call it dialectal
call it duality

every day is an equal mix
of pleasure and pain
gratitude and awareness
and the agony of feeling it all at once

there is a wound clock in a lonely house
ticking with a tangled chain
when no one is there to wind it back
it slows to a stop
never to tick again

before our end of days
I hope each of us know what it’s like to love
and to hate
because how else would we feel love?

when the evening comes
will we feel remorse for what we haven’t had?
or gratitude for what we see before us?

if there’s both
you have lived a life worth knowing

man we are just so comfortable
in these cozy bubbles

convinced we cannot change a thing but our own environment

bothered and put off by the suffering of others
asking “how can you even watch that?”

unwilling to sit with those feelings of helplessness and rage
unable to tolerate seeing the things we’ve never seen
the desperation we never will experience
and the situations others didn’t get to choose
as if we aren’t living on the same exact earth

and maybe that’s exactly what keeps us here
drinking our frappes
stressed about a deadline
complaining about our french fries
American dreaming

the house across the street
has been empty
for years
because the landlord can’t afford
to tear it down
or build a new one
and it won’t pass inspection

one lamp stays on
all day
all night
to deter the copper thieves
or any other broken soul
seeking shelter
from the streets

a child runs across the splintered floor
his feet black as tar
stinking of mildew and *****
a mother sinks into her soiled chair
but she tries

a trust-fund recipient rides his jet-ski
his oiled body
tanned and toned
a father, gleaming, takes a photo
and he flaunts

everyone has their own place in the world
in a trailer park
in a tent
in a split-level home
in a shelter
in a palace

but never on the pavement
beaten down
like a poorly-trained dog
blamed for the errors
of its master

At what point
would I take for granted
those crystal waters
and those consecrated mountains?

Yet there are days still spent
dreading sundown
or the sleepless daybreak
of a grieving city

Does escaping your hometown
make you a coward or
shall I die a martyr?

Might I pencil in a visit to each grave?
Or would you like to deliver
the flowers
for me?

were you warm when the lights faded out?
was it just how you wanted it?

when the golden hour comes
and the dullest corners come to life
I search for you

can you hear me?
did you think you could pray your way out?

when your mind stopped racing
I hope you were clutching those beads
studying the heavens

did you find it?
do you now know the solace
that I never will?

a man holding a sign
in the cold rain
“forgotten Vietnam vet”

disposable as napkins
they clean up your mess

you can toss them away
but the stain
bleeds through

as your heated seats
warm only
your ego

I dreamt of being on a plane
plummeting towards the bluish green marble
my future existence in question

I reached for the phone
wanting only to say,
“Thank you.
You saved me.”

My soul was rescued from oblivion
by a man
who taught me how to love again.
He peels himself away from my grasp
before sunrise
as I groan out a desperate plea
as time’s most
disgruntled prisoner.

He eats up what my heart feeds him
because it’s all I have to offer.
And past visions of future homes
disappear
and are replaced
by not a place
but a person.

And suddenly
the path I am on
seems much less important
than the hand
I am holding.

I’ll follow
either way.

through misery and neglect
I kept on

for this I am thankful

because everything that has ever moved me
was pushing me one step closer
to you

I am the human
giving tree

and there's been a little boy
hanging off my branches
for far
too long

I have no apples left
just some twigs
and a
strong trunk

where someone
once carved their name
never to be
erased

now I realize
the nurses were right
there was no saving what was
already dead

what you wrote off
you pretend not to see
a memory erased from a white board
but the words still show themselves
from a certain angle
in a certain light

why acknowledge
what makes us human?
assuming time is wasted
as if plans
are more important
than the present

and that was it alone
a fear that grew
into a monster
with an appetite for two
built of past and future failures
lured back into hiding
by today's expensive distraction

twice I've known love
my first and my last
both from men who woke up as early as my father
inhaling a cigarette with their first conscious breath
beginning the day
with a groan of
dedication and discipline

one love came along when I was eighteen
another at twenty eight
my fragile legs carried me the duration
of a decade long marathon
searching for a finish line
with no guarantee of it's reality

now I hold a blue-eyed trophy
after I suspected my legs would
give out
and lead me
only to an
early grave

they say time
doesn't matter
as long as you finish
the race

there is nothing better than silence
where thoughts can be sorted
categorized
labeled
discarded
or dwelled upon

this (functional) anxiety
takes a free ride
over-burdening my back

the weight strains every muscle
I stretch to compensate
but my bones split and crack
quietly anticipating true paralyzation
like a patient waiting
for a root canal

peer inside
observe the chaos
adequate distraction
making sleep achievable
the master of redirection
my fumbling hands reach for
one more drink

second guess
everything

maybe it was better
when nothing mattered
nothing
at all

show me the way
back to that place
where giving a ****
was a lost art

little pink pills
designed to soothe the
overburdened mind

sleep never escapes me
serotonin has

or was I just a hamster
running in a wheel of
self destruction?

your imprisoned pet
to play with
only
when you felt like it

There's a pain in my chest.
I can't shake it.
I must share it.
Because, believe it or not,
everyone likes to hurt a little.

Once I was nothing
but blood
and bones
and guts.
There I am!
See me?
My insides smashed on the pavement
like a squirrel
crushed by your recklessness.

Your ego
it shines brighter than ever.
A gleaming zirconia necklace
"ON SALE FOR JUST 10.99!!"
Go ahead, dull it some
before it turns a neck green.
Bottoms up!
The phone glued to your hand
while there I rot
picked at by birds and stray dogs.

I carry this pain with pride.
I wear it like a conference name tag.
"Hello, my name is
ROADKILL"

Why wouldn't I?
Someone will scrape my bones
off the blacktop
and wear them as jewelry.
My body, my words,
will be their name tag.
Because some can display pain
with pride.
And corpses
feed the soil.

Bloom on.

Feed her the scraps
of your being.
She will eat it up
without thinking twice.
But she will still be
hungry.

Feed her the lies
or whatever is convenient
She doesn't mind to pick out
the gristle
because every piece of it
is attached to a morsel
of sweet
delight.

Feed her the silence of
unspoken discontent
the empty eyes
the empty bed
the thrills that serve as
distraction
because you can't bear to hear
the voice
that rings inside
your skull.

Like a dog, she
waits
with pleading eyes
and an endless appetite
for you.

But even the most
unfortunate mutt
deserves more than
a full belly,
but also
a mind
at ease.