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.

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 wife hates it when I leave my clothes around the house.
she hates it when I hold a sneeze for too long,
she thinks I do it on purpose; she may be right
because I believe i was a full time birthday party clown
in my past life.

My wife complains to me about
how I spend more effort than I should scratching an
itch on my thigh; she scrutinizes me when I dig
under my nails and pleads for me to just clip them.

When she's not home her voice still remains; it rocks
back and forth like a lifeboat without any
tools for salvation.

I could never love anyone else. perhaps I'm all
dried up; much like the plums we keep in the icebox.

Forgive me,
I don't mean to be so honest.

It's just that i don't have anyone else to talk to at the moment.

what to do with a broken
knee cap, tilted mindscape,
loss of stabilized perception?

comb the hair to the right,
let the fringe do all the
talking,
bang, bang, bang

shoot down the rest
of the face;

for it's smiles that keep
us at bay, until we are saddened
once more

by those despicable thoughts

how they cease to persist.

but persist they must
for what is a being
without opposition?

be it
itself

or a finely structured
organization.

and so as organisms
it's our duty to
rise, expand,
fall and collapse

and continue this
without much reason
and purpose

till it's no longer
a viable option.

sung to sleep
by the various
choices; lulled awake by
auto-pilot actions,--

i am a grievance unto myself

and it's this truth that opens
a multitude of worlds to me.

happiness is a warm slum
where all the villagers huddle
by the fire, and speak of good
old days gone by.

they shall come again,
and again. joy gleaming
with viciousness, pouring
out each pupil as though

it were a lullaby searching
for the ear of a newborn.

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.

remember  when we were young?

i was a baby mammoth
and you were a giant squid;
at first we ignored
each other in the classroom
but paid close attention
to our awkward body language
by the parking lot
next to the jungle gym

you were just one syllable
and i was an entire conversation
the subject somehow landed
on the preservation of science
and the fall of religion

your eyes lit up when i said
i was single because you
were in a long term relationship

said it was perfect timing
because you were ready
for marriage

i scoffed at the idea
with my legs trembling
inside the mouth
of quicksand

you pulled me up,
told me not to worry
and reminded me
that the ending
was all part of the plan

my ***** swam like
a swarm of insects
into your gaping
wound; spilling
over the sides
of the womb
causing your eyes
to roll back;
you moaned
you were
ready to come
soon

we came to,
as two;
our bodies intertwined
under the gapped-
tooth moonlight
smile

this was our crime,
we were young at the time

now here we are,
older than life permits
the body to exist;

i admit, i wouldn't
want to share this
moment with anyone
other than you,

my feline friend

don't worry about it
the days will go on
without you;

you'll leave this planet,
pretty much like
you left the other
ones before it

your obituary has been
written with writ, your eulogy
eloquently spoken

family and friends
finding and sharing
their favorite moments

your outline in chalk,
your shape in sand,
your legend in stone

all of you, in
all of us, part of
nothing,

and spread out
like birdseeds,--

and once you're
gone for good,

your favorite barista you used
to talk to on every Sunday morning
will wonder where you went;

because it's been 2 months
since you've come by
for a grande iced ***** chai.

Speaking of...

Loosen up the bowls,
body tremors are normal;

get the shakes, pass them
around for goodness sake

Ear plugs, wear them
when the voices start to
arrive;

don't worry
your head about it,

they
were invited

You don't understand
when it comes to laying
around the house

like a carcass you rise
up with fists, six feet
deep in the misunderstandings
and commitments

Sound the alarm,
it rattles a sweet
little tune, something
like a warning,

or better yet,

a future full of prospect

*** in your hand
and smear it all over
the plastic spirit

Do your best

to trust yourself,

lover.

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.

I open up the UberEats app,
order two lattes from Brian's Brew
I wait, every now and then
I check my phone to see what time it is

Time, you're silly

I wish I could slap
you back to where you came
from

I wipe my eyes, the dust from
the lids sprinkle my cheeks
like sugar crumbs on
a cake yet to be baked

Space, can you be a darling
and bring all of our hearts
closer together?

I just want an earthquake to shake
things up

Still, I sit here and wait
outside on the patio,
or inside on the couch
watching re-runs of Jerry Springer

Internet, can you supply
the world with more mysteries
rather than answers to questions
that haven't been asked yet?

It will be okay, but it won't
really

Opening books, scribbling
on white cloaks, and tapping
on keys are all I know,

millennial disease,
I suppose

I wait, listen for
the knock on the door

it doesn't come,

I don't bother with
anything anymore...

Oh, memory,

will you just stay with me?

Even if for a little while..

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

I unwrap the plastic
from your caramel
coated body; you're a bit
nutty, but that's how I like
it

You tickle the tips
of my ribs, leaving
me gasping for air
before the moon
sets

You're on the other
side of the screen,
pixelated, in and out;

stuck in place,

my dear
lost signal

There's no
cure for what
ails; I'm afraid
this is our lot

two chickpeas

in a dystopian pod

Yet

my lips do not
refrain from pursing
into a pair of moist
rosebuds;

desperately
awaiting your

sunshine ***.

If you feel it surge
through your body
and no one's around
to witness; then

you're home free;

in your bubble of
Truths, where the
crimson fiends
burst through the doors

and splattered
across the floor,--

You there,

wondering where
the heart has gone;

Your skeleton
knows no bounds
as it rests comfortably
between the jaws

of tradition

and sickness;

your sanctuary
of insanity

Only you know
the way out of
nowhere;

and only you
hear the screams

of the undying

thirst.

OK. OK.
I admit. I was
a little scared at first.
Can you blame me?
I've been through
5, count that, 5 bad
relationships; it's like
every finger on my hand
is just another bad acid trip.

I don't want to lose myself
in another. My identity
means a lot to me. A first,
middle, and last name.
My very own pet
DNA.

These things, I cling to.

You understand,
don't you? If I seem
a little distant.
My head is in the clouds
while you're knee deep
in conversation.

But you're in my dreams now
and I no longer feel alone as I once did.

I don't feel like my solitude
has been compromised. Or
that you get in the way
of my crossed eyes.

There's still a little fear
that rumbles, and tumbles
around like ***** laundry.

But it's getting better,
or I assume as much.

I don't have anything to go
on but my word.

Please,--

Take it with
a mound of salt.

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.

when i was
a child*

at night
i used to see
shadows dart
across the walls
in the gutters
of our streets

it wasn't
till i got older
till i finally met
those creatures
and called
them by name

some of them
have passed;
some of them
still live to this day

we don't get together
as much as we used to

but those filthy,
albiet, gorgeous
creatures

still live at the bottom
of my heart

where the waste of
my mind goes

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.

It's getting late.
The undead are having a night on the town.
The rustling of feet fill the evening air;
it's a dance of shuffle and scurry.
Don't be scared. That's only your heart
beating faster and faster.
No one knows we're here.
We made love three times already.
That's how bored we are.
Remember when you had things to do?
Remember when I had a schedule to follow?

Remember little Susie,
and Timothy?...

Me neither.

The scars never go away.
The past had it's moments of pleasure
as they did with pain;
and not much of it has really changed.

Don't be afraid.
It's just getting late.
It's only ***** fingernails clawing at paint.
The old door rattles, and it's **** shakes.
Someone wants in on our love.
Or that's what we always thought it was.

Let's make love another time.

The scars across your body
tell me the greatest bed time stories.

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.

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

hell:

i know it's a silly thought,
but one day i'm going to die

have i broken my
heart enough?

what's loss,
but another reason
to experience
more profound
joy?

if the arms cross out
the chest, who will
welcome the inevitable
snowstorm for me?

there will be a time
and place,

when i'm the
one to be buried six
feet deep
under this holy
joke of Yours;

alaska:**

the long lost strangers
will pass along
stories as though
they were fresh drunken
bodies on prom night

the skin peels, falls
to the floor and rots
there for all
the children to see

and they poke at it,
spit out a giggle or two
and then kick it to the side,
run back to their
mommies and daddies

and talk about it,--

the first footnote
to their long day

silence, i remain

'profound, deep,
intense' she said

'very creative,
good ideas...'

the web was sewn

it isn't the woman
we despise, but
the mother that was
never there

and what of
the thousand year old
tree sitting out back?

where is he?

'you're just like me
when i was younger,
you've got to carry me
to the end, put me
in another,

watch
me get stronger'

more seeds to sow

it has to grow
and grow
and grow

until i am not here
anymore

until i return home,

the unknown

Yell over me,
cow jumped below
the moon

The dairy sets
in, bubble guts,
hollowed out
cigarettes, nicotine
fix -- breathe

it in

One more beer
for the road, no
let's argue
about it for a while

Go home, you're
not right
in the head, but alright
let's go ahead

Exhaustion
sets in

Tomorrow
opens it's eye
lids and

teases us
with sugar,
caffeine,
and distraction

Sink in like
a ship into
the present

Deeper, and
deeper till

the past is no longer
the past

but rather

a single
digit existence.

I weep for the willows
unsung in their
bed of nails

tossing and turning
like razor wires
that cover the
fences

I promise to save
you a seat;

Right next to me,
my precious left rib,
darling *****

Your womb
resting comfortably
in the palms
of my callous hands

I take my hand out of my pants
and bring it to my nose. I take
a whiff of the goodness
that is a hard day's work;
something is working hard
and it's got my girl's name on it;

My crotch and I are close
we've named each other after
the stoic philosophers,

I am Zeno of Cilium

and it goes by the name
Marcus Aurelius,

pompous *******, I know,

right?

We get along, some might
say we get along
too well

because we hardly
if ever, say goodbye
to one another

and instead bask in our
own joy, as though
God himself
erected such a
work of art

At night
it pulls me closer, and
whispers to my ear
it's almost time to release
the Kracken,

I say, that was before your time,
sir,

you got it all wrong.

Don't you mean,

liberate the sea men?

You don't want to wake up
anymore

okay, that's fine

stay in bed and watch
the clock knock space
upside it's head, like it's
a cosmic episode of
the Three Stooges

let the doors close
themselves, and lock
whatever is left
of eternity
outside

You hear someone
speak, and it makes
a little sense,

something like,
he's still in there,
should we wake him?

The eyes roll
back into their
respectable sockets,

the mouth locks
back into it's rightful
hinges

Functioning
never felt so
good, especially
under the weight
of mortality

Your hand revolts
against your mind's
fiendish desires
and coils around
the doorknob

like a thirsty desert
snake

It turns the ****,

it resembles
pouring frosting
all over a bland
bundt cake

It tastes good,

the bed no longer clings
to your body, but still
carries your sweat stains

just in case you ever
want to go back to that
sick, sad,

escape

Never have I wanted to kiss a boy so desperately
since the last time we saw each other

That was  almost thirty years ago;
and as I'm approaching fifty four
with a family of my own; two beautiful
girls with bristles of fine gold, eyes so
arctic you can catch a cold,--

I realized not much has changed
since I've become an antique
always on the go.

Your lips were puckered up;
reminders of the silver linings in my
life.

Your body trembled beneath mine,
both my hands at your throat like the gnashing
of wolf fangs.

We never got past our soiled clothes,
never stepped beyond our comfortable homes,
never straightened out those fine folds...

I often look back on those days
as a long and hard lesson. You just
don't choose who you'd like to share your body
with; it could be your best mate, his physical features
reminiscent of a porcelain doll; so pale.
So sick.

I took care of you the only way I knew how.

By filling your head with lies.

I was taught by my mother
on a quiet day in November.

I was cleaning the dishes,
and I dropped the
precious china her Godfather
had bequeathed her.

And in the gentlest voice she could muster;
she whispered

It's okay, my dear, we can get another...

And from then on
she threw me into the wilderness
with not one word uttered;

but by her one and only departure.

Ever get curious about
how important you are?
Whether or not
you're pulling your weight
or dragging the whole world down?

For every center of a universe
there are pounds of flesh to mask it
call it what you will,

Human, homosapien,
the individual,

or Norman.

This planet is littered
with biases,

and each one
counts just as much
as the ones that don't.

"I'm gravitating
towards the shiniest
object in the store"

We say to ourselves,

unaware our consciousness
is simply a loading screen.

the rain came
down in torrents
i grew jealous
and sped home
as fast as i could
on two legs, two wheels
one flimsy frame

when i got there,
i was here and i opened
the door to find i had
nothing to fear

the house was empty
the windows boarded up,
and the sink leaking
as though it were
laughing at my predicament

i dug my nails into
my skin, punctured
a few loose veins
and let the blood
do it's thing,--

look pretty, embrace
the floor, and spread
like wildfire through
the cracks of the porcelain
skin

i fell to my knees
and wailed until the wolves
howled for silence
to return to me

and it did
but not without
fighting my screams

the noises in my head
refused to cease, and so
this continued on for days,
months, maybe even
weeks

until my beard grew
and sheltered me
from putting anything
in my mouth

my ribcage felt like
the talons of a hawk
clawing to get out

i wasn't me anymore;
the me she loved
and adored

instead,
i was much better,
albiet much worse
than ever before

i became the nightmare
i wanted to be

and sank in this reverie
until i could no longer
feel hunger

how did we end up here
face down in the puddle
of dying fluorescent lighting

our eyes flicker
memories of woe,
(you're
a one digit
reminder)

and gravestones
with ropes
tied to their
sides;

crumble
with days gone by

how benign
it is to see our favorite
lovers arguing with
one another on
the corner with no
name

let's never
cross that street

when i dream

it's of
rotten cornfields
and charred
newborn bodies

a man hunts me down
tears right through me

then i tear right
through the next man

and this goes on
and on...

until i'm unable
to shed anymore tears

a ***** cell,
a gallon of mother's milk,
cradle this heart
in your warm mouth,
teeth like icicles
on a midsummer's
night

the inevitable
death of a lover;
the Other,
so what's left?

the carriage,
hollowed out
like the skull
of Hamlet

haven't you
felt abandonment
yet?

carry on,
skyline of tomorrow;
glistening in the
far right,

flossed nicely

if breathing is this
painful
by nightfall,
i've let each family
member know

how much they
were loved
by one version of
me.

a mild headache,
loss of appetite,
burning rubber, grinding
to a halt

she lets out a whimper

tears take a lovely
stroll down nostalgia
avenue;

tap dancing
across the New York
skyline

she clenches her teeth,
legs spread apart, a web
of deceit, a rainbow head
peaks out and whispers
secrets into my ears

we are all alive now

rest upon my ***** your
worry laden head, sore from
all the oral ***

this grave of carnal flesh
is our only pure rest

My socks are soggy
with yesterday's dinner,
a couple of nameless
heads laugh in the background;
what is empty space
without the concept
of occupation?

If it isn't the tiny
dots that string
our precious molecules
together, it's something
else entirely.

There is no brain
without the fluids
of perception to
saddle it down;

the weight of thought
consumes our shadows
tonight.

I take off these socks
and put them aside,
I'll wear them for the third
time tomorrow.

If it doesn't rain,
I'll be fine, I promise
I won't complain;

it's such an easy action
to commit oneself to,
but like I said earlier,
I promise I won't do it.

The lapping of water
emits rays of subtle sound;
as though it were routine-like
calculations of the complex kind.

I bite my nails, I count to ten
in my head, but there are only
images of said symbols,

the number one is a man
resting on stilts
reaching for the sun.

The space
between the skin
and the star that
melts it

is a parallel reminder
of the thing all of our
vessels contain yet still
desire to obtain.

I'll wash the dishes tomorrow,
or put it off till next week.

I should call my girlfriend
it's been a few days since
we last talked.

Its been even longer
since I've seen her naked.

Guess I'll open a book
I haven't read in a while
instead.

You are part of me, perhaps
ruffled pink feathers
that form a big fat
cheek

or the edge of
a cliff, sharp
and desolate;

my lovely
mountain peak

You are part of me,
when I am embarrassed,
stumbling over words
I never meant to say

Out of reaction,
our heads poke
of hills like moles

It's one apology after another

We are human, our mouths
communicate to one another

but while our minds form
thoughts to express, our bodies
say otherwise

We catch the eyes of others;
their gaze just as rare
and unique as our
mother's and father's

and like bridle, old branches
we give to the pressure
of being the apple of one's eye
for the time being
rather than love
what cannot be
heard or seen

You know, after all
you are a part of me,--

the rumbling, rousing
fisticuffs of my guts;

Push on, and on
until

death is the one

that signs the contract
across the dotted line.

It's like a boil on your favorite finger.

The scarlet liquid reaches
a tipping point
and when the ***
is about to spill
a hand, seemingly out of nowhere,
reaches out to catch it.

An open hand
is still an open hand
despite it being
melted right down to
it's bone.

No one want to love
and lose.

What has flesh taught us
but to let the skeleton
feel safe and comfortable
for the time being.

"We're all soldiers now"

And the blanket
comforts the child
one last time
before she
becomes the woman
she was meant to be.

Sometimes I confuse
my brain with a heaping
pile of rose tinted
mashed potatoes

If only I weren't so
hungry all the time

I'd be fine, doused
in a fair kind of life

where everything green
on either side of the picket
line

has a fresh, polished
emerald shine

Sometimes I don't want
to wake up and do
anything,--

well except

for rubbing my eyes
till they turn
red to prevent
them from leaking.

i lay on the bed
scribbling words
of adornment
with my pen

the sound it makes
reminds me of
bones that break

the scars,
they never heal
do they?

and so my
hands can't
help but seek
out other hands
to hold
and shake

time flies,
and the blood
stains on the sheets
remain

an empty plastic
bottled smiles
from the end of my bed

tells me it's goodnight
for good,--

nights
were never
my favorite
time of day
anyway

the evening rolls
off my tongue like
a spanish R,

a click, hop,
and a jump
away, my mouth

makes a noise

in the midst of all
this silence

'you're right'

is not something i want
to hear, and it's feels
like hell holding it back

the spine crinkles

like an ******* of potato
chips that we kept
between the cushions
of the living room couch
for the entire winter

remember that day
when i promised i'd go
swing dancing with you?

i said my legs were tired
after my jog around the school
by our apartment, i ran

10 laps straight, remember that?

i lied,

i sat behind a tree
and cried

my eyes squeezed dried,
into a ****** pulp
and fried

my allergies, dear
they're acting up again
can we go next year?

you took it, like you
take everything, buried
it six feet deep,
next to the resentments
and regrets

labeled it,

under rather not
bother

you were right
all them years

said i'd limp my way
to your heart, and drag
it along the bowls
of an unnamed river

can't we just
burn our losses like
stars and start over
again?

find each other
in the tangled webs
our ancestor's
blindly wept?

suddenly, doesn't
feel so sudden
when you're loved one
is no longer ladened

she's free of the
significant other
burden

and i remain
a distant memory

the false beginning

of my own sincere
history,

this cocooned heart
of mine, so free, free

free of the precious
metal container

called misery

He don't mind all da rain
it pours down and down, tears de leaves
from all da trees; gives da roots
some time to breathe

No sir, don't mind
if she goes away, because
it's da life we live dat has da
say

at da end of de day.

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.

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?

rewind
be kind, i haven't been
so
to others or myself
we are one
behind this teal
veil;
but rather,
i stay bottled up
in a grimed shell;
let's dance,
shall we?
to music unseen,
our hearts soaring
without wings,
but instead
riding upon
the air waves
of compassion

one day, i won't be
here anymore,--

the breath will have
subsided, and my body
given to the coast guard
for safe keeping;

what of my soul?
the mind struggles to
answer this ever-fleeting
riddle by complicating
matters worse: accumulate,
compete, and compare

meanwhile
the smiles, the frowns,
the lips aligned
in parallel design

play like an instrument
behind the curtain that is
the flesh

and what the flesh
desires, it desires
in droves

i hear my mother
in the background,

screaming something
about how i'll never
amount to anything

but she's long been
dead; and what remains
is a dear old friend

those faithful lines of
hers always keep me in check

they dot the i's
cross the t's

i handle all the rest

but let's
rewind, shall we?

be kind, what of that child
who never got much attention
or nourishment?

surely he's still around
here somewhere; waiting
in the shadows to be called
forth, with words such as:

'come out, my friend. no need
to be afraid; death will take us home
some day, but for now

we awake, we live

to love one another'

because I believe
we are birds of a feather.

i pour water
into my dog's bowl
and watch as my
reflection wades
into the depths
below

this is solitude
at it's finest

as though
it were ******
resting upon
the belly of a spoon

ready to be
devoured

my soul is but
a figment of it's
own imagination

it isn't till
my dog yelps
for more water

that i realize

i am whole
within a hole

and this moment
of emptiness
is simply paying
the toll

just to be alive

What's important?

I failed to see that today.

Instead of enjoying myself,

I turned a form of entertainment
into need for validation.

My relationship comes first;

to keep that closeness, and
and love fulfilled above all.

What brings us together
shouldn't tear us apart.

It's just a game.

You are a bundle of baby blue balloons
tied to the rail of a gate; the entrance
of used car parking lot.

A man, who
goes by the name Joe is doing his
damnedest to pawn off an old mustang,
the year: unknown -- he has yet
to be familiar with specific car models;
he was the manager of
Costco for 20 years before
getting fired for ****** harassment.

His wife is at home.

He speaks two different languages.

You over hear him, and can't help
but giggle to yourself, each of You
swaying in midair like the fur
of a dandelion.

It must be nice to have two sets
of limbs, upper and lower body
movement; it looks as if
a clusterfuck of genius
has taken the form
of flesh.

Perplexed, You
let one of You
go. You never come
back down.

This is easy
You think.

Joe has failed again; this is 3rd time
today; unable to muster up the courage
to call his wife for support he turns
to a little coke he has in an old
Altoids case kept in his left pocket.

The restroom is where
all the *****, shameful
practices of humans take place;

You call it: "The Encasement of Perserverence"

Clever thought, You say to Yourself

drifting there, alone in Your
grave of gravity.

I see You and wave, but You
pretend to not notice me
and continue to float
like a cloud.

Joe comes back, sits on a red
chair outside the main entrance;
where the sliding glass doors
no longer slide. He hums
a sweet little tune; Simple Man
by Lynyrd Skynard.

You sing along, but through
your film so no one can
comment on Your bad pitch.

It's another day in Tuscon, Arizona.

The sun begins to set.

And we're sulking like undiscovered
mermaids under this umbrella
of 'what the **** do we do now?'

Night will come soon; hinder our progress
with it's unique way of settling the score.

There is no stillness, and You're
no longer a bundle of baby blue;

You are a bomb bound to burst
once the needle of morning
discovers where You live.

My first American love
was 4 inches taller than me,
had a muscular upper body,
(all they did were push-ups,
day, and night, day and
night) and stood on
skinny legs, pale;
mustached by thin,
fine brown hairs

They wore pants,
nothing but jeans,
black mostly, sometimes
faded when they weren't clean;
sometimes denim if they
were purchased by me
(They had to be Levi
or Calvin Klein)

And their tops
had torn sleeves;
holes punched in
everywhere due to the moths
in the closet;

nothing
but torn seams

It was rare they wore
anything else

We first made love
in a 2004 Tornado Red Volkswagen Golf
they received from their parents
as a graduation gift;
that night my body was just another present
piled on top of it

And on and on
the shape-shifting went
until we got tired
and slept

We were smoothed out
like freshly baked
carcasses under the
rising dawn; and when I woke up

I realized that great American love had gone

A promising horizon peered over the
dashboard, past the Little Tree air freshener
peeking through as though it were
a mother returning for her runaway child,
and saying it's time to come home;
breakfast is ready, father is waiting
and your future has been put on hold
for far too long

My first American love
was found in the form of a song
once the car radio was turned on

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.

i bury myself
in memories;
it's the only way
i know how to breathe
without getting stuck

my tongue trips
up, when i do
my damnedest
to express my emotions

but i don't come close
to the perfect reasons,
hell,--

i wouldn't
know how to
stop
to begin
with

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.

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