I don't know how else to say this
I've waited, I'm patient, *******.
I keep my kind heart, selfless, but helpless
and loveless.
I'm tired of sleeping alone, or even just not
having cute voice mails on my phone.
Tired of putting my neck out
and getting chopped and not bit
and I know swearing is unattractive
but **** it, this is *******.
I'm a good kid, for the most part.
Never put people in harms way
don't bash on those who aren't the same.
I love people, I love them so much,
their laughs, voices, touch
so why am I laying alone again,
what is my sin!?
What the **** did I do?
Why do I mean nothing to you,
and you,
and you.

It's all about that
                                                                ­               Whump!
It shakes the chest so
hard you can't catch your
                                                            ­                    Whump!
breath
Yup, that's it I flew the nest
                                                            ­                    Whump!
Making my own plans but
I can't pull away from that
                                                            ­                    Whump!
I'm an alien on a spaceship
charging up that engine
                                                          ­                      Whump!
Steering straight toward that sound like
                                                            ­                    Whump!
I hunger for that sub noise
rumbling, I'm addicted to that
                                                            ­                     Whump!

I used to be golden
now I'm covered in tar
My lungs give in when
I've traveled too far
please let me shine for
just one more moment
please let the light
reach out
so I can be gorgeous
for someone who won't know me
fill up my waters
then break through my levy
my hands are shaky
nobody can steady
these legs full of jello
all I want is a
hello old friend
hello

Disappearing inside a Foster's Freeze
not making a scene of it just easy,
slipping out a side door and wisked
away by a breeze.
I'm feather light
gone by the last drop of grease.

If you can't whistle it
it isn't a song.*
Wise words once emanating
from false teeth
and a liquorice addiction.
He took tooth picks to flick
the grit from beneath nails,
inhaled just before a snore.
One war, two dogs, three sons,
and a wife that shaved his face
when he was in a coma.
He was a little late on the draw,
always saying things out of context,
then he'd wink at me, crack a grin,
fall asleep before the conversation ended.
I like to think that he is just
snoozing away, drifted off in the middle of a talk,
and someday he'll start up with a grunt
as if nothing ever happened.

Old man eyes hide
behind rims covered
in Native design
Lens' of a dark
bark brown keep the
prying looks out
Honest irises are a virtue,
I was told.
Mine scream
"This head is muddled and old!"
So cover them up
Don't let the hungry
stares get past the
glass, sipping from that
red plastic cup
Honest eyes are a virtue
I think that's only true
for you

I don't really think there is a hell,
but if I'm somehow wildly wrong
and a firey pit awaits all sinners,
I hope we are standing in line together.
I heard the line to Hell lasts forever;
we would have eternity to delve
into each other, meld ourselves
bit by bit till we were locked
                       in a kiss-

a symbol for love in a place full of hate.

Last night's fire is all but ash.
Pine needles flutter with the breeze.
At ease in a recliner,
outdoors,
open,
aware of the connection
between all things.
There is certainty in nature,
the promise that everyday holds change:
birth, death, growth, decay,
and yet it all remains the same.

Fairytales once seemed far away,
things for folks who were fools.
Frog princes, magic kisses, happily-ever-afters
just trifles for filling time.
Resigned to let whimsy fade,
my poems grew dark.
Gloomy art from a gloomy heart.

Once you fell into my life,
a quick kiss, a skipping heart,
the veil was lifted.
Like all fairytales
the darkness was defeated,
magic restored to the land
and the hands of this silly poet
now set to pen brighter things.

My poems swung toward the sun,
and life with you has become
the fairytale,
bound to have a
happily-ever-after.

Taco Bell was the only thing I ate today
thought it was going to be a good day but it turned out not so great,
I've already got a lot of **** on my plate and now I got big fat weight
to stomach
and I'm just a skinny dude, my plates heavy enough, **** it
I can barely eat half a meal when I try
I'm at my limits, and I don't know if you can see it in my eye
but I'm pretty close and it's just a feeling like
I'll never be the same again
I'll never be on top, I'll never be a president or anything important
I just feel like a ******* and figured I'd record it

in this empty house, just my ****
and I'm kinda gunna miss it, but it's business
to get my own mission
I find myself wishing
that I was more than a white kid at a sandwich shop
with no schemes, or ideas, or dreams
no revolutions on how to get my ****
on the right track
Feel's like I'm falling right back
to the same conundrum, my old problems man I thought I stumped 'ummmm,
thought moving out would solve 'em but it didn't really
it even brought new problems like bills and money
and I don't know if I can get it done cause
I'm a dumby....

Your lips hang,
pulled by the murk, the grime,
smothering your face.
Separated from your kind, your kin.
Have you haunted these putrid waters,
patient for your time?
Or do you plot, terrible dreams of revenge,
to take the light?

Sometimes I just get high
and drift away
for a couple of hours
like the coward that I am.
Then I bake a cake in my birthday suit
got out for a smoke and I'm zooted
feelings totally muted,
it's gettin' late and
I can't find a way out of this
game that I'm losing,
so,
sometimes I just get high
and drift away
for a couple of hours
like the coward that I am.

I
  ran
        out
               of
                   words
or
     maybe
                  just
                          heart.

I sit on the hill
seeing Martinez light up
as the sun passes behind the cusp
of Mt. Diablo
this dirt witnessed me turn old,
has stories to tell,
a well of sorrows spent and sorrows kept
it's seen the laughter
along with emptiness
my souls settles like dust
after a gust of unrest, turbulence
while the Great Plains call
my name rustling through the grass
my heritage, past lives pushing
pulling
controlling, unbeknownst to me
sitting silent with the
Bay Area
trees

So I know it's late but I need to vent. Sometimes getting held to higher standards kills me. It's like I'm on this pedestal and I can't breathe
I'm my mom's baby boy and my dad's therapist
I'm our friends' secret keeper
a sponge that soaks up all the stuff no one wants to remember
I'm summer and I'm winter in the thick of December
the ember in the fire and I'm burning low like I'm the fuel for peoples' furnace
and maybe I just imagine it
maybe I make it up in my head
but it feels real to me
Half of me wants to be the one people confide in and trust
but half of me wants to disappear
to just leave and join a crabbing ship
somewhere out at sea
so I can prove to myself that people will live on
that with me gone they will end up ok
maybe it sounds like I'm full of myself
or that I put too much weight on me as an anchor
but that's what I feel like
an anchor cast out into the ocean to keep everyone from drifting, safe on their ship while I
sit at the bottom
with a mouth full of sand and cold salt water seeping into my skin
Even anchors
need a break
a reprieve from their duty.
Even anchors need to surface
for a taste of
fresh
air

She whispered to the metal gears
and machine parts.
An incantation fell
from her glossy lips.
Each long held L
and calming O,
every soft, vibrating V,
and gentle E,
plopped onto the cogs,
slipped into the cracks.
Suddenly, the machine melted,
the grey steel becoming red muscle,
the whole contraption
wrapped up in blood vessels.
No longer rusted, my heart surged,
turned human once again.

Crooked glasses dangled from the tip
of her nose, tip, tap, typing away
                    "Uh-huh, yes, spring."
One third of a paper later,
my entire life has changed.

her voice is the ring of a hundred
silver bells,
rolling across the Irish Sea
passed Cork and the cliffs of Moher,
then on out over the ocean,
spanning the great divide,
till their shining reaches the East Coast,
flows over the Great Plains,
and on through the Mojave desert,
to dance around my ears,
banishing all fears.
A hundred silver bells
to ward against the whispers.

Two days will see
my blue hair clashing
with a red and green glow
back in San Luis Obispo
a holiday bash raging inside
she'll long for me
while sipping a mix drink
watching as I blow smoke
into the night
I'll hold back a wink
keep my tongue in my throat
remembering when I hadn't been
a heart
breaker

I am an intelligent being
made from star dust
my insides don't hold to
male, female
straight, gay
or any orientation
there is no combinations that defines
not human, not white
which is why I feel most at peace
while gazing at the night sky
longing to throw off this curse
of being neither here nor there,
to go back home
into the universe

ashes from spliffs,
smoked at night to
make me water spilling
off a cliff,
waft in the breeze
that is me.
crumpled papers crunch
underneath bare feet,
deceased trees smothered
in new meanings.
empty six packs stack,
cardboard towers guarding
against attack,
old bags, newspaper ads,
a half-full coffee cup
stands tall by the entry,
waiting for commands,
sacrificed to dispel sleep,
towels lay thrown in corners
with acted malice
an attempt to practice
being callus.
this in no apartment
it is a
trash palace.

My head of stone
won't let anyone in
these days

A desert wind blows hot and dry,
whispering a prayer for rainclouds.
The Milky Way spills across the night sky,
with Saturn and Jupiter shining down,
interstellar eyes
that see the white lizards
skittering in the sand,
and me laying on my back,
gazing up,
swimming in starlit possibility.

If the seed
was replanted in
the wrinkles
of these aged brains
would it grow into
a garden?

She said my celtic sign
was a willow tree
Tough though slight
and in touch spiritually
She was the Nutwood
swinging to and fro
but the combination
of those signs was good
it was a shame I moved away
but she doesn't know
that what's left of willow me
is nothing but a burnt out
husk and a stump to sit on
and weep.

Five sea turtles bask,
the evening sun glinting off their shelled backs.
The sand glistening with each waves retreat.
Like statues, the turtle guardians.

One cracks an eye, slow,
peeks at those watching,
pointing,
then closes the eye again.
Not concerned with human things,
it's only desire to store sun fire
deep under it's scale skin,
bring it back underwater
and heat its soul within.

Life like dust