Still lonely.

I'm a six foot castle
with a head made of stone
you tried to get in
but you battled all alone
My eyes are battlements from
which I fire missiles to
fight off all my demons
they never leave me alone

My minds a raging bar fight
with people throwing chairs
you came in a dress
you were so unprepared
My hands are devils tools
with which I make my music
I write up all my demons
they never leave me alone

But this is just a lie
my walls are made of skin
and they're not air tight
my eyes are just eyes
with a touch of blue
Irises and pupils with which
I watch you battle all alone

I know I'm not a castle but
I've got this head made of
stone

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

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.

I'm neither here
                    nor there
a terrible rut where I forgot
                                    who I was

On a long walk home
from the mechanic shop,
I stopped and paused in awe.
A pristine park, lush, green,
lay to my right, completely inviting
except the black iron fence
and imposing gate.
Beyond the bars were tables and grass,
a play structure waiting to be filled.
No kids laughed, no parents chatted,
the place was empty.
I say down to rest,
back against the bars,
grabbed my thermos and poured
a steaming cup of tea,
my eyes scanning the streets.

Pages of intricate ink
speak of nights spent
white knuckled at
the sink.
Not meant for anyone,
just there to be.

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

Strangers known
by shared room
Honey voiced , high cheek *****
no less, no more

Licorice words pounding
on a chest
scrambling to wrap fingers
around a single perfumed breath
Two days dragging on
pulled through mud
stuck in fog
seconds are hours too long

Then ringing came
answered by drops of syrup
pouring out a reply, yes!
drinking it in with big gulps.

Mirror reflects practiced hellos
swishing hair put in place
teeth and lips splitting
breaking through stone face

Pacing back and forth
frantic footsteps pounding
crushing carpet in a line
south, north, south, north

No ring, no change
red blushes fad grey
phone silent, gaze up
stare blank



Is the swooshing hair the wrong way?
Is the grin too toothy?
Is the face not constructed right?

Stood up and let down
sailor on a ship
already sunk and drifting
off the starboard bow
Stood up and let drown

by the honey voice
the high cheek bones
Failure in hindsight sighing
“I should have known
I should have known…”

As much as I can
I repress the one part
of myself that I can't stand
the hopeless romantic
that sits in my brain
trying to change the things
I think
drown them down
the kitchen sink

Sun drawing out sweat
causing clothes to fall off
Deep breaths and quiet grins
Eyes of strangers met

Shirtless against the wall
but only in the head
Standing like a scarecrow
so nothing stands out at all, oh god

Chitter chatter to cover up
But the sweat is growing thick
Better act natural
to keep from becoming the stereotypical
male ****
Keep cool, self, be slick

Tomorrow I present a story to class
about a man who cremates himself
they will
ask if he is a reflection of myself
I'll have to nod my head slowly
taking in my fill
of "why's he so grim" and
"his mind is so ugly"
but I describe death
better than anything
I'm sorry for the horror story
that is
me

My father called crying,
witnessed a man crossing highway I-80
get smashed by an SUV.
I have no answer.
Dad was the first responder,

"Eyes up to the sky, nothing, nope, gone.
Dan I, there was all this blood
and his eyes were wide open..."

The SUV driver went home someone else,
two deaths that day,

"He had to be drunk, or or high out of his mind, or, because
why would he do that? Nobody just just walks out like that, he
must have been drunk, who does that?

I can't bring myself to say it,
couldn't suggest it,
how to do that smoothly?
Set it up with a deep breath then-

I'm sorry I'm debris,
I collect in the corners
slowly cluttering,
until you bonk your toes
against me,
but never enough to pick up
and toss out.
This feeling is prickly,
constantly picks at me.

I'm sorry
I can't shake it,
it has grabbed hold, twisted around
my intestines.
The worst is, I know that it's empty--

that it's an old enemy,
who used to claw at me,
since grown tired,
now gathered it's wits
to come back,
commit more atrocities.
I hope it won't tear you

from me.

cold
finally dark, damp
cold
eating at my bones
spearing my nerves
was I forged in
a forst draped with snow?
why does the frost
call me?
I long to be covered
suffocated with freezing hands
returned to
the hardened ground
a land covered
in ice

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

don't eat it,
but don't tell me
"It ain't Texas enough."
I know.
We are in Seattle,
the owners are Chinese,
and I'm Californian,
so it's definitely not Texas.
It's a mutt.
"Dog food," said a customer.
I don't blame. I ain't mad,
they just pay me to be here.

With each breath I exhale
a wish for you.
Every movement taken
is done so with an ache
to feel your hands on mine.
My body knows how much
I yearn for you,
instinctively relaxed by your scent,
clinging to your sweatshirt,

or aroused by the sound
of your silky words
being pulled playfully off your lips.
My hips twist in my sleep,
trying to find you under the covers,
to grind gently against you,
gain subtle reassurance that you
are resting, protected, nestled in,
that it's me you hold
to your heart within.

Cut a fish, split it in half,
turn my time in for a bit of cash,
has my career path
swerved and crashed?
I don't know much about
anything,
I don't own much of
anything,
and my skill set is out dated,
no one wants to pay for poems,
they're over rated.
Put the pen down, grab a blade and,
slice up veggies, your hand, and salmon.
The perk of this job is there is always
more work to do.
If you finish at one store,
there are fifty more to go to.
They'll ship you out,
pay over time,
all they ask is your body, your mind,
and your future.
Can I suture the pieces of my creative
side, fix it up, write a poem that
doesn't ****,
**** it, I'll start off by posting
this ****.

I just want to
live in the lazer lights
And breath in
the thumps of the bass

I can feel it in my hands
simmering deep in my stomach
I'll be 26 and have just lost
the 5th "love of my life"
so I'll grab a knife,
then decide a shot to the head
instead
or I'll be 32
with a newborn
and a happy home
but something in me won't work
so I'll take a whole bottle of Vicadin
determined to leave but
not make a mess
or I'll be 55
looking back on a life
an exwife, a long road of
forgotten dreams
then put a noose 'round my neck
and jump
hung from a second story porch beam
I don't want to **** myself
but I feel it in my hands
simmering in my stomach
clawing at my ribs
a self wrought end
to a laughing kid
who I think died
a long, long time
ago

God I love you
your truth and lies
I wish I could *******
looking in your inky I's

Yet alas, it's undoable
But I'll touch you
manipulate you
bite you

and even though you can be
cruel, you are my tool.
Please never ever ever
ever ever
leave me

When I set sail for times of old
I see a vision, my friend set in stone
his spirit free to roam on the wind
as my days are past I'll see you again

My eyes are raised up to the sky
A final farewell for you who have died
I'll raise the flag, hoist it with pride
if only to honor my brother whose died

When we're so lost in this whirlwind of pain
I feel you still, our tears fall like rain
Hold your head high, even when crippled and lame
This world without you is never the same

You can be happy
if you want
to.

8 months later and we're  in the middle of October.
Trees shed leaves,
Halloween can be heard cackling a few weeks off.
Soon, you and I will be a young Leia and Han,
brought together across galaxies
to fall in love, to combat the reality
of a silent, frigid, deep space.
Is it too hasty to say 8 months will turn into 8 light years?
That your gravity will always pull me closer to your core?
That each month, week, day
has me wanting more?
I think not.
I think ours is intergalactic,
transdimensional, spanning space and time.
That in all other off shoots of our reality,
I end up as yours,
and you and up as mine.

I'm not sure where I stand,
or if I'm even in the same room,
as him
to her
I might be on the curb
burning my fingers
with cigarettes smoked to the ****
waiting on a new face
to pick me up
and take me for a spin
teach me how to hold hands again
peel away the lamenent
call me human and
drive
drive
drive
far from all the hurt
till it doesn't matter
where I stand
with
her

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.

it slipped my mind
that January
always feels like a cemetary

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

Distance breeds jealousy,
the kind that clings to my chest,
nestles in around my ribs and
whispers up to my ears.
It tells me all kinds of things,
the city will take her from me,
that boy that's just a friend has his hands around her waist,
they're taking shots after going on a date, and there ain't nothing I can do about it.
I've tried shoving my fingers in my ears,
stuffing them with cotton and
expensive ear plugs,
somehow the whispers breach it all,
slip through the cracks in my walls,
giggling menacingly,
ecstatic to see me fall,
to ruin,
to ruin,
to ruin.

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.

I am John at the bar