you were once the object of my affection
now you are the vehicle for my introspection
I used to love you, but now with every slipping
second
minute
hour
day
and week
I can feel you drifting farther away.
my once crimson heart has turned a solemn shade of grey.

He had been on the road for a while
trekking from city unknown to city unknown
in a cloud of dust kicked up
by a Greyhound bus
he used a different name in every city
he wasn't a criminal,
but he was on the run,
he simply enjoyed anonymity
enjoyed being everybody's imaginary friend
He took magic mushrooms in Richmond
and rode the image of his grand spiritual quest
like a drug induced steed,
rode it straight to San Jose
where he met some migrant workers
who drank cheap mescal
beneath the stars of the dead pan landscape
wasters of the great American wasteland
and in New Mexico city
he was given a tab of acid
which dissolved under his tongue
in an explosion of hypnotic torture
his life reflected as a visage
as hallucinogenic as the walls which rippled all around him,
Portland was ******* and oxy pills
his humanity stretched tight like a drum
ready to snap at any given stimuli
he made it to California
dreams of LA
he became addicted to the limelight,
pretty hipster chicks who were foolish enough
to sleep with him,
simply because he introduced himself as a writer,
simply because he could work the word,
and he settled in San Diego
where the whiskey poured freely
and the *** was enough to blow your ******* head off,
in a small one room apartment
where the rent was cheap,
he drank and smoked himself in a stupor
with the windows open -
enjoying the soft pacific breeze which washed him of his sins
he had been all over his forced continent
looking for a place to call home,
but he never found what he was looking for,
and with grit and determination
and a hunger for the freedom of the American dream
he packed up again,
and left for the road,
a thief in the all encompassing night

He wanted to write
as a way of expression
and rejection
a stage to vent
everything which threatened
his tranquil, lazy life,
he was fine going unknown,
hungry,
broke,
broken,
a man watching from the shadows
looking for somebody worthwhile
somebody he could talk to
and enjoy looking at
maybe he was unrealistic
maybe was one huge *******,
a typical womanizer,
just another guy,
but he wanted to write,
he wanted to write about her

The music blares loud enough to shake the car,
loud,
but not clear, because the cable is kinda screwy
so that every time
he hits a pothole
the music melts into
teeth rattling vibrations
and the breeze gushes in through the temporal openings
threatening to blow
the card parking pass
out the window
into the vast pleasant outside world
the sun burns down from space
turning the world warm with childhood nostalgia
and chlorophyll green lampshades
hanging from chocolate brown trees
paint the world with an aura of emeralds
and the spedometer plays Apollo
rising higher on its arc
twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, ect.
the rush of speed becomes deafening
and the hot asphalt road rises,
dips,
meanders,
and he controls its will
with the easy gliding of the leather steering wheel
and an easy smile
driving with the windows down

POETRY IS NOT PUBLISHED IN A BOOK
OR SCRIBBLED IN A JOURNAL.

IT IS NOT COMPOSED OF STRICT METER AND RHYME,
STANZA AND STRUCTURE,
ASSONANCE AND ALLITERATION.

POETRY IS NATURE.

POETRY IS NON-SEQUITUR.

POETRY IS THE WAY OUR HIPS AND LIPS
INTERTWINE LIKE GRASPING VINES
WITH DETERMINATION AND GRACE
THAT IS SIMPLY DIVINE.

POETRY IS THE WAY YOU WAKE UP ON A LAZY SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING
AND LISTEN TO THE HEARTBEAT OF YOUR LOVER
LYING NOT TOO FAR AWAY.

POETRY IS THE COMPASSION AND SELFLESS DESIRE
THAT CAUSES US TO BUY MEALS FOR STRANGERS
AND TIP EXTRA JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT.

POETRY IS THE FACT THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US IS ANOTHER INFINITELY RANDOM MANIFESTATION OF THE UNIVERSE ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND ITSELF THROUGH CONVOLUTED COSMIC INTROSPECTION.

POETRY IS THE WAY THAT THE STARDUST FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS AND THE LIMITLESS POTENTIAL OF HUMAN CREATIVITY HIDES JUST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND OUR EYES.

POETRY IS THE WAY THE WISE WINDS BLOW SOFTLY THROUGH THE TREES, WHISPERING SECRETS TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO HEAR.

POETRY IS THE WAY THE RIVER LOVINGLY EMBRACES EACH AND EVERY PEBBLE IN THE RIVERBED LIKE A MOTHER HOLDING HER NEWBORN SONS.

POETRY IS ORGANIC.
MALLEABLE.
THESE WORDS ARE NOT POETRY -
LIFE IS POETRY.
DEATH IS POETRY.
LOVE -
LOSS -
STRIFE -
SUCCESS -
POETRY.
WE ARE POETRY.

it wasn't snowing yet, but they'd told us it would.
probably I said something infantile, about how
I could smell it, the frostiness of snowflakes in the
air, because you smiled that knowing smile of yours,
like you were an adult and i was a child and you
didn't have the heart to take my innocence away.

that look always made my heart smile, sadly, and
it also drove me up a wall, partly because it made
me want to hug you close and pity you the
burden of assumed moral superiority, and whisper
that you, too were a child. but mostly because you
were right— I clung to my naiveté while you, you
had already had the good sense to push it away.
it followed you around with sad puppy eyes, but
you knew it and you kept it at arm's length.
you brave, brave soul.

when it did start to snow I wasn't surprised. you
were. you didn't say anything. we were in
a deserted school hallway, listening, removed
from the other kids' cries. we were
delighted too, but the others wanted to run home
early, and we knew the definition
of home better than they. and I can speak only for
myself but it seemed we both wanted only to stay
forever side by side, tucked away in our corner,
me reveling in the softness of love and friendship
and winter, you trying to be there with me but having
trouble leaving your mind, where that sad-eyed
puppy snapped at your heels. it whimpered
but you held your own.

and slowly, we built up moments like this one.
we wallowed in each other and in the coziness
of cloudy days. we read good poetry and
heard good music and took photographs as we
discussed life from our  softer world.
there were moments of such pure white happiness
that they came full circle to being sad,
simply because I knew I would never be that
happy again, and I was not wrong, and I didn't
want to be. and we had
sad moments, too, never ever think I am not
happy to be sad with you.

and slowly, too, your innocence knew its
defeat, and sat obediently at your feet,
and we shared things.
but I was a child, and a weak one at that, and
God knew I was not as strong as you so she
gave me no great suffering to speak of, to
share with you. no way to reciprocate the
vulnerability you gave, and that in
itself was suffering for me.

I regret that I was not good at saying things.
that while
you had to be your own adult and push childhood
away, I clung hopelessly to mine as
I discovered me and watched it slip
from my small hands.

among the plethora of reasons I can give for
bitterly hating sunny days is the
way the sun slanted through the window and lit
up your eyes and swilled particles around
your face like fairy dust on the day you reached
out and pulled my lanyard over your own neck.
look, you said, content. almost proud.
I'm wearing a bit of you around my
neck, and you wove it through your
sunlit fingers, eyes bright. you tugged on it,
lightly. that's what love does, it strangles
you. and we all want it.

and I gasped at the way that word sounded,
so harsh in such beautiful sunlight on such
a soft face. but I don't want to strangle
you. I said that. thoughtlessly,
instinctively. I regret it every day. in that regard,
you gave me a strength, but it's no german shepherd—
you are so **** strong.

when your ache tugged and tugged at you,
tore you from reality, or brought you closer to it,
it slipped its finger into that lanyard knot. loosened it.
I could have reached out right then, as you had when you
pulled the sun-soaked string over your head, and
tightened it. tightened us. been a friend.

I didn't tug the knot. if you run.
when you run,
I know that two grown dogs
will follow after you, blocked
from the sun by your receding shadow.

I got drunk last night
Celebrating my birthday
One friend
Hospitalized
Another almost arrested
Another sick as a dog
Another hanging out the window

The next day
Apathy struck
The will to live
All but gone
Eating ******
College cafeteria food
And discussing
Our lives,
We came to two conclusions
Our lives were bad
And that didn't matter
Because nothing matters