it slipped my mind
that January
always feels like a cemetary

the staircase wails
at the weight
when I ascend
my feet boulders
blocking any pearly gate
the sheets rend
as I toss and turn
cigarette burns on my forearm
someone snipped the yarn
that kept me connected
I'm not sure I plan
to fix it

useless

i just want to write
pour out this feeling in my gut
I can't keep it stomached
but a good line
I can't seem to make up

drove up the coast
to set foot once again
in San Luis Obispo
took acid, played a digeridoo
felt like an ******* when
she gave me a present from Spain
and I left her book
hundreds of miles away
then drank and drank
jungle juice, Jameson
whatever was in the keg
bruised my legs
and maybe my heart a little too
because now that I'm
back in Long Beach
I don't know what to do
I feel so...empty
like I've been pouring myself out
since I left home
and the last drops
have been dashed
on the
sidewalk

Tonight is one of those nights
rain beating out a rhythm
across the roof
Where I wish for just this night
once again I was sleeping
next to you

One of my favorite things to be,
as long as its with you.
Whether in waking, lazing, or love-making,
your skin soothes.
Our bodies exude a connection,
made for one another
inside and out.
If you were God, I would be devout
(and that's saying something).

It's days like these that I feel haunted.
A strange urge that I fed,
led me to set up a desk outside,
to provide a peaceful place
to read.
But a slight breeze
pulled ominously through the corridor,
a plane groaned endlessly,
a mournful moan.
Even though the sun was shining
I felt it in my bones,

hollow

Poetry is a drug,
production of rhyme the high,
the vast divide between the pen,
the paper, and the scribe's mind
causes the low.
When it goes, it goes.
I hate when I don't have it,
when I do, it's beyond pleasant,
it's heaven.
Too bad it seems I'm only a part-time angel,
flying for moments,
spending an eternity in hell.

My greatest worry is that
no one will ever love me
I try to tell myself that
it's over rated
Some where in my bones
I swear it's been fated
that I'll sleep alone on the couch
till the day my lungs give out

I clutch at every act of kindness
afraid they will see my spineless
self-conscious
I'm haunted by things that aren't dead
just floating in my head
I guess I've said
what I came to say
Now it's back to another day
of being just
O
K

seeping the darkness
into my skin,
the moon managing to mingle in
through the blinds,
creating a lined ceiling,
stealing thin strips of the night's space.
I lean back in a sigh,
close my eyes in an attempt,
a desperate attempt to part ways
with the woken world,
but no break comes,
no fissure from reality,
cut by cosmic scissors,
to swing down,
down,
down
in to
sleep.

Flowing water,
a blown kiss,
a red-jacket-catching sun.

I should see a foot doctor.
My knees ache,
and it ain't like I've been
standing up for myself too much
or sitting down too long.
But they sing their song of pain
again, and again, and again.

I don't pen anything anymore,
maybe a jot there or a line here,
so am I a writer?
How long does it take a "while"
to become a "used to"?
I'm no Du Fu.
I'm no Li Bai.
I should say goodbye,
smile and wave as writing
passes me by.

A friend advised
that I find inspiration
in other creations,
to not let an example of pristine craft
dissolve the lashing of my raft,
and plunge me into the freezing waters.

This morning I woke on the banks,
felt yellow under my face,
behind my eyes.
I took the chance, the fleeting chance,
before it faded
and created
this.

Sitting on a boulder
nestled in a valley,
clutch tea in a tumbler,
watch the water and leaves
that slide on its surface.
Green moss takes refuge on the rock,
a welcome pillar to guide toward the sun
which sifts through the trees.
A wound in the city,
a green scar
reminding us what once was.

I'm a wreck
it feels so real
in a facade
It's like breathing underwater

Waking moments are malleable
mostly under my control,
if a thought or longing
I wish to be rid of pops up
a quick shake of the head
sheds them from my mind
but sleep is a troubling time
because the power to steer dreams
is beyond me
The woman I need to leave
as just a good memory
keeps showing up
she hugs me and kisses me
tells me she misses me
laughs and smiles
then I wake up
and realize she is
thousands of miles
out of my reach
before drifting back to sleep
where I can be hers
and rest my tired head
at her feet

Optimization that negates authenticity,
moronic, trust me.
Feed the machine what it wants.
Find out its favorite flavors,
bitter? sweet?
Make sure to provide a constant stream
of goodies,
savory? saucy?
make the links buttery, c-lickable.

Loneliness rests in my chest
garbed in drab grey
breathing salt water into my blood

I'm a valley, green and fertile
but the floods are coming down
from the mountains that
rest at the top of my lungs
I can't get out of my skin
my own shadow is so hard to run from
The waters that start pouring down
remind me of when I was something to someone
That feeling, yeah
That feeling, yeah
it's what kept me breathing, yeah
now I steal from the silver screen
or make it up in my dreams
but sometimes I have to open my eyes
and see the lovely lady next to me
was just a pillow
and the warmth was all mine
cool it down with a forty and luke warm meal
What's the deal, what's the deal
I guess I hate to feel
this isn't even a poem just a storm of my emotion
just loathsome self pity
my words are ******
and my attitude is worse
I always think I'm dying
so throw me in a hearse
and forget about this verse
it's the pits
it's the ****
it's nothing worth remembering
just like me
just like me

She ran,
clattering over the linoleum
which had been designed
to look like wood,
having just bolted from Asia's arms,
as if harm were imminent,
our intent evil-bent and cruel.
I reached out my hand,
trying to imbue tranquility
in my movements,
shrive any hostility.
When I brushed her head
her wide eyes —

they shook.

Grandma Cherry...

It seems that human beings
are full of hate
It breaks my heart
every single day and
makes me want to run away
to a cave in the mountains

It feels like
kissing shadows now
not quite tangible
more ethereal
as if I've stuffed grief
in a dark corner
Death and I
we dance
he mocks my moves
I groove on
no tears for his poisons
but he has stolen the Sand Man
who no longer visits
till too late at night
my eyes dry but heavy
tossing and turning
while Death breathes
standing in the doorway
rapping his knuckles on the frame
whispering
"why can't you sleep, hm?
why can't you dream?
is it because of me?
is it because of
me?"

I miss all my old friends

Something is missing

It moves things,
pulls them back
with only the slightest change.
All it takes, "is" to "was",
to curve the timeline,
subtly, but definitively,
turning great things,
great people,
to memories.

My electric guitar stands,
unplayed.
My girlfriend wakes,
at 4 am,
to go to a job she hates.
I spend 11 hours a day
getting to, then working, then leaving
a job that's okay,
so I can get paid enough
to spend my nights and two free days
in an apartment where I share
all the space.
How can I break the cycle?
Bring a smile to her face?
Make this life full of wonder,
excitement...
grace?

Wicked forms
dark as dark can be
in count of
one more than three
leave me
leave me
I've been haunted
enough

I look back sometimes
at my life
my small time here
the whole road has been unclear
my decisions never end up
how I imagine
it's like I'm still running away
from a home that doesn't exist
at least not anymore
my feet ache
my back hurts
my head feels old
pretty drunk girls annoy me
I'd rather have someone
do the twist across from me
than shake their ***
I pass my cigarette from
hand to hand
pondering plans and how
they always get led off track
how did I end up here
hundreds of miles from
my birth place
my old friends scattered
my old ideals shattered
all the chances I took
and none of them mattered
back at square one
me, myself, and no one
the sun beats down
mocking me
as if it shines brighter to ask
"Why can't you see Dan?
Am I too bright?
Why can't you see?"

The moon wanes, translucent power grows dull,
senses pulled back beneath a layer,
sticky apathy encasing,
chambered in gloom.

It waxes,
the beams gleam stronger now,
feeling returning,
bubbling, burning.
How bright this glow!

Catch it quick,
grab a jar before it darts
and sinks away into the lagoon,
where the stench and vile waters
swallow it back up.

been alone a lot lately
no new friends to keep me company
maybe when school starts
I'll open up and touch a few hearts
but right now it's just me,
my mind, and my body
which I'm working on every day
you know what they say
look good, feel good
burning calories like fire wood
sweating out toxins like
I know I should

There's a wind on,
a real, big wind.
Too strong for kites,
likely to snap the string,
flying the kite
far, far, far.

Walking is a battle
between you and the breeze,
brewing up a tussle.
See the people bent over double?
They know, they've got it,
they know the score.
You and the wind, destination moot.
Forget jobs, forget groceries and lunch dates,
you've got gusts to tackle!

The door shuts,
the whoosh mutes and hair settles,
you've made it, but the wind,
it still howls.

sometimes
I
f
  a
     l                     y
       l                 l
sometimes I  f

The page this was written on
has rain drop stains.
Something about all that falling water
gets a brain going.
A jogger bobs along,
only rain walkers remain,
the rest are gone
back to their homes.
Something about all that falling water
really gets to them.
The wetness does end folks,
it's a cycle.
Missing out on a whole.

I'm starting to hear that tick,
the terrible tick of Time.
Yes, capital T,
a cliche thing that never nagged
at my dreams.

But now,
decline is not so
sublime.

Like seeing a goddess sleep,
the curves of your hips
more perfect than any marble statue.
Your parted lips beckon,
drawn breath rising, falling,
a voiceless calling swirling toward the soul.
Graced by private moments,
who gets the change to see a goddess sleep?
I kiss your cheek
and save this moment
forever in memory.

I sit up tonight and ponder creation,
its limitless possibilities rendering me
incapable of the act.
Like being *****,
think too much and it's gone.

At least this chilled whiskey
might warm me,
give muddled clarity
that will dissipate
before I awake the next day.

I feel that tug,
that green grin trying to charm,
and oh, it's workin'.
The seduction can't be denied,
it's implied over, over
till it's almost too much.

Suddenly I think of population's
scary multiplication,
forever piling more humans,
more, more, more, more, more
to a gasping planet.

The ice melts in my glass,
condensation gathering to the ridged sides,
even this small pour brings a grimace.
I'm scared of a clear mind,
what it will show me.
The desperate cry from capitalism's throat?
My plight, my strife, my struggle,
to obtain balance at a nation's fall.
The sheer worthlessness encompassing
anything it once stood for.

I teeter here, sips become more water,
precious water,
already commodified

Smoke too much
Eat too little

I have a hidden chest,
full with sorcerous wonders, a trove.
In a hallway, down a staircase,
through a maze chalked full with traps and danger.
My way to keep it safe
from prying hands,
the coin-filled eyes.
My prize, my treasure.
Is it better to keep under constraint or let it free?
How can I share it with the world,
and keep it all for me?

Sometimes I retreat,
my feet strapped down,
my knees meet concrete.

I don't know what I speak.
Mumble, repeat, mumble.
A spelling stumble reminds me
to remain humble in a jumbled time.
Boxed up baubles, cobble together a bookcase.
Sort through, dispose, re-use,
erase distasteful fables, revised babbles,
scrap it all.

******* not meant to publish,
whisk it away with a quick wrist flick,
squeeze it out like a zit,
gargle and spit.