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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

mournful trees
dark and wild
howling undisturbed
inside themselves

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

I live in a city and the sounds
I hear are all too human
aching echoes
the desperation
of desolate souls
outsized egos
looking for power
everything is artificially loud
there are no in-between parts
the pauses
the silences
where voices find their freedom
we are reflections
but we never reflect
sometimes I hear the
deepest part of my mind
the sound of a howling wolf
searching for the same

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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”

shadow tells
the story

the past
haunting

each step
what I was

will never
disappear

what I wanted
will never be

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.

in a series of
dreams I

lost everything

and woke up
feeling whole

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

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

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

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

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

a small white bird falls
from the trees
and lands
silently in the forest

sticks for legs
it looks lost

among these
thick, old stumps

there is a gentleness
in the way it moves

eyes weigh each step
scared of breaking

always on the verge of tears

the bird looks up
trying to find a way to escape

but the sky is closed
dark with green summer while

orange and black creatures
scurry under rocks

soft-bellied aliens

they must be able to
speak to each other
but not to the bird

so the skinny-legged bird
wanders alone
through the old woods

too big to fit under rocks
not big enough to fly

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

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

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

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 she finds herself sleeping too much
she thinks of me.

I only see her now and then. There are no
rings between us. There is only the sound
of her stocking-covered feet sliding across
the wooden floor;
then a knock on my door. I always let her in
and then I always let her leave.

She calls me her incendiary voice. I breathe
into her and she is grateful. I am her subtle
source of energy. She tells me I am too
much to take for too long.

I know this about myself.

When she leaves

I crawl onto my closet floor, close
the door and hide under a mountain of dark
clothing.

Sometimes I get lonely during the moments in between.

the spider web captures
and I am stuck

wanting to be liked
wanting to be loved

the snake does
not love

what it squeezes

the bear does
not love

what it hugs

the man does
not love

what he possesses

I walked into her parlor with the other guests.  We were a mass so it seemed like we were all together.  I was late to a joke so my laughter lingered too long.  I was never a comfortable guest; of course I was worse as a host.  I leaned gingerly against a post that held a bust of the guest of honor, when he was much younger.   A girl much younger than me touched my brow.  I don’t know why she did this; she just did, and then she disappeared.  

He was a handsome man, when they made the bust; he achieved his fame from a book he published in his twenties.  It offered a theory of human nature that had been offered many times before, but in different words.  I don’t know why this brought him fame or why his fame lingered so long, but it did.

Hers was the last parlor in the city.  The other parlors faded like so many other fads, but hers did not.  And it was not just a group of aging friends who gathered here but the young found something fresh and alive in this room.  I don’t know why they still sought her company, but they did.

She invited me to sit next to her.  She was aging in a way that made me long to be elderly.  She smelled of lilacs.  She said, “I notice you alone.”  I didn’t know if that meant that I was alone or that she was alone.  Either way she had a way of making the obvious seem like a secret.  She looked at me and smiled, “You really have three choices, darling, to connect with others, to connect others to each other, or to connect others to themselves.”

“The network is god, darling, and you must serve it or die.”

we promise to

always say less
to each other

leave space

in the air
between us

for meaning
to form

to view quiet
as a thing

of value
that we can

build together
and share

with others

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

I turn her on
I turn her up

she can scream
into my ears and

I can bleed
in my head

til my brain is red
and her voice

is the river styx

flowing lava
into my last

synapse and

I am no
longer

connected to
a past

that never
served me

well anyway

she is evil when

only power
tells us who

is good

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

last night.  the earth felt weak. the full moon bled.  and I cried.

the darkness around me. separated into pellets.  into pills.  
penetrating life.
spreading into the river.  
blood and water.  the body.  
electricity and light.  the mind.

I was young once.  and halos were real.  worn by the innocent.
everyone is innocent.  or ignorant.  until they aren’t.

we are the same.  one line.  coming or going.  
there is one line.  we are on.
a tight rope.  we all try to walk.  to balance ourselves.
against each other.

but there is no self. without another.  next to us.  comparing us.

I hear sounds down there.  something shattering.
leaving sharp shards.  on the ground.  pointing up.

waiting for us to fall.  one after the other.

I take gentle steps.  slow and easy.  
I don’t want to raise my heart.  beat.
I won’t stop the bleeding.

so I wipe away the same stain.  every day.  the same stain.

last night.  I felt weak.