The emptiness glides through my veins
Like empty subway tracks and tunnels
The vision of the cleared sky, starless
Yet so obscene. The emptiness. Vast, yet
I am confined; trapped.

The random movement
Feels scripted.

We only harden ourselves
When we are truly threatened

Until then, we love
And we love viciously

We both know how addicting
It is to lose your humanity.

I remember when
We fought those
Angry Puerto Ricans
With their shiny knives
And one of them got you
In your thigh, John.

I held your head in my
Lap as the blood from my
Nose trickled down your
Neck and chest and we
Were pretty drunk and
Very high on who knows
What and you asked if
You were going to die.
I said, "No, John. It's
Just in your thigh."

I remember that look;
Disappointment.
A furrowed brow and
You threw a gaze
To the wood-line in the east.
We all knew that feel.
The disappointment when
Death evaded us.
Cunning fellow.

I stand here on the
Edge.
The soft breeze carries
Your scent
Through my nostrils and into
My lungs.
The mountainside is
Steep.
If you let me hit the
Jagged rocks
At the bottom,
I will surely
Die.

So don't let
Me down now,
love. Make sure to
Catch my
Fall.
Make me a nest with
The sweet honey
Words of your
Shockingly red-violet
Mouth.
Give me a parachute of
Kisses to catch the
Air with on my
Descent.

The concave curvature
Of her crescent cheeks carried
Me back to the beginning
Of time, to the ground where
Love laid the very first pieces
Of her infinite foundation
To where the rock met the sea
At the distant shorelines of desire
Where the mighty waves of passion
Crash on the bedrock of solidarity

I, the small being, coupled with you,
Tapped into the endless well, throwing
Ourselves into eternity. The sky stretches
And is covered with the burning stars
Whose distant screams are the sonata
Of the oscillating sound waves of
The song we both share. You and I-
I was your ocean and you were my
Moon. Though your brilliant reflection
Undulated on the face of my violent waves
We could not touch, separated by light
Years through which time stretches and
Retracts and ultimately sums to zero

And yet here you are, my gentle breath
Is the soft wind in your valley, gently
Bending the stems of the magnificent flowers
That abound in your lush fields. Your vines
Wrap around my trunk as my heart pants
For you like the fawn after the cool brook
And is filled with the cool refreshment
That fills my veins. Your rivers flow into my
Seas and my seas empty into your streams
And we find ourselves here, in this cycle,
Realizing that the separation would
Be the sudden death of the both of us.

"Red Tailed Hawk"
Written in 2009 - 16 years of age

He sits on his perch
Nothing can touch him
Nothing can hurt him
Eyes like daggers
Eyes as cold as ice
Talons sharp like fire
Swift, keen, he waits

The parent blackbird
Shrieking in despair
Dives in again and again at him
Unscathed, he sits, waits, and watches
Without warning, he faints
Falling onto his prey
Talons and beak
Tearing into flesh
Stripping away the life

As I stood next to him
We talked about things
Gazing out into the lake
We were like lifelong friends
I asked him, "why are you fearless?"
The reply came from within his eyes
It was his domain, his territory, his life
A reply in simplest of terms
For the hawk, nothing is complex
After you have stripped away the flesh

Rewrite - Present Day. 20 years of age.

The sharp eyes pierce the veil of the day
Sitting on his perch, he silently waits
The singing trees grow quiet at his presence

The target in sight- the nest cradled
In the boughs of naked limbs is the victim
Of his narrowed gaze; silence is deafening

Unsheathed talons slice the air, death
In their grasp as the screams of the
Victims erupt from the noiseless space

Diving to and fro, the mother's desperate
Attempts to salvage the lives are useless in
The winged fury of the red-brown beast

The dagger-like beak tears away the
Life from the little ones. Feathers float
Gently to the ground- the silence returns

The fearlessness resonates in the air
Between the great beast and I. Earth,
Air, Trees. The great domain of the hawk

I walked to where the bones lay and
Find little chalk outlines. The flesh is gone.
Remaining only the simplest form of things.

And what have we left when our flesh has
Been devoured and dried up? The structures of
Our forms, the purest and most exemplary.

God bless this silent space
It's inside of these crevices I pace
Little drops of blood around
The pools inside your heart abound
I'm swimming through the cavern
Drinking up the love I earn
Perhaps in the right ventricle
I'll find the right strings to pull.

What is it about these tired, melancholy streets
That has you all hidden in your little houses?

My feet tread one over another and yet the only
Sound is the echo of my footsteps. Where are the other bodies?

I see no lovers holding tightly, hands in hands and arms
Intertwined as if the cold wind could pull them apart.

I saw you peek from the beat up little house, I was
Enjoying a conversation with your father. Loud laughs resonate.

I saw you peering through the trails of cigarette smoke and
Tattered blankets which keep you hidden in the shack.

Those blankets, much like when I saw you. Tattered and
Not so sightly. Worn by age and smoke. Sickly and stained.

Alas, my dog runs up the field and there is not a soul in sight;
The osprey have left their perch on the cellular tower.

Where are your huddled little bodies, little town?
The winter has not reached its age to have created anxiety.

The anxiety that forces them from their homes
In an earnest search for the sun's warm rays.

Cinema, you have it all wrong!
Insanity is not the man who
Shouts at people in the streets nor
The man who digs the imaginary
Bugs out from under his skin.
That is the abuse of drugs-
The effects of long term deprivation
Of reality. No, this is not insanity-
Merely flashy, fabricated shock.

Insanity is subtle. The slight smile when
A frown should be worn. The uncontrollable
Giggles that occur when you watch the
Stoplight turn from red to green.
The patterns, the visions of things that
Are inexplicable, unable to be described with
Language. No, no drugs here, these things
Are my mind's free form madness. A creation
Wrought from the deep trenches in my mind's
Winding alleyways. You have it all wrong.

There we stood, my dog and I
The wide open expanse of the winter
Field beneath our feet. The vapor of our
Breaths mix as we charge through the
Snow, side by side. I see the earnest expectation
That shines in his eyes. A bond is formed.

A sudden stop, ears perked, there exists only
The dead silence of the space between us and
The woodland trees in the distance. The thin
Border between our world and the wilderness.
We **** our head towards the sound from the
Trees- the distant yip of coyotes. A tension grows.

I see the silhouettes, they silently glide across the
Dark horizon of the forest. The taunting yips call
Out to us. The hair stands up on his back, on my neck.
Blood in my ears, the taste of iron at my teeth. We
Crouch and stalk, a snarl forms in his toothed mouth.
The opponents stand, sizing up. Yellow eyes lock.

My veins pulsate with blood, our hearts pump as one.
The dog looks back, his eyes begging for the command.
Pleading for the shedding of blood as the animosity fills
My eyes with blackened darkness, hearkening to the days
Of spears and stones. My fists clenched and a snarl forms
Around my lips and my teeth. The space shrinks.

I can taste the blood, I can hear the wounded screams of
Our opponents as they fall at our feet. Tearing of flesh
And breaking of bone as his teeth rip skin and my hands
Crush necks. And yet a sudden moment of clarity visits,
And I grab the collar despite the desperate cry. A retreat is made.

Caught up in the appearance of it,
The inner movement means nothing.

It does not matter the bending of the tree,
Only the color of its autumn leaves.

The glow, the sparkle, the flash, the color only,
The darkness within, the silent movement is nothing.

Pretty to the eye, soft to the touch,
These tactile stimuli are sought after.

Astounded by the beauty on the outside
Terrified of what lies beneath. The unknown.

The summer sun is so beautiful,
What then of the snow? The dark clouds?

Is not every silent movement of nature,
Beautiful in its own form and nature?

The appearance, my friend. Pluck and pull,
Tighten and pin. Paint your face on.

What lies beneath? But the echo and rustle,
Of the dead, sullen, dried husks. Dead souls.

My very soul melts
For the weariness that seems to
Dig its claws into my back and
Drag me, wherein my flesh cleaves
Unto the dust upon which it falls.

And it seems that the darkness
Of this night has consumed me,
That the weight of this burden
I carry has defeated me, and my
Mind has receded into nothingness.

And yet my blood still courses,
Burning through my veins, and my
Eyes are sharp, piercing through the
Cursed veil as I slowly ascend, pushing
My body upward to meet the heavens.

The roots of my soul reach deep and
Spread wide, anchoring me to the soil
Upon which I stand, and shall continue
To stand. These chains, they fall as ash to
My feet. Thus, I am; here I stand.

I've seen it before
The silent shift behind your
Eyes, or behind your words.
In one beautiful moment, the heart is
Spilling over with passion. Then,
You don the new face, the new
Character; a change not so careful,
Not so elegant as that of the autumn
Leaves. A drastic change, like a car
Crash or an avalanche. As the face
Of the mountain changes, so does the
Face of your love.

The month of December made the
Snow-less mist seem like an
Unexpected, yet pleasant guest. The mist
In October, on the other hand, is a
Shadowy figure who stands under the
Street light in the distance or the
Man hiding in the bushes as you
Unknowingly pass by. I realized that all of
My fears were a product of time and season.
Perspective is everything, whispered the soft mist.

I walked by a house that you and I might have
Shared, but you are long gone and the I who loved
You has ceased to exist. Now it is just I, a single ray of
Light emanating from the silent spaces between the
Thick woodland pines who charge along at my side.
The I with the beard, the broad shoulders and the
Deepened voice. The echo of a childhood lisp still
Resonates behind my teeth.

I thought of the art that was growing between my
Ears and behind my eyes, the masterpiece that no one
Can see because it can't escape the prison bars. An idea
Too large and a facet far too small. The mist encouraged it,
She tried her hardest to coax it from me, to grease the bars
Which held it captive within my skull.

It was one of those
Mornings
Where everything seemed
Farther away than
it actually
was.

Grey moons, two of
them. Directing the ebb and
flow of my desire. Pulling my
heart forward where it turns
back to recede on the
horizon of my restraint.
The shorelines of my soul are
littered with washed-up
experiences, left by the
vessels who have been
destroyed in the stormy seas of
my tumultuous love.

Entwined in this seemingly
Endless dance. We stare at
Each other, neither daring to
Make the first move. The
Tension is tangible. The
Smells of unspoken restraints and
Inner conflict sift through the
Air that lies between us.
It is a dance performed
Without motion. An action
Without movement.

Sometimes I hate
Every single word I write.
Nothing can be good enough,
For what is a word? A mere
Vessel. A vessel can not be a
Complete expression of that
Which it carries. For how could a
Vase of water contain the
Vastness of the sea, or the
Power of her waves? My words:
Futile attempts. Mere vessels, a
Partial representation of a soul's
Cry. What am I left with?

She dances so very softly.
Slender feet carry her across the
Infinite expanse of my mind.
Gliding, she's striding over pains and
Apprehensions as she brings me in
Closer, holding me tightly to her chest.
The heartbeat is soft, so very steady.
The eyes, like two beautiful stars.
Choicest of the heavens, none like them
Exist. They glisten, penetrating my soul.
Casting pure gazes upon me; so very beautiful.
I open mine, and alas, she is gone.
Yet I still hear that little pitter patter
The sound of her feet tapping inside
So very quietly.

These words are meaningless.
Like crumpled up husks or
A pile of ashes. They'll be
Blown about and tossed by the
Wind and yet I still find myself
Writing them.

It has always perplexed me
The unspoken laws of nature
The fowls swiftly follow their
Undeviating migrant patterns
Like long highways- better than man
Will ever hope to build.
The wolf never leaves the
Woodland heights. An invisible
Boundary is laid between the creatures
Of the desert and the creatures
Of the forest. The ones who live in the
Dark, dank ponds and the woodland
Shallows are never seen roaming
The grassy plains. What is it about man?
Is it his sense for adventure?
Or his passion for destruction?

Tethered in cement fields
By steel clocks
Nothing is real.

I think about how my feet have never
Touched the soft moss in that distant forest
Or how my hands have not felt the tear-like vines
Of the weeping trees in the foreign jungle
My legs have never strained to carry
My body up the side of the snow kissed
Mountainside. These places are all so
Familiar to me and yet I have not
Breathed in the sweet smell of the moss
Nor felt the rough skin of the vine
Nor tasted the pure snow of the mountain.
Yet I possess such a clear picture, such a
Beautiful image in my mind; with all the
Familiarity of my mother's soft face.

I couldn't tell you
Just how many times
I've walked through the
Pitch black aisles of these
Woods and heard them
Whispering their secrets of
Eternity and of a life more
Grounded and roots that grow
Into the core, bending, some
Breaking, but most standing,
Glistening as they reach
Towards the soft autumn sun.

What is the sum of
Man's wisdom?
Stars gaze into the
Earth and no one
Hides from the
Glare of the sun and yet
What are we, but a
Shadow under it's face?

The cloud's vapor collects
And dissipates, and so is the
Life of man. What more then,
Could the words of his
Mouth amount to, or the
Actions of his mortal flesh?


Knowledge is created and
Destroyed continually.
Much less is the breath of
He who whispers it to be
Exalted. So breath what
You are on my skin and
Let the dew of your soft
Words collect on my flesh,
Only to be erased by the
Heat of the sun.