There is an edge that exists right before giving up.  Whether from a distance of either time or space it appears as a gradual slide, it does not feel that way.  Each morning is truly the beginning of a new day until it isn’t.  

I feel at home in the streets.  I need all that noise to block out the other voices and focus.  I can’t seem to swallow unless there is a coating of dust in my throat.   No matter how many people crowd into these streets there is always space between us.  I never become them.  With my head pointed toward the earth I begin to feel the tallness of buildings; in this position I can’t tell whether or not they truly scrape the sky.  

There is a girl in my life; sort of.  She wears designer skin; labels charting the paths of her life.  There have been many starts and stops in her life as well as between us, or it might be another form of continuity, I don’t really know.  I spend most of my days in the streets contemplating the questions she asks.  Mostly they are not directed at me, they are just general questions that ignite within my mind a labyrinth of flames I follow until I cannot find my way out.

Before she leaves for work each morning I make her breakfast and watch as she covers her colors as if they are her numbers from her prison days.  She always feels alone in the design office where she works, it is filled with the sculptures of “creativity” unmoved by her words; they create a vacuum out of whispers removing the air so that she cannot breathe.

Each night she arrives home to find me sitting in a fetal position, clutching my legs to my chest as if I am waiting for the glue to dry.  When I re-recognize her she smiles at me, I gently remove the crust of tears from the corner of her eyes, blow it into the air and make a wish; she removes her caterpillar skin exposing the butterfly of light emanating from inside her.  I spend the rest of the night reading the story of her life.

I try to decipher her markings, the symbols of all the things she felt before she was able to speak, before she met me.  She chooses not speak to me; she wants to be an open book that someone passionately holds to their chest as if to remember each detail.   I am trying to be that person, the one who she chooses for me to be.

The colors of her skin seem to convey something more than the ink injected into her; revealing more about who she is.  They change each day so that her story changes each day and I must read her all over again.

I want to be part of her story, so I have myself branded into her skin; one part of me is colorless, just a black outline of something that once was or has yet to be fully formed, the other part of me has no lines just shades that touch each other at various places eventually blending into each other.  

The next day I am back in my streets, staring at the blades of grass, contemplating the question she once asked, whether she is a particle or a wave, the answer is still uncertain.

cut bangs
brown

straight

like the edge
of the world

she is a
sudden storm

coming in
from the sea

cold and warm
consummating

soon after
their first
meeting

violence
oh so quiet

an explosion
of trust

a night of
silent
fireworks

am I deaf?

she is tiny
invading me
with

the intelligence
of an ant

following a path
invisible
to my
uneducated
eyes
ears
nose
and
throat

we smooth
into the planet

feel all her
sensations

there is no
intention

or will or
will not

we let the
rhythms

intersect
as they

travel
through
us

and create
what we

call energy

of the slightest touch

from the right person
at the right time

when the mind empties
and the heart fills

and the body is energized
and the soul is resurrected

that night I realized
if I want to be alone

I have to sever myself
from the cloud

that holds my
connections

my memories
and fantasies

all knowledge
of who I

am or could be
to end the story

of my life
as it

was
is or
could be

so I can
never be

liked
followed
or found

it enters
without

resistance
everything

is accepted
in this

moment
the sky

is bursting
with color

past disappears
into dust

I blow it
away

imagining
dandelions

I am a child
a happy child

playing in
a wild field

where

bees don’t
sting and

snakes don’t
bite

until midnight

I will release
all the words

the secret spells
so they fall

indiscriminately
on these empty

pages

let the
stories twist
and swirl

and become
something magical

and after midnight
I will try to

sleep

and hope
any leftover spells

become dreams
light or heavy

I want them

to trap me
until at least dawn

I search through the dark parts of this city for celebrations; clubs or just crowded sweaty rooms where people dance, unaware of anything more than what is right in front of them.  The alcohol and the drugs flow into their bloodstream clouding judgments, blinding them, making them crave pain the way a baby craves his mother’s attention.

Without the sun, no one has a shadow to watch over them.

I am bumped and grinded into by both girls and boys, they crave me, as if I was a succulent, chocolate treat, but I don’t crave them, having tasted all varieties of blood I am now very choosy.  

I suddenly feel a familiar warm tingle throughout my body as if my hair is stretching; my teeth ache from a sudden growth spurt, and slightly puncture my lips.  I spot the object of my longing across the room, the naked nape of a lonely blonde; long whispers of nearly transparent hair spread across her back, skin as white as mourning, a dove, with rivers of blue pulsing through her.  As the Nile, they are the beginning and the end of life. They create a map that guides me to her, her to me.  I can feel the beating; each breath of her chest is inside of me.  She takes me back to the first day, memories of a thousand years reside inside of me and I still remember that first day.

Just before my never-fail dark eyes can call her to me a vulture of another color swoops in; carrying her carcass away.  She was dead before I met her, anyway.

Space is expanding as the crowd grows thin; the music slows to a draining pulse.  I know that sound, the end of the night is near; I leave this lonely land with all the other detached doves and vultures.

I stop at the corner where three streets meet and stare at the dark sky about to blink itself awake, bumming a smoke from one of the aforementioned.

I think back telling myself my story, as if it is the history of life itself.

My sky has only a multitude of stars, never a sun.

I think back to a time in the past when the future was still possible
when she was in the same room as me.  I think of red wine and loneliness; the temptation to taste first blood and wake up full.

I bite my lip and taste the sourness of the words I spoke to her;
words that would fall on deaf ears anyway.

Death is a lingering shadow that disappears when I come near.

he had a brain
not an education
not even high school
it wasn’t uncommon
then for the poor
school doesn’t pay
and someone has to
make money
and as long as you
could work you
could make money
and he could work
and he could learn
how to run machines
so he could find work
and he could learn
how to shoot guns
so he could fight
in wars
and he could
learn how to drink
so he could fight demons
and they never stopped
him from working
so he always got paid
so he could always pay
for his drink
he had a brain
not an education

I want to bellow
and growl

chew gravel

and sing the
last love song

so desperate and pure

that the earth can die
in its sleep

knowing there was
nothing left

to want

rock covers paper
which is broken by the scissors
which is cut by the rock

she plays footsies
with her hands

she plays grab-***
with her teeth

she holds a knife
over me
as friendly as a bee

pollinating
there is no escaping

love

when she falls
into herself

she can’t sleep
she can’t wake

all the cycles end
she is alone

I am alone
we are alone

I feel the earth
lose its strength

and I know
it is bigger

than me when

her tears break
even god’s heart

A pig’s tail of
pink smoke
suddenly appears
from beneath
the bedroom door

as if a spider web
revealed by light

rising toward its own
dissolution

a breath of
perfumed air

captures the room
filled with

otherworldly
women.

c h a n t i n g

A prayer song
leaves her dry lips

and rises toward
resonance

calling to her,
nature,

calling to her muse.

While sleeping
she settles
her argument
with time

remaining beautiful.

she prays to
the fresh flowers

in the field
of dreams

asking them
for beauty

she wants to
grow into

something
desired
and admired

she wants to
be inhaled

and held tight
by someone

desperate for her love

feeling luxurious
like the

fresh flowers
in the field

of dreams

I found another one
the aches and pains
they appear to me
to be somewhere
in my body
foot
knee
hip
back
neck
head
sometimes they stay
in one place and
sometimes they move
but I know the truth
they actually live
in one place
in my brain
the control room
of the nervous
system
shut it down
and I will feel
no aches or pains
nothing

they congregate
close to each other

on the top of
a building

citizens or
soldiers

black winged birds
pulled together

by a force I
don’t understand

they stay there
all night

whispering to
each other

in their huddle

and

in the morning
I wake to their

loud conversations
and watch them go

their separate ways
not knowing if

they settled anything

the gathering
of angels

white robes
chanting

the wind sings
hymns

the light has
a voice
evoking
verses

hands lift
hypnotically

and we all repeat
after

I feel the weight
pressing down on me

it feels like
a snake is
searching for my
breath

I feel
tight inside
like my skin
is shrinking

like I am being
wrapped
in plastic

they tell me salvation
is a moment

they tell me salvation
is a series of words

and I pray
the series of words
in silence

asking for
giveness

and after
we all smile
as if one mouth

wanting to be right
wanting to be liked
wanting to belong

she was gone
before I knew her

in the way we
get to know people
as we age

I was little more
than a child

when I left
and then

I was little more
than a child

when she left
for good

I still remember her
with the mind
of a child

I still judge her
with the mind
of a child

and now she walks
on pulses of light

somewhere above
the darkening sky

looking down
on me with

a face that
never ages

and I don’t know
how to help the

mind of a child
let her go

so we both can grow
in our own way

if one day

the same day
the same time

on that one day

everyone
prayed to

each other
asking

forgiveness
for whatever

pain we caused
in others

and in ourselves
would we feel

different

would that be
enough to heal

everyone

it is not easy
to break patterns

a human is complex

the whole is more
than the sum

of the parts
and what are

the parts anyway

mind
body
soul

memories
fantasies
dreams

thoughts
feelings
instincts

if­ we can’t
really define

ourselves
how can we

change ourselves
purposefully

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

mournful trees
dark and wild
howling undisturbed
inside themselves

she said
I am numb

my soul does
not feel

I accept
everything

as inevitable
my dog is

neutered or
asleep

I can’t eat
raw meat

it makes
me sick

she said
you are not

the animal
I married

I listen to them

it is the chatter
of angels and demons

winged creatures

the keepers of
dominions

fighting over souls
rummaging through

the lost and found
for something

that fits them
in my life

I have been both
but I still have not

been claimed so
I keep listening to them

waiting to hear my
name called

to see where I belong

and with edge
there is the
danger of slipping

she speaks and

I listen to the
partial woman
on a stand

lifting herself
bending herself

trying to stand up
for the bird falling
from the nest

she tells me
there is no rejection here

she tells me damaged
is not the end

she tells there are faults
but no one is to blame

I close my eyes
and listen to her

tonight I want a
breakthrough

I have thin skin
so I can feel

I look north tonight
there are borders
to be crossed

I close my eyes
and listen

there is ripeness
in her words

the taste of black
cherry juice

paw prints on my pillow

dreams of being lost
in dense
browns and greens

a male
mountain lion roars

startling the herd
I am caught in a frenzy

and he is
feasting on the weakest
of us

teeth like jagged knives
pierce my willing flesh
snap my spinal cord;
the sound of a single twig
in a scared forest

before I can breathe
before I can speak
before I can wake

my soul becomes as meat
my soul becomes a mountain

lion

he was asleep

in his own
satisfaction

she was awake
wanting

the snake
was a figment

something to blame
for his future

the tree was time
and its fruit

the secret
she already knew

but pretended
she didn’t

she was not a rib
but she left him

with less of himself

the graying of sound
one beats two beats

oh lord please

put my pieces
back together

the one
love she was

yanked all
the petals
from my
heart

one by one
I  l e a r n e d s l o w
motion

as she released
the words
love me not
in a whisper

I am so afraid of wind

the addict
or the needle

tonight I could
be either

if I was not me
would you tell me

would you recognize
the difference

do you know me
well enough

have you thought
about me

enough

so that I live
deep within you

do you have a
model of me

living inside you

if I was not me
would you notice

I possess the urge to revelation inside of me,

a writer, naturally;
deciphering the secrets buried deep within the code
of the twenty-six;

the secrets of plasticity.

I try to observe the details of my imagination
in a landscape too dense for me to clearly see,
I can only feel my way around

the multiple dimensions
of darkness and light.

She said, “Imaginations aren’t dark.”
I said, “I wish I lived in your mind.”

She laughed,

but I’m not sure she knew quite why.
She was pretty, naturally.

Last night I wrote
the book that ends the book
that details the end of the modern world.

I think into existence
a white horse;
the end of all details.

some songs are
not electric

they are lonely
meant only for

your soul
meant to be

your secret
never shared

you can dance
to it if

you want to
just not with

a partner
it has to be

just your body
feeling itself

lost in its
own space

last night she
held herself

buried herself
in blankets

and comforters
she did not

want to be found
in the morning

she needed more
than one night

lost beneath
the surface

to heal

and so I go to work
creating my
masterpiece

bending bones
like wire
cutting skin
like paper
paint is
spraying
everywhere
mixing with
sweat and tears
changing colors
as it splatters
all over the canvas
and before long

it is
so many
nights
am I having
a dream
a dream
of white
calling me

I look up
from my work
my life

a masterpiece
fulfilled

and I see that
I have finally
created
“nothing”

someone laughed

my words were silly
like love songs

I was sweet once
and the sun baked

us until we were
just right

glowing skin
dark and sticky

and laughing
at my silly words

we must experiment

spend a lifetime
searching for a truth

even if it is small
and adds little
to the grand scheme

we must experiment

spend a lifetime
to see

if we truly belong
to each other

art is
blood

we cut
our
souls

on purpose

sometimes
it trickles

sometimes
it oozes

and

sometimes
it spurts

and always
we create

these scars

we heal
but never

hide

life is messier
than birth

belly buttons
are only the

first scars
and no one

is afraid to
show them

there are many
more cords

that get cut and
in much nastier

ways

leaving marks
on our bodies

minds and souls
some heal

while others are
infected open

wounds we
try to hide

what are you so afraid of?
everything
not me, I hope
sometimes, yes
when?
when you are near me
ohhh…
and sometimes
yes…?
when you are not near me
well, that doesn’t seem fair
it isn’t…

the snake does
not love

what it squeezes

the bear does
not love

what it hugs

the man does
not love

what he possesses

in a series of
dreams I

lost everything

and woke up
feeling whole

shadow tells
the story

the past
haunting

each step
what I was

will never
disappear

what I wanted
will never be

she said her tears
were pearls

each one more
valuable than

the next she said

I would be
lucky to discover

just one she does
not shed them

for just anyone

she strung them
together and made

a necklace

I asked if I
could try it on

she said I was
not strong enough

to carry that
much weight

when the bendy
parts don’t bend

and every day is
the discovery of

a new ache and
the worry

of a fall and
a sudden break

and the parts
won’t remember

their place

simple is
the pleasure

I seek
but I believe

it takes work
it is earned

identifying and
ignoring the

merely complicated

spending my time
working through

the truly complex
travelling the path

to understanding
that ends with

a momentary aha!
which starts

another journey
to the pleasure

I seek

this night.  he watches me.  he stops me.  I cannot speak straight.  lines.  I slur my words.  I am chemically enhanced.  I change the color of rain.  with a snap of my dragons.  breath.  the world is.  on fire.  and I come.  through the flame.  untouched.  everyone claps.  creating a wave.  of emotion.  in me.  I want to cry.  purple tears.  like blackberry juice.  I open.  my mouth.  and speak.  an acceptance speech.  my words are.  readable.  in the air.  you like me.  you really really.  like me.

I am shaken;

a mixed-up
concoction
of chemicals
meant to be
abused.

Seductive pink lips
approach me,
consume every
ounce of me,
and I leave
behind a
wet stain.

I build and
build slowly
but hit fiercely.

I am power;
knowing she can’t
resist me.

I am absolute power;
knowing she can’t
reject me.

I am power
over pain

and then I am
pain

and she is
shaken.

we are thunder

underground
earth shaking
brain baking

spoken word prophets
pound your drums
shake your bums

tell this world
danger is coming
if you don’t repent

from your evil ways
you are not the rulers
you are not the truth

we are all humans

we have minds
we have thoughts
we have mouths
we have voices

and we have come
to shake this world

awake with
our thunder

you laughed at
my simple mind

I did not understand
the space between

your words or
the way you spoke

without words
the meaning of

your movements
my mind was

filled with certain
kinds of knowledge

there was no space
for subtlety

I could not wait for
these words to leave me
at first they were these
little pleasures
these sweet secrets
I whispered to myself
when the lights were dim
and the stars came out
feelings wrapped in a
warm towel
placed on my soul
to comfort me
when I was alone
but the longer I held
them inside me and
kept them to myself
the more they started
fester inside me
to go bad
like a fruit
to break open and spread
a poison inside me
so when I heard them
I felt sick
I didn’t know
feelings had a shelf life

as day breaks
on the day
he promised
to me

there is this
yellow bird
whispering in my
ear

bright as if the sun
grew wings

he sings me a
song in
harmony

dark
like the space
before
expectations
meet
reality

I remember waiting
for him
to keep his promise

thinking about

the story they
told me
about the little boy
before me

he was born
to die

he didn’t know
this so he
struggled to live

he knew the value
of breath
they say he
took more
than he
was promised
more than what
was expected

is he better off
now
having struggled
not knowing

and I remember waiting
for him
to keep his promise

I thought
if I leave
the house
and wait
for him on
the curb

he will get here
sooner

and as day breaks
the other way
on the day
he promised
to me

the little yellow bird
whispers to me again