The air is burly
trees harvest soldiers on the line
combines, threads, manure, life--
A whole world lost amidst the flats

Saplings are the next season's
Almonds, Apples, Dates,
Waiting for food shelves and stockrooms
packed in banana boxes and given a place
They will find the plates of capitol city dwellers
They will be engorged far away from their origins

The Sierra-- oh the great plutonic mass
They are grey from age, peppered with white whiskers of snow
They are asking to be known as the interior

Pilgrims who traveled over their spines, seeking these fertile swampland
Now airstrips and dirigibles

The edges of clouds on the valley, the deserts and the mountains like folds of a book
they crackle in the sun and the skin of the earth shrinks in its gaze

Migratory birds dance in the fields, the lowly clang of bell
Bleached american flags tell us this is the land

The land of things and endless breadth

This is only California, but the majesty of it
a gem valley encased by the rocks, in silicates
A roaming place for cows, wanderers, farmers, dreams

Where the only edge of things is the mountains, saying
-Climb me, surmount me, lay me under your deeds-

“How’d you find me?”
- “I could never lose you!
Not even if I tried.”
“Ok let me rephrase that
Go away.”
- “No
You need me
Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
“I am broken and empty
There’s nothing for you here.”
- “I don’t need anything
I just need to have you.”
“Please
I don’t want to see you waste your time
Go find something new.”
- “I can set you free
Let me save you.”
“Being in love with me
Doesn’t it seem like a bad idea sometimes?”
- “It does
Sometimes
But that doesn’t matter
You’re too perfect for me to let go.”
“Did I ever tell you
How beautiful you are?”
- “You might have
But it wouldn’t hurt if you said it again.”
“You’re beautiful
And I love you.”
- “And I
Love you.”

There is nobody to leave you in the sands,
Where you leave yourself and the range of thoughts flows freely,
And the 20 mules are stuffed in some museum--their final gift

There is no place to clean your wounds
Just sand to stunt the bleeding

The Paiute, drunk off cactus and smoking themselves into oblivion

They understood that the desert has no need for sadness
the desert IS sadness.

Searching for what? Food? It's all spiked and scared of you out here--
No love on this plane, just in the shape of things

The nick of *****

The bleed of seed

The dream

Eternity.

Everything has an ending.
You favorite song gets annoying,
Your friendships fall apart,
Your passion evaporates,
Your book has it's last dot,
Your life ends.

But every ending is a beginning.
You find another song,
You connect with other friends,
You discover new feelings,
You read another book,
The memory of your being stays alive.

Every cicle has an ending,
So it can start fresh again.

What's wrong with you?
Who do you think you are?
Look, he thinks he's tough,
he thinks he knows everything
Seriously who does he think he is
Do you think you're Prince Regent
You think you're a hard man, yeah!
How dare you, how ****** dare you
You wanna mess with us, do you, big man

Don't you know who we are!
We the business, we're more than you
We ****** rule the ******* ****** world
We rule your ***, we make and bend the law
We take and we give, we are the ****** *******
We block and you're finished, no ****** ****, no life
We come from the South, East, West  and ****** North
We are gangsters and we got the contacts and the contracts
When we say jump, you ask, how ****** high should I jump

Look this ****** small geezer playing with us
How dare you making us feel frustrated and stupid
We'll got all kinds of mind **** ready to do your head in
How dare you not play ball, a woman set up to wind you up
Now we're not getting inside gossip and juicy stories to use
Now all the women waiting eagerly to hear bedroom gossip
are all disappointed cause you are not following the ****** plot
We can't bend your head and frustrate you and stress you out
You ****** small man, you're not even tall and you wanna diss us.

Who are you you little ******
We spend all our valuable time taunting you
We try and depress and torment you and you laugh
What do you want, do you wanna mess with People's Power
We can make you disappear if we want, do you know that big boy
We put all kind of moves on yer and yet you struts like a king
We harass your ****** mind and try to demoralize you
Listen sunshine you better stop being such a ******* smart ***
You think you ******* know everything, making us look stupid.

You better watch out, you better watch ****** out
Cause ain't no Santa coming for you, we are the Rulers
And we hate you and your big ******* ****, you ain't got *****
You are costing us ****** money, time and energy, you effin ****
Do you know some of us sit all day thinking up ways to get at you
Do you know some wait in the ****** cold to watch you all day
You think its easy having to think up nonsensical things to write
Or making up all kinds of scenarios all because of you *******
You think you are superman, Atlas and Einstein rolled into one!

Do you, George, Answer me George.....answer Me!!!

It was like being too big
Wishing you could disappear
Inside the ever-growing
Crowd of people
As their eyes wander onto yours
While you try to ebb away
In the corner

But much too small
Inside this body
Like it could not contain
All your bones and muscles
Like your skin
Needed to be stretched out
In order to hold it all

It was an awkward in between
Of being too big
But also too small
Of being too much
But not enough
Like being nothing at all
And everything at once

Today I'm filled with muted optimism
Something not often seen skulking around my peripheral.
Some retail therapy and a ***** free day.

I write you blinded, literally, consumerism blaring,
shining RED in my eye. My new shoes and sparkly
chemical incentives sitting comfortably on my feet
and in the back of my skull respectively

you know? Just above my nape.

The weekend is over.
That person has left, incised from delicate parts
where hurt feels more justified than starving children and
diseased refugees, "oh so woe is me" avoided.

We shouldn't have gone skiing together, the snow was far from ready.
The passengers leapt from the derailing train, terrified of sludgy wet slopes.

This time around I won't let them come so close. Stiff arm, no more than three. No more poems for you, or freedom for me.