that resembles the wires
hidden in vessels
between the arm and the hand.

A main artery.

The one I should have taken
long ago.

If this is complete,
utter darkness, then
finally, I am safe;

free from
courage and will.

There is a knock at my door
that suddenly gets louder and louder
until I become one
with the walls, and no longer
hear them.

It didn't take long to find
a place I could call home.

It was the searching that was torture.

The future is
a conversation among
old friends; and the present,
a familiar beer in the hand
attached to an outstretched arm
riddled with scars;
a taste of loneliness so
golden and hoppy

Home is always far
away, much like the
sun when it's rising
and falling; a throbbing
orange-red pulse
in the endless
blanket of blue

Let's fall in love,
the moon says
to her wounds;

and they do,
but it doesn't last long

Happiness cleanses
the soul of it's tiny
tortures;

and somewhere
in the distance a brown
baby coos for his
blank faced mother.

So you got the lips,
the tongue, the tadpoles
that slide, sliver, and slip
into wet crevices, the
insatiable lust, that kind
of desire that spreads
wildfires; the one, two,
southern pawed knock out
kiss, and right hook that brings
me back in; you got
the moves, your motions
like neon flashing arrows
scattered all over the dance floor;
they remind me of shards of glass
glistening beneath the burning
sun; O' how I ache
for the day I get to hold you
in these skinny arms;
beating on and on with
a worn out heart
steady and abiding;
a minimum wage soul
that rages and rages
until it can't take no more
and settles like the pedals
of honey scented flowers
where I thought I called you mine
and you were, for that one
fine day,

'till I opened my mind
and set you free;

O' how you happily
flew away.

It wouldn't hurt,
you know; if you fell
in love with a person
much younger than you

and if it doesn't get that far
to hell with it, you did
your best behind prison bars

You could at least
try to kiss the lips
of the same ***, or get
lost in the ambiguity
of a polygamous marriage

Maybe take a day off from
work and tell all your
family and friends
that you were born
an asexual, furry fan
looking for honest companionship

That'll hit 'em
right in the kisser;
leave their egos
bruised, burned,
and running back
to the arms of tradition

Perhaps you'll
never learn to love
and accept yourself;

Perhaps you'll
stay in a bad relationship
with no way out;

It wouldn't hurt
to cheat, lie, and steal
from your spouse;

It's not like you started
the fire in the first place.

We spoke of hope
with frogs in our throats;
our pulse
leaping from one
boiled heart
to another

We stood upon
stilts, laughed like
dying hyenas;
and saw that our
lungs had made
nests in the sky

Smoke billowed
from the gaping sockets
of your skull, and I tucked
my fingers into the holes
as though they were empty
change purses

And with a little jangle here,
a little rattle there, it made you ***
a bouquet of roses from betwixt
your getaway sticks

Suddenly we were memories
all over again, unwoven seeds
planted deeply in the great abyss

Where dark was but a word,
a skinny string tied to your
*******, and it was
something we'd always remember

I croaked, and died right after;
but death was only Act 1 of
this anti-climatic nightmare

We woke up,

and with hush

upon our trembling lips,

spoke of

beliefs.

Oh dear,
what was the word he used to
describe me?

The crack in the sky,
like some kind of raw
nerve endings of a
lost family tree;

It started with the
letter B, and a few of my friends
throw it around like it's round,
soft, and precious to hold

But it's the first thing
you call someone who
wants you to let go

My dear,
there is a mouth
half opened, as though
it were built for a hand
to clasp it;

there is a body
left for dead, it's arms
outstretched like
the antennas
of an insect;

Jog the memory;
what word did he use
to describe me?

A lonely face
shouldn't have said nothing;

Just stay a shut-in;

forever outspoken.

If you want a name
you'll find it between the steps
of ladders, like the bullet holes
of wounded soldiers;
a body riddled
with questions
rather than answers

If you want a being
you'll find something precious
in the ugly, something beating, or
eating it's way out of the chest;
the imagination clumsily chooses
a newborn alien, or a
botched abortion

But no, it's neither
of these things, but it is...

And that's okay

If you want a poet,
colored and racist, a dancer
balanced and limbless,
an actor, melodrama
and actress

They're all yours
for the taking;

Remind me of the woman
who spoke of her vacation
at the round table of a small
town cafe; how she took
a vacation to the rainforest,
and had much to see; and how
her crimson red shades
matches the drapes; after all
it's the time of the month
and it lasts for days

If you want a lover,

you desire a well-lit cage;

and that, my prisoner

is okay.

...Fix your problems? Mother,
I can barely fix mine. Your daughter,
your favorite daughter, the one you've looked
after with all of your heart, brushing
the others aside; others, who like me
longed for your love, and only wanted
your care; nothing more; it was all we wanted.

Couldn't you see it in the way
we wanted you to play games with us?
And when we grew older
we sat with you on the bed
the day Papa left. K had his head
between your legs, whimpering
as you were sobbing;

sobbing there, always sobbing,
and look, you're doing it now;
nothing has changed; nothing
will change, will it?

Fix your problems? Me?
I've got enough of my problems
but the tears of your own sorrow
drown out the crises of others. Sometimes.
Sometimes.

Sometimes someone you love,
has to tell you what you don't
want to hear; what you aren't
able to handle;

and if you're lucky,
that someone, who truly loves you back,
will be there after you have
sobbed yourself to near-death.

Either you can sit there,
remain a limp, tired corpse,
and ****, moan and plead for others
to fix what you
refuse to fix yourself;

or you can do something about it;

something that isn't so *******

selfish;

something that is akin
to giving the abyss
a *******;

Just look at religion,
God, the church, the entire
lunacy of it's overbearing
presence!,--

That, mother,
is giving the *******
to the nothingness
that surrounds us all.