It was obvious how to do it
Yet I couldn’t figure it out
Until I saw it in a movie
Then it became a question,
Was I wicked enough
To pull it off?
Was I strong enough
To see it through?

In one instant, you’re alive,
Eyes darting, heart pounding,
Gushing love, throwing temper tantrums,
Collapsing under weight of existence.
In next instant, you’re dead,
Cold and lifeless, end of story.
Leaving arriving escaping
The perspiration ***** smell of fear

People tell me how smart I am,
But I’m not really smart,
More like lucky, and fast runner.
I run from everything.
Did I ever tell you about the times
I’ve run straight into death’s grip,
And that *******
Keeps spitting me out

One more day, year, decade.
Ok, I say, and make more drawings,
More paintings, more poems,
More stories, more lies.
Live long enough, everything you know collapses.
I know I can be a terrible *****.
I apologize.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Dreaming of moving away
Packing only bare bones of love
And commitment to never betray
Leaving arriving escaping
I wish I were married to one woman
And we lived quiet life sustaining passion
Is sustaining passion possible?

Under weight of existence?
One more moment, hour, night,
Eyes darting, heart pounding,
Gushing love, emotional insecurities,
Making more drawings, more paintings,
More poems, more stories, more lies.
People tell me how smart I am.
I can’t figure it out.

She looks at mirror
Cannot understand
What she’s become
Never queen her entire life
She glances out alley window
Into 4am darkness
Feeling tragic ending
To accidental romance
Premeditated ******
In Chicago in bitter winter
In rundown diner kitchen
Haphazardly displayed
Sharp shiny axe
Above doorway
White lit sign with red lettering
That spells TIXE

I’m the worst **** in the world
No one is worse than me.
For my next bride,
I shall marry the Queen of She
Ba (Academy presents her majesty.
Nominee gushes.
Audience applauds exhaustively.)
She will manhandle me,
Liquor on her breath,
Feathers framing ******.
Inflamed blossoms drenching submissions
She told me to delete
The photographs,
Even though there were many
Caught her beauty in amazing graces.
She hated me
For putting up so little struggle,
Obliterating her splendor
Indifferently.
I wanted to prove
Deserving of her love.
she dilly-dallied, distracted.
I cried pitifully, “Where’s my girlfriend?”
Chain of events to nothingness
My desolate existence
One deficit after another
Honed to fragile cutting-edge.
I wanted her to pleasure me
With subtle painful tinge.
She brilliantly found fault
Every conceivable way to blame.
She accused, “you fiddle in noodle factory.”
She was the true artist,
Dissatisfied with the sound
Of my heart beating.
You want to play hardball with the big boys?
You better show up with bulging intelligent creativity.
You complain about
Every infinitesimal gargantuan thing.
Nothing makes you happy.
I will always love you no
Matter how impossible.
Looking back,
You were an impossible chance.

In search of what we do not know
desire what we cannot know
she seeks strange desires inflames.
Strange is the only life I’ve known.

When I was young
I thought for sure
Some girl would marry me
And we’d be happy.

I didn’t know
evils in this world,
tasks of aging disease death.
Under duress I vowed

to be good boy
Most of the time I’m scared.
Life is risky. Everyone
is so treacherous

including myself.
I read somewhere
or someone once told me
poets originate from jesters jokers

hawking insults for king's amusement.
Undress
Before I speak another word
Reveal yourself

Will you swear you’re true faithful devoted
never cheated on a boyfriend
promise to marry me
then run back to you ex?

Take your ******* clothes off
please.
Are you terrified yet?
You are an object

to fiddle with, my exquisite
fetish. Sashay round room
sway hips strut. Sit.
Scoot down. Stay.
Bow your head.

Bend your knees.
Closer, show me
your most intimate
soggy swollen dark

down there. Put it
on the table.
Look into my eyes.
Good Girl.

Between you and me
this doesn’t feel like poetry anymore
hawking insults for king's amusement.
actuality I prefer flip-flop
sometimes tied, other times knotting.

Here’s the routine
She gets ******* at me
And I say *******.
Later I realize how much I need her

Beg forgiveness offer anything
Just to crawl back into her arms.
As far as I can tell
You’re all a bunch of tidy

*******. No one wants to own up.
What is the matter with you?
Accidents happen.
You’re not safe here.

Pendulum swings
ditch gets deeper
trusting what we know not
cannot know.

Intelligence is delicate thread
Other times knotting.
Scoot down
A little bit more for me, please.

“If there is no god than what do you believe in?”
“Nothing.”
“How do you pray to nothing?”
“I don’t pray.”
“What do you do when everything turns horrible, and you’re loved ones are endangered?”
“I make plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Lunch, dinner.”
“But what if meals are not a consideration? Like if your loved one is anorexic bulimic?”
“I make other plans.”
“What kind of other plans?”
“Plans to make enough money to get free of people like you who ask too many questions.”
“Oh.”

I forgot what I was thinking. Maybe I was thinking about love and loss. It is nearly 3 am. She is long gone. Memory is the biggest **** of them all, lying, betraying, reinventing everything, making passion with anyone, laughing hysterically crying.

In Lieu of Abuse
1
I have problems with letting go, moving on, losing people. Nothingness is recurring nightmare. It seems like events around me aren’t good, but I get used to them, then ground pulls from under me, and I’m supposed to adapt, which I do too slowly, and grow accustomed to not good situations getting worse, when ground pulls from under me again, and here I am in recurring nightmare, only it’s reality.
2
I watched exquisitely lovely girl picking her nose and eating boogers. Wow, I thought, this girl is *****. What I mean by men are pigs, imagine old homeless lady tripping and falling on street, and her skirt flying up exposing naked ******. What is the male hesitation quota?
3
So let’s just say, for argument’s sake, women are wiser tougher gender, and men are boorish dunces. Reasons for enduring patriarchy are fear, or personality weakness, or female longings for daddy worship. So let’s just say, for argument’s sake, I’ve just signed my own “Satanic Verses.” I hate quarreling. It’s not nearly as much fun as making-out. Up, down, up, down, I love you, miss you, love, love, love you, yes, I do. California is definitely due for another earthquake. My guess is two to three weeks. Didn’t the Giants win the World Series this year? Yup, my guess is two to three weeks.
4
Respect is directly linked to gratitude. Sometimes respect is easy to forget, mindless drifting easier, degrading life’s worth a breeze. ****. If I was a fish, swimming in a bowl, blowing bubbles, flapping fins, splashing around tank, trapped in cramped space, I think I’d go crazy, and bang my face against aquarium glass, smash my head to bits, floating to water’s surface.
5
Pretend you were never born, not a trace anywhere, and you have no idea what existence and consciousness mean, or anything, or nothing.
6
What resolve? Dance the dance, drift to sleep, dream neverland, nevermind, nevertheless endure recurring nightmare. Okay, let’s try again, make a plan, build a house, and leave all this negativity behind. Okay, okay, so I talk to myself, somewhat incessantly. I think obscene ill thoughts. I fantasize a woman tied to bed. Do you still want to make a plan and build a house? I asked my shrink, “Why did you become a psychiatrist? Did you originally intend to be a doctor in another field?” She replied, “I’ve always only wanted to be a psychiatrist.” I wonder why.
7
Man walks into a woman. He says, “It’s dark in here.” She says, “Maybe your eyes will adjust to the light, maybe not.” He stumbles out into night. The moon eclipses.

Uninvited Guest* Annexed

We are seated on opposite sides of ottoman,
Brother and sister,
long history of knowledge tenderness contention attachment,
sharing glances psychological plotting.
The uninvited guest plops down between us
large foreign hand touches both our thighs
We look beyond to each other
The intruder senses our bond

knows where we belong
but must go separately
Far away from the other
Curled fingers tell us we are
Strangers on infinite journey
And all we know is nothing
The air turns chilly

I am fraught with fear
My sister is the braver one
She makes a move to stand
The uninvited guest breathes deeper
Weight she cannot oppose
Our eyes search frantically for each other
But it is too late

* http://oursalon.ning.com/profiles/blogs/the-uninvited-guest

The dead ask nothing

Nothing offers no answer.
Life makes demands.
She reminds me of someone.
I once was deeply in love.
The glass is empty,
yet she keeps sipping the straw.

The surgeon’s serrated saw,
severed crown of his skull,
to allow brain swelling.
The detachment is frozen,
in purgatory, in Paris, California,
in as much as I can gather.

I keep making
the same mistakes, over and
over. Eternity is preposterous.
She has same prominent forehead, same
brown silken hair, same slender fingers
as my ex, same buttoned-up betrayal.

“Man-up! You ******* *******,”
she said, he said, their
ceaseless quarreling
makes me hide.
Stomach knots, breathing hurts.
The allure of her stink.

My sister insists
it will be okay.
The glass is half.
Mom can’t remember.
Everything fits neatly.
She burrows in the booth.

This one needs money,
that one needs parts,
liver, lung, cerebrum, heart.
Her hands cup the glass.
She gazes beyond.
Everything is a lie