I find myself lingering more and more in the emptiness and because of this I awake in the chaos of a misplaced life. I am constantly forced to build an empire from the ruins of my mind, but the bricks never align the same each time.

                       I am
not doing
                          well. I’m
     not
                                 doing well
          at all.

You come and go,
like a ocean wave, the victims of gravity game. I am a child running towards the water, as the moon pulls you away, but as soon as it comes rushing back; I am running away from the manifest roar of you:

It lingers in my ears, like a the ringing of a bell as you walk'd into my world. I can seem to escape you, you haunt me. Every where I look, run or go to hide you are there with your piercing words and lost smile.

Giggling like a fool, you soon stop and for a perfunctory moment, you realize I am not worth the chase. I am not worth the foot ache, the lack of breath, the wind stinging your eyes, that create golden tears that trickle down your face.

You begin to flow away, effortlessly gliding away from me, towards the moon. Your lost lover, the intruder in our game of two. I close my eyes, and take my place, because once again this is my game and you are mine to chase.

sjr 1/14/16

They're looking for their daily bread
searching like they're the walking dead
just fighting for a chance to get ahead.

You want change, but you're afraid to part
with all the junk that seems like art
guess that comes when you trust your heart.

We never walk the streets at night
scared to death to do what's right
while proclaiming to proclaim a star so bright.

Trying to live life without a prize
maybe one day I won't be paralyzed
not to be famous, but perhaps to be wise.

it's 3:30 and i'm up
thinking about the past again
drowning in the thoughts you bring

i'm starting not to make any sense
and i can't see past my phone screen
the time keeps changing, getting
onward with the night

i keep dreaming
and not really dreaming
i keep smiling
but inside i'm still kinda dying

i don't know what to make of any of this
i don't know what to make of any of this
i don't know what to make of any of this

(16/8/2015)

stay loyal to the dreams of your youth
know where you stand and what is your truth

be who you are and watch what you do
for many will want to know what you knew

but you must let them live their own lives
learn for themselves when their chance arrives

remember : you never slow down, you never grow old
no matter what you are told or what future may hold

just want you to know and never forget
you are smart enough to do things you'll never regret.

don't worry 'bout future, don't live in the past,
'cos this life was never meant to last

therefore it makes much more sense
to live in the present tense... :)

Causen I'm in love with you
And you're in love with him
I can tell by the way you move
you don't know what you're doing to me.

you are refreshing water to a parched throat;
providing a stinging remedy that works in a painfully slow way.
strangely, the ache is what keeps me going.....
the more it hurts, the more pronounced the longing.

maybe you haven't realised,
but you're the water to a desert:
so precious, so wonderful and treasured
running down my throat, so pleasured.

but maybe you're a mirage in a parched desert of all life devoid:
an illusion, so hopefully, deadly beautiful
for believing this is true: oh, what a fool!
oh woe; avoid, I say, avoid!

the imperative words fall on deaf ears,
as I plunge headlong and deep
into a never-ending abyss of quicksand
into the obliteration of infatuation!

"Learn to write by doing it.
Read widely and wisely.
Increase your word power.
Find your own individual voice
through practicing constantly.
Go through the world with your
eyes and ears open and learn to
express that experience in words."

PD James (1920-2014)


I took a little trip
To the Isle of Write
There to find
My muse
My light...

I went to a wise man
On a Himalayan hill
For to find
A poem to quill...

I went right
I went left
But the write
Was still bereft...

I went here
I went there
Couldn't find help
Anywhere...

So I sat down
Pen in hand
And thought about
Those foreign lands.

To describe them
I painted with ink
It was hard
But made me think...

Hardly did a day go by
When in frustration
I did not cry...

But at last
The words took flight
I told tales
Of sadness. Fright...

The pen took on
A life of its own
The lines like scalpels
To the bone...

No more struggle
No more strain
I had the write stuff
In my brain...

Now the page
And pen don't thwart...

... the poetry is in my heart!

last night i almost
gave up thinking of bronzy brazilian girls
perspiring pure coconut oil, eau de margherita ;
supermodelas eating my dreams like concord grapes, lionesses
lounging on new york balconies, lithe, reading céline.
(esti ginzburg, on the phone, considers another pomeranian) .
almost stopped.
almost derailed strange vogue-like fantasme of irina shayk, standing legs planted
left knee out-****** and foot
in ebony heel, cocked against the earth.
set being imitation of gloomy coal mine, east of prague. thin arms firmly controlling the
arc of her pickaxe, clothed in leather, high heels;
sheen of sweat holding her feline body in sweet embrace.
imagining that when shift's end buzzer echoes thru the tunnels she smokes a cigarette
on a bench in the women's locker, apple planted on old planking, elbows on her knees.
cover-alls peeled
down to her waist and her hair,
free at last.
(click)
on the tram back into the city all the smoked glass
cartier storefronts pass by like polaroids held in the hand. the same speed.
giggling, 'rina thinks of the six she could place
along her arm; gilt gold, brushed silver, diamant...

there are 11 smoked belmonts by the back steps; i did
little with the night. (tall shadow of a woman in a black dress and my mouth
a cotton ball)
that is to say:
i did almost give up thinking about bronzy braz ilia     g rls ,
-
but i didn't/and so there's nothing else.