you lied to me while in your heels
when you met me at my eyes.
but you were beautiful,
and i believed every word.

i met this man once on a train in Vietnam.
We were going south through the night to Hue.
the car was full and lively.
not to be egocentric but it felt directed at me.
close to a dozen cars filled with traveling souls and i was the only american.
this man across the aisle was very fair and kind.
i learned about his family, three kids and wife, and his job; working for the military.
he seemed to be doing quite well for himself in a country still discovering some things about the world.
I played some sub-genres of music off my i-pod to see how he would react to the odd and unique.
He was a poker player for sure.
His emotions and reactions were held in.
we talked all night but it wasn't conversational.
he asked me every question imaginable each phrased with the classic w's:
who,
what,
when,
where,
and why.
sometimes lead with do, or how.
i answered them all until the sun rose over the land where the single star flies.
He was headed to Saigon and we never spoke again.

five years ago, i made a right turn.
there was a destination ahead
warmer and foreign
i didn't know the safety of the path,
and that was o.k.
i was giving up my atlantic.
late nights of **** bathing,
avoiding rude traffic in the morning,
and turning spindles on the boardwalk.
it was beautiful but i was dying.
we met on stairs built
on the sound of a southern state.
you knew my cousin because
she loved your brother once.
you were bubbly with long hair,
thin and fair.
our names share the same letter
and the same amount of syllables.
you weren't older than I
but had grown in more common ways.
i had seen more corners of the world,
the darkness and light they offered too.
i was shy with an open heart while
you were hopeful for more intention;
more time spent of our invention.
we made red sangria
and cut fruit in the kitchen
overlooking the shining bay.
a place where we would love each other
with a ripe and fruitful touch.
  
we soon moved in together
and life was simple.
i had made a fire for you and
dreamed my thoughts aloud
of keeping life this way.
material and time built
walls between us.
you wouldn't let me love you.
you became afraid of the worlds i knew.
no words or actions could convince you
how those things didn't matter
that we had all we needed.
your distance and shifting desires
lead me askew.
i made a left turn towards something new.
i didn't know where i was going
but the journey was intoxicating.
i learned about deep hurt
and a brighter light;
darker corners
and wider definitions of what love really is.
this left turn took nine months
to more unknown roads,
but the light on the bay
with fruity sangria,
with the love and light you showed me
for making a right turn,
i will never lose.

there's some change scattered on my dresser
i don't remember when i put it there.
their ***** faces just look up or down.
their voices muffled or aloud.
maybe they talk about me and how linted my pockets were
or how odd my room is decorated.
i wonder if the presidents talk about
the deeds they've done.
if they scoff at the world
and what it has become.
i think i can hear them asking if it's oak,
"yep, its oak fellas".
they're asking where Kennedy went
and if anyones seen Sacagawea,
or Eisenhower,
or Ms. Anthony recently.
"not since that toll booth on the parkway" says Washington.
they shouted in outrage to each other,
that Americans are tolled to use the roads they pay for.
i was tired of hearing their agreeable talk
so i put them back into my pocket,
where the lint of my ***** jeans
would quiet their truthful words.

i don't know about love at first sight
but i know when two people
find themselves attracted to each other
and feel compelled to act

she was of another world
far outside my reach
a flamingo in the mountains
with color that doesn't quite fit in
but without, would leave my world so dull.

she was of another world
but greeted as if we'd met
like black rhino's in the bush
so careful with her bowing horns
as she placed her cheeks on mine
with tenderness only she could show.

she was of another world
a greener more humid place
lush of unfurled ferns and pollen covered leaves
where foraging for fruit is foreshortened,
and bounty builds with ease  

she was of another world
a place i never knew
showing me the world at large
showing me her world too

my memories are not papier mâché
wrapped around my face,
they are the masked collage
that i do not wear.

my thoughts are not a cohesive train
riding on my skin,
they are a parking lot
filled of empty bins.

my words are not a hammer made of sickles
i carry around with me,
they are a set of locks,
each letter is the key.

my hopes are not the mourning dove
perched and singing songs,
they are the future flight
on top of warmer winds.

my fears are not the passing night
when darkness reaches peak,
they are a fading day
before my sun is done.

my dreams are not the crashing tides
where sand and salty seas will meet,
they are the day
i stand and feel this
all beneath my feet.

my days are not eternity
feeding an endless mouth,
they are the ache of hunger
for the beautiful feast of life
i cannot live without.

The morning lays quiet,
I feel you near.
Your breath is shallow,
Body warm.

I wrestle the sheets and
fleeting time I have here.

Your leg overlapping mine.

I check the time, continued plight
Slowly removing my leg from underneath
So you’ll not notice the subtle
Absence of flesh and heat.

Following that moment
I felt true bliss of you and all your being.

My leg now free, regretfully escaping,
Once again became overlapped with yours
As you silently settled your warm
soul atop of me.

the saddest game we play
is saying that i love you
than walking the other way.

There’s effort in your exhale.
It intensely speaks for you,
as if you cannot express in words
what it is you feel.
It’s shameful. It’s childish.
its wasted energy.
The effort behind the steam released
coming from your lungs
is as energetic as the words
that are tumbling around inside of you.
Why would you choose to confuse
through passive expression?
when the same amount of energy
would clear the skies like
a heavy summer rain.

If it is all energy created from within
and you are shameful for
the words your vessel contains,
could you not alter
the shape of and direction
to better influence the emotions exchanged?

i knew but once the colored call
that covers all an orange.
we called it citrus fruit.
i knew but once the taste we say
is of muddled musk.
we called it hairy snapdgron.  
i knew but once the unphysical touch
of words we leave unsaid.
we called this far too much.
and once was more than enough.

i remember meeting you in the back of house, where your words were loose and wild. i was brining some guests plates in that needed to be cleaned after their meal. i got to talking with some coworker about some
******* coworkers talk about, probably complaining about some old lady who wanted truffle fries and only got regular fries. you had to chime in when there was a cadence with some ******* comment to display your manliness and status amongst your kitchen staff. that game always seemed counterproductive to me. you pinned me for someone i wasn't. i did the same to you. somehow along the way, between all your lewd remarks, we became friends. i believe it  began over our affinity for the Buffalo Bills. You said you liked them because they were the underdogs and you hated the Miami Dolphins. I told you they were my hometown team and you said "no ****. get the **** outa here. You're from Buffalo?" the way you said it lead me to assume you were from New York. You told me you were from upstate and missed it. I told you how much time my family spent up there in the summers, doing outdoorsy things. burning fires, drinking beer underage, walking barefoot through the forrest. we bonded. we learned a lot more about each other. you were divorced and knew that you could never love another woman as much as you loved your ex. she gave you two beautiful kids. she also took 3/4 of you paycheck and left you for broke. the rest you drank away with me when our shifts were over. you told me about your drug habits, and i told you about mine. i told you about my childhood and you said you were sorry. i helped you drive your kids to school when your ex wife was too busy. we got drunk and shot so much ****. there was a chip on your shoulder. there was a chip on mine too. i got to see you cry when i accused you of using again. i think you knew what i said was true. i came down on you hard because i had just lost two jobs, a girlfriend i thought would have my children, and someone that lived in your apartment complex crashed into my brand new car while i was waiting on you. we were on the way to get your kids from school. you knew i meant well but i could see the guilt in your eyes. i helped you with your kids a handful of times after that. we would get breakfast after and talk about work and women. after work we'd get ****** and eat at some small Mexican stand in 90 degree weather. i fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car some time later. shortly after i left for tour and then you died. some secrets you take to the grave. thank you.

i was sitting on some wood
organized as a dock
with my feet teasing
the liquid below,
watching afternoon light
dance on top of
windswept water.
the breeze was cool and
the air smelled of thaw.
my eyes fed my starved soul.
the not so distant tree line
beyond this shallow lake
glowed of gold and green,
between two shades of blue.
i watched some birds above
fly in unfinished shapes
toward a burning orb
that controls, to an extent,
this thing called life.
as i gazed in wonder
of everything before me,
i saw a different ball, of another hue,
moving with the current,
atop the bottom blue.
a balloon.
kind of sad as it were.
inflated, formed in its shape
but afloat and not flying
as its formal name implies.
however, it remained afloat.
but then i thought how the balloon
never can decide
where it wants to go.
never.
not even when doing what its meant to do.
but then i thought how this balloon,
blue between two blues,
gave me all of this.
even when denied of what its "meant" to do.
it reminded me how simple it is
to appreciate everything
just as it is.
as its meant to be.
not to fight but stay afloat
and remain between two blues.

i wish i could eat infrared
and taste its color scheme.
i wish i could hear flowers talk
and listen to their dreams.
i wish i could see time
before and after it occurs.
i wish i could touch space
and feel it's infinity.
but more than all of this  
that could ever be,
i wish that i could smell you
lying here with me.

when someone says, "happiness is a choice",
i become sick.
when someone says, "happiness is a choice",
i hear a lie.
when someone says, "happiness is a choice",
i hear indifference and apathy.
when someone says to me, "happiness is a choice",
i hear someone robbing me of emotion.
i hear someone spreading ignorance.
when i hear someone say, "happiness is a choice"
i see a wagging finger in my face,
scolding me for not choosing to see
the sacred choice through their eyes.
for not believing where they say happiness resides.
when i hear someone say, "happiness is a choice",
i hear some hollow hashtag, quoted by some tv celebrity or
some quote you'd read that is
attached to some nifty quasi transcendental graphic,
appropriated from an eastern philosophy
made for western eyes.
i feel no substance when someone says to me,
"happiness is a choice".
my mind becomes filled with judgement
of you and your life
when you say to me,
"happiness is a choice".

when someone says to me that "happiness is a choice",
i feel the need to write something like this.

happiness can be felt
but you will not feel it forever.
sadness can be felt,
but you will not feel it forever.
if you feel no regret in life,
i will call you pathetic
if you only choose to be happy,
i will call you mad.

but and however

if you choose to love,
you will be all things.
if you choose to love,
you will feel the world and all it has to offer.
sometimes you will be happy  because  love brought you there
sometimes you will be sad  but  love brought you there
sometimes you will be excited and  love brought you there
sometimes you will be angry but  love brought you there
whatever emotion you feel, consequently,
will be a product of and from love
every choice you make
will be from love

so

when you say to me, "happiness is a choice",
do not say those words in passing
or use them as a phrase
make sure to say them with your love
and be happy that you can

i could try to write and speak French like Wallace Stevens did, but it might not sound like me
i could try to write and live in Camden like Walt Whitman did, but it might not sound like me
i could try to write and beat my wife like Charles Bukowski did, but it might not sound like me
i could try to write and drink like Ernest Hemingway did, but it might not sound like me
i could write like anyone but i have to write for me
i can only write the things i feel
or experienced first hand
and if my written words sound like someone else you know
it might be because they felt it too
and wrote it down
because they had to
because i have to

i cut a habanero for my lunch
and forgot to clean my hands
i picked my nose
and was quickly drawn
back to reality
it burned but
i grew to like its affect
because i stopped thinking
and worried about my nose

the cry of blue siam
bit like houndstooth
through my irish skin
and when my ears
heard it true
i jumped
out from within
the blue i knew too well
but the cry was foreign to me
and my skin bled some color
i knew
as houndstooth broke my skin

if i lived in a world where dinosaurs roamed
as beasts of enormous size,
i would be a fern.
and if you lived within this world
and drank from the purest springs,
we would never meet.

if i were a cake of velvet frosting
with many layers to make my shape,
filled with jelly of dark fruit
preserved beyond their days,
you would cringe at my appearance
and never know my taste.

if i remained myself,
and you remained as you,
we would be these things,
and know not what to do.

when you wake up from tomorrow
and see a glowing sky
will you remember it the way it was
when you wake up from tomorrow

the leaves rustle in the cold
and settle to a stillness
i do not know
the sounds afar carry throughout
the night with winds and light
while the leaves and stillness
settle above, still i do not know
above and through
i hear it still
the silence, i do not know

when your words intend to impart advice
or new direction towards a better day
tell me through your story

not some short collection of words
that ring pretty in my ears
or look as if they carry weight

when your words are short and sweet
and their poignancy implies reverence
i will struggle to understand

because i know that sugar can cause rot
and i know, time spent alone in the dark
is how we learn what shadows hide

please tell me more than one line
of some truth you came across
i will listen, if you sell me more than candy

to catch a drop of water
to change its chosen path
deflects where it was needed
altering how it lasts.

it will one day return
into the cycle it belongs
bringing with all the stories
that it has forgone.

it adjourns amongst its peers
sharing its life over the years
revealing the beauty and horror
of all our hopes and fears.

its seen the effort to maintain
just how things are
and also seen this effort
not getting very far.

its seen the disrespect
and lack of understanding
unwillingness to change
has killed us where we're standing.

it cannont change our choice
to do this to ourselves
it weeps of hope and fall tears
in attempts to break our spell.

it knows and sees its influence
and importance beyond our years
it lives within a system
it cannot change its gears.

to catch a drop of water
to hold it precious and true
will hopefully secure a place
meant for me and you.

pity feels pitiful.

compassion is not action
but reaction to feelings of misunderstanding
the cause of pain and
the depths traveled to survive

in a world of sympathetic kindness
and apathy to healing
wars are fought
but only with white teeth.

round and hot to the touch
a distant color
ribbed with texture
rich in tongues

the seeds abundant and pronounced
safety stored within
the mushy membrane
hollowed from beyond

discarded for fun
the columbian pumpkin comes undone

if your reading this and see my point.







learn to break from tradition when it no longer serves.

i hear your screams
and unsung songs
above the flying tide
and in the foam
frothing free
you'll feel my earthly touch

dont push away
from the shore
with hands of grassy sand
reach out to me
with shades of blue
and striping dissonance

and when they mix
to form anew
place alone in time
you'll wonder where
the colors went and
how we learned to fly

the flag proudly walks in the wind
with the unjustifiable justice
that it seems to portray
freedom no longer lives
within this symbol for me.

stars and stripes
became criminal power
and death for all
as the flag walks proudly in the wind;
but it does not walk for me.