I walk between life and death,
The hours when the days are like
Stakes to the nocturnal heart.
   And I know a walk among tombstones
Is a like a fresh death when the earth
Is covered with scarlet and scenic
Flowers,
    I can already write my death on
The slab as clearly as I see the onset
Of the dusk upon my sun.
   And I know to be dead is but another
Interminable word,
   Like the carnival rides of my childhood,
Lost in a crowd but thrillingly unknown.
   Tonight the stars speak a hope
In a new year, and all the years disappear like
Geese to the North,
   Like Gnarls of teeth locked in a mongrels
Cry behind enclosed yards.
     I am ready to die,
But instead I will write death and
Write a verse to make one think
One knows the true beauty of life,
    Like the insufferably brilliant
Deaths of heroes told in myth
And legend,
    A dissolved illusion to the real illustration
Caught between worlds of perceptions.
     I see death on a dance floor,
A psalm sung and written by me
As my soul whirls the words in spectral
Atoms and lost in the momentary
Eternity.
       And I remember I'm a just a man
With Latin blood spitting
From the womb of my mother.
    And I am on the same side as my heart,
The hourglass fades,
The brutal eyes of truth facing me,
Fierce and unredeeming,
I dance with death,
And there is nothing I can do now.
I have nothing to prove I was here,
Except the poem
And even the words will fade.
Except the song I wrote for death,
It plays over and over
And death dances eternal.

Like cigarette burnt to the stub,
Like an empty bottle of Jack,
      Kinda the way it's been.
Like reruns of Seinfeld on a Saturday
    1a.m. slot.
And nobody notices, yeah my days
Have been like that.
     Like bloggers on a subject like
Star Wars and little
Pimple faced teens arguing lightsabers....
     Pertinent subjects have lost
Their way out of my life.
      There is a whole lot of nothing,
But like cigarettes burnt to the stub and
     An empty bottle of Jack,
Like days fading on a memory card
With 300 pictures,
      And the ashes that get swept
Just this side of the puke
Of the armchair.

All values die fast
For all of those who have seen
Easy ends and means

Why not the sorrow
Instead of hopeful constellations
From mythical legends,
Instead of the lost Gardens of Babylon,
Beauteous notions
Of the heart's grandiosity?
If everyday is a struggle,
If each day we try to fill
The void we are born with,
If pain is all too real;
We are born into the struggled,
To be friends to enemies
To make ourselves whole
While trying to find the existential
Moment of truth in ourselves,
As we gulp down joy
And sweat about under the sun.
The sorrowing cannot be claimed,
Though its air chokes you,
Though it eats your luster,
There is the other that one rarely
Finds, joy in the light.
Sorrow is too frequently a visitor.

If you were poetry
Then I don't exist,
And if I don't exist then
Neither did you and this
Is a lie.

We are only lovers,
The flesh of the lips
Tendered together for hopeful kisses
But not to be alive in
A melancholic grace of days.

And there is the other,
That which is the world
Of two lovers in the grinder's
Days together in this struggle.

And another which speaks silently
From the ears of a listener
And takes refuge in
Something else away from love.

And the other
Which is the word written,
So that you know you are not poetry,
Only the verse of words magnified
From a hopeful wound.

There is a humanity which never stops,
Each an elementary piece
Of every human.
        Look at the sun which gives light
To all the darkest crevices that
Think they are hidden.
     See the nature in its flawed beauty
Through your innocent eyes which see
What you perceive as
Right and wrong,
      See how the river splits and still
Finds its way downwardly as well
As all the mimicked frenzy
As bullets fly laterally.
      It drowns itself in the moist earth
And eyes turn away to find beauty
Elsewhere in this lunatic frenzy,
     See how pretty the tombstones are?

And when you can see this light,
Then and only then you
Can see the darkness which hides
In its luminous lie.

There is a thought
Inside a man
Who swears the idea can
Change the world.
On his forehead the sweat draws
Itself to the contours of his
Face in confirmation,
The essence of intentions with
Only good in mind.

And when the thought is brought
Out into the open
The idea breathes itself into existence
And takes the form of a polished
Feature of morality.

In the idea the light shines in the darkness
Of the world and it becomes
An ideal that leads men into
Action based on the purest intent
At the very center of the idea.

The idea becomes cannon
Like a holy scripture found
In the darkest deepest cave lost
To the oblivion and found by
A flame that feeds itself
With fires of ideas and burns
The whole of himself for the sake
Of the thought.

In these men intent and action
Can be seen,
Born of an idea with light at its
Core and purest intention
Of the heart,
And one can see the idea burns
The whole of a part of the world.

Perhaps, maybe
There is a man that truly loves a woman,
And they will love each other
Forever in the light
And happily under God's watch.
Perhaps, maybe
They are fed up deep inside,
Sickened of the repetitive days
That fill the emptiness with
Nothing and out of that nothing
They **** each other slowly
Everyday.

All is invisible,
The unspeakable silence
That penetrates the ears louder
Than the love we make.
And the things left unsaid
Unite the hope of the two
That it might be spoken
To fill the abyss that grew
From the light of their love.

And they live life to the fullest
And think they had a good run,
They are lovers and tireless
Husband and wife.

Perhaps, maybe this is the only truth
They may ever know.

A room, a bed, a closet,
A familiar setting,
A window and a storm.
The night without stars
And a thunderclap of wonder.
There are many people like
This, all around me who get
To know the storm.
The sunrise, the mist,
The birds at song under
Wet trees, lukewarm morning.
Here there is a woman alone
With no man, many like me.
And all that is and was
Or will be wants what the heart wants,
Love.
The night comes again,
A room and shadows long and
Madly the same.
I swell with a thought of a woman,
My dream comes to me awake,
I am alone but she accompanied
Me through many lonesome nights
Even in my imagined reality.
We had loved and made
Love many times now,
I don't know her name
But I know every curve of her face,
Her transparent slip....
The rolling curve of her thighs,
And while so close seems
So very far away.
I see her ****** in the shadow,
I long for her body,
No I long for her soul with me.
I love her more than I know,
But I don't know her,
Her wings clipped like some
Fallen angel,
Her flesh deeper than the touch,
This is more real to me than
Anything else I know.

Tonight, in a room, in an insanely
Familiar room I stand alone with her
In my thoughts,
I sweet song arises in my head,
We dance in the pale moonlight
And then I was interrupted by
A passing car,
And I knew the car was real.
Illuminating from my mind
I return to the last dance,
Forever the first.

I write her into reality,
Every lonesome verse filled
With an unknown woman,
She that I love deeper than
Any abyss,
She carries my soul away from
The room, the closet,
The familiar night.

One:

She sings in her bed
While she stares at a picture
Of her daddy.
On her lap is a razor
And her monsters cut away
At her lap, laughing.
The girl sings her song
In the empty house.

Two:

Her sky was a daddy,
There were birds and clouds
And the air was pure
In his hands.

The clouds caressed
Her face and her face told
Of a sadness,
Like a cloud her daddy
Wasn't there.

Three:

Heart full of dreams
And eyes filled with water,
I will share the girl's secret:
Daddy was taken away,
Her daddy was locked away.

Unfastened in her defenseless
Blood, she annoints herself interrupted,
She has the scars,
You can see the scars.

Her song sings:
Daddy do not abandon me.
I am alone
In the tears and the blood
I am home, alone.
You are not here,
And it hurts me truly,
You are not here.