he was thin and white
a habit I couldn't break
leaning against the crumbling walls
mind adrift and shoes making
light scuff marks against the cracked tar
he wore a jean jacket every day and at first
I likened him to a *** but once you
see a person so many times
what they wear becomes who they are
and who they are is what you love
I loved the way he shoved his sleeves
up to his elbows and then he'd
push his messy hair out of his face
with these battered hands that were
subtly caked with paint
sometimes you sense a story about the person
and I wondered for a while if
it would be appropriate for me
to insert myself in his chapters
but you know love
and you know interest
and you know you can't help it
so I broke the barrier and shuffled up beside him
he didn't look at me
just stuck his thumb in his pocket and
rested his right shoe back against the wall
he wouldn't speak so I took his photo
stood directly in front of him and
snapped what would go on to be
the first and last time I saw this drifter
he melted away into the mortar
he curled into the sun
my photo held his existence steady and still
until that evening; I lit it ablaze
you may ask why I didn't catch his name
but it is a known fact that smoke can never
and will never
be one to be captured

Upon waking
I hacked impurities from my rusty lungs
And you traveled out of my esophagus
Down into the fluffy folds of no return
A thing to be wasted, to be thrown out
And even though the label warned me
That side effects may happen
I was crossing my bony fingers
In the hopes that I would sleep forever
But it looks like this medication
Is powerful in all the wrong ways

a Time for hushed wind
Unseen forces pushing white clouds
in Ever-present blue skies
they Say no drinking before noon, but
I quietly Declare a glass of wine
can be A quite sophisticated gesture
if You take the time to celebrate
the most fantastic of Tuesdays.

first love, a blue coyote-
- first heart, a red red moon

first day's not dawned-
love sings a song
a'top a desert dune

genesis of loneliness-
indigenous to wistfulness
- first cry of love
against the first night sky

blue coyote sings
to a red red moon.

r ~ 10/3/14

every letter I bring into being
gets erased and sent back to sleep
finding lost words is no easy feat
when you've been muffled
most of your life
they told me to be free and find my passion
but stunted me from having feelings

I feel like a trapped wild animal
backed into a corner by empowered oppressors
under the guise of maturity, authority
I've been led into a pit of suffocating quiet
although this pen serves as compass to my quest
it cannot yet heal the verbal cues I have always dreamed of placing
atop their demonic heads

Let's weave our lips shut with weeds and explore the hushed secrets of the world with nothing but cold fingertips.