Sunday and
The dogs are at
Mothers

Cedar floors are silent
Serenity churns with isolation
As a thin fingered fog
Toys with my
Eggshell colored
Window curtain

A brain is a burden
And a gift
Mines neither
Mines a tool

A tool for an elusive being
Let's call her: Angel
Demon
God's right hand
Gabriel's spear
Mose's sandals
The Devil Wears Nothing

Consciously and not,
I go in waves of
Liking myself, my brain

For I tend to hold malevolence
Towards something
I cannot control fully

Take, for example, these keys
This screen
These rules
Our hierarchy of narrative
Plot, character, dialogue, and tension.

Catharsis.

Have you ever seen a water spout?
I have.
It's kind of like that.

Some days,
I feel the holy unbridled, transference
Of The God's goodwill

Others,
Simply silence.

I've yet to decide
When
           I'm
                Happier

I was there
Beneath it all
Stubbing my nose
Catching my eyes
On the most soulful of gifts

There was a promenade
Then music
A chef in a tall white hat
Shouting at the top of his lungs
As cracked eggs
Desperately tried
To reimagine themselves
As whole again.

They did not wish to change.

I am a poem
And I am nothing

I am a man
And I am nothing

I am a before
Yet to embark
On an after

Could this be it?

I think of
What could have been
If I had done this
If I had done that
And switch
Paralyzed.

The horizon
Fades at dusk

And is reimagined
At dawn

How I wish
I were content
To be ok
With such a simple

Routine

Progress
Achievements
Recognition
Advancement
Aw­ards

Realization

The ***** turns to tighten
To hold
Only to rust
Be forgotten
Put in the back of the pantry
Read from afar

The days of the sun
Are over

Darknesses lengths
Are upon us

Taste of the hubris of the moon
Its position is fixed
Such a fact, such a reserved space

Where will the moon go
But anywhere
But here?

And of us?
Where will our bones go?
Our me minds?
Our fleeting psyche?

The I is none other
But the billionth petal
Of a flaming sunflower
In a field
Surrounded by the identical

Taste ash
Mixed with honey
As the buzz of the bees

Fade.

Night stole the day
Okay
Borrowed, I'll say.

The window
Tricks me
Sometimes

I look out it
See out it
Breathe out it
If I'm feeling
Stoic

Full of ****

The usual

Street though
That's where the fun is
That's where the action is
That's where people
And choice
Live

Maybe that's why
Anybody looking for something
Anybody looking for danger or
Love or
Mystery or
Pain or
Danger
Or or or
Anything

Moves to the city

All those streets
All those alleyways
That
Lead to more streets

Streets are the heart is
The heart of the contradiction of man
We winged' mortals
Clipped and
Searching

For a new pair

Maybe I can find
A used pair

Maybe I'll find it

By accident

Say -

Maybe that's all we are?

Beautiful,

****** up n' Doomed,

Accidents.

When it's
Good,

It's not.

When it's
Bad,

It's malleable.

When it's
Nothing,

It's time to get to work.

It's late
And there's no one home

It's early
And everyone's
Run off to work

It's midday
And anyone
Who's
Anyone
Wishes they were home

It's dinner time
And someone
Is taking in and putting out
Sprinkling and dipping
Adding or sliding
Grilling or spilling
As someone else is waiting
No idea
How lucky
They are

I have an energy
A low down one
A mean one
But
A congenial one
Fair
I think
I tell myself
I try to show
Others

It's late
And I'm still curious
Who this is
Pushing these keys.

Thoughts come to them
I
Is someone else
It's not me
Externally

Society shapes
The skin, the eyes, the hands, the
Splintered feet
The warped back
The crooked hips
The limp ****
The saggy *****
The misplaced ***** hair
The lumpy red dotted ***

All the horror
That I am
That I was
That I have always been

Future me.

It is late
And I'm
Turning around
Again

Either too numb to feel anymore

Or have felt so much
That, like Icarus, have burnt
Myself to my demise

This is the voice
Of voices
The one everyone
Tells you not to listen to
Not to worry about
Not to pay heed

I'll give you spilled flour
On the cutting board

I'll hand you a water cup
Overflowing to the floor

I'll give you my confusion
As two honeybees falling in love

The leaves are burning on the trees
And

It's late

But, I can't sleep.

Can you?

Is it better

To live

In the machine of nature

Or

Mans machine?

Authenticity.
Genuineness.
Truth.

Are these
Subjective strivings
Intangible feelings
The keys to one's souls release?

Or can man,
Or has man
With their creations,
Do the same?

Futile.

What is there but
Flashes of happiness
While surviving
An ever approaching

Annihilation.

Man.

Nature.

Both ways
Of
Going about it.

If the iridescent light
Of your iPhone
Brings you the same joy
The suns rays
Or the moons glow does,
What's the difference?

Who's to judge?

Who's cares?

I, being a romantic,
Side with my origins.

I like dirt.

I like rock.

I like the way
Bark is both
Brittle and hard.

Like our ribs,
It protects something
It cannot

Save.

That's why I prefer
Mother Nature's machine:

Her singular gift of life
Is really two.

Life & Death.

And she's always been on Wifi, though

Only a select few

Have the password.

Instead
Of classification
Simplify

For similarities
Uniting ego's
Destroying lines
Is the only way
We'll survive

Talking
Space Junk War Blues

I don't think
We'll ever
Make it out of this

The droning
Madness of Man's
Thought of
Selfless progression
Is too much

We can't even do
Earth
A continent
A country
A state
A county
A city
A block
A house
A room

Right.

Soon
Do we look to the stars
For distraction

Our rugs are innumerable.

But our dust,

Endless.

It's a present
And a
Curse
To be present
And absent

To this place

This life

This person

That I am.

I am a piece
Of everflowing
Never waning
Infinite
Trash

Jettisoning
Toward an overflowing
Ocean

Brimming
With scraps of trash
No better
No worse
No more
No less

Than me

I see the rips
They are
The same

I see the tears
The broken bits
The stains
The wrinkles
The disregard
The indifference
The misuse
The neglect

There is no difference

We're all headed
To the same
Dirt mound

Some marked
Others not

Some visited
Others not

In life
We are,
Whether we like it or not,

In this
Trash heap
Together

It is merely the ego
That has convinced you
That you are
Special
Different
More

You
I
We

Are

Not

A two-toned
Budding love
Where the two
Want nothing
But the best life
For the other

A fortified
Construction
In silence
We tarry ourselves
With rose petals
Kisses
One another's sweat
Rarely tears

Before as two
There was no high noon
There was no midnight
Time was a construct
Of the manipulation of the justification
Of solitude

I am I
No more
I have
Once again
Given myself over

How afraid I am
Of my willingness,
My readiness but,
How natural it all feels

How right
How true
How I feel

More like myself
Than I ever have

And if it were to end tomorrow
Be it in the sky
Or on a walk along the Seine
Or the train north to Como

Who would I be then?

Would I be stepping backward?

Of course not

Impossible

There are only
The same bad habits
The same self-fulling prophecies
The identical tour-de-force
Of self-sabotage
I've met time and time
Before and after and then before

All over again.

See the mirror
Look in thine eye
I am I
Always

Swayed only from that path
From chaos's misfortune or
It's opulence

Here I hear
Poetry
With a pickle back

Tonight I touch
Silence
With a low-ball sigh

Morning I make
Life
With life's first breath

In dying
There is
Awakening

I shed my skin
Like Christians
Wash away
Their Sins

God orders no government
He has
No system
We can comprehend

Use His words
For your own
And soon see His back

If He even has one

Policy
Laws
Orders

I haven't built this
I was never asked
I never got a letter
Of Inquiry

At the end of the day
I was told

So tell me
Something worthwhile

So tell me
Something I can believe in

So tell me
Something I would want my
Unborn daughter to hear

Show me something
I can get behind
Can die for
Can live for

Hope failed us

And what else is there
After hope?

106 antonyms
I could tell you

You're old enough
Smart enough
Able enough

You do it

Google it.

My eyes are the shapes
Of avocado pits
Silver as a new peso
Blue as the Pacific
On the first day of summer

That's what
Madre says.

My arms are fat
Like pork *****
Plump and squishy
They're tanned like
Padre's work boots
He shines them
Every night
Con un cigarillo in
The right corner of his mouth

If madre is asleep
And I wake to ***
He's usually out there
Lit by the cornmeal porch light
The cow milk moon
The bullet-riddled sky

Ey boy, he calls out to me in a whisper
I say nothing
I just go

He picks me up
Like a small dog
Or a fat cat and
Puts me on his knee

You know we going soon? he asks me

I shake my head no, saying nothing

Beyond those hills. Over them.

He blows a thin river of smoke through his lips
The air is still
The smoke hovers there, uninterrupted

He takes his cigarillo from his mouth
Hovers it over my fresh, soft caterpillar lips

Open your mouth boy. Breathe in.

I do what I'm told.

Smoke. Fire. Burning.

I start to cough
Padre's hand is over my mouth
He laughs as he pats my back
With the palm
Of his other hand

The inside of the hand
That covers my mouth
Tastes like tobacco
Tastes like dirt
Tastes like the salts of salt
Tastes like work

You ok, he chuckles, You ok boy.

He wipes a tear from my cheek
I look into his meditative eyes
They are jagged, creased, as if
There is a silent earthquake of fear
Rumbling inside of him right there

Where we going? I ask

New home. He coughs
Jams the cigarillo back in his mouth
Gray smoke rolls over his face
He does not blink

Our new home, he says.

Instead of merriment
Tonight I sailed
My eyes to
The window and its sights:

Man walking dog in orange streetlight
Bike rushing by with boombox playing Mariah Carey
Trump shaking Un's hand,
I in disbelief and feeling wholly defeated
For now, this apparent success,
This summit that objectively surpasses
All leaders before Trump,
Will be used for the benefit of 18' and 20'

I'm tired
I think

These bell-less nights
Where the only sounds I hear
Are the turning of pages
And near muted televisions,
I'm tired
I think

There is an exhaustion in a Monday night
There is a moment of wavering will
There is the expanse of time
With so much to fill, to feel, to become, to let down

I'm tired
Of chess

I'm tired
I think

Present Past the Future
For the page.

Nothing comes
Of me,
Solely me,

If I'm
Not
Here.

What a brat I am.
What self-righteousness I have.
What an American.

At times
At my most important
High-dive
I pay attention yet all attention
To no detail

Every detail
So committed
To the page
As an incandescent soul
Such as I,
Understands and accepts
The futility, ney, the fat-headed audacity
To think
They and their hand,
They and their mind,
Could get
Every last one.

To be a poet
Is to be attempting
The unattainable
Forever grateful
To even be given a glimpse
To the labyrinth
Of catacombs

A being
Who knows not their own madness
Will always,
When catching
Sight
Of their own eye in the mirror,
Will quickly look away.

Multitudes, He muttered,
As a cymbal eclipse ricocheted
And dissolved
Sprinkling the off forest green pine needles
Seconds before dawn.

*

There is no action without
The narrative
The framework of our lives
If we like it or not starts
With the vaginal stork,
Carrying you from holy non-existence to,
I guess, sorta-kinda, holy existence.

I try
Not to think
Of my mother
Giving birth to me.

I don't like to imagine
Her
In too much pain.

Just a little sometimes,
Like when she fake cried
When she was cutting onions or
She stubbed her toe
And punched a hole
In our new mauve colored iMac.

Those scenes of temporary agony
I could get behind

See,
These nights
Are nothing but
The page.

I forgot
I forget
How to even
Talk to myself

Sometimes.

Is that age?
Is that growth?
Is that the next
30
Years?

Luckily,
I only have myself so even when
I don't have myself,
They'll be roaming around
Somewhere around
In there

Of course,
There will be the page.
The pen.
The lack of thought;
The surplus of it.

Sometimes I wonder,
Sometimes I think,
Sometimes I query my own queries:
What if there was
Only my time,
My way,
My stay or the highway?

What would
Become of me?
My misery?
Would my self-worth
Evaporate to merely drift
Skyward - Cloud-ward?

Or would I become
Something else
Entirely?

Would I become the I
Unshackled?

Then, I see my parents, my father
On a fishing boat, his giant tanned gut
(Like the middle knuckle
Of a worn out leather baseball mitt)
Jutted out catching the 2PM sun, just a
Finishing pole in his hand, the line loose, perhaps
A fresh glass bubbled Corona in his hand.

I see my mother:
She's smiling at me,
Her red cheeks propelled by
The Polynesian breeze,
Forever content, eternally grateful,
For simply presence,
For simply time,
For nothing more
But experiencing in this life
What she never thought she would.

I see my sister:
She is nose deep in books
(As I always was an am)
And I smack her on the back of the head
And she screams, HEY!
And I scream, HEY!
And she chases me down the beach
To the beach bar where we drink
Daquiris and talk about what kind of people
We would be
If mom and dad had never split up.

"Someone's else entirely," I say.

I'm drunk and I admit it whole-heartedly.

"Yeah," Sister nods.

She was always one for math.
I was always one for words.

We were always ones
To survive,
With a smile,
And a spent mile

Under our feet.

Always
Ready
Thereafter.

There are the days
When the mind is so sluggish
The imagination so depleted
Passion, desire, motivation
Evaporated

That all I'm left with
Is life
And all of its beautiful
Mundaneness

How do I describe
The lack of energy?

How do I describe
The depression
That keeps me from me?

How do I mute
The voices
That voice there
Knowingly
Consciously
Purposefully

There is a mad rhythm
In all of this
In all of us
And some days it's simply there
Underneath the fingertips
In the mind
In the soul
In the heart
And onto

The page

Other days
This day
This hour
This minute
This second

There is nothing but the objective truth
Of my fan whirring
Pushing air that mixes with this 9:40 PM
Early summer breeze
Warm neon orange reflecting on the
Silver moon Camry across the street
The pavement dry and littered with cold dog ****
With the rumbling echo of a plane filling the night sky

I put these down
These setting details
And I worry about the mechanics
Of such things

Wishing I didn't recognize
These things
Wishing I was as new to all this
Ignorant to the purpose
Of the proposed
As I was when I was a child
Not thinking about word choice
Page count
Structure, themes, authorial interpretation
Twitter followers and re-tweets

Is this what
This is now?

A game
Of
Outdoing
Yourself?

Of elbowing your way
To a seat
At the table?

Is this
What it's always
Been?

Is this
What it will always
Be?

Nothing is ever
Objective
I'm a no man
I'm a no person
I'm a no soul
That is the last place
Of a person
Without their fiery HIT

I'm the dead head
Who says
Every man

Is always

Chanting

*******
*******
*******

No is
Is
Anyone's
Lover

Till

They' they' know'em

A thought is ephemeral
It's only binding
Is that of the one
Who thinks it

A thought is a weapon
It is sharp
It is fast
It is as hot and it is indifferent
To those it strikes
Or kills

A thought is you
Me
Her
Him
Your dearest loved one
Your greatest enemy
No one
At all

A thought is the thing
You tell convince yourself
Your living for
Breathing for
Fighting for
Working for
Eventually will die for

A thought
Is the abstract of an objective
You know
In your hearts of heart

Will not fullfil you

Will not complete you

Will not finish you

Human beings
By design
Are clipped of our wings

We were throttled down to earth
We were left to die in the sands of the desert
The beaches and
The death valleys
We were born abandoned

Left only with ourselves

A thought is your neighbor
Who you smile to in the morning
As you get into your car

Grinning through the sludge we are

Smiling through the destruction

Giddy in our descension

A thought is a just a thought
As a life is just a life

What births a meaning
A purpose
A reason

Binding the sinews to the bone
Stirring the blood from within
Pregnant with that of two heart beats
Hot by the sun and never cold

Is action

What action?

You tell me.

There is no luck
To this

There is only
The work
The pen
The page and

The time

There is no love
In this

There is only
The transferrance
Of such sentimentality
That ends up being
More in line with
Ego
Obsession
Self-worth and
Self-discovery

Than
Love

How does one get off
This Merry-Go-Round
Of
Words to reveal truths
In
New and exciting ways?

How does one
Carve out their cave
In the mountains of
Society, culture, and time
Only to have - when and if recognized -
One wishing with those who fill it
With praise and their bodies which
Long for answers,

That they would leave?

All I want
All I realize I need
Is a room with a roof
$1500
And a endless supply of stamps
And notebooks

Maybe a scanner
For those that don't take
Hard copy mail

Everything else
Is validation
Is
Thought of reaction or reward
To one's efforts and toiling

No one ever said
Writing was supposed to
Gain anything for

The writer.

Society told you that.
Capitalism told you that.
The banal digital trenches
Of economics whispered that in your ear
With a self-interested grin and
A wink only winked by a philistine

I am I
And I am
Nobody

But

These words
These pages
These sounds
That ***** the recesses
Of the darkest corners
Of that voice
Only you, dear reader, have
Ever spoken to.

Listen to them more.
Listen to them
More often.
Listen to them now.

They speak not to intimidate
Or scare
Or plead or beg or cajole or
Manipulate or borrow

They speak to you
For you to simply know
You and you
Better and better

Let not the hive of life
The busying of truth
Keep you from looking in the mirror
Every now and again to ask,

Who am I?
What am I?
What do I want?
What do I want

To become?

Too long did I veer
Still do
Too long did I hurt
The ones
I held most dear

It is a nice thing
To speak to this place again

I hope to be back soon.

Communicate with
Me

Give me an
Image

Make me feel
Something

Through

Something that isn't
There

I'm waiting

What do I need
You for?

I'll do it myself

I'll climb the ladder
Down to hell
And dance around
With the devils

**** out

Making sure
My spit and blood
Don't stain
The white **** rug,
Careful round every vase,
Mindful of every hen
That may have gotten
Out of its pen

I'll do it myself
Watch
I'm doing it right now
At the pool table
With a lone

8-Ball and cue

Something's playing
On the
Jukebox, but I'm

Too blacked out

To know, listen, or care

Listen or care

That's a funny state
To never be in

To ever be in

To ever claim
To be

In

Show me something

I'm tired of
Doing it myself

I'll wait
I'm not going anywhere
Maybe the store

What do I need?
I'm sure I'm not sure

Show me something

Anything

Will

Do.

Well I know
Its a phrase of
A
Lover

Someone said
They said something -

I was listening, but
I

Wasn't listening.

Well, I know
It's haphazard-tazer

All

While

I'm making believe
With you

Making myself

See

Underneath a light post
Where ays the dead secret
Of a kettle
No one ever wished to know

A ghost rattles their cane
As the last known man
Says they, used to be something,
Used to be something,

Something

Sane.

Stark horizon.
Abstract reality.
Chasing nothing,
But a love
I never thought I'd get.

Nurturing love
Was a contradiction
Left for tangerines and

Cradled apples.

I am here
With you
And I hope,
You with me
You know,

I love you.

If that be my last
Attempt
For your hand.
If that be my
Last press
Of my voice,

I hope
Your grip
Pleads for palm
On
Shaked' grip;

**** in plead
Thee be
There be vacant while
Begging -

Let it
Be
It

Let it be it

Let
No carrier
Be

Universal.

Individuals
In love
Only truly

Rule

This
Land.

I'm a pressed idiot

Attending

No hut.

Patti told me I'm nothing.

I'm nothing.

I'm nothing.

I'm nothing

But Johnny

With Nothing

But

A sea of possibilities.

Lets head
Down that Road
That Road
Our Road
Your Road
My Road

I'm not here
But you are

You are

You.

I'm just a moving through
Though
Im
In love

With you

I got nothing
Baby

I got nothing
Darling

But
The midnight
Starling

That midnight
Darling

A Fragrance
Of
A menu's chance

At a

Real Dance

It's not alright
It's ok
I'm making up for it
It's ok

Listen
He was
Supposed to make it

I promise

You're his son

You understand

You

Under

Stand

I'm here with you
And you're near with me
I can't it anymore
Somethings gotta' give
And I don't know
What it is

I'm a lost knife
In a setting of a thousand thieves
Stabbing nothing
But a bards
Play thing

Humlity
Accepts ones own jokes
Our characters dance
Free
Unshackled
From histories
Dispositions

I'm alone
The shallow rushed cars
And the
White hallow
Clouds
Tell me so

They remind me
By my up and bringing
That I want
Nothing more
Nothing less

I want
We want

The

Opposite,

And

Nothing more.

I take
My breath
And I
See
My future
Its nasty
Its selfish
Its my whipped brow
For him
I seek
Me social
My place
My hand
Naked and poised

Unbedguiled

My

Clan

Canned black beans
Line the brick walls
Underneath a tragic sun
Berating the bald heads
Of the cigar smoking dice throwers
Valuing nothing
But the smoke in their lungs
The fat ***** trucking by in their eyes
And the love for their kids
They work all day for
So they can study things they
Wouldn't even waste time trying to spell

Spinning guilefully in the corner
Of the repressed two bedroom apartment
Two grayed broken down dogs
One with a back left leg that's short
The second blind
Sit biting at each other's butts
Like Ouroboros
Screeching whenever one of their tooths
Would cross to deep
Into the skin

The tiles of the ceiling
Are browned from the dust
Whipping in from the wind
From outside
There was little anyone could do
Seeing there were no blinds,
No shutters, or windows.

Hooligans vagrant rocks
As well as being poor
Had a way of holding back repairs

Take the light
See the sight

I'm a wind neath'
Your bind
I'm a lie
As I forgive
Your sign

Today is your OK

Let me
Be

That nod

That OK

Did the 17
Have the chance
To taste
The cheap
Heart shaped
Chocolate
Before they were shot
In Florida?

Did
They have the chance
To feel loves
Honey'd anxiety,
Maybe telling their new minds,

This is the day
I'm telling them
How I really feel.

Maybe,
Today is the day I love.

Maybe,
I won't
Be
Who I once was.

Growth and
Gun Powder
Collide

Was there a moment
In the morning,
Valentine in back pocket,
Obsessed over and spotless,
Of doubting ones
Love?

Did each of the

17

Wonder if they would

Maybe
Perhaps
Ah' who cares (I do)

Get a valentine from that someone?

Did they
Have time
To
Ask themselves?

Ricocheting rhetoric
The gunman was too young
To understand

What he was taking
What he took
What he now has

Befell by

Mental health
Troubled
An outcast

The gunman could not comprehend

That never will they experience heartbreak or
Loves majestic unrest

The 17

Will never feel
The candied warmth
Of a smile returned
From the one
They couldn't keep themselves from
Falling towards

I,

Mourning with these words,
Become myself a tool
In the machine
Of grieving

I weep
For the heart
Ripped of the chance
To beat
For
Another

I cry
For the soul
Now unable
To tangle
With another

I scream
For a trust
That can never
Be given to
Another

Yet,
These cries
Are still echoing
From our
Past

So, I hold
In my hand
The shape of heart
Bordered with pink lace
And white frill

It is torn,
Perhaps beyond repair

There's
No more
Calling out sick
For the 17
Dead

The school dance
Has been cancelled.
A vigil
For the victims
Instead

And instead of reading them,
Our children's books
Will be used
As riot shields
And our teachers
Will be bullet proof
And pat downs and
Metal detectors
At every entrance
And exit

A fortress for our future

So listen for
The school bell's ring

For they ring
Over gun fire
Terror, greed, and
The evisceration
Of our innocent youth

Recess

Is

Over

When
The
Night come

We sing
Songs
Of
*** and
Disaster

Ash
Wednesdays
Or whenever
God wants
It

The bass comes in
I'm present
I tell myself

She smiles
Maybe
I linger
Maybe
Near the bar

Her head enflamed
With bad ideas

And

Chocolate

Me being
The only thing she
Needs

Her being
The only thing I

See.

Naked and near
We take blistered path
Close and
Nearing you as you drip
Farther away

Don' tell me baby
That you can't stay
My life here without you
Can't be
Any other way

I'm neath these painted stars
These plastered whites
An' I'm staring at furious horizon
Wishing I was young again
Wishing I still held the kite

Take the river instead
Retrieve Saturns move in lead
I'm begging for forgiveness my darling
I'm praying void of God
That my tune
Can catch the ear of the starling

But the breath
Is always short
When death
Hovers to close
To the napkin

I eat
I sleep
And I stare at the curtains
As they push from
An invisible hand
Coyly persuading me
To kiss the neck
Of the one I adore more
Braze the inner thigh
Of her core more
Caress her incredulousness
More

Breaking on braking
Myself
From a full stop
To snake the nape
Coliding accolades
With Starbursts and
Confucius's misfortunes

I'm your next best friend

I'm the one you forgot

I'm the after thought of your first thought

I'm the money

You were supposed to

Lend.

And though we dance
Platonic
Neath' absent starry night,
Running between rusted play structures,
Colliding memory with reality
Making believe

Like we used to,

I still can't disprove
That I'm forever falling
In love with you.

We walked,
Tasting the dew
On our eyelids,
Us seeing etched hearts
On parking meters,
Discussing
The depths of sadness
In our last barman's
Final pour of his night.

You walked ahead,
Leaving me to catch up with
The woman you say you want to be
As I
Make up the steps
To be the man
Who's
Every planting the seeds

I see
The kids knocking at our bedroom door
Trying to let themselves in
Hear that bronze handle
Jiggling in its socket
Like left over change in the pocket

But me,
Selfish as I am,
Selfish as I want to be,
I just want one more second of solitude with you baby
One more moment
Before our responsibilities fragment
Into a flurry of Gerber's apricot recipe and
Furies of five year old ego

You deserve
A whole man

A man
With no hole
In his heart

Expectations elude you
Like the ocean
Mysterious and dark
I imagine you poised
Neath' bedsheets of linen and gold

Dreaming of pine needles
Of saffron dust
Of a kiss you've always wanted

Of an embrace
You'd gladly take

To be haunted.

We made it home
But did not put the key in the door
Feeling the need to dance
On the street

Evading sleep

Avoiding who we are
From the choices that
Fix us

Like portraits
In a dusty museum
That people only visit on the weekend
And when they have
Old friends

In town.

To be
Dependent
To desire

Makes these chains
I carry yesterday
Today
Tomorrow
Forever

Both burdensome
And euphoric

There is no other way around me
Only through me
Questioning, denying, accepting, wondering
Fearing, loving, coming to, and leaving

When I listen
It comes
When I allow the gales
Of the upturned hand
Of the petulant misspelled priest
Take me for granted

It comes.

My distilled reservoir
Holds only so much
Perhaps none want to see
Or touch it
Or feel it or
Even know of it.

But,
I do.

To create is to see what one can do
To create is to see what one is
Who one is
What one can be

If the world wishes to watch
You dance amongst the flaming leaves
Let them watch
Let them perhaps feel a drop
Of what you feel

Benediction is granted
Not for the ones who wait silently
But those who walk through the highest grass
Traverse through the most dangerous mountains
Drink
From the coldest, purest waters

Attend to nothing
But to love and your creation

There is nothing
On the other side of the door
But the end
Of the

Beginning.

Her eyes
Filled
With shades of
Self-loathing
Sadness
Guilt
Regret
And hopelessness.

I told her,
We were born
Out of this,
Not
Into this.

I told her,
We will find it
Another
Way.

She nodded
Put her
Lips
To her tea cup
And sipped,
Her eyes
Still tainted
With the look
Of something that
Could have been
If only
There had been.

Her slippered
Footsteps
Slid across
The light beige
Wooden floor
Of our apartment
As music no one
Wanted to hear
Played below.

I listened to her
Door shut
In a disintegrated
Whoosh of self-worth.

I've seen
One of
The most

Beautiful
Open
Vulnerable
Tough
Playful
Joyous
Adventurous
­Complex
Complicated
Brave
Self-less
Powerful  and
Independent

Women
I've
Ever met

Brought down
By the shame
Of not having enough
To invest enough
Just to make more.

Money
Can collapse
The greatest of Goddesses

And give shrines
To the most
Horrible of Devils.

Fortunately,
We all get to choose
Where we hang our heads
And
Pray.

So,
Let ye' never crumble
From the charming facade
Of security or worth
From the penny and the dime.

Seek those
Who see,
Appreciate, love, and yearn
For your warmth
With nothing
But your hyperactive soul
When you have near or next
To nothing.

And,
If there is no one,
There is you.

There is always you.

See the river
Beyond the dollar.

See the Goddess
Beyond
The missed opportunities.

We are merely chances
In a world
Forever
Shedding its skin.

The ideology
Of money
Is a truth of necessities

A labyrinth
Of loop holes
And whispers,
Analytics,
Greed,
And moral silicone.

It is not us.
It wants us to think it is us.
But,

It

Is not us.

Engineers of humanity
Trick you
How to
Go about your life.

Artists
Trick you
How to
Live your life.

Yet
Once
The money
Comes -

Watch.

For the first
Becomes the later,

And the later
Becomes the first.

Won the lottery today.
The big one.
The big big one.
Yes sir' the big one.

Gonna' put a little away.
Gonna' spend a little too.
They say some've gone crazy
With all that money to spend.
Wasted it all.
Spent too much.
Loaned too much.
Killed themselves.

Not me.
No sir'e not me.
Not me.

Whatever the streets whistle
I try to say it back
Say it back
You know, so the streets n' the road ain't lonely

Cause money can't talk, you see?
Can't tell me nothing because
Money can't talk, can't speak, can't talk, you know?

An' since the money can't say nothing
Cause you know money can't talk
Cause people n' nature and things are actually things that
Produce, function, you know actually do things, you know?
Money ain't nothing but green paper
With faces of dead men and dead scriptures
That only make measly kindling that smells funny
When you put flame to it,
But since money can't say nothing to me
I don't listen to it, hell, can't even listen to it
For it's got nothing to say n' nothing to do
But trying to control me

Ain't nothing controlling me
Cept' the bottle n'
The woman n' love

Woman n' love one n' the same

Lost track of what I was saying
Lost track of what I was telling you
My apologies
All sorrows are tinted with golden fringe
And the ten commandments of our lord God
Ok and farewell

I won the lottery you see
156 million smack-a-roos
For me, that's a lotta' silence
You'd understand what I meant
From the conversation we were
Having earlier
If you weren't listening, I understand
I ramble
Always have

Won these 156 million n' my first thought was:
Im gonna' give a million to each girl I was
Seriously with
Seriously heels over head with
Love I'm saying
And not just a million to each girl
Because that wouldn't be fair to the amount of time
Time is the most important construct of any relationship
It's a building block of both commitment and scorn
Of love and disdain

Time is a contradiction in any relationship
It is both a definer and a destroyer
A solidifier and a quantifier
A terrorizer and mortifier

A distant page on a snow slicked hillside
void of letter
A fragrant rose
on its last petal
A still cocked ocean erupting
with crooked horizons

The last line
When its the first line
Is the first line
And the last

So, 100 thousand
To every month
I was with a girl I really loved
Only got four or five
They know who they are
And they know who I was
When I was with'em
Even if I didn't
Or they don't

Don't see it as payment
For being with me
Or dealing with me
Or some kind of reparations
I guess
It's something like,
I wish I coulda' done
Or I wish I coulda' been
I guess
It's like I hope you use this
With someone who loves you now
That needs you now
To make life easier
To make life better
To make life
What you deserve it to be

N' that I love you
For everything that you
Were to me
And are to me
And will continue to be.

Today, yesterday, and

Always.

We knew not where we were going, only that we were going. People looked at us as if we were ghosts, as if were figments of their imagination. I would order toast and coffee at those diners along the 1 down to LA and those backroad waitresses would stare at me in a kind of genuine disbelief, almost making me think I wasn't real. Perry, she said she woke up one morning, I don't know where we were or how we even paid for the room, but she said she looked in the mirror after waking from some TM sleep trick she was ******* around with, and said she only saw half of herself. I asked her what the hell she meant and she said it was like looking through a linen sheet hanging on laundry line with the sun bright behind it. Like I was fading right before my very eyes, she'd said in a fo' southern bell accent. She shrugged and laughed as she finished putting on her cherry red lipstick, smelling of apricot jam and American Spirit cigarettes. Maybe that's what happens when you're moving as far and as long as fast as we were: you start to fade.

Seb had never bought a train ticket before. He'd bought a plane ticket, a movie ticket, paid a parking ticket, but never a train ticket. He'd tried to do it online, but his credit card was maxed and his checking account was closed, so his only option was to pawn his PS4, the promise ring his ex-girlfriend had given back to him, and return the college textbooks he wasn't going to use. That and a few other knick-knacks he traded in at Buffalo Exchange Clothing pulled $300, enough for a one-way from Chicago to San Francisco with $67.45 leftover. Luckily, he'd quit smoking.

Trying to create a world in your twenties is like building a house with dynamite. There's no pieces of sanded wood. There's no nails or cement or stucco. There's no architect, designer, or foreman. There's just you, hocking ideas that explode into something, into nothing, or into the wrong direction. How anybody makes it out of that long stretch of ten years, I have no idea. The idea of what you could have been becomes a myth, an apparition that if chance, luck, and ***** didn't get you on the same path at the right place and the right time, you'll always be chasing. Nobody tells you the present is an illusion. Life is nothing but chasing after something that can't ever be caught. I know that now, but I didn't back then.

Liquor store romance
Prayers in the gallery
Behind China #5
Mysteries of curly friends and
Barmaids named Gretchen
Line cooks cold cocking their ruebens
Faking fornification
Making something into nothing
Destroying the dopamine
Riddling the relatives with fake stories
Of glorious mismatched and useless education
Trying hard to try hard
Everyday
A notebook with nothing in it
Letters turn into words that turn into paragraphs
That turn into pages that turn into chapters
That turn into Acts that turn into End
Flower petals assess the scenery
Decide to die
Connecting to robotic friendship
The only time I feel at home is when I'm asleep
Sometimes with the page
Not tonight though
Tonight I feel I have nothing to say
Nothing to give
Nothing to feel
Like nothing is new
Today all I'm good for is ingesting
Taking
Giving nothing for I have nothing
Even my voice is shallow, thin, void of empathy
Interest, love, friendship, curiosity, zeal
Whispers wane on disregarded street corners
Take me back so I can try again
I don't feel like taking a step in the right direction
What are day time naps a sign of?
A hero is a mask of the times
Though what they give is never enough
Temporary alleviation to a permanent problem
What a weight we are, us humans
It's ok to not think right now, he says
It's ok to think that I'm a girl too, she says
I say, let it be known that Jesus never rose
Never bled
Never pushed the rock away for our sins
There is a darkness here
It tastes like peppered olive oil and train station air
A taxi honks for you and you wave
Take me for granted, says the voice
Take me for a ride once and a while
It's not like we never have a good time when we do
Are you upset with me? He asks.
Are you upset with me? She asks.
The barriers are cracking and we're running out of water
A myth is a mirror to the world
Telling us there is universality in un-truths
There is only the here, the now, and the nothing,
Fleeting emotion
Like flies scattered from a corpse

Is an
Attempt at:

Self-realization
Self-destruction
Self-realization
Self­-des­truction

Death just once.

See yourself
As not yourself
Currently
In the mirror
If you have one.

Try.

Don't try.

See if I care.

Imagine
Stepping into a wind,
Taking in
Only pollution

When you
Second guess
Yourself
Your only self,
You,

You take that first voice,
The voice only
You and you only
Ever hear,
And silence it.

Wait.
Have you not heard yours?
Wait.
Are you as much a stranger to them as I?
Wait.

I'll tell you mine is:

A telling voice
A meandering voice
A voice without a reason
Chiseled by glassy experience
Glued together by a fragmented past
Melded not with
The precision of the sword
But of the chaos of love
Of an accidental death
Of a slip on the ice
Of a kiss not on the lips

The voice plays no favorites
But to its host
The voice wants to be heard
Needs to be heard
For to be heard is to be recognized
And to be recognized is to be seen
Solidifying your existence

Did we see each other today?
Surely or surely not.
Does that mean I or you or
Any eye that reads and thinks these words,
Reads these words,
Will assume I'm here

Still Here
Will be Here
Has ever been Here
At all.

What am I saying?
Poetry, prose, and words have always
Transcended life.

Syllables save your soul,
But not your body,
If you do right.

That's the catch.
That's the deal.
That's the way it is.

But, to be seen, to not be seen
To be recalled as someone else
This someone else or
The other has seen before, may
Or may not
Actually mean that we
Are all in fact here.

We unknowingly
Transport ourselves
Away from ourselves
To distance ourselves
From ourselves

Until we do something right
Until we do something too right
And aim to transport ourselves
All over again

The search is a cycle
And the cycle is our lives.

Accept it already.

I'm awaiting my transportation
My shedding of the cocoon
Will it come naturally or
Will it
Come forced?

Is there a difference?

Nature is a force of nature.

And like nature,
There is only one true kind,

Much like
Your voice.

So listen to it.

Your voice speaks
Just to you,
Only to you, though
It's funny,

And it may just be funny to me,

I wonder if my voice
Gets angry or bitter or feels betrayed
By sharing
What they
Are only supposed to share with me

To you.

Should I ask them?
Will they answer?

Voice,

Are you angry with me?

They aren't saying anything quite yet.

I'll let you know
If they
Get back to me.

Loaves
Of dry bread
Rest on my
Dusty windowsill

Someone
Just said my name

I didn't answer them.

I'm worried about dust
Getting in the cracks and
Holes of the dry bread
On my windowsill.

Something tells it's going to happen.

Much like
Everything else
That's been going on
Lately.

What is that something?
Who is it?
Are we all just seers
Locked in our own perspectives?
Like horses with
Blinders on?

I think about money
I think about gold
I think about a white picket fence
Surrounding a manicured yard
With one of those silly garden gnome
And a flamingo with a Santa Clause hat on it

(It is Christmas time)

And then I think about a field
And I see a wolves den
And a birds nest
And a beavers dam
And a gopher hole

I see the roots of a redwood
Planted by the hands of the Gods,
Staking their land with their
Winding tentacles.

We've always done this.
Before we were even able
To call ourselves a "we"

Separation and conflict
As a species
Has always been so.

There is a truth, but
What we lack that the animals have not
Is respect.

They eat their neighbors
And the neighbor know
That this must be so.

What they take comfort in
Is they know the sun will rise
Again for them in the morning.

They do not think they deserve it,
For they fight to survive every day,
Losing brothers and sisters,
Siblings and spouses;

The loss is their payment for the light of the moon and the sun.

They earn it.

The dry bread on my windowsill has molded.
The once gray dust has turned green.
I waited for a bad thing to get better.
I waited for a bad thing to do the right thing.

I'll have to toss it
And bake
Another loaf.

I don't have much
Anymore
I don't
Care to

She told me
Nice and quiet
That's what
She wanted

That's not
Or what I'll ever
Be.

There is
Something wrong
With me.

Something
Permanately
Dissatisfied.

And yet,
I'm apart of nothing.
Seen as nothing.
Pushing nothing.
Producing nothing.

There is something
Wrong
With me and something
Right with me

Where support
Is needed
To support
The support
I need to do
What I need
To do.

Does that make sense?

Here I press for me
For' I press and I live
And I crunch and I buy
And I spend and I bend
And I curse and I drink
And I sleep and I am chilled
For no one

I do not want me.

How do I rid myself
Of myself
So I can see the world
Void of ego?

Void of perception?

Void of weight?

Void of past?

I no longer want to try anymore
To be my best self, but
A
Vehicle for something
Unpersuaded, yet,

Un-restrained.

I don't want to believe in money anymore.
I don't want to believe in you.
I don't want to believe in loving anymore.
I don't want to believe in you.

Once I start believing in you,
I have to start believing in me,
And once that starts, well,
We just start,

Right back where we started.

Noble no one
At a loss
Of myself

Of my words
My life
To take myself on
The road again
To make sure
There is ground and
There is personality
And there is
Life's energy

There are breaks
In barriers that have
Yet to be built

I'm standing on the roof
With a crippled kite
And I don't know if I can
Do this anymore
Should do this anymore

When has there ever been belief
But

From me?

Presenting oneself
To the muted sea,

Vulnerability envelopes
My step by step
Your step by step

Toward that void -

Or is it
Something else?

What is the ocean
But us?

What is the expanding sand
But our skin?

What are wind whipped gulls,
The sideways skittering *****,
The diminished coral reefs,
The longing blue whales,
The suicidal dolphins and the waning tuna,
But our souls, our personalities, our multitude of beings?

We are born
Of nature.

We come from the soil,
The boulders,
The kaleidoscopic winter leaves,
Shifting in emotionality,
In love and in hate,
As the tides do, as the moon does, as we always do

If you are seeking home,
Look out your window, your tent flap, your terrace,
Look at the sky that embraces the clouds
To her ***** like you do your child or loved one,
Your dog, your cat, your pig, your ferret...

Whatever pet you may keep and
I hope
You keep many...

For you are home,
You are at home with the waves,
The rivers,
The brush, the fires, the lakes, the snow,
The rain, the hail, the storms, the eruptions

These tides that turn
Are of us
For us and against us
Guiding us, teaching us, and challenging us.

You are home,
She whispers as she bends the thin glass of my window;
Wets the thin fuzz as my cheek grows redder;
Forces me to shiver as I bring my bones closer,
Demands me to sweat as I try to wipe every drop away
In futility.

You are home,
She whispers, And
You always have been and
Always
Will be.

You are home.
You are home.
You are home.

Ten inches far past the time
Each nickel pinched for the penny
Roaring through debt
Upset by nothing
Upset only by the flick of a finger
Forgotten love at the bar

I tell myself
I told myself
I will tell myself later
That all of this
Is for the word

Right here
Right now
Right here

When you feel
As out of place as I do
No place
Is as fine a place and as
Worse a place
As any

The coffee is warm though
As is the sun
And the beautiful women
Their crooked smiles reflecting the sun
More than themselves and their
Brittle souls, though no more
Fragmented than mine own

Their pores and single strands of
Hundred dollar fo' bleached hair
Takes absentee ballots from all the townspeople
Who are wondering where their rights went
Upstairs the monkey wrenches are bending
And momma' bear is having trouble setting up the tents

Out of place n'
Out of mind
It's alright momma'
You tell me where you wanna' go
And we'll go,
Just give me a sign

The snow hasn't melted yet
O' there stands the sun!
Awaiting the song of Persephone
I'm making believe I've never lived before
So I can live all over again
Time is a relative son of reality
Who I'm trying to forget
That I've ever met

To meet you poolside
To meet you by the oceans crack
To meet you starlit
To meet you wounded
On the purple hearted soldiers back
Is a fitting piece
To a puzzle
I never knew I needed
To keep intact

O' lo' there's the knock

It sounds like a thousand boulders kissing
Neath' a naked lake
Where nothing is forever
And nothing is at stake
The sky is winking and flirting,
Teasing you to take them back
But I'm too busy singing,

"Make believe with me baby,
Let's make it true,
It's the only way of getting back,
It's the only way we'll ever get back to where we were,
It's the only way of getting back on track."

Two cradle
The two loves
In my life,
Bracing myself for implosion
Admitting that my heart
Is a selfish one,
A greedy one,
A fornicating feverish

One.

Unbridled in affection
She left and I left
We left one another
I see her cross memories
Memories good and bad and
Worse
We are friends and not friends
We are no longer lovers
We were nothing and everything
To each other then and

Now.

At least I kept my heart, well,
At least part of it.
I suppose I'm glad I left some with her.
She can have it, even if she doesn't want it.
She can have it, even if she doesn't think she has it.
She has it.
She does.
I know she does for I feel the

Void.

Shifting perspectives
Swearing allegiance to the winds
Making believe
Once again.
The mirror has rusted over
All I see are smears of the past and the future.
I want to question everything
But everything
Never gives me an exact

Answer.

A rock is rock the same as
A lover is a lover that was a lover
That could be another lover
At a later date.

I'm not hopeful
I'm not supposed to be.

Somebody, maybe a friend,
Told me

That.

She is mine
That forgetful
Brut.

I take you,
You;
You
With
Me.

Take
Me
Fair to you
But
Never
Smile.

Ask Never
For

Forgiveness.

You'll grow out of it,
Like a snake
From
Its skin.

You'll see the light

Fade

To black
Because

You'll grow from mismanaged

Attacks.

You'll grow out of it,
Like a clam
Whose rotted from its
Shell.

You'll see the life you've lead
Will seems as if
All ones actions were controlled
By some kind of

Spell.

You'll grow out of it,
Like a bear
From its den.

When asked to leave
This place
You'll simply say,

When?

You'll grow out of it,
Like lovers so
Often do.

There's nothing
Permanent
In this world,

Not even

Special old You.

You'll grow out of it,
Like we all will,
Through and through.

Let the rain fall.
Let the wind blow.
Let the hot knife of life
Slide into you
Like it would

Through freshly fallen

Snow.

My feet rest here with
The right
Curled
Around the back of the left.

It's here that I address

Myself.

Here, I observe
The slow wake of time
Revealing itself like glistening oil,

Dark shades of blue,

Streaks of white
From a light

I cannot see.

A notice tells me
On my phone
There has been an explosion.

I feel nothing.

I'm not sad.
I'm not worried.
I'm not scared.
I'm not angry.

My expectations are met.

I just sit
With my feet crossed,
The right behind the left,

Numb.

How have I come to be
This person?

This being unable
To even feel sympathy?

Can one see and hear so much
That the only option to survive
Is to transform into something
One won't even recognize?

I sit with my coffee, light cream.
I drink it and
Feel nothing.

My eyes do not water.
My skin does not crawl.
My heart does not ache.

I feel the wind on my face
From the fog rolling in from the West and
I feel nothing.

Can it be
That I a
Am slain?

And though
The sirens burn my ears
And the smoke
Chokes my lungs
And the bullets
Pierce my skin
And the hate
Makes me question
Everything everything everything,

I feel nothing.

It's here that I sit.
It's here that I address myself,
Feet crossed,
My back slightly bent crooked,
The blinds drawn with
The wind rocking the side door open and close,

Watching the world

Eat and

Eat and

Eat itself.

And with all of the hospital beds full
And the graveyards in rubble
And the ambulances out of gas
And the sky too blackened to even see the sun

I want to feel something
Other than

Nothing.