the end
of words

at the end
of the night

I have not
looked up

its meaning

(I’m sure I
used to know)

it is so
ubiquitous

it feels
like it is

in us from
birth

something
primitive

perhaps it
is sexist

I don’t know

I’m sure
someone knows

even though
it is easy to

look up

I think I’ll just
leave it alone

somethings
I don’t need to know

there are secrets

there are reasons
for secrets

but these aren’t
supposed to be

kept secret

this is our world
written down

a long time ago
and updated

over the years

rules that are
supposed to

make us all
more equal

of course it
doesn’t always

work

not like it’s
supposed to

that’s why
we have checks

all forms of checks
built into the system

when do we know
the system is broken

when the checks
don’t work

when the checkers
don’t check

when the whistles
remain silent

when the secrets
that aren’t supposed

to be secret
are kept

I like to write
at night

very late
at night

with music
blasting my ears

and chemicals
invading my brain

the room is empty
no one can hear me

my mouth is
closed but

I am screaming
my digital words

into this digital paper

the zeros and ones
are invisible

but they leave
a permanent stain

I know I belong
to those with

a life in which
dark came early

and light was
at best a shooting

star

appearing suddenly
then fading back

into the dark
slowly

so you can
imagine you

still see the
pieces of light

and you hold
onto those pieces

as long as you can

go ahead

shove your
fingers deep

into my heart
feel my first scar

the in between

past and future
are gods

behemoths
trying to squeeze

everything
into themselves

making the
in between

so small
as to seem

insignificant

is cannot
forget or

be remembered

is

is not a god

is

is what
gods fear

the thin man
danced

into my dream

wrapped in
elegance and
envy

his mouth opened
releasing

butterflies and
bees

flying colors and
needles that

sting with
a rush of

pleasant poison

the passion of
the peasant

he tilted the earth
so all the thinkers

leaned to his side

revealing revelations
are interpretations

and we are free
to believe

or not

it never stops

now that people
are paid so much

to do it

I want to turn
it off

but I don’t

it feeds my mind
it diseases my mind

it doesn’t make
me think

it doesn’t give me
space to think

it stops me from
thinking

it makes me drink

no one knows
the future

but we all talk
like we do

I sit on the top
of a hill

curl into a ball

you stand at the
ready

all you have to
do is jump

all you have to do
is time your jump

and let me pass
under you

to stay safe

but you never do
and I roll into you

knocking you down
and we roll down

together laughing

I always thought
you had bad timing

but maybe I was wrong

now I

let go
and let in

the soft
thoughts

the warm
rain

the spray
of silly
string

the deep
breath before

whispering
a secret

to a friend

the blankets
pulled over
my head

the cushion forts
the snow angels

the almost

naked dancing
in the dark

I don’t want to sleep
the night is not

long enough

street lights are
not sunlight and

I can see in the dark

slim limbs
I walk in the quiet

wide eyes
I see your future

sharp teeth
I make you

and I pray
to no one

before I sleep
you have not a soul

to keep

you gave into the
slow strangulation

of blood

passed from one
to the other

family is fate
seeds crack

and spread disease
one man after

another falls
look into the mirror

see the past
play the game

tag you’re it

what happened in

the smoke-filled room
at the edge of town

ravens sit on old wires
and wait

sparks flicker beneath them
but they don’t move

tires squeal and dirt flies
small rocks hit

metal and glass

enough to be heard
and felt

but not enough to break

when the dust settles
it is quiet

the birds eventually leave
and the lights come on

automatically

I remember

when I first
learned to smell

she walked by
my office

and

smiled in a
friendly way

leaving her trace

a lingering

like fragrant smoke
or a snake

that entered
me olfactorily

I learned later
why she remained

so long

she smelled
of eternity

I walked home.  I did not know.  where I was.  I had so many homes.

I was never the same.  I was never one.  divided into space.  and time.  I was a cat in a box.  don’t ask me questions.  about life and death.  about existence.  I won’t answer.

I am not your god.  you are not my devil.

she was the word.  the first word I heard.  and I asked her.  
do you feel my pain?  do you love me?  I really didn’t know.

we stand.  back to back.  walk a few paces.  in opposite.  directions.  we turn.  our words.  are bullets.  passing each other.  we both live.  nobody wins.

I am not your dog.  you are not my *****.

I found this band

from Germany
this electronic

sound

this beat
beating me

I would define
incessant

as their sound

they are hypnotic
they are religious

like old school
religious

like memorizing
verses

and not knowing
what they mean

and reciting these
verses in a group

feeling all
in a moment

releasing me
becoming one

I remember when
I first met you

in the Navy
on the carrier
in the office
on a cassette tape

new wave aaron
introduced me

he was odd with
a great big heart

and you were
deep and emotional

with a sound that
broke my soul

when it needed
to break

I think about the
people I met

through life and
the gifts they gave

exposing me to
music that stays

with me for life
I wonder where he is

I know he married a girl
named Paris

and moved to Hawaii
but that was long ago

maybe I’ll listen to
you tonight

I need to break

who are you?

protecting me
from you

who am I?

protecting you
from me

we search each other
with our eyes

maybe flirting

our masks move up
theorizing a smile

our hidden lips
six feet apart

ache for
something more

there is light
that falls

from the sky
stars that

fall and die

and we make
a wish

that witnessing
their death

will bring

us fortune
or fame

it was crawling down
my wall

a thin white strand
extended

it was escaping something
or breaking in

either way I didn’t ask
I just reacted

I thought I killed a spider

but when I went to
clean up the body

it was gone

now I am scratching
my skin

feeling bites
seeing red

checking my ears
for eggs

thinking about what
will happen when I sleep

experiencing every second
of its sweet revenge

It is killing me

I cannot touch
anything

I like to walk
the streets

and feel

rub my hands across a
coarse brick wall

scratch my skin raw

trace my fingers over
the smooth words

of a street sign

grasp a thin handrail
and lean back

almost losing my balance

wipe the drips off
anything after a hard rain

it is killing me
this staying clean

a naked shoulder
rounds into shape

she has two tattoos

one a shadow
of the other

a name
covered
by a rose

thorns
exposed

larger than
the bright
red
petals

a stem
extending
down her
thin
wanting arms

like a vein
emptying
pain

into her
heart

at the edge of
the garden

we expelled
the first song

a secret

ssssin from
scowling
scarlet
lips

screaming
every word

discovering
our voice

in these
animal
sounds

straining
choking
chords

swallowing
a snake

until nothing
but a hoarse

and in this
emptiness

we learned
about silence

she said

I am
a loner

borrowed
and blue

and if she
was a loner

then I wanted
to be borrowed

too

choose any color
or any combination
of colors

I don’t care if I match
or if I make sense

slap it on thick
make me drip

and don’t wait
until I dry

to slap on more

use a brush or
your hands

I don’t care if
I’m not finished

I would rather be
the canvas you
experiment with

than the one you sell

your voice so rare

the depths of which
are still unmatched

your words spark
longing in me

a longing for life

an eternal flame
that warms my soul

I will never cease
listening to you

to feel all of me
in your simple words

rest now soulful man

in Greenwood, Indiana
mid-winter

wind blowing
across the
flatlands

a car wash
across from
a giant mall

lines of cars
waiting

me with
white towels
in my hands

trying to dry

off the cars before
the towels freeze to
my hands

and remove skin

for sixty hours
a week

for $3.35
an hour

and maybe a tip
(not usually)

I did not.  do it.  

I said I would.
but I didn’t.

don’t look at me.
that way.  again

please.  give me.
one more…

it is not a trick
I am not a magic man

just one day
I am not there

I am somewhere
just not there

not where I was
I am here

but you don’t know
where here is

and I don’t tell you

sometimes I don’t know
where here is

and sometimes I want
to be there

and sometimes I don’t

into the skin

enough to bleed
not enough to ****

for some it seems easy
for those of us

who didn’t learn
to love

at the beginning
we know

when the first trust
is broken

the scars are deep
and never fully heal

every day

when the loud
sounds came

I thought the rain
into existence

creating a puddle
I could fall into

so I could disappear

I was less than
all the other integers

they could nap
in this room with others

lying next to them

but I would lie there
hearing the loud sounds

thinking the rain
into existence

I am a silvery pill
consumed by her

compressed chemicals
dissolved by her wet

released into her cells
and spreading

past the ephemeral
racing to what matters

exploding into colors
she never played with

before

she is a hand puppet
leading a holiday parade

of mayhem and laughter
of material destruction

seeing past the ephemeral
racing to what matters

asking questions
of power

stirring things up
making others

answer for actions

not saying what is
right or wrong

that is for others
to decide

just asking the questions

because honesty has
straight answers

it is clear water

it cannot be shaken
or stirred

when it is alive

hope is so much
more than words

it consumes people
in the same way as power

only it gives power
to others

instead of hoarding
it for oneself

it is hard to breathe
life into hope

it has to be honest
hope smells a fake

and will become dust
and disappear

but when hope is
real in someone

and not just a word
it truly can lead others

to a place of healing

was one of my
mom’s favorites

there was something
about it that disturbed me

so I didn’t like it and

she wouldn’t make me eat it
and sometimes she wouldn’t

make it at all
because of me

even though she loved it
maybe that is love


----



I would eat it if
she was still around

to make it


---



maybe that is love

she never spoke

sat on the floor
and played

with silver stones
made them dance

in circles

sparkling under
the lights

her voice was
a melody

of soft sounds

she never needed
words

to make sense of
everything around her

and everyone around
her understood

I’m not trying
to be morbid

(as we live through
this tragedy)

but I think
balance is

one of the
principles of life

(even though I don’t
always live as I believe it)

so I can’t help
but think the

virus

is a balancing
mechanism

saying humans
are out of control

creating an imbalance
in the world

the reduction of our
activity

human activity

is reducing pollution
everywhere the

virus lives

people are slowing down
and that might be

for the better
but it is up to us

to learn the lesson
it is trying to teach us

it is truly sad all
the lives that have

been lost and still
could be lost

(including my own)

we call it an enemy
and speak of war

but it is nature
and for humans

nature lives to
be understood

so it can be overcome

only by understanding its
purpose (nature) can we learn

our lessons and
restore balance

we are not gods
we are part of nature

I love patterns
always have

I remember
going with my mom

to buy “patterns”

stores would
sell packages
of patterns

that could be
used to make

clothes

but the patterns
I love are of human

behaviors (not
of clothes)

particularly when
it comes to work

or to the design
of organizations

it’s interesting

to try to identify
those things that

influenced us to become
who we became

especially if we
didn’t follow

any specific pattern
along the way

our pants rolled up

bare feet dangling
in a cold lake

touch each other
a little at first

blood flows and
goose pimples grow

each foot has a mind
of its own

slow dancing beneath
the surface

whispering to each other

“the longer we stay
the warmer we get”

we have stopped
our motion

only doing those
few little things

the absolutely
necessaries

leaving all the
things we used

to do undone

and when we no
longer isolate

how many things
will linger

how many problems
will not get solved

in time

how many things
that would have been

small will now
grow larger

I don’t see it
but something

must be wrong
with me

I am

a leaking pen
leaving dark spots

everywhere I go

almost pain
not quite

a dull longing

the untouched
linger

in a train
of thoughts

holding
something in

squeezing tight
to a piece

of light

they believe
lives on

the other side

I blow out candles
before I sleep

the flames try
to fight back

then turn to smoke
and disappear

I am alone in the dark

I am one of those
who think too hard

I break so many things
with my thoughts

some might have
been valuable

I don’t know

it is hard
for me to know

I am holding on
by a frayed thread

I can hear the
tearing

one by one
as I fall deeper

do I laugh
enough

I think it is harder

to laugh
at this
distance

laughter is
itself

a virus
we share

with each
other

can one
virus ****

another

it is harder
to laugh

at this distance

a condition
not a direction

she is small
to the world

a baby’s breath she

creates words
that twist and turn

and burrow deep
and make me think she

takes my breath
with sudden

sounds and
screams she

makes me jump
and want to dance

in strange ways she
makes me want to be

I love to play with words

small words and
not that many

I think it
makes it harder

and I have more fun

to use less of them
to use the simplest
of them

to find ways to

to connect these small words
in just the right way

to say what I have to say
to release my voice

the magic is in how
they are connected

ask any great designer
it’s not the materials

it’s the connections
that bring something

to life

I cannot speak to you

so I will send you something
that contains my words

I will send you words
that contain my feelings

for you

an incessant itch
in my brain

it can smell
it can taste
it can touch

it sends signals
down my spine

extends itself
everywhere

it is looking for
something but

it can’t tell me what

it has a voice but
it has no words

it just grows and
takes over

everything until
it is satiated

but I don’t know
what it wants

so I try everything

the next morning
I was walking
through a field
of wild flowers
the air alive with
natural perfumes
birds and bees
were feeding
my naked feet
felt no fear
there was no path
to follow or
to trace
and I wasn’t
looking for one
I was alive
and that
meant something

the sun
one-eyed
demon
stared
directly
at me
blinding me
red
yellow
green
disappeared
so I
floored it
and gave
myself
to the
fates

I am made of glass
spreading my light.

over you.

helping you see.
what matters.