Sleepless and Stupid
Sitting inside of a coffee shop
Sipping on something sweet
Silently screaming to yourself
So loud it sounded like singing
Scalding and stinging your throat
Speaking in spanglish to a stranger
Skulking in the alleys of a shopping mall
Starving for sustenance that isn't for purchase

but
Settling for Starbucks anyway

Tell me how,
One person can divide into
Three perfectly psychotic sentiments
While still appearing to be whole

Tell me how
Multiplying your kindness only
Creates a rift between myself and patience
And ends with nights of contemplation followed by tumultuous
Back-and-forths with imaginary numbers

For I am no mathematician

I cannot find a solution to every concrete problem
I do not bother with equations or substitutes
I only skim the symbol, rewrite questions and leave the answers hanging in the air

Tell me why,
Subtracting victims from my life
Only added a murderous sentiment
To every repeating decimal that couldn’t find its’ place

Tell me why,
The quadratic formula is emblazoned in my memory
But everyone keeps throwing opposites at me
So forgetting whether to add or to subtract becomes hazy
And the square root gets suspended until next class, so the
Four drops off the plane, two goes insane, and
Letters lose their fictitious meanings

For I am no mathematician
Archimedes is finding the constant of my triangular coffin
While Newton is rolling in his gravity
Carl Gauss is busy laughing his *** off with fundamentals in his eyes and
Descartes keeps whispering incoherent Latin, migraines sprinting towards me
As if in a race

So don’t ask me
Whether or not you should divide by zero
Or whether it requires sine, cosine, or a tangent
My logic will not tell you anything you want to hear
I am through trying to piece together this imaginary puzzle
And I’ve had enough of playing this never-ending game
Because I’ve been through two continents, and 4 different states
And I still don’t know the meaning of my name.

For I am no mathematician
The only pie charts I am fond of,
have to do with sugar and preheating an oven to 450 degrees
And with every cubic centimeter
I start thinking of cubes of cheddar cheese


For I am no mathematician
I can’t graph a simple line
I don’t understand the dimensions of the polygon shown above
And I’m tired of wasting precious time

Expressionless
she didn't feel the need
to greet me
or to look in my direction
just let the high pitched
beeping of the scanner
fill the emptiness and
motivate her mechanic movements
packing the produce into
red plastic bags
unflinching

impatience
was evident and yet
she remained expressionless
as I foolishly pressed the wrong
button
under the weight
of her gaze on my stiff fingers
until she printed the receipt

Just then
in the clear plastic bag
one jalapeño
the special - pound for two dollars
just then
she catches it
and under my watchful gaze
I hear that beep again
but
now

a quiet chuckle fills the gap
as the machine reads 0.01$


So I laugh too
fumble for a cent
and put it carefully
in her palm

The colors of your shirt stick
to your skin
Swollen, tired, tattered
The dirt collecting
Under, Over, On

In the stillness of the new moon
You became a mother
A wife
A daughter
Through the thickness of the humid air
the sweat collected on your brow
the nape of your neck
A crying child
A barking dog
Some butter on a scalding skillet

Oh, Marisol!
If your hands could speak
The scars and lines would serenade the sun
and soothe your cousin's swollen cheeks
the gold in your teeth
would shine each time you smiled
and said goodbye

but
your chestnut hair is whipped by the wind
instead
and laced black leather boots
tower over you
in the haze
they grasp your arms
as if they are their own
and cover you in white
to protect themselves

Oh Marisol!
it is now late at night
but you shine for the love you brought
with you
across six nations
all of them packed
and stacked neatly
you carry them strapped on your back
like the sun kissed streets of Cuenca
cultivated, preened, and compressed
put into the back pocket


It is in dusk when you lay your head
Down on that cold, dry, earth
And grasp that plastic bottle to your breast
Closed eyes and memories of sunrise
20 miles away from the southwest


America rises still beyond
Fences lined with flowers pale
As white and rich as all those men

But towers over you of course
and in the shadows of the Joshua trees
You can depart for home again

Yesterday I fell asleep in class
There was a soft humming
Coming from the heater
A girl was chewing gum
And the professor kept talking
And clicking on the PowerPoint

I dreamt of Greenland
How funny was it
That the Vikings fibbed
But if they were here today
It wouldn't matter

I dreamt of my feet
Walking on rusted earth
Warm and arid
Comforting and challenging
Leaving silt on my soles
As the sun beat down
Bleaching my hair


I dreamt of bazaars and crowds within them
Bartering, staring, leaning
Turmeric coloring hands
Cinnamon choking the streets
Fathers teaching their sons
How to run the business

I dreamt of cold fogs
In San Francisco
Sticking under my eyes
And under my clothes
Towering green
On top of steep cliffs
Still yet ready to evolve
Reminders of my hometown
Of loud sirens and higher ground
Prayers for the parking break

I dreamt of snowfall in the city
In the dank steam rising
From the manholes and the sewers
The palms all frozen and weeping
The sea softly still
The beach deserted
The crowds piled into cafes
Rubbing their hands
Fiddling with Chapstick

I dreamt of the broken White House fences
Of small eyes turned downward
Of everyone screaming
Of my conscience ringing
A bell
It was too late for us from the beginning

I awoke
The professor kept clicking
The girl had spit out her gum

The lab tech tells me I have a nice set of veins
healthy and strong
perfect for needlework
hidden just enough
visible in all the right places

I turn to the cork board
when it goes in
like i've done my entire life
and i'm not scared of needles
or shots
or blood
or alcohol
but in the milliseconds between her
skillful hands switching the vials
I imagine the thin plastic tube
spilling me
all over the nice tile floor
with no time left
for antiseptic or
bleach


I hear the click
and I think instead
of Peter
smelling of *****
only in that thin jean jacket
and a turtle neck
holding out his hand
and walking me out of that lab
on to the iced over sidewalks
through the frigid bustle
of morning traffic
into the corner store
for my favorite sweets

because I held silent when the other kids cried  
because I was brave

Because my veins were fragile and small
and the universe
owed me one

Holding your face in my hands
I remembered how it felt
To have the desert sun on my shoulders
And the cold ocean water at my calves

There was a small stillness in your eyes
And I didn't know if it was hot water
On the burn
Or the cold
That hurt me more
When I needed it to be temperate

I swear to the god of my nostalgia
That I'm addicted to the forbidden
That I shirk rules even if I create them
That I awake in the middle of the night
Thinking that the shadows on the dining room walls
Are echoes of alcoholism
That linger in the pit of my stomach
Even when I'm sober


And even now when dusk has just begun
I reach for the sun
Like a drunk reaches for a double
Like a child reaching for the mother
Like the long legs of some model tangled in the sheets
My love throws itself into the shallows

And drowns all the same

There
You stand at my door
Banging on the screen
Same rhythm as your fists
On the front
Two months back

I kept telling you to leave
But you put your phone to the eye
And it said
"This is just a misunderstanding"
I know
I know
It's all just a misunderstanding
It always was
Always will be
I want to pour gasoline and watch it
Drip down the screen

The sound the door makes
When it hesitates to close
Mimicking the rattle of a snake
Or the rainstorm of maracas
My stomach dropping
You tearing through that screen
Reaching for the door ****

I run to the back
But there you are
Behind the glass
In front of me
Reaching for my neck
I clasp my eyes shut

Please dear

Be quick

Being born out of an oil spill
With gasoline swimming in the veins and capillaries
Cells spilling energy
Weeping for the blood of aged ideals
Shoved down the throat
Choking on dissonance and disenchantment

Ideals as clean cut as yours
Are easy to get lost in
Forgetting that your vision
Is fueled by the ants who
Breathe in sulfur and expel energy
For those who do not give them a time of day
And worse so, for those who discredit their life forces
And families who have known nothing
But the trade

If it’s all a dream
Then you have one leg in the door already
Honeysuckle filling the senses
Grass beneath bare feet
Branches wrapping themselves around your body
Like a safe house
Like a security blanket
Comforted by your origins
Remain within simplicity

But you’ll never get to know
The music of the taxis
Playing all the night and day
Signaling that movement is happening
Every day
Every night
Every hour
Every minute
Every second
Every time you bat your lids
For every face you see once in your life
And every train that you happen to miss by a single millisecond

You’ll never comprehend the joy
Upon a child’s face when they see that gray pigeon
Scavenging for crumbs
Padding small feet towards small feet
Knowing that they are equal only in that moment
And the curve of the lines on the man’s face
As he screams into his cell phone
And abruptly brushes past your shoulder
Running down to the corner of William and Cedar
And you losing his face in the crowd
Embracing a part of his anger, a part of his life
Only then and forever

You’ll never understand the value
Of a paved road
Of a rooftop sunset
Of a stranger’s compliment
Of the myriad of blinking lights
Filling the night like the stars you constantly harp on about
Each and every light a life

These are our stars

And if you look closely, you can still see the originators
Framing the sky with dim rays
Serving as both a reminder and a work ethic

There is a price to pay for progress
But without risk
Without passion
We have nothing
And it may be easy
To turn up your nose on those who choose to live amongst
Concrete and haze
Like a PETA member chooses an animal
Over the dignity of a woman
But I assure you that
One day you will forget the value of the clock
But the greatest gift the city has given is
Not a gift
But a reminder
We are all cells on a timeline

As much as we should work hand in hand
To sustain our dreams
Your spitefulness is misdirected and blinded
Choosing the scapegoat of the cover
Over the contents of the book

And as someone born from the oil spill
I find that offensive.

I laugh indoors
Like the sound of lullabies on Saturday night
Drowning in liquor
Seeping into my eardrums
Leaking through the bedsheets

I hold my breast in one hand
And my eyes in the other
Trying to maneuver the small talk I had wanted to abandon
Over dinner
Last week, or
Was it last month?

Maybe a year back.

It all comes crashing down
I swore to you that I was honest
That I did not need more than my daily bread
You pour wine down my throat
And grab my wrist as you twist my words
So I go up those stairs
And out of your life
And I hold my breath
So one day you won't have to


I was born and thrown into the deep end
Ankles twisting and cork heels breaking
Mascara running
Lipstick smears on your collar
Fear manifesting within the buttons on my shirt
As you pop each one onto the floor

To sleep perchance
To be awake
It isn't long until my back is in the grass
And my knees are red
From trying to grasp the need for all of it

Leave it be


I'm 15 and you're all but a fever dream.

There were so many dead wasps on your kitchen counter
You
thought they were bees
insisted it was okay
But I knew
Like I know
You
Like I still dream
Of getting stung  
Or of feeling an airbag on my cheek
Metal twisting into my body
A Rubik's cube of proof
It was too much for
You
to carry
But enough for
You
To plunder
To damage
To chain

You
You You You

I syphon poison out of my body
Drop by drop
Every morning noon evening and night
Ripping myself open
Jagged scars
Screaming for mercy
Face whiter
Voice failing
I cry
Again again again
But
I know
Finally, dear god, I know

I

Have to let it bleed
To let my hair grow
To scream and pull those talons out
With my own hands
To soak them in seawater
To cover them
In the honeyed voice of my grandmother
In the sounds of the train station and the rails
Like I did
With
you
On top of me
Or beneath me
Or like
you
Are
Still inside of me


I
Do not hold
I
Do not cherish
I

am
cloaked in silence




you
slept through the alarm

Know that there is no other way to reach you
Though there’s a phone attached to your hip
And an ear attached to your head
You still refuse to listen

With every word and every melody
A battle, loss or victory
The mistakes pile on and become regrets
Still, you continue to repeat them
Like a broken needle scratching the glossed over surface of a record

What will you do when the music stops
When all those sleepless hours turn days into nightmares
When your **** diet finally destroys your body
And the floor cracks beneath your 200 dollar adidas adorned feet?

I took you for a friend
But you took me for a ride
The escalator that pushes every pound
Every hour of every day
Wishing to ascend you into glory

But if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me

Blame yourself!
Take your self- loathing and turn it into words
Those words into lyrics
Those lyrics into *****
Regurgitate the expectations
But throw in some drum and bass

While everyone is dancing
Smile for your success
Your friends by your side
Smile for your fame
Your woman at your feet
Smile a smile so big
That the sun will bow down to all of your brilliance
Your ego basking in its rays
And shake off the naysayers in your path
Suppress the signs of superstitions
But don’t be surprised when no one is around
To see or document the crash

Oh the beautiful process of turning neglect into excuses
Excuses into indifference
Indifference into ignorance
Ignorance into lies
And lies into alibis

I’ve seen it before
I’ve felt the excruciating feeling of betrayal
And the death of a trust so pure
That the glimmering void could not have reached it
And there you were optimistic and determined
Blind and arrogant

Beethoven is rolling in his grave
Every tear a key
I don’t usually promote a downfall
But there are consequences to intended misery
It will seep into your skin
Into every pore and every vein and capillary
Flowing through your system like the Hennessy
You guzzled at the studio in the wee hours of the morning

Place your bets!
This addiction to the thrill of the fall will be your end
Instead of all the money, you’ll eventually lose your head
Like you had already lost a friend
Or two
Or three
Or why not more
You are better than you were before
Progress is the only way to stay
Locked inside of yourself and out of reach
Out of touch with those who scattered the stars in every direction
Just to clear a path for you

The sweet sound of a dying soul
Integrity decapitated by the only blacksmith in the business
Runs around screaming
Like a chicken with its head cut off
****** ****** ******
Declared delectable when you bought the fries

If music is your only love
Then going deaf will be poetic justice
Tones and tunes lost in the wind
Like the flap of a butterfly’s wing
Ushering honesty and freedom
All the things you tried but could not be
So you buried them next to me
And walked away

Though the promise is broken
You forgot the most important detail
I am not a new player in this game
You have yours, and I have mine
I will not dart and dissolve like I did once when I had hope
I had told you about it before
But I guess you didn’t listen

The dirt under your fingernails
Found its way on me
Yet again
In the form of indents on my skin
This time
Red with rage
And blue with agony
Golden in the bar light
Silver in the street

I wanted
For so long
To cry, to wail, to break
Again
Like I did on New Years Eve
Four years running
On the mornings when
Another's arms weighed too heavily
Or those nights when
Telling you to stop
Would've hurt your precious feelings

Hand on my drink
An anchor
A car wreck
Like the countless ones you could have
Killed me in
I witnessed fear
Walk out of the shadows
And pull up a seat
Right next to me
Sipping on a cabernet

This time however,
It stopped at one
Paid the tab
And took me by the hand
Kissed my forehead
Held my face
Everything will be alright
Carried me over the threshold

You
Always you
Glued to your pedestal
Hands on your beer
Or your cigarette
Or your limp ****
Or on me
Scathing
Berating
Mocking
Baiting
Manipulating
Seconds
Minutes
Hours
Days
Silently screaming
again again again again
why why why why
stop stop stop stop
monster
      monster
              monster
                     monster


Clawing your way after me
Shedding your skin
Nowhere to hide
Reaching reaching reaching reaching
Branding me a *******
Liar
Selfish
Cold
Unfaithful
Intense
Callous
Insane


Monster



Takes one to know one

Water flows
In places which pardon
Ziploc bags full of apologies
Floating upriver
Downstream
Under bridges

The ocean swells
Like the cold midnight air
Entering a pair of lungs
So I take
Another breath

It's all quiet on the western front
When towers fall and empires crumble
When storms ravage half a country
A thousand screams are silenced by a handful

It's all quiet on the western front
When mothers mourn and monsters meet
Inside of laminate portfolios
With bright futures and buried pleasures

It's all quiet on the western front
When seconds make cents
And it no longer makes sense
To tell them that you love them
Without paper doing it as well as
The trees they carved their names in

It's all quiet on the western front
When blood is used as currency
To buy and polish ammunition
From nations drowning
In the smell of rusted crimson
And think of the children
Who are armed to the teeth
With spite and grief and melancholy
Against the thrumming of their rib cages
With rounds discharged like the veterans
Who were just in the wrong place
But at what time
Did the commander think it wise
To drop explosives on civilians?

It's all quiet on the western front
When business is just for staying busy
Complacent couples with granite counters
Correcting their children in their grammar
Or their choices in careers

It's all quiet on the western front
When adding two and two together
Becomes menial work pushed to the
Calculators made by cracked palms
And shaking fingers which we pay
2 dollars an hour
To do the tasks our brittle bodies
Had enough of the first time a television
Switched on, the first time someone
Picked up a bottle, the first cigarette ever lit
in the suburbs

And the yelling is done in an organized fashion
With labels thrown up in the air
And as the prosecution rests
The poor boy's family hold their heads
As if the ceiling would start to cave in
On itself and like the system
It is truly hell to barely scrape
By life only to brush by death's
Shoulder and regret 300 years worth of unity
Which separates the equal and demeans
Those who try to be
And to those peering out across
The scarlet sea, the shine
And gold may be worth the trials and
Tribulations but tenacious souls
Need only know that gold is rock and
Crystal sheen is merely a reflection
Of the destruction and the silence
And the demons that we will not confront

And in the presence of a microphone
The world falls still
And wonders if the speaker will respond
Or if they won't


It's still all quiet on the western front.

today
it was 70 degrees in the afternoon
i closed my eyes and pretended that there was a foot of snow on the ground
wrapped my arms around myself for warmth and shivered
i had attempted to remember how the year has taken and split me
into two

the one that was lying on that hospital bed
begging god for mercy
and the other that was drunk in the waiting room
laughter echoing down the halls
smelling like clorox
pouring whiskey down people's shirts

the one that had felt stung and with aching bones
let it go into a river of tears
or the other that took off her apron
told you to *******
and stormed outside
hoping the mascara was waterproof


the one terrified to drive
into the desert alone
the other pouring gasoline
down the highway
taking the wrong trail
talking to strangers at cafes
panic attacks in a wal-mart parking lot
knowing the importance of goodbyes
and deodorant
loving your touch but hating your voice
yet falling for the way
her bones shift beneath her collar  
hands clamming up at the sight of him
letting calves burn and peel
breaking corks for expensive chardonnay
striking the match
letting it fall

feeling the drops on her shoulder

What trembles besides my knees?
Do my feet hang off the bed on the right side
or
Does my face just continue to dry until
It flakes skin
Until I am nothing but dust


It's just hysterical
that this which is tearing and sowing
breaks me so so gently it bores me to death
in the first five minutes
and I wait and wait and wait
for those imprints to turn yellow and then to blue
and eventually disappear under the guise of smoke and quiet resentment
or another's palm grasping at my ankles
spilt mother's milk
cracks in the floorboards
cherry lozenge cracking under tongue


Knuckles stiffen and clumps of hair stick to the shower walls
My thighs fill with cracks angry and red running up but suddenly stopping at my most precious commodity
the price to my body's worth
it tears tags off of old mattresses
and sits in bath water too hot
runs and breathes life into a humid motel room

I receive my checks in the mail
signed with red ink and no return address

You stole my May for your December
Brought it to its knees
And sang to it in the twilight
With one hand raised towards the horizon
The other on the handle of a knife

You gently tossed it in a cell
Swallowed the key
Confessed your sins
Those very palms clasped together
Clasped so tight
So, so, so,
tight
Over my wrists
Under my skin
The bruise crept quietly beneath

It starved for years and years
Until
A match was lit
Thrown
Inside
Flames licked the walls
While you held yourself
Reminiscing
Smiling
Wistfully
Closing the door behind you

You sold it to the highest bidder
And petitioned for compassion
The flowers wilt, the snow has set
Eyes glued forward
Shoes scuffing the floor
It does not hold
It does not speak
but it does whisper

'It's all just a big misunderstanding'

Inhale
One eye opens
Pick yourself up
Legs swing sideways
The singer hits a high note
Hit the snooze button

Grab a toothbrush
Pick the paste
Rinse and repeat
Smile
Floss
Rinse and repeat
Dry your face

Face wash - $6: to brighten your complexion
Banish oil from your sleeping pores
Concealer and Foundation - $24
A fresh face can open many doors




Mascara, Eyes, and Brows
12
7
5
Bat them nice and pretty
How happy to be alive

In this day and age
You want the spotlight?
They give you backstage
Point your attention to the nearest exits
As the audience laughs at those
Who waste and mar your presence

In the eye of the storm
For every Pakistani baby that is born
The chances of their mother to still be breathing
Are low to none
Accompanied with every passing minute for a female child
Who will never be fully grown

But if by some chance she does survive
She will never know, or make, or expect
To be treated with as much respect as the guys
And knowledge will be limited by money
And white people who trade books for religious pledges different than her own

She moves and tries with each sun and moon
She finds herself inside a room
A glowing screen and a telephone
In a small moment of peace she tries to remember what her home looks li….
“Ma’am? Ma’am? Can you repeat that please, I can’t understand your accent?”

So when she hangs up in a huff
And turns around to face her lovely husband
And 3 beautiful kids
She opens her mouth to complain about the foreigner
Only to hear that he has had enough
And as the breakfast she made for them at 5 o’clock in the morning
Slips off his plate and onto the floor
She reminds herself
“Yes, I know. This is life. This is love.”

And she will not question
And she will not fight
Because they preach you all of your rights
And since she was taught to read and write
She should at least remember some of them
Right?

No.
For as a wee girl sitting in a corner
With bruises on her wrists, her thighs, and ego
Her first thought was not law, but
“why?”

Why do we cling to a culture of corruption and confusion?
In this time of hypocrisy and delusion
Which is older than the words themselves
But when written together
Become every woman’s personal brand of hell?

Because they tell you who you are and where you’re from
Plus, where you’ve been and whom you’ve known matter
So choose carefully and don’t walk around in a miniskirt
In the middle of the night
You ****

With feminine modesty
Pink is the color of choice
Especially in the hearts of those young boys
Who wanted nothing but to please their fathers
Even if they asked for an easy bake oven
And their mother shook her head as he pleaded for a toy
Clearly not made for a young boy

It’s hard to look into the talking screen
And tune out only parts you want to hear
Without fueling the colossus of a machine
That has been raising us like lambs for slaughter
But I am not just a father’s daughter
And for every voice that is silenced in fear, in anger and in plight
Ours will echo that much more loudly in the night

Put down your bag
Set the alarm
Close your eyes
Exhale

They are the wise
They who sit in trees
And discuss the daily happenings of their fellow comrades
They who shed their homes like winter coats
And disguise themselves as birds
Observing the fields and meadows
Speaking of their mother in high regard
As they turn their noses up at the others
They who question the sanity of the world
And pick apart each work of man
Or anything that has touched their hands
Or their purified bodies
They who shout and shriek at those with nicer rags
While they make mental notes as to rip apart their belongings
They are the wise

I am a fool
I am the concrete foundation of a dilapidated building
I am the dirt that crunches under your feet like autumn leaves
When you step up on the main road to hail a cab
I am the nose on the glass of a department store window
One who spends the day touching tangible matter
And winds up with the night meaning close to nothing
I am the flickering lights in an office cubicle
Going on and off to the beat of a dying daydream
I am the voice who is hollering through the red lights
Confusion setting in as a catalyst to a never ending nightmare
Providing silver slivers of comfort to those stuck running in circles
And to those weeping for the sanctuary of their beings
As bombs are being dropped on their brethren in the distance
We are interrogated by the wise
For being a part of the materialistic cataclysm
With our platinum walls and our glass coffee tables
Singing to the tune of the CEO’s gold pockets
Wiping the sanctity of human interaction away
Into an oblivion of technological advancements
Which are produced with aching hands
In far off lands with people screaming at their lost demands and
The bombs being dropped on their brethren

We say no
While the wise cower in their tall fields of wheat
And run naked through their meadows with the sun shining on their backs
While they bathe under the waterfalls and point fingers at everyone who has ever owned a cell phone
We sit in the middle of crowded, chrome, contradictions that keep everyone else at a distance
While somehow still creating a chaotic sort of unity
To stand under the lights radiating off of shining high rises
To walk with the shadows of anonymity trailing slowly behind us
Into a silent resistance that moves more than mountains that the wise so fondly speak of

For our foolishness is our greatest strength
Martyrs are born, not made

Blinding
Is the orb that dwells in darkness
Surrounding nearby worlds with light and warmth
A necessary addiction
Seen as bizarre in the eyes of a visitor from far off spaces
Stunned by the presence of a god
Pulling and pushing this way and that

Its disciples are separate but alike
Holding steady in the gargantuan influence of a power
So above any object in the system
They spin in awe of it
The spheres of influence
Cannot hold a candle to the bulb

A visitor from distant places
Drawn in like hands to face
So cracked and frostbitten
Touching skin which glows with feeling
Embracing violet blood in care
But burning and boiling in the process
So the hands wrench away
With fear that heat had penetrated too far a surface
No longer secure in its rocky shell
Throws itself back into blackness
Past the disciples
And sees the effects of such an understanding
Between the master and the follower

A little after the departure
Another rock
The closest devotee
Sporadically moving like a mayfly
Scurrying across its pathway
Turns in my direction
Afraid to show affection
One side burned by the fire or proximity
The other frozen by wear and tear
Shows aggression for one minute
And lust for two
Then with every reckless motion
Turns back towards the master
And away from me


There is beauty in the second one
Mesmerizing colors and carefully spoken words
Draw in every visitor
Every other disciple with a flick of a wrist
A breath from its atmosphere stuns most
And captivates others
But I have seen beneath the clouds of grandeur
With every sweet notion turned into spite and malice
Lost within yourself and still behaving like a child
Filling each airway with Carbon Dioxide
Sulfur burning flesh away
Attached to nothing but the ego which flows like magma through canals
Beneath your skin
Jealous of a twin which has a follower
And like the plant true to your name
Any innocent insect is caught in the scent and perishes
So when the sting of betrayal faded, escape was the only option

Red
Iron strung throughout the surface
Dry and rough
Son of Ares
War language spoken fluently only by you
Better than the other disciples
Yet more reluctant and vengeful of the master
When there once was hope
Now lays desolation and defense
But many try and few have come to know
That there once was water beneath the desert
And what is ice without the cold?

The further I am flying
The colder it gets
And another giant surfaces
Not as bright
But strong and jolly
Dionysus in his right
Loved and cherished by the group
Opens his arms and his heart
To the many moons surrounding him
Each a beautiful muse with a brilliant mind
Protecting the others with a kindness so massive
It can only suffocate
Closeness is my greatest fear
And gravity is too strong for my liking
So another exit is inescapable
But I know he’ll keep spinning and waging wars against dependence
On both the rest of the cluster and the master
To whom he is indebted

So close yet a world apart
The glints of your many rings surround your presence
As both a warning and an invitation
To the club of the narcissistic dying artists
Grasping close a talent which places you as an originator
In vain turning into hot air which sits beneath your surface
Lord of time
Holding close those who are down for the count
Of the many you have clasped onto
But later tossed or turned into the following
Of the closed and distant moons
Each one crowned and named queen of the underworld
Tears and heartache
Only for selfish pleasure and self assurance
That you still have some control over yourself in the presence of
The master
Which you try and imitate as much as possible
But just can’t seem to get it right

Exhaustion sets in as the tail slows into a pace
Until the peripheral catches attention
A globe of wind blows past me
A different animal I have yet to dissect
Greets with presents and excitement
Promises of adventure and passion
Though it is too far
And trepidation is too great for one to instantly accept


The light grows dim in these parts
Each disciple now taking their turn to praise the master
Your tint is one I cannot forget
Held in esteem by the others
And as a friend in my icy core
Far and removed, yet present and involved
They look to you as the anomaly
Your abilities astounding everyone
Yet you’re a slave to the master
Losing yourself in a dream world
Forgetting to wave hello to those beneath you
Neglect becomes your companion
And with music as your mistress
It is far too much for me to handle in this plane of deception
Fleeing is becoming a habit which I gladly indulge in


Finally
It has passed
Long behind me
Rays barely visible
And again I embrace darkness
Comfortable in my own sphere
Until I remember you
Frozen in time
The last of the disciples
Forgotten by many  
Insignificant and stationary
Rarely seen by the others
Yet the only one to grab hold of my heart
Like you did
Ice meets ice
Body against body
Frost in the middle of an ice age
Stalemate of two lovers
Gripping each other for warmth that the master had refused to share
Rotating in circles
Confused motions which made both run to the distant blue one for advice
I would have bled for you if I could
But your internal miasma of chaos
Did not bring peace and reassurance
And for once I fled to the master seeking warmth only to be burnt and tossed back again
Where you are now
But this road is different
I will not share it with you

This collective is my discovery
A part of the icy core which will always carry small traces of emotion
Locked within the silver lining of my system
And I am off again to distant lands
Where other masters dwell
Deep within the taunting and captivating unknown
So one day I may burn up entirely
In the grand master
Love.

Looking up,
Tonight I had seen the stars
They pulled at me
Like my muscles pulled for my legs
To sit the **** down and quit
Straining them and myself
So much

You blew out smoke
And I inhaled
My own trepidation
And loneliness
That had been floating in the air
Since the sun was up

You went home
And I stayed
Outside
Inside
In the cold
And in the hot hot heat

Looking for your face in the crowd

The lights went out
When I was sipping my water
When we sat outside
In the backyard of the restaurant
You were listening to me speak
About my brother and my parents
And how I was worried that he felt
As alone as I did
When I was a kid
And you stared at me in concern
And nodded along

I loved the taste of the peppers
And I noticed them growing above you
Right by the stairs
That were covered in vine
With rickety wood
That probably gave the owner splinters
The same woman who told me that she
Got out of jury duty
Because she was biased
Because she was held at gun point
Not once
But twice
And that she wished she could return the favor


And when the lights went out
There was a stillness
And a second of quiet
And I looked up
To see infant stars sprinkled between the clouds
That were stranded above the city
Still tinged with remains of lavender
From the early sunset

And maybe
It would have been easier
If we believed in anything
If god itself could reach out
And pop each bulb
Like little balloons
And caress our cheeks
When we felt scared
Or isolated

And maybe it would have spared us
Some resentment
Or given us a break
For trying to survive
For trying to breathe in a world
Filled with a compassionate cruelty
And a smug sense of undeserved irony
That left an entire generation jaded
Or miserable
Or exhausted


Especially when looking for work
Like I did those years ago
While my father chided me
Cited merit
And integrity
And 'maybe I wasn't trying hard enough'
Yet still had the audacity
To retire young
And complain about it


And maybe
It would have been easier
If instead of apples
We were leaves
That turned into shades of fire
At the end of August
And were carried away
And then reborn
Instead of falling hard
And rotting on the ground


And maybe it would have been easier
Or maybe it wouldn't have
When my mother called me
In the cold air of the early spring
And I could hear her voice cracking
And I had to walk outside
Into the bitter cold
To keep myself from breaking


And maybe it would have been easier
If your parents hadn't loved you
And if my mother never came back
And we would've never met
And you would've never made me laugh
And I would've never had anyone
To call a friend or a sister
The way I call to you


And maybe it would have been easier

But it wasn't
When your mother called you
And told you of the news
And your eyes swelled
And my mouth dried up
And I knew it would never be easy
Since I was very young
But I would be there for you
As you continue to learn the same


And when the lights went out
We felt it
On our own
In our own ways
But we felt it together

There’s a meek sort of rasping
Coming from across the train
With frail marrow and a kind smile
Stitched together by a thread of longing and courtesy
Opaque hues of denim
As murky as the winter sea
Rocked by the motion of the rails
Search the frills of a child’s collar
For the forgiveness only time can give
Her shadowed eyes bore into mine

But as I tried to furnish a reaction
A white skirt blocks my view
And towers over like all of those pretty American buildings
I’ve only seen in tattered pages and cracked voices
Of forlorn faces and war torn memories
And her golden hair is molded by a red ribbon
And her long nails dig into her beige purse
And she stares towards the doors
Biting her lips and passively planning an escape route
As the train pulls to a stop

Then a swarm of moving bodies knock her and numerous more
Into the swell
And out on the platform
Attention is peaked by the two snickering girls
With navy skirts and matching hair bows
The size and color of a setting sun
Who drop their faces and grab their leather portfolios
And sprint out of the closing doors
About to miss their stop

And careful pupils follow their retreating forms
But they are not just my own
As cascading chestnut locks
Frame a plush nose
And a supple body
With a ***** apron around the waist
And folded fingers with crossed calves
A queen living in a pauper’s mirror
While cradling a bag full of bleach and ammonia
Keeping an eye on a basket full of apples

Which keep being searched thoroughly
With small eager palms
From a mother’s lap
With little auburn curls
Blocking out the view of the guardian
Who, with soothing speech, forming lines and dainty features
Reaches out to the child with fruit
And every unspoken word
That she will never hear from her own mother
Teaching her unspoken lessons
Of the distant and sought after dreams of youth and childhood
Which so many want, but so few acquire
Which so many held but had to lose


Like the younger lady
With a book in hold
And a stitched brow
Browsing through the myriad of pages
Ink stained hands frantically flipping through
Each passage, each syllable
Slowly wrapped into information
And passion the color of her hair
And the specks of prolonged sunlight
Dusted upon her cheeks
Which were glowing red with frustration and a thirst
For approval of those who had previously turned their noses
That a mere manual could not quell nor explain
The emptiness growing in the heart of useless searching, or her wallet


With the endless thrumming of the rails
And night falling on the light like a fire proof blanket
The cabin almost empty to the only presence beside my party
Head turned
Leering through the window
The darkness pulling on her hair
Shoulders slumped but back as stiff as a board
With one leg pulled under the other
And the smell of soft dirt or pelting rain
Permeating from the seat
The conscious form with abyssal eyes as dark and oceanic as the deep
Searching the night world outside of the window
For specks of light within the vast, swallowing landscape
A digit sliding off the pane, smearing anything found into sweat and vapor
The coldness of her eyes, filled with rage and grief quickly dart in one direction
As her neck snaps towards me, whether out of disgust or courtesy

I quickly turn away and into the warmth of my grandmother’s form
And smother my face in her wrinkled hands
As she pats my head, and calls me by my first name
The cabin at a halt, and her line of sight towards
The two men with white gloves and red symbols on their uniforms
Hauling off the poor old woman
Who’s rasping had eventually given way to suffocation
And my inattention had given way to more than I had cared to see

With small opaque eyes
As murky as the winter sea
With every rasping breath
And a kind smile
No longer wanting courtesy

13.00 was written on the tip line
the total was 68
you told me I was rude
for making sure to ask
if that made 20 percent
and that we made sure
our waiter knew
that at least one of us here
gave a **** about their pain

gripping the door handle so tightly
I felt like throwing myself onto the beltway
would've been less dangerous than trying to calm you
or thinking
of just closing my eyes and screaming
just screaming
so maybe you would've crashed into the shoulder
and finally stopped talking


outside with your cigarette
I felt my heels dig into the cracks in the asphalt
and I felt ethereal and tangible
the night held me at the waist
and stroked my hair
whispering lilac words
and scarlet promises
but you had to go
and put your lips on me
and opened your mouth again


on the hotel bed I sunk into
the silence and the hum of traffic
outside of the window
I thought about how your fingers felt
helping me zip up my dress
and how those hands
haven't once touched me
in ways
that should've killed me by now


but you didn't need them
because when I close my eyes these days
I have to think about breathing
and all I can see are my mother's arms
cradling and
covered in blood
and the way the trees decided to match
the color of my cat's fur
on the same week he departed
and then turned to red and fell
back down on the asphalt

and I remember when I looked at you
and saw yellows and orange and pinks
but they were just glints of fond memories
like the reflection of vegas lights shining in the desert
and off my reflection in the fountains
or my blistered feet padding along the wooden floor
towards the bed
naked and smelling of pisco
grasping to you
in the cold new york night
or of course the sunburnt twilight
up on griffith
holding on tightly to the rails but this time
with flight under my skin
soaring through the haze
and actually feeling the corners of my mouth
cramp from overuse


now all I see are street lamps
and the monochrome wrinkles
that line your eyes
your face a void
my hands firmly holding myself
trying so hard to escape again
i held for so long
and ripped my skin
piece by piece
for your ego
for your possession
for your trophy

but when it came to paying the bill
you were still
like always
about a dollar short

If there was only one small piece of humanity
Left turned inside out on the southern end of the city
It would be yours
….If no one has stolen it by now

The birds would all be trapped under ice
And the singing inside of my ears would echo
Through the concrete haze
And the resounding melody would fill the
Fissures and dunes of distant plains
With distant breathing
Pushing and pulling carbon monoxide, or sulfur
Or whatever they decide to circulate
Into themselves

But they would feel it, also
Distorted and a bit muffled
Quieter than the original
Pulsing and rushing through
While the river dances with anticipation
For the rose skies and the dazzling lights
To be bombarding the strip in synchronicity
Only for a mere 15  

And by the water we would sit like always
Gabbing about the memories that now put dark rings under our eyes
And crevices into our palms
Or saying nothing at all
Only looking forward
Or up
Or down
Or spinning in circles
And pretending to be in a tango with the breeze
That is nowhere to be found
On the island
In the summer

And we would always look at people’s shoes
Most of the time turning up our noses
Yet knowing that adding insult to injury
Is never polite
So I would un-furrow my brow
And hold on to the seat
While you held your head proud and straight
So I would do the same
Because we’re better than that
Though in a silent way
It was known to both
That we didn’t want to be, and it was ok that way
And in the park
In the spring
With the smell of infant chlorophyll and fruit smoothies
Floating and melting into the ground beneath us
Where the rats at night scatter and scavenge
We would laugh and laugh
And taunt
All of those unfortunate kids
Who were stupid enough to stay in school
On such a morning
In such a place  
And miss the look of the square
Or the looks on our faces
Or the delight of our freedom  

And in my tear stained face
And reddened cheeks
You would glance once and like a timer going off
Your voice would soften
And the miniscule lines by your mouth would reappear
And you would tell me that everything would be ok
Even when I was wailing and gasping for air
Your eyes continued to stay next to mine
Just like your hand
Patting my back
And holding my panic stricken mind conscious  
Telling me everything would be ok
In the car
Or the hospital
Or the airport
And every single time
I would genuinely believe you  


So there you are
Feet on the asphalt
Or the tile
Or the wood
Or the sand
Holding yourself steady
Rushing or if necessary, pushing
Always pushing
Because you are better than that
You always were and always will be
Like the river which dances for the sunset
Or the birds that choose to sing and freeze rather than fly for warmth
Or the bridges that ignite at dusk

And I will continue in long strides  
Behind
Or In Front
Or hopefully, one day
Beside
So you can tell me it will all be ok
So I can smile
And laugh at your shoes

This is milk and honey
This is a testament
This is forgetting what your father looked like
This is spilling water down your shirt
This is letting your window plants die
This is drinking on an empty stomach
This is the smell of the tarmac
This is procrastination
This is an instagram of your shoes
This is feeling the blood drop to your feet
This is forgetting
This is remembering
This is lactic acid

A sudden stop
Momentum pushes the group forward
Yet they latch on to keep their stature
The questions are longing for a vessel
But no one dares to vocalize
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

One closest to the door
Starts the search for answers
To confirm the hunch on his beliefs
And as he presses the red button
The green light flashes repeatedly  
And as moments pass
There is no reply
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

They all stand tall and weary
They all sit quietly with no regard
Staring into the dark matter outside the windows
And wait for a sign
That the dull will return
And wash away exasperation
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

Suddenly a voice
Coming from above their heads
Urging them to stand and move in one direction:
Forward
And as they rise and march on
They keep their faces stoic and
They keep their eyes high
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

Step by step
One foot leaps across the spaces
The other trails behind
Quickly and precise
Warding off the fear that one may slip below
Into the chasm  
And into the eyes of someone else
To carve up the same fate
As if it happens all the time
- And it does

As they reach the end of their trek
The previous voice from the ceiling
Materializes with a face
That responds to that question
With nothing but a nonchalant excuse
And they nod and exit
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

As their feet hit the platform
The fluorescent lights blind
And as they ascend the stair case
They turn and see a swarm of blue men
Shouting commands and searching the
Void with nothing but flashlights
As they continue on
They find that all other pathways have been taped
So they continue up a moving pathway and
Eventually arrive to find concrete above it all
As if this happens all the time
- And it does

Do they return to their routines
with those 13 minutes of discomfort
ingrained within their ribcages?
Do they feel the pulse of the Earth
reverberate under the soles of their feet?
Do they breathe in wantonly
and fill their lungs with the energy of the metropolis?  
Do they carefully listen to the synapses of the streets
firing into separate directions?
Do they retract and weep for the single cell
lost within the fray of nature and facades?

No. They cannot.
And neither can I
As if this happens all the time

- And it does.

The pull is strong and I feel it inside with every breath I take.

I press the tips of my fingers on my face. It’s marked with small dimple-like scars. My cheeks are flushed and the pink covers them in the dim light.

I am of the North and the East. I hold my own gaze. I buy my own groceries. I drink a lot of water.

And I only find rest at dawn. Only when I allow the quiet in. Only when I stop thinking of the sea, or the warships in the marina, or the crunching of the fresh snow beneath my feet. Glistening white in the afternoon, just like it was when I buried my gloves beneath a tree and got frost bite by the evening.

In the morning I throw my blankets off. I leave the heat off. Rejecting the warmth helps me grasp to myself more as I would need to do say through the day time any way. I cherish the feel of the cold linoleum and the dust gathering on tiles above the sink.

And then I look again upon my face and at my eyes and then my dry lips. Finger pads brush them too.

My blood smells of sand and my muscles ache each night with pain. Each vertebrae screams for her embrace, the palms of her hands to brush each shoulder blade in a passing remark. Through the early morning I let her pull me into the water and tell me that she’s near, no matter what. Eyes the color of sky.

My grandmother’s eyes are the color of the frigid ocean in the early spring sun. My mother’s are that of the amber wheat that grows by the train tracks.

I imagine that’s what the end tastes like. Where the universe waves goodbye.

And as I step into the shallows,

I run screaming.

Back into the woods. Into the shadows of the birch. Past the towering elms.

Rotted branches, to Marsh, to Grass, to Dust. To the dry, dry, Earth. Where his palms are rough and gentle.

Where he asks me to dance atop the salt flats. Flooded with burgundy wine. The cracks and scratches of our soles covered by the smell of alcohol and the reflection of the stars on our bruised and ****** feet. I see him at night, with age rolling over the lines by the corners of his eyes with such grace. Such talent. Such a distant pleasure.

Just as on the balcony. With imported cigarettes and glimmering lights surrounding us, I wish to push the East over the balcony. I wish it would forget me like the North.

The fragile North. So tender and passive, so cold and absent. Like the passing of a parent, or the peripheral of the friend.

I wish to be drowned in the turquoise eyes of the South

and in the scalding wine scented haze of the West.

I am of the blizzard and of the heat that dries out your throat in a matter of seconds. I live on commercial carpet and on ivory walls of the hospital doors.

When the cicadas find their voices, when the water laps at my feet like the sweat that trickles down my bare chest and my pink cheeks,

when my burgundy stained lips touch the cracked skin of your scarred dimples,

when my nails claw at your navy shirt, begging you to not let go.

That is when you can cut off my fingers,

so I may be touched by you instead.

Bathe me in hot water and hold me close.

When I asked you of your favorite color
You told me that red looks great on my dress
But you wouldn’t paint a wall with it

Green makes a nice salad
But you wouldn’t necessarily want to eat it

And when I asked you about blue,
Shaking hands with silence left me feeling more estranged than usual


Though the sterling midnight sky
And the bitter cup of coffee
Couldn’t match the ridges of coal
Between the pool of amber in your iris
And the smoky black that was the pupil

The rain that pelted the window
I had imagined to be a harmony of hues both
Forest green like the towering pines and like the
Hunched weeping willows with their tears being
A myriad of cerulean now cascading from the ash clouds
Which gathered about our heads



A quiet thrumming of traffic in the torrential downpour
Tends to sounds like the collective beating of a scarlet heart
With highways as blue and violet veins
And capillaries screaming across the mortal plane
With each thump, each minute, each color

But with heavy eyes and dark plum circles rounding out your lids
You sat there straining to grasp the train of thought that
Kept being derailed at every word
With each merciless stare and meek disdain
That was once splattered pink across the face of your mother

And without a further misconception or
Dejected thought
Suspended in a time frame of confusion
You grabbed my hand
And with muck-brown eyes
Looked into mine like a sailor lost in shadowed blue waters
And spoke of love
With golden glazed verbs
And honeyed adjectives
Weaving intricately together



So then I stand
Pull out my hand
And taking the bluest depths of the ocean with me
Storm out to the concrete lot

But you catch on
And with pleading eyes the color of a pitch black chasm
Try and make me sympathize
To agree
To understand
To stay and to listen
To love and to hold



But how can I?
When you don’t even have a favorite color.

there's always cigarette smoke in my face everytime I'm in your car
and the sport station is always on
and we always talk about work
and how nothing happened to you
and how I made no money

there was cigarette smoke in my face when he stood next to me
and asked me if I was going out
and I tried not to look him in the eye and while staring at my throbbing feet and my scuffed shoes
like a shy ******
i said yes
and smiled a big real one
because yet again
i made no money