I went back to the places once traveled through years ago
they smiled when they saw me
thats a good start

today i turn 36 years old here  
i really just want 36 more
made it past jesus at least
but my father didn’t carpent
but carpets he brought brought on his back
i didn’t do anything really

3rd person story glory glares like novellas
but take it as your own
you’ll blur out your empty spaces
and stick out in just the right way
i answer phones all day so as to not answer my own

i really like want 36 more
ill do better
i promise

Imagine this,
Imagine the windows that I have made
The souls that I have traced
For I wouldn’t exist
If you don’t…
See the world that I have faced

I hope you’re still there…
On the other side of this page
Can’t you see?
There is nothing that I have made
If you turn the other way…

Imagine now…
My heart is spilled on this page
All is futile if you escape
My tears on the pillow case

Look into the eyes
Of the soul which you have read
For I am exposed
And of that I will never regret
And I wish that you will never forget

My last wish…

a jihadi terror blast
of course it was
to **** their christ
to burn the world

look at the blood
its splatter
but it doesn’t seep
because for them
faith is what matters

history changed his skin
to match their writers’ hue
pink, ginger and blue eyes
he looked more like me
than like you

yet when hell killed his friends
that look like me
all eyes dilate
all kids dead
all skin burned
all blood everywhere
all blood red

a plea for the common
that’s what i said
because man < men

Ive been waiting for this rain for days now...
It came down,
Like electricity overhead, the city
Felt magneticly wet to the stem.

Im sitting at the kitchen table with some coffee & bread
Just wrote an email to an old friend that read:
Dear: You, Words. Love: Me.....thats it.
If not tonight, hell read it in the morning
Hell smile, send similar words before he forgets.

Im a random thought for others,
A praise, a blame, a kiss, a handshake
Whichever the case...
Ive always been here for the whole thing.
From the first steps, to playgrounds and graduations
to speakers that play sounds, then exclaimations
From a clenched wheel on a rainy road
To a stenciled feel from a nameless terminal
To dressy shoes, held-back hair in front of strangers,
Yet I had objectives, so I spoke like Ive known them for years
I left a good impression I think, for I never once let them blink.

I closed the door behind me, followed that feel, for I was starving
I walked past living rooms flooded with remote light, toys and noise
I went to the kitchen table, spread out my words into poetry and prose
My records on this day that the rains came....
Just another day....
Where I was there for the whole thing....

waves are like people
no two are alike
yet they all end up doing the same thing
like the one before it
and the one after
at their own pace
they’ll wait
until the perfect time
that one that just feels right
but when it comes
the beach is different
tastes have changed
because the trends have too

I got alotta things I want to say
so when you got nothing better
than to hear me mumble
the usual suspects,
the whole ensemble
I’ll be the one in leather
the one that was just across the hallway
at that office on main street
you used to temp at, ‘member?
in summer ’06
or was it fall of ’09?
it doesn’t matter
the whole cast is here, yup
each is reborn when i tell a tale of theirs
but only if you insist
that I got alotta things to say
and that i want to.

When the earth fully opens
Thick air free range loitering
Shades of brown and grey ossilate in the corner of my eye
The ceiling fan above my resting head
Street lights fight the nights sky so we don't have to
As we stay nested in ,
When everything opens
In August

i promise ill betray you
the more you hold on your to assumptions and emotions
the more ill play with you
all those ideas from faceless voices in the maze
you’ve inherited happily
because who has the time to think on their own?

I Wrote It

I poem if I could
I’ll write it
A stone made of wood
I’ll bite it

The highs and lows
Survive on your toes
Means letting go
I know it

Left cold
Let in
Letter by letter
I wrote it

I poem if I could
I’ll write it
A stone made of wood
I’ll bite it

The highs and lows
Survive on your toes
Means letting go
I know it

Left cold
Let in
Letter by letter
I wrote it

A faint train blows
Sliding along the Earth's shore

Your pillow rustles against your head
The noise competes
With that distant blurrly breath
Don't let

Because just when you lay still
And leak into slumber

You'll forget its existence
You'll hear the faint train blow
You'll remember then

my indifference means
a lack of something
of something good

of a girl
of a friend
of a song
a moment, a meal, a memory

if they asked me how I feel
that's what I would say

but they didn't ask
because they aren't here

that's my indifference

I don't think people realize how fragile it all is
how it just falls apart when you're looking out of the window at something else
at first you don't realize because it happens bit by bit
you'll get used to it

the culture war looms
it pulls out your skirt on fridays
take me out please
take me where the boys are
you know you want to
it tugs at your sleeves saying
oh you didn't hear what they said about you?
flag wars they sing

truth is a preference
it's true if it feels right
if it doesn't well
it's fake news of course

oh you didn't know non-player character
will you play to win?
because feelings don't care about your facts

you see I was born in 83
in the newly formed islamic republic of iran
three years into the trench warfare that changed the psyche of a nation forever
high on the islamic revolution
full of fury
blood and soil
blood and soil
the hors d'oeuvres of the war
we fled in 88 three months before the war ended
nothing gained nothing fulfilled

I see the absolute worst in people
I watch them and learn much from what they get outraged by and what they don't
it all starts small rooted in a search for meaning a sense of purpose
once this is defined just watch them turn on each other
the other essentially

war needs a dragon
war needs young men to believe
the culture war has always been there
like a monster’s nails casting an ominous shadow
behind the bedroom door tapping away at your mother's vinyl flooring

when people get safe
with fear at bay the tapping dims
but when an immigrant stabs an infidel
or a black man is apparently murdered on video
the tapping gets louder
what is the dream of the foreigner hoping to penetrate the walls of the golden city
to weaken it?
from the russian bot to the isis video slicing brody's neck right before your eyes
it gets at you doesn't it?
doesn't he look like you?
your white knuckles are shaking
yes yes the monster says
I will draw you in

because I'm just a monster living in the hallway
and I'm nothing without you
is what he'll never ever tell you

but it's true
he aims to exaggerate the divisions within your family
to exploit it
to challenge your identity
to play with your emotions
as you've done to them
so you know this game very well
you just don't know the side of the table that will
as in the iran-iraq war both the us and the uk sold arms to both sides
the great game

War is profitable and the opportunity to cash in on it is tempting
people don't have ideas
ideas have people
how fragile at all is

this very society that I cherish that I sought refuge in
my family
the vast base
the stable economy
common law
democracy
if life started in the east
then the reason to be of the west is to carry on the torch
to learn from past mistakes and to be a light unto the world
until our very toes are inching at the pacific with no further to go
will I find myself staring at the window pondering what happened
like so many countless men throughout history have?

how fragile at all this
we won't know until it's taken from us
not by the formless foreigner but by our own very hand that opens the bedroom door
to experience our darkest insides that grows and grows endlessly
until we have nothing else
the monster in the bed now
in all that cold
and all that dark

I was on the plateau when it happen.

I always hated going under it in the middle of the day. It felt like a mirror; a reflected isomer — too still and too sad to be near. Shadows give that same feeling, but with blurred corners feeling slightly farther away.

I prefer going under the bridge at night. Cooler, like sunglasses that you don’t have to put on. The night as a way of saying, “It’s not up to you what you get to see now. I decide what’s important for you. Which is absolutely nothing”.