she takes a
photograph

of speed

my brain
is a neutron

bomb

the earth is
a dangerous

place

humans have
existed for

a breath

I am is the
first name

of god

it wasn’t what
they said

to her that
made her

pray

she was
a true

believer
and I

was jealous
of that

certainty
she didn’t

know how
rare she was

she believed
the best in

others and
of life

but I lived in

a different
world

tonight my mind
is running in place

in a desert
I am a boiling

brain

there are no
words to express

or there is
nothing to feel

I am raw but I
want to be naked

exposed to my
demons

I hear
the black bird

screech I watch
it descend

I want it to
enter me

I splay my arms
display my soul

I want it to rip out
all my elements

so I can start over

she scrubs her skin
sees a stain

that won’t leave
I don’t see it

but she still
doesn’t trust me

she thinks I
am too nice

to tell the truth

she hurts when
I touch her

I hurt when
she won’t

but I don’t tell her

is how I
want to feel

uncivilized
uncultured
undeveloped
immature

a screaming
banshee
ravaging
woods

reaching back
and grabbing
time by
the throat

no one has yet
cursed me
with potential

I cannot
be polished

I will never
shine

so when you
describe me
to another

use the word
raw

and feel
red meat

between your teeth
sliding past your tongue
and down your throat

the vulnerable
drip

blood
sweat &
tears

leave stains
saying I

was here
they dare

not speak
the words

that they
feel

but they
hear

all that
you say

and don’t
say

they have
been

trained to
listen

to space
and this

is a strength
that will

reveal itself
eventually

smoke and
flames

opening
pockets
in the
earth

that never
end

anything to
distract you

from
seeing
me

from
reaching
inside me

pulling
out
my
soul

reading
my
diary

read minds

we are human
we are not simple

to say our minds
are oceans

is to underestimate
its depths

exponentially

to speak of
the speed of

thought

is to miss
a lifetime

with each word
we say

if we could
read minds

even the
universe

would seem
small

we are our
family’s rubble

they call us
double trouble

the dynamite twins
the cockroaches

only we survive
our path of destruction

people like to say
we mean well

it makes them
feel better

but we don’t
mean anything

people need form
and definition

not us

we like to keep
you busy

give you something
to put back together

to repair
to fix

a clue to follow
a puzzle to figure out

a mystery to understand
a problem to solve

when the fairy
tale ends

I follow her
into the woods

she was happy
as the moment

called for but
I knew she was

more than a role
and while this

ending could
be happy

I knew this
was not

the end

I knew she
had more

to say

so I followed
her into

the woods

she rests
on the earth

naked and
raw

white skin
like snow

she closes
her eyes

holding her
hands across

her chest

her hair
spreads

into the
dry grass

her lips
part as

she whispers
prayers

dreaming
she is a

flame

she is grounded
what is left of
her little yellow
wings won’t lift her
I cry when I
see her run
across the sharp rocks
she jumps and each
time she lands
she cuts her toes
leaving droplets
of blood
that spread leaving
a trail of red
that she hopes no one
ever follows

She enters the bar after dark. I am immediately captured. Waves of electricity pull me near. She turns toward another and smiles.

I am an avalanche.

Her eyelids close when she speaks to him; one lash falls gently toward the night. It lands on my arm. I make a wish and blow. She turns to me and whispers, “Be careful what you wish for.”

Maybe I should have listened.

She dances by herself for a moment then disappears. The night is still young, but I am not. I search for her. The crowd is black and white; she is in color. It is easy to trace her steps.

When I approach her, a bullet grazes my ear. The lobe disappears. I can only hear her voice as she whispers to me,

“I hold the gun, I always hold the gun.”

you always
preferred windows

to mirrors
they were more

reflective to you
the outside

spoke to you
in ways you

could never
speak to yourself

she soaked
in a claw

foot tub
head under

water bubbles
floating on

the surface

her hands
played in

the air
each finger

a dancer
improvising

it was her
way of

relaxing

spoke a
language

like nature

each finger
a note

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

lost in the midst
of what might happen

or what is happening

hard to tell the
difference now

so many words
in mind and mouth

it’s all so confusing

I think maybe
we all need to pause

feel a deep breath
and forget

find a safe way to
release a little

piece of our anxiety

we ask why
not for

we do not
want more

you speak
words from

memory

everything
is in your

head but

all truth
is embodied

and never
complete

so you can
not answer us

in any way
we can believe

god has a past

humans have memories
of more than themselves

they carry on legacies
bred into them

angels gather
arranging
themselves
into angles

creating sharp
points

to cut the
skin of humans
and corrupt
their smallest spaces

the humans bleed
and bleed
but no longer
sacrifice

we cry only
when we need

man is in an image

man is to god
as a star
is to man

dead lights
fireflies

I wish the world was smaller
and I did not know so much.

I long for empty spaces
and a sky with stars
that shine through this fog.

I don’t want to be a star;
I just want to be remembered fondly.

I remember fondly,
when I was young
and just having a job meant something.

Now that I am older
my job has to mean something

-well, it really doesn’t

yes it really does.

Saturday night in the city of gods everything is man-made
having been constructed, deconstructed and reconstructed;
even the gods are recycled on this planet.

The silicon ******* of dead women are sold as gold.  Plastic surgeons create walking, talking billboards who can no longer smile, for fear they may crack.

Uptown, lightening strikes the same spot once, twice, three times
and a star is reborn; neon lights up the sky again. Everyone else in the up part of town crowd into that same spot and wait for their turn.

Here in the down part of town, the others, drink to alleviate the weight of pain and each sentence ends with “I remember when” but they never do.

A prodigal mathematician with a pointy nose points to a bronze statuette dancing slowly and alone in the corner of the room and tells me that everything that ever was is signified in the rhythm of her Spanish hips.

Then he says, “I remember when.”

But I don’t think he does.

it is never good.  when only one voice speaks.  
it is worse.  when many voices speak.  
but they say the same thing.

she is a feather pillow
now I can rest

she laughs and
makes me light

lifts the veil from
everything I hide

and makes me light

but tonight she is
rolled up in a tear

a soft little ball
of water and salt

I turn myself
into a container

I let her fall
into me

I make sure
she is safe

because she is
my feather pillow

and she lets me rest

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

I like small words
because they can
mean so many things

I am a child
with a head

living

two flights above
everyone else
in the room

we speak the
same words

but we don’t mean
the same thing

so I stop speaking
my words

and speak their words
and it was there

in the house
of my first memory

that I learned
how to live alone

I like small words
because they can
mean so many things

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.

night angel
with demon teeth

**** me
save me

make me
bleed

make me
breathe

ride the circle
make it fast

from life to
death to

life again

I am a fly
with a billion
eyes

I see futures
for everyone

there is more
than one future

there is no
straight path

to eternity

the rain was hard and sudden

feeling like broken sheets of glass
falling from the dark side of the sky

surrounding us like silver zombies
we could not escape our fate

the road filled and then flooded
and we collapsed under the weight

of yesterday

a highway of those ******* birds
descended upon us

different people give them
different names

we call them an omen

they cackle and dance
flying so close together

they seem as a black hole
swallowing the planet

there is a rhythm
to my blues

I pace myself

it takes energy
to smile

and speak

and the light
can get too bright

to see
darkness can be

revealing and
hibernation

is a thing
not just for bears

some of us are
earthlings

we need to
spend some time

underground

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

I ask the river
to swallow me

but with this drought
it is in more pain

than me
it asks me for my help

asks me what have I done
to this world

says everything was fine
before me

I tear off my clothes
exposing myself to nature

I jump in and

sink a few feet
to the bottom

I start to cry
hoping every little bit

helps

the sounds
you make

when you
fall from

the sky

when you
land on

the earth

you are
the scream

in my soul
the ache in

my brain
the kick

in my groin

I am
speechless
wordless

pure
primitive
without

pretense

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

lay down fresh
soil in a bed

plant a seed
and watch it

grow

each drop is
nourishing

it first presses
against soil

then emerges

as a slight form
expanding

up and out
ending as

colorful sweet
smelling petals

protected by
long dangerous

stems

I lick a thorn
and make a wish

we connect
in a circle

dancing round
and round

hands locked tight
knuckles white

we sweat through
our skin

creating a new sin

I have always
had an uneasy

relationship
with you

knowing I
needed you

but not wanting
to know that

when I didn’t
have you

I wanted you

when I had you
I didn’t want you

I cannot
shed my
skin

the ***** cells
are clinging
to me

they are
supposed
to become
dust

but they
have decided
to remain

and build up
and weigh
me down

so I don’t
feel like
doing

anything

they are
supposed
to leave me

at least
daily

so I can
feel clean

and be
renewed

instead of
lost in this

old mattress rut

she was young
without direction

her road
was not paved

each step
was rough
on her bare feet

and she slipped
so many times

cutting herself

leaving partly healed
scars all over

the lonesome
highway is
eternal

once it finds you
there are no off-ramps

only rest stops

it feasts on
roadkill

leaving behind
the softest parts

onstage

I paint
a smile
create
a mask
it is
my gift
to you
to make
you laugh

offstage

each
moment
I live
ends in
tiny
deaths
tiny
pieces of
me
disappear
when you laugh

we are guarded
this time

danger is invisible
free riding human skin

any human skin

no color
no age
no ***
no origin

predicts

we don’t even
know ourselves

will I hurt you
will you hurt me

so we are instructed
to remain at a

safe distance

but even at this
distance

we can exchange
smiles of light

saying it isn’t
really that I

don’t trust you
I am just staying safe

there were
these creatures

in the woods
they would crawl

into my hands
I named them

and made them
a family

hoping they would
stay together

but whenever I
released them

they would scatter
I guess that’s just

the way things are

six feet.  apart.  
six feet.  under.  

we live in
what remains

of life

carrying two
yardsticks

as a measure
of ourselves

air hugs and
kisses

to everyone

I know you
from your eyes

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…

we are young
in a small place

sitting on a bank
you are looking

at me I am
staring far away

I ask you if
the tree floats

I say

I want to
leave this

place and

I want to
leave

by water

you say
something

about roots
and how far

into the earth

they go I
don’t understand

I jump in and
disappear

you stay on
the bank

and wave

I moved north
hoping the leaves
would fall;

changing reasons
for living again.

I met a ******* a lark
laughing at the trees.

She said “I’ve been
searching for you
sand man.”

She really meant sad
but she was too happy
to say that word.

She said, “I will wait
for the weight to fall from
your shoulders.

You will be my shiny, red balloon
I can ride to the
moon.”

I took off my overcoat.

obscure rhymes

playing
on the tongue

sometimes

they make
you think

and sometimes
they are

just fun

in life we
can lose things

important things

things that make us
human

things that make
us whole

in life we
can lose things

important things

so we cannot
speak our voice

so we cannot
see our true selves

so we cannot
hear the cries
of others

in life
we must grow
back these

important things

these things
that make us

human

we must grow back
our ears

so we can
save the birds

I am a shadow
I am a crow

you create
my nights

when longing
for you

is my occupation
my eyes close

but I do not dream
I obsess

strangling any
other thought

that enters me so

there is one thing
left in this world

she smokes naked
at night

believes the rain

is not real
likes when the

sky is dark
wants to be

struck by lightning
believes it is

eternal inspiration

she laughs when
I say sorry

and forgives me
when I sleep

she is a scavenger
living off the

dearly discarded

there are places
we never echo

our words do
not carry

the clouds
do not move

and the wind is
not present

the earth is
happy to hold

our secrets
it is ancient

it has heard
everything

in every language

it is the safest
place to scream