It is in her movements that she speaks the greatest to me,
The unflinching energy she has as she talks to her cigarettes,
The swirls in her eyes in the dark at night when no one else is sleeping.
We first met in the belly of a whale, flying far too low on the ground,
I spotted her from a distance, and in an instant
I loved her like a man who never touched a woman,
Only looks at through the narrow pinhole of an airplane window,
It was love at first sight; she hadn’t looked at me yet though.
So I drive to me her, that dreaded hour of a wait past her father and friends,
And the rolling hills and the polarized blue of the sky in which birds made their home,
On the brick laden hills in which people called their home,
And we finally met, and it was like making love
for the first time to someone who has been there, done that,
But it was alright, it was ok,
Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt
Anymore
As I fell
Into this city’s embrace.

I am armed to the teeth,
Wielding a camera and a notebook,
And by god I’m not afraid to use them,
So stand back, as I Occupy my own ******* mind,
And spin circles because that’s the way I like to take
Photos, with the city and the stream of lights blurry till the end.

I am shaking back and
Forth, now listening to the wildest
Swing music, you spineless ******* are too
Scared, I know it, get into that dark gypsy swing,
Relinquish that control, ha, as if anyone truly has it,
We have nothing and we should celebrate our inability to let go.

poetry, moving, motion,
kinetic, effigy, ocean,
swimming, swimming, sinking,

There was once a time
before words were among us,
before, there was just movement
of images of rolling hills
and towering skyscrapers,
colliding and fusing together
into a spiral staircase.

Before there was language,
we had movement.

before language,
We would just stare at each other
for a dozen minutes at time
as if our features were a French painting
done by an existentialistic artist, trying
so hard to create the beauty he cannot find for himself.

And how I would stare into the ocean of your eyes
grasping your fingers as our very presence
gave each other lysergic bliss.

Before language.

He gave me one hell of a cocktail, full
to the brim with snake oil and water from the rose,
And I started sailing like a sailor,
Straight to the moon, straight back to you,
To the ******* outer edge of the solar system.
And it’s this stupid attachment that gets to me,
I hug it like an octopus on a Christmas tree,
And distract myself by downloading anti-virus programs all day,
And smoking cigarettes and whatever else,
And I write out in anger in frustration,
I don’t want to rest, I can’t be my best,
So now I’m sick of this city,
And all it’s ineptness to sing to me,
I want to travel far, far away from the man who killed me.
He gave me one hell of a cocktail, full
to the brim with snake oil and water of the rose.

A boy drank some ethanol on a dare today,
He has survived being poisoned before, so he
Figured, why not? Nothing can **** me after
What I have been through, and drank he did,
And it felt rather good, an out of body
Experience, but after he was done
The nausea hit him, and he went to bed
with no other thought except
that he was responsible to this.
No ever learns, ever.

deep browns and golds,
and skyscrapers as high as tombstones,
speaking through the train station’s whisper,
drinking for a hundred thousand dollars a day.
and all of it is like molten metal,
searing hot and cold to the touch,
the ardency of you being with me,
the frost you gave when you left,
Nothing but a bad memory and quite a head ache,
And nothing but awkward explaining to do,
I’ll be better without you,
Without you.

It’s a funny thought to know
that most people will never see me angry,
or watch me unlock the animal inside.
They see me hide under logical and rational thought,
of controlling my words, and not giving in to these rampant
things you call human emotions,
And then all of the sudden, like a bullet in the hand,
you’ll know I have awakened, and torn off my mask,
you’ll will feel nothing but clairvoyance
and maybe dread,

that’s the way I do my art,
and how I write these stupid poems
and break strings on my guitar whilst screaming like a wolf,
you’ll know.
And I only reserve this beast to the walls of my empty house
and the people who love me the most,
they are the only ones I ravish with these terrible feelings,
so when the beast comes out, be glad I love you,
When the beast does not come out, be thankful I do not.