I sleep with the lamp on now

Only I throw a black dress shirt over it

I press my arm over my eyes

And pray that it’s only my imagination

That it’s the sound of the fan losing its pace

And not someone testing the doorknob

I pray that it’s just my fear making me realize

The actual weight of the blanket over my feet

That it’s not hands learning the curves of my skinny ankles

And then like clockwork I am awaken

To the smell of her perfume

It smells old as it lingers in my nose before fading

It is not my mother’s perfume

It is sweet and at the same time full of must

And fills my lungs with fear

Makes me hold my breath so that I cannot see it

As I feel the room suddenly get colder

I am just waiting now for a whisper

My ears are begging for it

They are on fire for a response

From the emptiness

Speaking directly to my imagination

I don’t want to see you

I don’t want to hear you

I already feel you

And the only solace I find

Is the answer to the emptiness

Existing in a world where people die

That I might one day

Breathe fear into a man

To remind him what it’s like to be a boy

In the middle of the night

When the night is ready to overtake him

When really

All I ever wanted was to remind someone

I existed

Like writing

“I was here”

On bathroom walls inside movie theaters

I was hear

And you better never forget it

It is similar to when you get so drunk

You eat just to feel yourself eating

Or you ****

Just to feel yourself *******

There is this thin glove covering

The memories of us

And I am ashamed knowing that

You fell asleep in my arms

And I can’t remember what it felt like

I tried to sleep in the shape

Of a hollowed log

So that I could feel like

I might actually be able to protect somebody

That the thin shell of myself might at least keep the rain out

I know we kissed

Through the thin veil of inebriation

And you laughed saying that my beard tickled

I want to remember what you smell like

But through the buzz

My olfactory

Became an old factory

That shut down

In the morning my mouth tasted like copper

From biting my cheek in my half sleep

And you smelled like a perfume shop

From the distance of subtlety

Still beautiful first thing in the morning

And I felt just shy of *****

And mostly ashamed

That I couldn’t remember

What you felt like

At the library I look for old books
Ones that might have actually been owned
Before they were borrowed

I write fake love letters on the inside
How I want these stories to change some person’s life

Now these novels are secondary
And the people finding them make up their own stories

They constantly ask themselves what it means
How it relates

In some I make lists
Of the parts of my body that still function

Some
See you final chapter

Some
This is the reason I almost didn’t **** myself

Some
I write what I really want to tell her

How seeing her sometimes
Is a punch to the gut
Like a fire at a library
And I dry heave barely blank pages

She comes here a lot
And if she knew
She might read them and wonder
Why I chose the books I chose

So in one I write
I don’t know
I’ve never been good at telling stories
I thought you’d make up some beautiful reason
And I could say yeah

In the bible I write
I never believed in god
But I also never believed
The story is over
After reading

The end

This needs to be said

Before the words burn down to nothing and

I am once again alone

I’ll make up stories to keep you here

And I’ll stare my phone down till I see my reflection in the black screen

I’ll wear crop circles into the carpet with my impatience

I’ll stare at nothing in the dark that I can finally sleep in

Listen to the heater hum from the ceiling

I’ll beg God to keep you here forever

I bargained with him

Everything I had

He wouldn’t take it

Told me he couldn’t make a promise like that

Said,

“You can’t have her

Not like that

Or in any way

Ever”

So I wrote this to give to you

The only gift I ever had to offer

You can keep my words

And my voice

Just stay

A few minutes longer

I’ll tell you any story you want to hear

I’ll write you into every poem I’ve ever written

I’ll cut the sound from my memory’s movies

So I don’t have to hear you walk away

Again

It’s what I do

Run my mouth till my teeth rattle louder than my voice

Thought there was a black hole in there

So big it ****** the air out of the room

Tried to play it off as a gasp at your beauty

We both knew better than that

So before the words run out

And you walk away again

Just know

I’ll tell you any story

And sing you any song

I’ll lie like you’ve never known

And trade God anything

To keep you here a little longer

There is this mountain

And this song that echoes through the valleys below it

Bellowing heavy and hollow

So deep that when you stand at the base

It fills your chest the way a bass drum does

Rather than mimicking the awkward music-less thump of your heart

It is constant

It begs you to find its center

Numbs you the way beer does

Breaks you down to this one feeling

Of forever

The way humming eventually tickles your lips

And you just can’t stop

Don’t stop

Just enter

If you ever wake up and find that I am no longer here

Know that there is this mountain

With a trail leading to its center

And it is humming the song of forever

Know that my carbon footprint is shallow enough

That the dirt my body turns into

Will fill it exactly

Know that home was never in cages

Not in dirt walls

Or wood walls

Or concrete walls

Walls do not belong in such wide open spaces

So if you wake up tomorrow

And find that I am gone

Know that there is this song

That anyone can sing just by humming

Until your lips go numb

Know that song is me

I never wanted anyone to love me

And I never wanted any more that what I already have

This whole time we’ve had it all wrong

And we never realized it

Keep the answers locked up like secrets

That we are too guilty to share

If the only thing my epitaph ever says is

“He was a good man”

I would have lived perfectly

So

If you wake up tomorrow

And I am gone

Remember the mountain

And its song

Remember it may be the hardest place for anyone to ever get to

But it feels more like home

Than any place ever will

Most days I wish I didn’t have to get up in the morning

Days where the only thing I ever have to worry about ******* up

is descending stairs gracefully

It was our fathers who told us not to feel

until the day we see them cry

It was our mothers whose wombs fill so fast

we explode back out before we are finished

If I ever find those missing pieces

I’ll dance

Long

And fast

if I ever find the fundamental filaments that keep me from bursting at
the seams

I’ll breathe

Descend stairs gracefully

I have been told that there is power in story

The best way to tell one is to leave out the *******

Let it speak for itself

The little things

The unimportant things

will bleed out

Beauty

"Start at the corners," she said,
"Work your way to the center
Sure

The dog’s head is missing

The birds aren’t in the trees

It doesn’t mean they’re not there"

As I look up at the sun and burn my eyes
I realize the world looks more beautiful when it’s dark
Looks like waves of light against the black
Like a music screen saver on a computer

As I hold the rose she gave me
I realize it is far less beautiful without its thorns
Looks naked and defenseless
Like rusty bear trap dentures

Grandmother always smelled like
The green part of the garden
And bit like the bitter bark she fed me
When she didn’t want to waste soap
On my ***** mouth

She said even my feet were too large
For the garden she tended
So I could not smell the roses
Or pick the tomatoes
Or rub my fingers against the thyme

I could not climb the trees
Or pluck worms from the earth
Early in the morning
Before the sun warmed the soil

So I stood
like a sunflower
Praying to grow tall one day
And stared at the sun
And realized
The world is just as pretty when it is dark

I just wrote this to thank you

For fanning the fire in my words again

You were kind enough to do it slowly

Temper my passion for writing

so as not to denature my heart

But lady

You’ve denatured my soul

Into dripping dots of ink

Not enough words in my soul

Not in enough time in my world

Not enough ink to last

Just promise

When this fire finally turns me to ashes

You’ll mix me into paste

Write me into one last piece

Perfectly broken

And terribly written

Say something along the lines of

“This was never supposed to be perfect

And it was supposed to hurt

Right down to the end

There is no forgiveness

For those who go up in flames

To be reborn into ashes

And turned into ink

And remembered forever

On pieces of paper”

Thank you

For this fire

For this fever

For keeping the water from me

Thank you

For helping me

Live forever

At first I felt so small
As the oceans in her eye sockets
Threatened to tidal wave

At first I wanted to be charming
Then I wanted to be funny
Anything to stop her from breaking her bay
and anything to keep me from drowning

Whatever man has been here before
and whatever man will be here again

Do not let him speak for you
*now

You remember what you wanted to be when you grow up?

Right now

When I grow up

I want to be a poet

Even if I am homeless and I use all my green paper

To buy myself some white paper

Just to **** it up all over again

I have muddied so many perfect things

With my ***** hands

***** thoughts

***** feelings

If I don’t etch myself away on something

How can I ever come clean?

Especially if I am homeless

I will cut these words out of me if I have to

I will soap box my heart out

From anywhere

Even if no one is listening

I don’t mind being the self talking

grungy stutterer you step into the street to walk away from

That awkward smacking is just me working the psalms

From the roof of my mouth like holy peanut butter

They are bitter and equally disgusting to the pallet as they are the ear

But the truth has a nasty taste

And beauty is always buried under layers of dirt

And I can’t wipe hard enough

I will never be approachable

I need to find at least 10 ways to say

No longer negotiable

I want to be a poet

Just some guy who

Puts ink to paper

The same way he

Puts paper to face

In order to soak the bleeding of his blemishes

If I don’t use something

To wipe away my *****

How will I ever be clean?

Paul Simon says, “There’s angels in the architecture”

I know that they are poised at the edge

Wings hesitant at the idea

That they should not open once the angel jumps from the failure of another building

That babbles the broken laws of physics

Because it could not reach heaven

The angels know now

The only way up is down

Sometime even Angels forget

The only way to make it to morning

Is to survive another night

There was no fire licking their backs

No gun coaxing the plank

Sometimes the chute doesn’t open

Or the wings don’t catch the breeze

Sometimes the fire

Is just a form of depression

The kind that makes you believe

The only way up

Is down

C West

Sounds like directions on a map

Problem is your topography knows better than that

How you always drive your heart east

But you and I both know

On still nights

You can hear my laughter beggin’ ya to come home

Out west

C West

Nothin’ wild about it

We are not the end of some movie

I refuse to let the credits roll

Nothin’ sets out here

Not even the sun

So if you must know

I got a horse I call colonel

Chasin’ the horizon

We kick up so much dust that there is nothing to see when we look back

But I do

I look back

Expecting to see your shadow

Like the end of some movie

Where there’s a stand off

Between you

and me

My money’s on the bullet that hits my heart

We both know you never miss

Just like I never let the sun set on me

Or cattle call my laughter

Or let our credits roll

I don’t know his name
He is drunk
Eye bags swollen
Loosening jowls
And feisty

He asks if I am working hard

I tell him I am doing my best

He says I am a liar

Your best is for scientists to decide days after you die
And they map out your life until they find that one day you actually were
You can only be your best once young man
Do you really want it to be today?

I don’t want it to be today

I can be better

There is too much beauty in the potential of kissing

And I am still healing from the fighting

Am ready to fight some more

There are engines revving in my bones
A takeoff of fire
And the shaking of dust

I wanna leave this life so *****
From mud
I’ve been dragged through

Be ******* me dear life
Dear lover
Dear friend

I smile and sell him his beer

He nods his head
Puts a cold paper hand on my check
Tells me I am so much better than this

I am so much better

He stretches his arms in my direction

Hands limp and exposing his wrists

Eyes beginning to sweat

He says

“I think my hands are broken

Because they don’t know how to make things”

He begins to tell me how he imagines that he can draw

Anything he wants to

And when he puts pencil to paper

The lines don’t make sense

Or the sculptures he tries to build with play dough

Are mushy

And stupid

And shaped like the insides of his hands

Which are also stupid

He goes to punch the wall and misses

So he tells me that he can’t even break things

His hands are that dumb

Then finally

Because there is nothing left to do

He cries into them

And I wrap my arms around his thin body

And say

“That is a start”

She is the ocean

               when I can't swim. The truth is

                                                     I'm fine with drowning

The word “Enthusiasm” comes from the Greeks

Meaning

God within the self

There is a god inside myself

Needling my fingertips when I touch you

I think they had it right

When they said

There is a god inside of everything

There is a god inside my mother’s voice

Calling me back to sleep

And inside

Broken beer bottles

On beaches

Inside the blood that runs from my feet

When I step on beer bottle beach glass

There is a giant of a god

In the ocean

And he’s dying to swallow me

There is a god

Inside every passing moment

His voice as subtle as a whisper

During an earthquake

Reminding you how to be calm

You have to be calm to listen

I have heard

If you play a piano

Tuned to the key of broken

You will hear the voice of

Humility

It is the sound of a god

Reminding you

Every beautiful thing breaks too

Every beautiful thing

Breaks too

There is a god

Kind enough to white noise my panic

Living in every deep breath I take

So that I might have just enough time

To explain how I love you

There is a god in the words of wisdom

Falling short of the ears they were

Supposed to take

Take my ear

Take my heart

Take my breath

And beat the dust of back country

Back into the god living inside the man

Who’s fingertips burn when he touches you

My fingertips burn when I touch you

I am pretty sure they had it right

When they said

That there is a god

In everything

He is just tall enough to make me feel like a giant by the way he cranes his neck to look at me

His hands are too small for the camera he is holding

No one notices as he takes pictures of them

While they look at pictures on the walls

I ask him if I am on his camera

And he asks me to sit so he can show me

“Start at the beginning,” I say

There are no pictures of the actual work in any of his photographs

These are 14 megapixel close-ups

Of faces you thought you only made when you were alone

And I don’t want to see myself anymore

But I don’t stop him

These paintings might as well be mirrors

They might as well be

Crystal clear soul windows daring us to stare

a moment longer

The faces we make into them are response enough

To what we see inside

I already know what I see inside

It’s like listening to your own voice on a tape recorder

You can hear how ugly your voice is

Even though

everyone else tells you

“You sound like yourself”

Looking at these pictures is like walking in on your parents having ***

I know I am not supposed to be here

And after about 30 pictures we get to mine

These are 14 megapixels worth of tears drying on my cheeks

Suddenly I wish this museum was on fire

And the beams above us would come crashing down and bury us

I wonder why a little boy felt the need to photograph my soul

And I hate him for it

I hate his smile

And his eyes that have not yet seen enough

And his heart

Beating like a hesitant breeze

Warning us of winter

He must see all this on my face

Because he takes another picture

Then runs to his father almost tripping over the camera

Which hangs from a lanyard

Wrapped around his tiny wrist

I get up and leave

I avoid my own reflection in windows as I walk back to my car

I never again want to see what I feel like

And I will spend the rest of my life knowing

That somewhere

There is a little boy with a camera

That holds a picture of me

While I am crying

No one told me that there was lightning at 4 am

How often does this happen?

Mine was the only car on the road

While driving from your apartment

And there was lightning

Instead of stars

No thunder

No people out that I could see

Just sleepy San Diego

And me

Happier than I have been in a long time

Despite the fact that I could not sleep

And the fact that I am sure parts of me are missing

And the fact that I feel the least alone when I actually am alone

I saw flashes of lightning

As I drove back to my haunted house

But for whatever reason

I was happy

And I wonder

How often does this happen?

Lately I have been moved to tears

Whenever I catch myself alone

And I think no one is watching

Turns out I am still naïve enough to think

People talk about me when I am not around

Like there was anything worth saying

Or that I had the power to move words

Instead of them moving me

They move me

Still dumb enough for this poem to remind me of a joke

Does a bear sleep in the woods?

Does a bear **** in the woods?

If it knocks down a tree and no one is there to see it happen,

Does a bear make a sound in the woods?

Just like if I trap my sobs in a pillow and no one is there

To put their hand on my shoulder

Do I make a sound?

Or if no one is there to punch me in the gut

Do I still double over

From the pressure of begging God

For more patience than this

For more strength than this

For more love than this

For more hunger than this

I go days without eating

Just so I don’t have to feel sick again

Makes me wish it was the cancer

Just so there is something to take outa me

And it’s got me believing in fairy tales

Like God

Or the Wizard of Oz

telling me

You silly man

You had the patience

all along

You had the strength

all along

You had the love

all along

You had the hunger

all along

Bears **** in the woods

And the words move me too

And always remember

To ignore the man behind the curtain

If I were going to change for the better
I’d have changed by now
The end is a wasted incentive
A new beginning is for those who believe

I’ve cashed in all my second chances
And am burning up all my passion

I’ve derived my devils into
The salvation of saliva
When our sweat is not enough wet
To anoint our ***** sacred

Let me leave here without a language
Because my idea of living for tomorrow
Is found in the stories I leave behind

You can’t be chaste and live forever

I have learned in LIFE IS FICTION 101
The endings of all stories need closure
For the reader and the character

Let me leave my legacy
In the places you are afraid to touch

Because
I’ve always been that guy who went a little too far

Let me take you a little too far
Just to the tip of forever and I’ll pull out
I promise

I may not die at the end of this year
But I will be dead someday
And the fear of being forgotten
Is enough to make me stay
And car crash my mouth again

Take a good long listen rubbernecker
And later you can tell your friends
There is this guy you met
And he said some things you’ll never forget

I mean
Really really really
Nasty things

But you liked it

I mean
I never wanted to be the best poet/storyteller/dirtytalker ever
I just wanted to be someone’s favorite
Enough to not forget me later

Because it may not be at the end of this year
But I will leave someday
And the fear that you might forget me
Is hell enough to stay

I can’t stop dreaming about you

It’s almost frustrating that I remember you so well

How even in the background I can make you out despite the chaos

You stand out

Like a ghost on a Polaroid

Now I sleep till noon so I can see you again

This is how you help me remember

That when I wake up sweating

Heart beating a train engine

Tears I forgot I could still make

Drying salty in my beard

There’s nothing to be afraid of

And suddenly

All I wanna do is go back to sleep again

I daydream about sleeping

At work

And in the car

Turns out the recipe for sleep dust in not crushed up Tylenol PM

But I try

And the recipe for happiness in not tucked away

Underneath a blue blanket on an uncomfortable bed that I no longer wish to
sleep in

But I try

With all the pressure of pushing eyelids

Squinted tight

Had me lookin' like a kid again

Afraid of some bad thing in the dark

So I pray for sleep again

And find you exactly as I left you

Like a ghost on a Polaroid

So haunting

And so beautiful

I wasn’t exactly sure how I got home
I surprise myself that I haven’t smashed angels into the pavement yet by my carelessness
For the first time in my entire life I prayed
That I might understand what it is to be a man

That night I dreamt and God spoke to me
While I stood in the center of a wheat field
Frozen like a scarecrow on a cross

I just wanted answers
For why so much is wrong with me

God,
Why are there so many things wrong with me?

His voice was as gentle as the onset of rain
And as convincing as the rumble of thunder in the distance
He said this:

*Of all the times I’ve birthed this world and let it crumble
There have been millions of versions of yourself
Each one lived and breathed and finally died the same man
I don’t expect much from you
Mostly because I designed you to break
Just do me one favor
Don’t hurt anyone
Especially yourself

Every town is haunted
Every city
Every home
There is a ghost caught in every breath

In my house there is the ghost of a woman
Who used to cook in the fireplace after the electricity died
And the social security stopped

She fell in love with the ghost of a cloud
Who is waiting for the breeze to stop long enough
To finally enjoy the heat of the sun
As it pierces rays through it
To the ghosts still here on earth

If we did not turn to dust
We would be walking on layers of bone
We would swim in oceans of ivory
Rolling in the breeze
Sounding like hollow clatter

Gives me chills like disembodied teeth chatter
Oh no
That’s just me
Fitting into my shiver

In my mind there is the ghost of a boy
Who has the ghosts of his teeth
Buried under silver caps
He did not know what bling is
He just didn’t want his smile to feel missing

He did not know what it means to be ugly
And I wear the ghost of his smile

There are ghosts in the souls of our feet
That bind our shadows to our heels
To remind us that we are still alive

All things die
And die again
There are ghosts of ghosts
Finding their place
The way my breath makes peace with the wind

There is the ghost of peace
Practiced in the shaking of hands
Practiced in the lip quiver of a sigh
Fighting back tears of a victory

And there will one day be the ghost of myself
Haunting the house that I died in
Practiced in the patience
Learned from forever

I remember the days when you wanted to die
When your face was on the verge of cloudbursting
Into such a storm
I could feel the traffic jam of the sound in my own throat
Creeping up to tell you I love you

But the words dragged too slow
And I gagged
And vomited in my mouth
Swallowing all the words that should have come out

I know you stained that razor red
And I know rope burn scars when I see them
And I should have known that the safety was off
On that loaded gun I never realized was
So much determination

If I had known
I would have held your hand
And fallen with you
In the same way I fell in love with you

Split second to pavement
Split hairs over who died the longest
Because
I am still here

In the split second between the moment
You laughed at something disgusting I said
And then kissed me for no reason
I knew how this was going to end

She sang lullabies like a driveway

The gravel rolled off her tongue

And sounded like steady rain as it hit the cement

It’s the only sound sympathetic enough

To touch your black and blue

Without causing anymore ache than you already have

The sound holds me like a blanket

Made of black velvet draped over my mother’s arms

It hurts like nostalgia reminding me

That I am too big to ever be held like that again

Even if we weren’t in a cemetery

Anyone would be stupid to stop it

I felt like I walked in on something I wasn’t supposed to

But I watched and listened

As the sounds of back-country

Flowed from the mouth of this woman

Who did not know I was watching her

Her bated breaths were a sermon

Beggin’ her practitioners to accept death

I would have marched to it

Even if it led me to the edge of a cliff

I’d have stepped off careless

Holding on to the idea of home

She finally realized I was listening

And stopped long enough

To shake her finger at my nose

Before continuing

To let the gravel pour from her mouth

Onto a block of cement

Probably the same size as the casket it marked

It begged me to stay

Like a lullaby

Placing me back into my mother’s arms

Reminding me

I am way too large to ever be held that way

Again