Ice and hail have pounded their songs
deep into the earth
men have brought fire and axes
torn into the rock with picks
no thanks given
no compassion shown
to the land that bore them
yet the soil will live on
long after they are gone
grow over their towers and bridges
crumble their walls
slowly until not even the animals
will remember their calls
till the trees stand tall
roots buried, gaining sustenance
from their fall

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

Why haven't I
been able to feel
like I did on
October 29, 2010
is it because
that date is still
engrained
in me?

I found me heart in the sea
surrounded by corral that's rust red
locked in a chest with shiny cents
So heavy it never rose
not even when given a good laugh
pearls and black diamond tears

The fish cry saltless tears
and no one I know can see
They only know my joyous laugh
and the things they wrote, I read
blooming like a rose
I was this made more sense

But alas, I waste my two cents
soaking in salty tears
I wish that chest had rose
from the sand beneath the sea
****** heart beating red
god I need a laugh

The octopi around me laugh
for they have a humorous sense
and don't know the things I read
standing in the theater tiers
Their big, old eyes can see
the locked chest that never rose

They gather in pews and rows
eager for another laugh
They don't understand, they belong in the sea
but my heart down here makes no sense
so I still have salty tears
mixing with each pump of red

The octopi never read
sorting coral into rows
They never had to cry tears
They only know how to laugh
because to them this all makes sense
Their hearts belong in the sea

They cannot see, for they have not read
They have no cents, they don't know the rose
all they do is laugh, ignoring human tears

If 50 percent of people
can make a mistake
about something so
wonderous and beautiful
then I don't want
to be told the odds
for
me...

I don't think people keep in mind
how many wonderous cultures
have been stomped out
and erased by Christianity
In Norway the Christians
tried to burned all the records of the
native culture.
They moved a church
from an unconfrontation position
to directly in the middle
of a native sacred circle
then put up an iron cross
defacing the spots of old gods
forcing ideas onto the unwanting
it's haunting
and scares the **** out of me
that so many people cannot see
or will not see
the evils done for someone who
hasn't ever, ever shown his face
No man can win my battles
or erase my sins for me
that's my right,
that's my fight
Jesus may have died on a cross
but I didn't ******* ask him to.

It's unjust of me
to expect people in my life
to match how I write them down
in poetry

Wind swept through the courtyard
            blowing
                                   ­          dust
                            around
                         ­                                                            .
For now, dust is
                              enough

                                                                ­.

It could have worked if we were older
Maybe in a few years you'll lean on my shoulder
on that hill, both back from college for summer
and you'll realize I'm your guy.
Or maybe not, maybe we'll be back
but you'll have a boyfriend that you love
more than you ever loved me
and I'll be asking a ******* a date to a movie
I'll see you holding his hand and I'll
remember what I wrote next to your name
in my phone

"Always take care of her even if it means
letting go"
Yeah it'll sting but then I'll smile
because I know
that I probably love you more than you will ever
be loved
You'll never know that but
seeing you happy is enough

And maybe you'll see me getting a girl's number
and you'll think back to that summer when you
gave me yours
Yeah it'll sting but you'll remember everything
that made you happy
Then you'll grab that boy and walk out that door
talking about how much you adore his
brand new hair cut
I'll look up and you'll be gone
possibly forever but
I have you in my heart
I'll always remember

The rich scent of bacon
drifts through my window
as I read "The Advancement of Learning."
Curious over Cicero.
Ah Bacon, bacon, both have me stop,
pause,
one in slight confusion,
one in awe.

everyone is the same person
just different incarnations
so really I am just you
trying to love
yourself

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

Rest easy weary hearted traveler,
you can lay your dusty shoes
at my door, hang up that beaten coat.
I'll put some water on the stove,
tea or coffee if you'd like,
I'll sleep on the couch
so you can have my bed tonight.
In the morning it's eggs, bacon,
red bell pepper and toast.
The shower will warm up quick
to rid the grit betwixt your toes.
Any who are in need of a pit stop
can call my place
a home on the road

My mother once told me
                        "Never run from your problems!"
but here I am
escaped to a smaller town
and it seems all
my problems
have left me alone.

It's funny how little I remember
from that hill top day in December
there is an image of a white dress
but you told me over and over
It was a cream colored cardigan
my mind spinning lies to
feed my emotion
leaves me supposin' that
nothing ever last anyway
so what does it matter
why keep on searching
there's no single person who could
withstand it
that force that pulls
and snatches every thing
I'll wing it alone
I'll wint it alone

The usual travel excitement
is dormant,
put to sleep by somber things.
No bright, floral swim trunks,
no blue-striped tank top,
no flashy ties or eye catching button ups.
Black pants, black socks, black tops,
black-faced watch,
black thoughts.

A sudden loss.

In this place
chopping so much your hand cramps,
so you have to hold it by the wok
for five minutes before it unclenches,
is something to by proud of.

In this place
college students scoop and cook
to pay for school,
or pay off school,
instead of applying what they learned,
which cost them more than money.

In this place
the line never sleeps,
you are Pavlov's dogs
trained to a bell.
And if you are unlucky enough
to be put in the kitchen,
you'll find it worse than Hell.

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.

Razor...sharp
grabbing cans
filled with blunt graves
on a sunset chase
until dark
Coffee and **** raiders
sharp.

The screen gleams sending out
blinding beams, Zach is in the shower,
forty minutes now and I've been back,
once,
twice,
three times,
he responded and I went outside,
an empty peach and beat
couch seat,
welcoming my silent musings
as they wander off,
I'll cough and spew,
a few words, a few verbs,
a few kicks to the curb,
then bounce back,
It's okay,
I promise,
relax,
I promise,
but you promised not to
die

This marble pedestal,
that has me so high up
like an extraterrestrial,
is causing a lack of oxygen
my thoughts drift from neurons
to the tip of my pen
so many questions without answers
so many things giving me cancer
my own thoughts jousting
after the sting of a friend's syllables
even though I try and be gold
they still hold me up
push me to the clouds
where I will die for want of air
but if I jump down
I drown

I prefer to smoke alone
blow away the jabbering,
the drone of the fan
mixing together, making
my knees jump.
outside by myself
with no need to say
inconsequential things or
retell a story once over.
the quiet hugs on like a sweater
or a hand knit blanket
the stars' vacant stares
speak of car crashes
of heads and windows
of hospital elevators
the wind brings along with it
an office bedroom
and 400 miles from home
if that is what I can call
what's left of my life there
then the smoke stays in my hair
to repel anyone trying to get
close

My timing is almost as perfect
as the broken glass
that lines my cracked feet
tired from walking
running, leaving
It'll be worth it
But my timing is almost
as good as that lie
that spoils my tongue
tired from saying,
"It's a big change. I'll
be                        fine."

new friends don't feel so real
though I've been working on
building ladders to my walls
it seems either they don't know
how to climb, or they don't care
people in my classes
are already embedded with a group
approaching is foreign
everyone says it just takes time
except my brother
who told me he hasn't made
any true connections since highschool
is it always going to be like this?
Me in a room full
of kindly acquaintances
passing time till I can be alone
where did all my real friends go?

The trees don't transform
like they used to.
Hills don't morph into
dragons.
These empty boxes
no longer soar through
the clouds

The trees are just trees
the hills, hills
the box, a box
if this is growing up
let me
          stay a kid
                          forever

Long lasting
love
is not about belonging
to one another,
but finding someone
you appreciate
and having them appreciate
you back.

"I thought hurricane season was over."
hovers like the rotors
dicing air that we breath
out smoke into
"Will you fly me?"
"Of course."

(I'm yours)