I see your kids
running around the table
screaming
and crying
existing on some
hyperactive wavelength that
exhausted adults have
waived from their capacity.
You sat there
making an art out of tuning
them out.
Quite impressive really.
Not so much could be said
for everyone else in the room though;
the rolled eyes
or deep, hollow groans
cursing your parenting skills.
The hell with them anyway.
You sit and enjoy your tortellini
and your fifth glass of wine
no frown or smile just
the blankest face
I've ever seen in my life.
Blank as,
not so much a canvas,
for a canvas was built for
the intention of being
transformed by color.
But you,
your face is the white slate
face of an unclimbable
mountain. It is
the forgotten
empty
dusty
journal of your parents,
stuffed in an attic.
Your face doesn't ask
for pity
or ridicule,
it only asks to uphold
it's sanity amidst
all the struggles
this life has to offer.

You'll get through though,
and so will they,
Sometimes it is at
the very bottom
where people discover
their greatest strengths.

I've come to know the
hospital well
the stale smells
the nurses names and stories
the hand sanitizer
the countless quiet
nervous
elevator rides
stuff like that
I could even write a full review
of the cafeteria food
should this hospital
have it's own newspaper.
There's been too many sad days
but I find myself laughing
as she shows off her blonde
extravagant wig
The doctors and nurses
Fall in love with her
her energy
her aura
As most people do
They laugh with her
And cry with her
And hope with her
People come in
They say
things will be fine
things will get better
My mom grows weary
She's heard this since stage two
They say
keep up the fight
But seen as a fight
Her getting sicker only implies
she is not fighting hard enough
that she is losing
nothing can **** hope quicker
but she shrugs it off
She doesn't need some
greeting card or nylon balloons
or some
half-assed healer
or some gurus blowing
smoke from burning sage
She needs authenticity
connection
meaning
She needs to be told things are awful
And probably won't get better
She needs complete vulnerability
on both ends
She needs real
Which is hard to find
in a lot of places
and faces
and words
an hour with her though
she would get it out of you
the 'you' that you didn't even know
she touched lives beyond
whatever I ever imagined capable
There are many ways
I wish to be like her
but most
is to be able to smile
as real
and transparent
as she did
when I am about to die.

I hear the humming
of your voice
in the blurred darkness
behind my phone's screen
I look occasionally
And smile
And nod
You mention a city
something like where you were from
I like Greg's photo
You blah further about
your parents or something
I text Jerry about a recipe for a good salsa
I begin to talk
To your glowing
distant face
This goes on for quite some time
We sit in silence
in the backseat of the cab
tapping frantically
religiously
communicating
somewhere else
I hug her goodnight
and suggest to meet again soon
But
I probably won't call her
We had nothing in common

It's been a long time.

Fields of orange trees are torn
from their roots
to make room for
a thousand empty wooden boxes to be
planted in their place
There these empty boxes wait
longing
for the warmth of a family
To be furnished
And painted
And remembered
and
How it longs
To watch kids play
safely in its living room
To have the dog trample
through it's
neatly cared for lawn
To smell dads cooking
fill every square foot
To see moms face
when she finally returns
from a long day of work
To have love absorbed into its fibers
and stand out amongst the rest
To be decorated for the passing seasons
with other things besides
rust and snow
It dreams of these
things
It knows it could be more than
just a box
So there it sits
And sighs
And waits

It's been a long time.

You said
"I feel like
the Earth; heavy
and destructive,
surrounded by
infinite darkness
and nothingness,
light years from
anything beautiful"
I said to stop
being so dramatic
and then
gave you some facts
about the universe
and astronomy
an other irrelevant things.
I might have even
compared you to Newton.
I tell people
"I don't know why
she doesn't talk to me
anymore"
even though
I really do.

It's about 2:30 in the morning
there you stand
a janitor
weilding your gigantic
paintbrush
in a full jumpsuit
and a bald cap.
Nobody's around.
The mophead slaps the ground
you dance with it
Swirling it all
across the checkered tile
with such grace
and such beauty!
Soak
Swash
Squeeze
Repeat.
What magnificent art
Such extraordinary
masterpieces
being created
night after night
across this marble floor!
Why,
Michaelangelo would be
turning in his grave!
A shame though,
That the paint is clear
and it dries away in about
15-20 minutes
and no one will
ever see or know
the greatest art ever created
by you,
the unknown custodian,
the master of sanitations,
the mop artist.

We went to a reading
You sat leaned back
With your arms crossed
sighing at every read line
aren't they just so pathetic
The person reading begins to cry
reading his own words
I press forward
and rest my elbows on my knees
and my chin on my hands
I can still hear you
in my peripheral audition
trashing
nodding
rubbing your eyes
with your thumb and index
with that smile
making a show
of your disappointment
You were once in his shoes
reading your own work
self-conscious and vulnerable
full of doubt
and hate
Then someone called you "good"
then another
and another
and now you're this
The breathing image of what it
means to be a Poet
and aren't you just so **** *poetic

You sip through your Shiraz
and spill it
on the white leather seat of
my sofa
Your laughter echoes down
the hall
the walls find it contagious
but my brain
my brain
my brain pulses with anger
bursting to the surface
of my skin
back and forth
back and forth
down the hall
I get the stain remover
and finally enter the family room
and you're not there
no one is
and neither is the stain
I remember I'm alone
wishing these things
a big
white
empty house
wishing to get angry
with meaningless
stains

and you're never there
where are you

I heard poet's have to
be the world's observers
So here I am
Trying to be a good poet
Observing things.

I walk

Through the park
Picturing the poetry
of my surroundings

The day is whatever
Flowers, Bees, Wheelbarrows
Sure, that's all fine
I will leave it for others
to express with their words

I keep walking

I see a man
mowing the grass
Humbly dressed in an
Orange vest
wiping off his life dreams
with the sleeves of his shirt
Grass sticks to his forehead

I keep walking

An older man
but not old
sits alone at a park bench
His face is buried
into the infinite
comforting darkness
of his hands
Tears break free from the cracks

I keep walking

I see a woman
She is not with me
She is happy

I keep walking

I see a kid
playing baseball
He looks sharply at his parents
every second
Dad is on his cell phone
Mom sleeps on her lit cigarette in the minivan
At least they showed up

I keep walking

Down by the lake
I see my reflection
I see myself
Aged
Scared
Alone
A good poet observes things

The reflection is in my bathroom mirror
There was no park
I didn't actually observe these things
I lay flat on my back
My skin sweats against the tile
I grasp the empty
Orange bottle
close to my chest
I try to observe more things
before it's too late
So I can be a good poet
So I can be remembered

I observe the flickering lightbulb that
I should have changed
I observe the towels that
she hated
and don't match the shower curtain
I observe my cold sweat
mixing with the warmth of my tears
A good poet observes things
The light bulb burns out

You'll never know
how much it meant
that you pieced my
caterpillar
back together
piece by piece
the time
the f r u s t r a t i o n
You must have put into
each delicate detail
the thin fragments
the spontaneous glue
I never had the words
at such a young age
to express any form of gratitude
or understanding
and I barely do now
I can only say
I will never be more excited
for show-and-tell
for
the
rest
of
my
life.

A dime on the floor is dirtier
than a penny on the table
Another race that's only run
By who is young and
Who is able, and
It's hard to differentiate
Who is *******
in a stable
As all our backs are sore
And our losing legs are shameful, but

Let it not discourage thee, thou, or
You
There's a faster racer running
Passing, beating without shoes
There is no flag attached
No podium or pew
Just some blood
Some wood and ash
Running through and through

There is a sun
And it rises
And further,
The world still spins

We run around it for
Gold and prizes
But our own strength
will never win
it.

I tighten the knot on
My tie
I brush the shoulders off
On my jacket
And rap to it
This interview should be better
Than the last one.
I'm hoping the manager
Will realize I've been a loyal
Safeway customer since
As long as I can remember
I swallow the pinball
In my throat
Hatched from
Nervousness
Or
Nervousity
Or
Nervousonification
Or, I don't know
I'm nervous.

For some reason he shuts
The blinds, this is more
Serious than I thought
I suppose.
I sit frozen in my chair
Like the Lincoln Memorial
Except I don't stand for anything.

I step out into the warmth of
The real world
I grab a brick and throw it
Through the front wall of glass
Protecting the grocery shoppers
From the sun
I stop over at the cafe
For a milkshake
Strawberry
I went to a different store
To get the laundry detergent
She told me to get
Because we had a coupon
But I forgot the coupon
So I just went home

It was a busy day today.

You drive in
circles and circles and circles
in a stuffy car
constantly searching
for the best possible space.
Stopped and waiting
for person after person
who clearly find it acceptable
to walk in
the
middle
of
the
street
Gritted teeth
Fingers gripped, indenting the
cushioning of your steering wheel
You imagine your
parking angels laughing
at your ridiculous prayers
playing harps to
accompany your misery.
You felt as if you haven't
taken a breath in
quite some time
as your sweat-drenched collar
seems to be tightening.
Frustration is digging ulcers
as if you're ready to just
crash your car right
into the front of the store
and,

Finally

you just settle
for the space in the way back.
Nothing to exactly brag about
at your next dinner party.
Settling is a part of life you suppose.
The door slams and you lock it.
A few paces in
and
well,
you find yourself
surprisingly
enjoying
the long walk,
this scenic route.
You remember how nice it is
to actually be outdoors
and to see some clouds
and birds and empty
noiseless air.
You laugh a little to yourself
You slow your steps and breathe.
A car honks at you for standing
in the middle of the street.

I know I should have
called you back
but
for some reason
I
just

didn't.

My car broke down

Across from the mechanic's shop,
I'm bowling a perfect
zero
with the bumpers up

My shoes get stolen

Barefoot in the tire lounge,
I chip my tooth on a gumball

the dentist pulled
the wrong teeth
he said it was my fault
so I apologize

I'm late for work

My boss is yelling
about something

I zone out

I don't explain myself

I get fired

I pack my box with nothing
but static air
filled with three-and-a-half
years

No one says goodbye
No one seems to notice

Except you

You call my name

You hug me
for the first time
ever

You even asked me
to call sometime

There's nothing else
I can do
but smile

and be smitten
from your laughing
at my new gold teeth

Make sure you write your poems
With a typewriter
on some
Archaic
Obscure
Unconventional
Peice of paper

The idea of depth
Is more important
Than what actually lies beneath

she could never
look
into anyone's eyes
as deeply
as passionately
as she could
look
into
her own.

I watched a play on Words
And you watched me jump on conclusions
I guess my bushes are worth birds
And your mixing good solutions

You let your eyes cross a road
That led pencils into paper
I get past the fact my frog was towed
To let the fire escape her

Our suits look so similar
I guess we can call it a tie
I could not forgive a helping hand
When your all time low is so high

My factory is dripping with sweaters and books
Both of which have been red
My eye is ugly from the way it looks
And I've never seen living so dead

This is all here
But there

A shadow on your silver
Ware

A conversation with no heat

A warm toilet
Seat

And then there's
More

We're uncomfortable so
Pour
Some
More.

People sit alone
outdoors
and stare into
their phone

Let it not be mistaken
they are not losers
or weirdos
clearly they are on their
device, they are important
they are not lonely.

They have a whole world
that cares about them
in that phone
they are busy
they sit alone
but are not lonely.

I would much rather see
a person, sitting there staring
at the everything and nothing
around them

enjoying the fear
enjoying the judgement
enjoying the loneliness

But, at the same time,
here I am
sitting in this
quiet, crowded courtyard
writing this on my phone

Isn't that the role
of the 'poet'?

To observe problems
they're entangled in

To be all theory
and no action

To hope that your writing
will reach everyone else
in the world
except yourself?

Hot iron
Steaming tuition
Wrinkled self-esteem
Door slam in the face of
flattened suits on Mission

Curse the piety
and find another dress
shirt. Crippling anxiety
Inhale to break the stress the
pressure

Sweat stains rise and
morality falls
Break the silence on the
nightstands
Break the vows, break them
all

Look to the sky crying
Wanting pleading
Bargaining again
slowly begging to find hope
somewhere before the time
of dying

And there it was

A whisper

Not an earthquake or a
firestorm
No thunder claps
in fact

Just a whisper
Gently
in the wind it came
through

Speaking softly
speaking slowly

"I Am
With You."

This time
The breath in my shoulders
Was just air

Anything
I
Remember

But also the things I don't
Which actually
Weigh
Much
Much
More.

Nothing seems
to be
more insulting
than to be shushed
as a deaf child
by your parents
because you are disturbing
those around you
that have the gift of
hearing.

We catch each other's faces
From other ends of the store
We're walking towards eachother
I remember us in grade school
Young
Naive
Giggling about which girl
was the cutest
Like six year old men do
Learning math
And grammar
And art
And other life lessons
Which unconsciously stuck with me
And about friendship
I knew you then
Like a brother
So now here we are
After some years
Running into each other at a grocery store
I wonder why you're in town
I wonder how your life has been
I wonder what happened with your parents
There's so much to catch up on
So much to laugh about
And to cry about
We're pretty close now
I shove into my pockets for my cell phone
You stop and shuffle and look away
You pretend you need to go down a different aisle
I pretend to look at canned soup
As if neither of us noticed
You think I might not remember
You think I don't know your name
And possibly you have forgotten mine
It is better to ignore these things though
For the sake of a small possibility
It could have been uncomfortable
And real

We've been through
some tough times
You & I
I've been chewed
and pulled
and burned
and twisted
and covered
All my arteries
tangle up in knots
as you form
me into something
different
You try and
cut me loose
but I always come back
stronger
thicker
in your face
down your spine
so
you drown me
and tie me
and push me aside
see
I've known you
since I was
just a root
You may think that
I do not get the hint
but really
it is my life
to be so
attached
to you.

The path was lonely
but
company is not too hard to find these days

Some sweaty rags and a
patched army coat
emerged from a dark
alleyway and
waved me in his direction

he approached me
with his friend
which I couldn't see

but it was dark

so I think
along with some money
I will give him the benefit of the doubt
since it is too typical
to assume that if a homeless man is talking
it is to himself

He began to whisper
and inch towards my face
His breath smelled something
that could only
be described in eulogy
Underneath his tumbleweed beard
were deep ridges
filled with dirt and sweat
and wear

It seems
the Grand Canyon had a son
and disowned him

His advice hit my face
with golden plaque
from the gaps of his teeth
Things will get better soon, my friend
some guffaws and a handshake later
he jumped back off his feet
and into the dark

I continued home
to my own boxed alleyway
thinking it was five minutes
well spent

If I ever went back to that
dark of a street
I will hope that he is gone
to find a brighter one

The dishes smash against
The wall
The neighbors peek through
the blinds
to try and witness the
un-normalcy
of
shouting and fighting
in a well-respected
upper-class
community.
Those neighbors are posers though
They fight too
Just silently
And over the span of
a few decades
Either way the cops show up to
better the situation.
Her hands pack her bags
As her eyes unpack their tears
I won't need a grinch this year
I've killed my own Christmas.

I sit on rocks pondering
Life's
Big Questions

What is it that makes
A
Person a person?

And why did that
*****
Have to leave me?

I skip a stone across the water
And
Watch the ripples meet

If I had known
Then
What I know blah blah blah

If I could only see
You
For who you really are

And if I could only
Die
Without complaining about it

The sign clearly reads
NO SCAVENGING
I don't wanna hafta 'rest ya
Just don't let me catchya 'gain
understood?
Yes?
You mean yes, sir
That's betta
Now this here a nice community
folks here don't wanna hafta
look out they windows
and see some homeless man
diggin' through they cans
cause here in the good ol'
U-S-uhv-A
We have good laws that
make sure
People who have nothin'
don't try and take things
that other people don't want

Your fingers laced
in your blanket
I press it close, just to
know your scent
I adore
the family of gnomes
and
the jungle
of stuffed animals
parading about you
as you dance
and stretch
through countless books
of wizardry
or wonder
or Sigmund Freud's
interpretation of
dreams.
My dreams are
Quite translucent,
I dream of you.
I dream of the little things.
Your placid hands peeling
tangerines, or
swimming in a pool
of jelly beans.
I dream in memories
of us, like
the time I dropped you
on our first date
and we both sat there
laughing at how awful
and beautiful it was
on that mountain
underneath the smoggy
night sky

But here I lie
Awake
And so do you.

It's there.
Some small
inconveinent
hindrance of curiosity
You see,
at night I like to lay
flat on my back
on the cement
and stare up at the night sky.
Make fun all you want
but this nonpareil view
of the stars
holds so much possibility,
so many endless and unexplainable
things
to ignore it is an insult to mankind
and your gift of consciousness!
So there I lay
trying to do my humanity
a favor
but my head
as oblong and mishapen as it were
with that flat spot
always rolls to the side
forcing a limited view
of the city!
Pfft! There is nothing to gain
from the working of other people!
I've tried building many
prosthetics for this problem,
Once,
I molded putty to my head
to make up for this tragic flaw
but it didn't work
and it looked terribly absurd.
So I suppose
as much as I imagine the universe
to be completely perfect,
the fact that earth is a part of it
makes it flawed
(which yes, I realize that includes myself)
Furthermore
as much as I like
to think of myself as perfect,
that flat spot will always be
the earth
of my head.

No
Fifty miles an hour
Is not fast enough
And neither are my thoughts
When you approach me
You change me

Let's adjust our mirrors

I question my identity
Around others
I was never fast in gym class
So I pass you in the fast lane
Please honk
Turn on your brights
I drove my car off a cliff
Just to write about it
The page is white

Let's switch lanes again

This pencil is writing me
It's a keyboard though
Be real
Nothing's actual
Just
Digital.

I tossed away decades
Of cassette tapes today
No one has the means to play them

My mind is a floppy disk
Outdated
Useless
A source of laughter
At me, not with

But it's still meaningful
I'm ranting
Check your blind spot

What was I...
Oh, yes!
Cars.

Cars are pretty nice
You can shift
Your identity into it

Which is fine
Just
Leave the top down

I slip on my cardboard
shoes, and slide
out of my
cardboard box
I walk
to the same corner
and hold that cardboard
sign

I watch
car after car
after car
after car

I am the master
of closed windows
and straight
awkward posture

I'm the problem
that isn't there
because you ignore it

I'm thankful for my long
nails to pick
sticky ashtray change
off the pavement

I put the change
in a small
cardboard jar
I found behind a warehouse

It's a very nice jar
it hold things together well
it is well crafted

sure

it is no glass jar
or diamond
or gold
but a jar just the same

and someone threw it
away

I stare above
my cold coffee
and warm cereal
at the blank wall in front
of me. I miss you.
Or at least I think I do
I don't know
it's hard to tell these days
I was miserable with you
and without you I'm
bored.
It may take a few more
lonely breakfasts
before I figure
out which one is
worse.

My other truck is one that works
My other sweater's warm

My other food is nutritious
My other bed is a mattress

My other family is alive
My other friend is close

My other heart's not bitter &
My other life is a good one

I would
never
consider myself
by any means
one fit for
the military
though
now and again
I still may
find myself
taking orders from
Major Depression.

Well then
Let's hear it
But Please

Please
Don't say my eyes
Or anything else
Are like the stars

Are they ***** of hot gas -
Hydrogen and helium - exploding
in nuclear fusion reactions?
Is this to what you compare?

You blindly mold prose
To things you do not
Understand

Surely there is beauty in a star
But not the kind you mean
You are letting Nature and God
Do all the work for you

And Please
Don't compare my hair
To a river flowing-
Or my voice to a Summer's
Day

Yes I'm aware that the moon
Is glowing but
My skin being a cold rock
Face
Is without flattery

Real me in like Shakespeare's
Mistress
Not the same ten words
In a different dress

Not

Large vague concepts
Attached to my exterior

For it is only the exterior from
Which your words are forming


But your poems have a lot of Instagram likes so what do I know, really

On a ship
I pretend to be
peter pan, jousting
flying, planning
to never
land

Walking downtown
I pretend to be
a building
sure
that actually
reflects
my culture

In the forest
I pretend to be
a dinosaur
roar
see the meteor
but still enjoy
the scenery

I'm at a party
I pretend to be
myself.

I was born
Ready.
But
I grew out of it.

The Cow showed up late
for his shift at the office.
They slaughtered his ***

There are enough people
drowning themselves
and their loved ones
in alcohol

There are enough words
being used as cement
to bring others down
in their punctured
life raft

There are enough thoughts
constantly sinking
everything in
useless negativity
until no
positive thoughts
can breathe

There are enough
black holes in the universe,
for you to choose
to become one

"You are allowed
One stupid question
So use it wisely
And would you kindly raise
Your hand if you don't
Understand and then politely
Leave my room

From what I can assume
This room thins out nearly
Yearly -
For Locke's Knowledge Theory
Grows weary on your minds, and
Time and time again I see
You, straight blank and ivory
Pages wilting, crumbling
Tearing to bits and pieces
But
Then I see!
Be it rare, a stare of a colorful
Sheet, lifted, gently gliding
For no writing could hold it down
And all else folds in around
It as it gleams of wisdom!
Of originality!
BREAKING THE MOLD
OF OLD WAYS OF THINKING
CHANGING THE EARTH
AND KNOWLEDGE SINKING!
AND ILL BE THE ONE
TO SEE THIS SON OR
DAUGHTER RISE UP TO CHANGE THE ORDER!
AH-HA!"

achem

"Yes, you there on the end!"

"What am I talking about you mention?
Brilliant, sir, what a wise
Way to use your one stupid question."

As I put down my phone
turn off my television
take out my headphones
close my laptop
and look up
into the distance
at the trees bending
with the wind
the clouds smashing together
in a dance with passing planes
and wild birds
in one
massive
chaotic tapestry
I'm reminded
what really matters,
and it isn't me

You complain about the heat
I fan you until
I am sweating out every
ounce of my will
for you.
You complain that it's too cold.
I strip down
to bare skin and wrap
you until you are comfortable
and the smile on
my skin is a grayish-blue.
Your malcontent has drawn
me weary
My heart's marrow
drips out slowly
to feed you
and keep us alive
But what us
can there be
once it is all dried up
to nothing but bitter air?
I guess
I'll just have to wait
and see

Your pithy one-liners
move nothing but mouths. But
they make good wall art

I was supposed to be better
This time, I don't remember
If it was May, maybe September
Either one still held regret

A lighter I did lend her
As her eyes reflect the ember
I thought I'd might befriend her
Despite the cigarettes

There we sat, in a car
Driving here, driving far
Drowning gin in different bars
Words come through in blurs

I watched the lights, she watched the stars
speeding past the other cars
metal smashed, we flew apart
the blood on the dash was hers

Through all the trials never heard
Through the fade of morning birds
Through the pain of time obscured
I still have four stone walls to write these words

cereal is glad
to be so sweet and crunchy
'til it meets the milk

Your eyes are like the stars
okay
Such crimson fabric strewn in waves
sure
I watch you dance in the night
alright
My dear, the universe is ours
not bad
Our love is a thunderstorm, you're an insideout umbrella
why not
Beauty thrills me, poetry kills me
of course
Your heart is a moon that no man's landed
could I get that one framed?
Our eyes dance, our lips take naps
yeah
Did I compare anything to stars yet?

Find a seat
Shift positions
Drag your feet
Buy it
Buy it
Throw it away
Eat fries
Prepare for boredom
Roll your eyes
Yell at your kids
Yell at the desk clerk
Talk about work
Read a magazine
Pretend it's interesting
**** time
And more time
And even more time

Take off
Sleep through turbulence
Land