Not here
Nor there
Nor anywhere.

Alone
Alone
Alone

No one cares here
Nor there
Nor anywhere

Numb
Numb
Numb

No voice to scream
No body to find






                                                                                                                                                                  Absence

It's a loneliness
of passion that makes me
want you tonight, at twoAM --
or the breaking
of dawn-- cracking
the proverbial egg
of the morning with you over
tea, toast, and your temperament.

It's funny how my legs don't work
like they used to,
and their smile is all
but a glimmer of some instant trapped
in the backseat of your car.
With just enough legroom
for 2.

I've never done this
before. I've never
done this
before.

She was ugly.
A snake of a girl- beady
blue eyes and
blood-red toenails.

The small snigger creeping
up through her perfectly
kept teeth as she spat
at the garbage
of the street: the creatures
she couldn’t see
through her beady
blue eyes.

Her mama would dress her
up in yellow ribbons and green bows.
“Why honey,
you make a sweet little
dandelion,”.

She liked to be
a dandelion, but secretly
she dreamed of being
a marigold:
                                                                ­                       Lips parted to the sun,
                                                                ­                                       seeds planted
                                                         ­                        in the rich soil of her own
                                                                ­                                             blackness.
She wanted to be a marigold.
But she was just
a dandelion,
stepping on petals and
weeding out whatever
she longed to be.

The things that upset  today are simply appalling.
One click of a button can send the someone clawing.
One tap of a finger: a sentence to the abyss.
What happened so horribly that it came down to this?
There's one thing that happened that's true and clear.
The world found media, my loveliest dear.
It corrupted and changed or outlook on life.
It made simple problems as sharp as a knife.
It cut through our smiles with baroque fibs of hate.
Now we are in so deep that it's simply too late.
We sprawl on a wide couch and we barely fit.
We just sit and we watch and we watch and we sit.
We go out and we buy.
We come home and we cry.
As we sink deeper each day.
As our bodies decay.
The quicksand grows thicker.
We start sinking quicker.
All thats left is a head.
We are practically dead.
The sand seeps through our ears.
We don't acknowledge our fears.
The future goes blank.
All the champagne's been drank.
And so comes the end.
Its all over, my friend.
Society's turned the bend.
Life is just a dead end.
Not a wound left to tend.
We are lost in the trend.
It's either fight or defend.
But it doesn't really matter...

The stirring fossils
         The thirsting sentence
Under the ruckus of Monday night hooligans
          Three o’clock
The letter falters
           in the frozen arms of a shaken breath
Water stems up the legs of a boundless monster
          *I am going away- you won’t hear from me

Sitting at the kitchen table,
picking at her fingertips: outstretched,
and barren with loneliness,

she touches them
to the hot mug of tea.
It burns.
Sweet sugars, stinging her sorrows,
drowning her desires in lukewarm water,
black with tears.

They hurt, her fingers,
stretched out to reach
something just barely
in the distance.

A sailboat on the edge
of the ocean.
The deep black sea of her
heart.

She peels  
at the blistered hands.
They are not
her own.

There is poetry in blood- in the veins
that licked up my spine and down
a silhouetted profile in last night's lusting whisper
and this mourning's coffee.

There is something in the way
she holds the knife-cutting
onions for tacos and
laughing for the guests, pulling

down her sleeves, adjusting
her hair in the
reflection of the sink. She looks
just fine
this way, using
these silver deposits to search
for something- perhaps
lost down the disposal
or obscured by drops
of blood from where she nicked
herself.

And she watches the blood seep and
her lines blur with
these words and
the page- or is it
her face?

It blushes.

Words were for whispering small
truths or swollen somethings
with the power of rocks, resting
on sifted oceans--back and forth
in the rocking chair.

Mama's song rings
cracking. Almost
the surface. Barely
a scratch. Lightly
on the record. Hitting repeat.
Falling

just short
of an earthy gesture. A smokey
word and a hallowed cave. Lethargy
drifting in waves.

What would you do,

If my heart had gone blue,
If all the lies we told became true,
If the grass had turned red,
the floor was our bed,
and everything we love, we never knew?

What would you say,

If your tongue became gray,
If dreams had started to fray,
If your voice found its place
in outer space
and the memories we had were washed away?

Would you sing me a song,
something saucy and long?

Would you play me a chord,
one that fluttered and soared?

or would you put on your shoes,
go where you choose
and sing along to your bottle-cap-blues?

I was born in terrorism.
I grew up in earthquakes, tsunamis and rebels:
in shouting blond girls with red eyes and pixel
smiles.

I was born in blurred faces and mute
voices pulling at my
eyes until I dripped the clotted
tears of a thousand soldiers, or refugees,
or children.

I was atomized, crunched
into small seeds and scattered
across a desert field.
Someday a flower would grow there,
budded from the bones
of my being and  
flowered into a fiery,
empty marigold-- dripping
gold and embers across a thirsty desert,
where the shout
of the civilians was distant
enough to ignore.

I was sodomized,
conceived in the roar--
of the rumbling wave- crashing over-
pulsing through her thrashing cave.

I watched my flower whither
and blister with the deliberate count
down and the glare of the
floodlights-- dowsed in water and soil--
or some semblance of the two.  

I was born in the blood
of my mother and died in the
womb of the world.

The tracks stretch on for miles
cold, hard metal
scratched and worn and broken.

Walking in the middle
each rung my personal foothold.

no one knows I'm here
I'm all alone.

I continue
step by step I near my destination
I see hedges of falling, golden leaves
I see the mud-caked, brown leaves
and the rotten fruit.
I see that one, lonely, silent tree

and I continue.
Staring at the rotten planks of rusting metal.
Listening to the metallic clink of my heals against the slabs of steel
'Stainless', they had said with triumphant grins.
They lied
everyone lies.

The once gleaming ore, now covered in mud and eroding plantlife.
Amidst the gloomy fog,
I find one shimering square of steel
smirking and reminding me;
not all lies are full.

I glance up and find myself back where I started,
Next to the hedges
the mud
the fruit
and
the lonley, silent tree


    and I drone onward

Today is tomorrow’s Tuesday
night and I’m drenched in what could have been
your breath or my carbon monoxide. A cocktail of the two,
of us- the gemini
we are. We were.

Your weight felt heavy and my body concave.
Rasping through the speakers of your state of the art
speaker system-my playlist. I made it
for moments like these. Named it blazing lips
and raptured fingers or maybe just:
'Revival'.  

I'll let you trace
my outline, if I can be
your vertex, pulling deeper and harder,
pushing pencil to paper—ink on velvet
and the emptiness of words.

I gave up to you. I give up
through you. What words could mean
more than you’re okay. We’re just
fine:

You could ignite me, or let me simmer
in the twisting of the sheets
or your dreadlocks. Built in
subtlety and
abandonment. The chronicles
of sobriety detailed in the hollow
of your tongue-- the stale space
between two thoughts--a presence
and my innocence: fruit
ripe for the tasting. You could sip
at my pretense and I’d swallow your malice
or we could delve into my irreplaceability. Wait
a week. We’re just fine.

"Get out!"
He yells; orders
"Get out of the car!"
I sit.
"NOW!"
I look around
sorry faces gawk at me
they should be sorry

letting me fend for myself
walking into the desert battlefield with me
then stealing my bags and running away
with sorry snickers
sorry
**** well should be.

"I'M SERIOUS! GET OUT NOW! OR I'LL PULL YOU OUT!"
I gaze out the window
barren deserts,
mossy, sandy mountains,
endless stretches of hard, dead highway

The lock unlocks,
my belongings gather,
my shoes go on,
the handle moves,
the door opens,
my foot ventures to the sandy ground
the door closes
the engine starts
the car moves away
Sorry hands wave at me
my body is still
My face holds steady; a deathly glare of dementia
The car disappears
Realization slaps me dead in the face with its stone hard fingers.

Did that really just happen?
Am I truly all alone?
I look around.
NO people.
NO cars.
Just an endless stretch of highway
Epiphany strokes me with fire warm palms.

I'm alone!
I'm alone!
Sweet freedom!
Sweet, sticky, horrid freedom!
I hurl
I cough and spit wheeze
I wipe my mouth
the saccharine taste of bile still fresh.
I thirst.
I grab my camel back and take a small, deliberate swig.
I put on my backpack and stalk away from the speck of dust car.
I grimace.
I rummage through my never-ending pockets.
I count out five dollars and seventy five cents worth of change.
I grunt.
I hike up the dusty trail.
All ahead of me is sand and dust, sickness and deluging concepts of freedom.
I march on.
I feel the earth echo beneath me as each grain of sand separates.
With each trudging movement my feet slip backward.
With nowhere left to go and nothing left to do
I walk on
with my smile of freedom and my baggage of
Desertion

Head spinning
Feet tapping
Mind wrapping
Thought trapping
Idea capping
Desperation mapping
Quality lacking

Spaces filled
Time killed
Not thrilled
Answers willed

Nails biting
Cheaters sighting
After all nighting
Wrongs not righting
Feel like flighting

Brainpower waning
Lack of knowledge maintaining
Wisdom draining
Composure regaining

Test failing
Arms flailing
Letters mailing
Face paling
The big unveiling
No more prevailing
The action entailing:
My annihilation

Unspoken eclipses.

Simply grazing mediocrity.

Vibrations, sensations; all beyond our control.
Piercing, smoking; fire to the brain.

Watching, Watching the switch of a light
ON off ON off

Forever caught in limbo

cling to the cliff; watching...

watching... the flip of a switch.

It's been a while
Since I've put a pen in my hand
It's been a while since I've let it out
Since I've screamed and listened for the echo
Since I've smiled and waited for the frown.

Sometimes words just don't fit.
No matter how hard you try you never say what you mean
and in the end
you feel sad...
at least I do.

Some people can't smile
and no matter how hard they try it's never real
in the end
you can't help them
and you feel sad....
and empty.....
at least I do

Sometimes I cry just to feel the drip of life trickling like a thin creek from my body.
I let the droplets of heartache slip across my face and freefall to the awaiting floor.
I let them take me over and choke crude sobs from my larynx.
And I let them pool into a puddle of blue devils glaring up at me.

Sometimes I watch the world from a distance and laugh at the turmoil.
I have seen the smoke of death depart from buildings as their bases tumbled effortlessly downward.
Life is temporary.
Life is like a purgatory hotel.
Let's enjoy all five stars.

FM Frequencies shocking
through my heart,
blurring colors with deep,
droning base.

Sitting in the car,
he looks at me and grins.
His thin chuckle chocking
me in its warm embrace.

'keep your eyes on the road'
'keep your eyes on the road'

Turning up the volume and turning down
our thoughts.

Laughing at the kids screeching by:
Naked and angry, with boiling flesh.

He taps the tone with timid tips
of his fingers.

Strumming on my
heart.

Drumming out my
FM frequencies.

what if the lion made love
to the sheep?
or was the sheep too weak
to love and let love and let wear and let hold—
or just strong enough? I can’t
remember.

your body tastes like the warm
fruit left on the windowsill by the bed
where you held
me by the wrists
and let me rot
among red
sheets and potted
plants.

wandering hands
feel wonderful when you’re wanted—
when you want to be
wanted and warped by watched
wrists against red
sheets and warm
fruit.

forget it
and let it
rot

and drip from the edges
of my mind or this cot.
I wish I could call
it a mattress. but it’s
too thin and
too cold to keep me
warm, like the fruits
of your labor.

You’ve been working
too hard to get
me here to hold,
by the wrists,
and wrench
from myself.

let me
write these words
for me— hammered together—

nailing myself,
by the wrists,
to the tips
of these bedposts
in the bed framed
by the broken
plants and the rotting
fruit and the red
blood on the red
sheets.

You can’t see
the red in
the beds of my eyes
through the sheets of your
eyelids, pressed closed,
like the door is
to keep the demons

fresh as fruit
could be,
if it wasn’t left
on the windowsill
by the bed
in my head
that never leaves.

Two months ago I saw you alive and happy
two weeks ago I could have seen you breathing
one week ago I could have touched your porcelain cheek
Now all I can do and ever will do is stare, stare at the finite letters etched into stone
-----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------
May you weight be lifted
May God take your load and let you be free
May you flit forever young through death's waves.
no more pressure, the gray shroud has been lifted and you may dance with the angels on silvered slippers
May you glide gracefully through the enlightened void of forever.
--------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------
What I wouldn't give to see your smile, one last time,
to hear your final laugh and to weep with you at the end,
to hold you near and let you know you are loved by me until the last second,
to be with you one last time, to say my goodbyes: to get closure,
to get rid of the chains pulling me down.
-----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------
If only the world were perfect and I could meet you, in health, to let both of our souls be free.
but you need not worry, for where you are now is the most immaculate place on earth, but detached from earth
-----------------------------------------------------------­----------------------------
May you lie forever in undisturbed harmony
---------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------
I say my farewell to your stone now and can only hope you hear me
but if and when you do,
I want you to know
I. Love. You.

I watched you always
through layers of sea
salted satin and holy oil.

The face of a churning
stomach, the incense of your fingers
and the hailed
embrace of the cathedral. Kneeling on
the floor of the ocean or a prayer bench.

You lead me, always,
through the tunneled,
or the flicker of rounded
sounds and  whispered pews.

Through clouded words  
and anointed promises.
It's cold enough to taste you
in this storm of twenty something verses, hailed
and poured from mouth to mouth.

A shaking hand
and the crumbling of bread:
something outstretched and sinful.
Perversions of a theme.  

You were my
mask and I wore you
out, with time and mercury
poisoning.

In the drenching warmth I see you now:
A song and a purpose.
A verse and a lie.

In the thick
of an evening I let myself
curl around the edges
of your finger, laid
unkempt across the luster
of oncoming night.

This untangling of fingers
and re-braiding of words feels
effortless and blunt, like the cut
of your lips against
matted hearts;
tousled eyes;
layered hands.

I liked when you sang me salty
lullabies, and kissed  
the leaves on my forehead.

When you bundled me
up in sand and soil,
carting me off the county fair,
winning an honorable
mention.

How I miss the parting
of your lips, the lurking
smile: always
there, always
hidden.

Make me a dandelion
crown, and shepherd me
through your shoulders.  

You can see the whole
world from up here--propped
up on the tombstone.

The light burns and my eyes shrivel up in their socket.
They roll back into my head and I sigh.
I look around in there.
I ogle at my insides.
So many colors.
Red, pink, blue, white all intertwined in a thick mesh,
like an american flag ripped up and sown back up in a strange arrangement.
I see the nerve endings shock, a movement ripples through me.
I look around with awe and see my heart slowly pumping.
BABOOM BABOOM BABOOM BABOOM!
I see my stomach churning, burning, dissolving.
I hone in and see the enzymes flutter with haste.
I zoom out.
I look at my brain shrivelled and worn, dying.
I really need to rest it.
My eyes roll forward and the light fries them some more.

Trying to start a poem
with the letter I
is an ordeal
in and of
itself.

People wish for a power
They wish to for invisiblity
to disappear
but
disappearing
is a curse

I have an invisiblity cloak glued to me
with the world's best glue
I can rip and pull and scratch it off
but it only leaves for a second
and gives me nauseating illusions of being part of something
and then it's back
hiding me from the world
smothering me in deep waves of silence and solitude

I'm sitting right here
right next to you
and yet you ignore me

you close the gaps between you
and whisper
******* whispers
they **** me
their sharp edges cut me with piercing un-spoken words

If I could have a power, any power I wanted
I would chose to be seen
to be talked to
to be shared in the moment
to be part of it

Who are you, in your eyes?
What authorizes this?
How overcompensated is your ego to allow you to do this, without guilty conscience?
Why do you do this to me?
When did you become this monster?
Where do I fit in?

They all tie into the one question that haunts my being:

                                                         ­                                                                 ­               Do I even matter?

And you hold the answer
my enemy
my friend
my teacher
my student

my fate
                                                            ­                                                                 ­           *Should I trust you?

Her eyes looked like she'd cried, but her face was an island.

Her oceans were troubled-
tormented with waves and ripples
and the occasional
oil spill.

Her palm trees swayed
in the industrial-strength
night and folded down, absconding some
miraculous treasure.

Her sky was not everlasting and I could
draw the line
where the clouds would descend
over her
brilliant blue.  

They
were rumbling,
any stranger
could see. Her poolside vistas
trembled and down fell
the empire she called
her paradise.

Though it was never truly
hers.

Gritting my teeth to the chalk of a smile,
I ******* tongue-tied tipping
points of platitude and innocuous
glances. I’d like to take
a dip into the powerade
of an eye—poison
my electrolytes and throw
up the unconscious effort to keep it all
down. Bellow
the belly of this
bending in binary is the mending
of mind
body
and soul—the syrup to my cynicism.
I’ve been bundled
together tight enough to taste the tingle
of anticipation just before the
fall
into cool, quiet cotton
candy. I could scream if I cared
to. My madness mumbled and muttered
mulled through and muted—
passed from eye to mind—
mind to measure—
measure to mechanism.
The hum of
impetus. The creak
of rising action. The screech into
final release.I’d like to
plunge my plasticity in a pool of electricity—
singeing all but just the edges.
Rattling rails of self imposed righteousness.
Tattling tales of presupposed hypocrisy.
Only I can mold my moment
at the peaking of this pinnacle
to whatever my mind would
make it out to mean:
a death
a daredevil
a daydream.

When your heart bleeds tears
and your eyes cry blood,

When your head grows nails
and you fingers spout hair,

When your lungs breath acid
and your stomach churns air,

My head in hands
My weeping stifled
the creatures in my head
swirling screaming tormenting each and every thought daring enough to cross my mind.
each comment a blow to my character.

These spiraling insecurities unthinkably true.
Could it be true?

Swampy hands pulling me under
under civilization
a whirlpool of consumerism
selling the next thing
selling me

I DON'T WANT TO BE SOLD

I battle these ideas, these values being forced upon me
They lock me in jail.
I plead
They only stare back at me with stone hard eyes.

I pout.
I will not be sold
I will not be some media *******
I am me.
I cannot be advertised.
I cannot be owned.

"Take your commanding hold of me"
I will not succumb to your sickly media culture
I will not hold off for you.

You may hold me in this suffocating cell for as long as you please
I may live and die a captive
But I will never be yours

he seeps into me
fracturing each bone
contorting each muscle
The rich creamy nonsense of it all
Like a dark chocolate pudding filled with raisins; contrasting in the most horrific way

We don't fit
we just don't
there is no explanation
there is no burning fire
no raging passion
just a thousand pieces of broken china laying on the floor, never to be collected, or reassembled

I feel the darkness
it welcomes me
and washes over me with deep calming breaths
this was never going to work.

1
My face in the puddle on the street,
laying cast away
and gurgling with its last bursts of life
reminds me that nothing lives forever.

I am not that face,
dying in the puddle
inside it, I am something entirely different.

It’s somebody’s mother.
It can’t be me.
Her face droops to the ground in a perpetual frown.
I don’t like it.
I don’t want it.
It can’t be me.
2
My memory fails me and…..
I forget.
What is
that word?  
3
How do you get from there to here—
crying in a delivery room
to crying in the nursing home
because your family left you and you are all
alone.
Faster than you’d ever imagined.

Like my father said at Nana’s funeral,
the casket falling through the ground,
“Too soon”
4
Life
a fly against the window,
then
a fly twitching on the floor.

A tightly grasping hand,
Then,
The  abrupt
Loosening of the grip.

You were growing warm in the tongues of spring
and I was soft.
You wove roots in between my fingertips
and planted yourself
on ground I hadn’t known
could bear
fruit.

But summer was hot
and I was dry.
So we struck
stone against stone, breathed
ashes onto skin
and let settle
into fossil.

We fell back in heaps
Of leaves that scattered
my body, no matter how softly
you brushed them off.
The bramble said to the tree
“If in truth”
and I tangled
myself to shield you
from a sun
I knew would cease
to burn.

Then the cold changed your face.
And I was giving you my warmth
to keep you from growing
frigid and icing
over.

When it all went dark,
I reached my fingertips
to trace the grain
of your forehead
and when I opened
my eyes it writhed
like snakes
that were not mine
to charm anymore.

And then the Light
was waking up the face
next to mine. And the birds
were whispering
softer than I could ever be.
You were growing warm.
And I was stone.

Sometimes we peeled back the sky
and pretended that its whispers never caught us.
With wind whipped faces, and chalky cheeks you rested there,
on the side of the road.
Just moments after
daybreak. A face like molten plastic reflected
off the cadence of the skies.

I see you now, wrapped in metal sheaths
traversing the highways of your smile
to the soft whine of a saxophone.

I'll let you lay and wait
a while, in this circle of morning doves,
tuning in to your pressure points.
Switching radio stations.
And tomorrow, maybe,
we'll find where we are.

I've got a surprise.
It's in my hand.
I'm holding it.
Want to see?

Grumpy?
Mad?
******?
******-up?

Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes

Why?

Everything.
This room makes me cry.
Your eyes make me scream.
This situation makes me yell.
You face makes me sob.

You don't understand.
I don't understand.
Oh, well
Just keep giving me hell.
Oh, well
Doesn't matter.

Not like I care.
Not like I asked anything from you.
Not like I don't need anything back.
Not like I sat and listented and solved all your problems and never once talked about myself.
Not like I ever helped you.
Or like I have problems too.

I'm afraid I haven't paid the title a proper homage.
Oh well,
I can't to anything right
anymore.

Your eyes burn caverns in my soul
Your breath sears scars into my heart
Your horns rake spears across my free will.
You bind me for your life.

I sculpt your mind to ash.
I whittle your heart void.
I paint my own expressions across your face.
I fight you for my life.

In this dramatic scenario who is the enemy?

The fight begins
You lunge into my open arms
I trap you.
* +1 point for me
Your fangs tear my skin
+1 point for you
My mind flies and whirls
Your eyes emulate.
I watch you.
I watch you writhe and offer my assistance.
My hand reaches out...
You grab my hand
-1 point for you
Upon the first touch your mine.
I feel it
This hypnotic state encloses you.
I whisper you commands.
I toy with your morals.
I complicate your values.
+3 points for me*
You leave, according to orders.
The fight is over and I have won.

I rest.
In my sleep I dream.
I dream you.
-1 point for me
I thought the fight was over....
You control my dreams.
+1 point for you
You bind me in this nocturnal jail.
+1 point for you
You lock my words
+1 point for you
The dream is over and you have won.

We are back to where we started.
or are we?
I can't be certain.
You do the math.

When you lose a doll
you buy a new one
and maybe, you like the new one more
and maybe you forget about the old one
entirely

I fall passed out on the bed.
The world swirling around me.
Absolutely colorless.
That doesn't mean its black and white,
Those are colors
My world is blank
empty
Like my vault of emotion was robbed
and they took everything
they left me with blank empty sorrow
although...sorrow is something...
I have nothing.
Why? Why me?
I cry
Although...to cry... you need tears...tears are something...
I have nothing.
The raw heat ****** even the last drop of water from my frugal body.
People say they have the same feelings.
then they don't understand because they have feelings... and feelings are something
I have nothing.
They ask me how?
How do I cope?
I smile and laugh.
"you get used to it"
You don't.
If they looked, really looked past the flowing giggles and locked smiles.
They'd see.
They'd see into my monotonously wistful microcosm of nothing.
Of nothing.
De nada

Most people grow gardens with flowers and peas.
But I am not most people.
My garden is rather unique.
Come quickly outside if you dare take a peek.

Follow me out the door
but don't be too hasty
I will return you here looking awfully pasty.

Into the woods we go
with a feeling of unease
remind yourself you may turn 'round if you please.

You wear an expression of bravery
plastered to  your face
I'll warn you that is entirely out of place.

My garden lies far, far away
The entrance: this long narrow path
Upon return I suggest a nice lukewarm bath.

We march on silently
Straight to my clearing
Where all that dwells is hardly endearing.

We arrive at gates
I push them wide open
and glance at your face, the expression most potent.

You stare out at my garden
Your weary eyes cautious
Searching for normality with obvious malice.

There is nothing of that sort to be found here.
So sorry to disappoint you, my dear.

From the unicorn pasture
to the golden archer
near the tentacle bed
and the swooping vulture

Round the corner lives my large pet dino
being lead by a petite albino
by the pond grows my crop of egg head
while nearby lies a heard of enormous sized rhino

Your gaze falls on my pink sparkly pegasus
being rode by a tiara topped princess
on a field of grass that is blood-red
bordering a lake worthy of the great greek god Isis.

As I watch your face change with shock and a pinch of delight
I see you won't put up a fight
You'll help me grow and raise my unparalleled garden
You might even defend it and be my trusty warden.

All that matters is that my garden is safe.
And to be honest, I couldn't be happier.