A shuttering light on the porch
filtered through crackling orange trees.
Their heavy dry leaves
smashing into the black concrete.
I shield my eyes
away from the intensity
of fading moments
         lost time
to the day that started so slow.
But still the stones
        glow amber
as if smiling warmth
at me
and anyone
quiet enough to stop
and watch.


© 2013

i-cant** remember the last time i slept
and woke feeling like the day
was going to be something more
than just a continuation of the last desperate
desperation clinging to all these dreams
and promises from people outside of my head
but somehow they all end up in there
with their judging eyes and brows furrowing
at every tentative step taken
towards a life i want but can never seem to track
down to the wire
always coming down to the last
second left before i die
and i dont even want to try to
make-it into something greater than
all the ones that came before
because i dont believe in endings
like i'm some sort of exception to the laws of degradation
in-this-physical-realm we just drift through
unaware of all that we touch and push away
when all i want is to be pulled close and closer and closest
because nothing is worse than being
a little less than fully loved
like whats so ******* wrong with him
that you cant take one more step
if only to see how it feels to become the center
of someone elses existence
and to fill all those hungry cracks
in a soul left over from previous lives of
past-villainy must be the cause
because its easier to blame things that dont exist
than to accept my own responsibility
for the state i'm in and the mistakes
i've made so many promises
to myself only to break them
just to prove that nothing ever comes of hoping for
change occurs first from within they said
as they pushed and prodded and begged
for me to perk up and be something
i'm not ready to listen
because im afraid to look
through the steel grey clouds
and see that all along they kicked because they cared.



© 2013

creeping** cold fingers slipping
through the cracks in
our-house is built upon old western roots
that sometimes find their way
up into our heads and fill us
with these notions of history and purpose
as if an accumulation of past events
was enough to create meaning out of a shapeless empty
night is where they all seem to run
off to in search of something more than themselves
but mostly just recognition
as they hold up mirrors to the world
imploring everything they see to be as they are and love as
i-love the way she would bundle up her hair
and let it rest atop her
like a curled sleeping little cat
with-sideways-eyes
she glanced but never truly looked at me
which was enough to shatter
my inclinations towards something more
than just acquaintances
or any other empty word
thats less than what
i-always-wanted
to be more to someone than they were to me
and maybe i am
but it never seems to happen with the right people
or maybe i havent been paying attention
to all those I left behind crying alone
before life stopped letting me hurt
because living takes things
that dont exist like
balance becomes impossible in this world of flux
where everything we are and want
just ebbs and flows.



© 2013

Haunted by duality
always
there's a reply
       creeping up
       depths
       inside.
Mouth still shut
cant
stay quiet
       like lights
       in the pines
screaming meaning
       no one
       hears.





© 2013

My heart ticks
       incessantly waking up
       people as they crash
       one second into the next.
Without compromise
       cant understand why
       it all always unravels
       back into shifting gears.
These perfect little notches
       sliding into place
       so we can fill each other
       into something greater than this.



© 2013

We just stood and watched, too scared to speak
too stupid to care.
         Life clings admirably
         to be ****** all encompassing
         elements
         Whither in warm.
The center is here
real but shapeless
the one strange world
branched beauty.
I think they're conspiring
         against me.



© 2013

My thoughts are laced in velvet.  Silky smooth, they glide from one to the next.  Effortlessly shifting into a myriad of unknown, and roads less traveled but somehow familiar, still like twilights and moon rises and time that shifts so slowly as to seem impermeable like that secret box full of the worlds mysteries and truths and all our meanings tucked away so tightly safe.  I once thought I wanted to tear at the seams, reveal the figures behind these tall smirking shadows.  Never again.  So content to sadly soak in the ineffable until skin is porous enough to retain a fraction of what is it to live and breathe and feel.  The universe reflecting in the gleam of her maybe-forced smile, I could tell by the jaded glaze stuck on those decaying eyes.  I didn't mind.  Like so many faded stars, there is life in death.  There is beauty in decadence.




© 2012

It starts slowly
with a thread
pulling out
like clumps of hair
from a frazzled scalp
aching through
bones hot
with chemicals chemicals
piercing in
screaming blood
streams trickling down.



© 2012

We walked through.
        Stingy back alleys.
        Decadent
        in their fading
        twilight glory.
Obnoxious dumpsters.
        Teemed
        with rusted belongings.
We took pictures.
        Discussing technique.
        In depth
        connected by
        secret jargon.
Enlightened meaning.
        Dripped
        from knowing tongues.



© 2012

Growing in trees
        Life
Tinkles out
in every
        Leaf
The tips of branches
reaching out
just to
       Reach.



© 2012

Crawling, screeching
cracks, slither
                across the
                        rotting
                             ­   table
with troubled tenacity.



© 2012

Cradled,
sweetly nestled;
A little thing.
        Fiercely palmed.
        Strangely
        crushable.
Sing for me.



© 2011

There is
steeped madness
atop mantle piece cliffs
      as if
      poised,
in reluctant certainty at our hot fate.
Somewhere,
in the steamy depths
of man’s mind, our mind
      my mind
      stews and perpetuates
      fuming intent
      eroding at the edges,
of life for what
it is and isn’t
or wont be for
future tenses and a
     conceptualizing
     intensity in a
place which hasn’t
ever been realized
or
even moved along a
     narrow line
     of directed discourse,
     dictated dialysis:
deviation
from the center-ed
path
of righteous, heavenly
glory
      of the gods,
      in the clouds,
      on the prowl in the wicked black of sneering night.
For Retribution!
For Respiration!
For Residual indications on the slick success of cheering fights.
      and on and on
      were that they were
      forever forward still.
But were still revisiting things
which were never seen
in re-wrought thought
I thought
I saw but not
because seeing isn't believing.
    
And believing isn’t anything really
but lengthy
listless lists
and heavy
habitual hope.



© 2011