angles are for
liars and geometry

if he is not
teaching you

about shapes
and the

arrangement
of parts

don’t trust him

what do you want to be?

I had a dream once.
when I was young.
to be a hobo.
I did not know.
hobo as a negative.
I only thought of.
a wanderer.
like Socrates.
or Jesus.
wandering through.
a land.
talking to strangers.
sharing wisdom.
I loved walking.
along the empty.
train tracks.
in my hometown.
travelling from.
town to town.
imagining I was a hobo.
sharing wisdom.
with strangers.

I can’t look up
when you come near

for fear
I’ll drown

wanting for
something more

is anything more
painful than

holding in
the pressure

building
in any part

it doesn’t
matter which

everything needs
to be released

is anything more
painful than

holding in

the clouds
know the answer

sanity is
fragile

one word
out of place

makes you
think

something is
wrong

you do not
realize

the very
definition
of place

is fragile
and maybe

it is sanity
that is holding

on to you

she is a young
soul on fire

her mouth emits
a smoky voice

with penetrating
words and spaces

that burrow deep

her face is a
land of freckles

remnants of the sun

I left it
alone

some big cities

are running out
of space

not really

they are running
out of compassion

greed and power
are bottomless pits

sinister identical twins
living off

brains and hearts
using big words

to hide their
missing spaces

where once lived
their brains and hearts

enough space to
house the planet

we lose our covers
each layer
that protects us
we are creatures
in the purest form
vulnerable
losing our violence
facing our fear
the only real fear
we are Voldemort
on the table
clinging to the last
of ourselves
with harry asking
anyone who dares to listen
what is that
even though he knows
everyone knows
when they see themselves
it is just hard
to be honest

is not just
revealing

everything
at once

to everyone

everything
has a time

and a place

when it
matters

when it
can do

the most good

if it is easy
it isn’t

honest

she was small

a soap bubble
created by breath

floating away
by herself

so full of life and
not afraid to burst

I blow the
lights out but

I do not make
a wish

I want to
envelope

myself
in darkness

I want to
feel the

emptiness
of hollow

the moment
before hope

when the string
is pulled

and the chute
doesn’t open

and I don’t
say a prayer

and they write
of monsters

taking our
pain and

making it
inhuman

creating the
misshapen
creatures

that terrorize us

separating us
from ourselves

telling us
we are not
real

because of
how we feel

but what is
more human

than pain…

perhaps
the memory
of our pain

we must live
with everyday

the misshapen
creatures who

share our bodies
and make us

whole

the falling light
the last ember of

a dead star

surrounds you
absorbs you

burns your soul
teaches you

to be fire

so everyone is
afraid to touch you

they learned about
hot things when

they were children

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

there are so many
mirrors

on the earth

they give us
questions to

ask ourselves and

when I face one
I ask myself

what is the human
thing to do

she is young
relatively

but we have
asked so much of her

she feels like
she is breaking

from all these demands

sometimes I laugh
when I think

too much or when
I see myself

in a mirror

and sometimes I don’t

I

I am in a dream
with sullen creatures

we have holes
in our pockets

losing hope and
other pieces of lint

our shadows drip
like icicles
obeying the sun

spreading a little
darkness

down the drain

II

angels love
the smell of water

they cannot swim
so they fly close

enough to feel
the mist

hovering like hummingbirds
so that it covers them

and they drip
with desire

falling in love with
their own odors

III

fairies lift the air

sprinkling silver
dust on everyone

creating stars from
slivers of light

they live and love
in small places

spreading hope
around the world

waiting for all the
sullen creatures

to find them

She listens to
the chit-chattering

little voices
vibrating inside
her small spaces

speaking at
60-70- then 80 beats
per second

the voices
become noises then sounds
and the sounds morph into
a song only she can sing.

I can hear her
in the next room
singing to someone.

- A hymn.

I lift her in my arms
and I can feel her tremble
inside me
like a tambourine
like the birth of a religion.

I memorize the 15 day steps.   but I don’t believe.  in the timeline.  

the trap is set.  a month or more.  in isolation.  my mind is laughing.  it is not alone.  it is a pack.  of scavengers.  waiting.  my mind is cackling.  it is not alone.  

my lips are sealed.  my voice is silent.  my hands are drunk.  on alcohol.  they are clean.  and cracked.  nothing can live.  on them.

I do not touch.  my face.  (I am lying).  I have too many.  nervous ticks.  to stop.  they are habits.  decades in the making.

even the prospect.  of death.  can’t change me.  that much.  I am normal.  in that way.  my mind is laughing.  it is not alone.

haven’t been
to church

in a long while
not much I miss

but one thing is
the hymns

sung by the
truly truly faithful

not much of
them but

when you hear them
when you see them

sing

it is truly spiritual

I desire diagnosis
more than ***

beauty is
connecting
my my my
mind to body

the flow of
neurogasm that
creates aha

pleeeease

put me under
your microscope
so that every cell
I have
is revealing

dig through my skin
with your needle

penetrate that
one vein
that is willing

sit me down
lay me down
inside your
machines

send the
invisible disruption
of your
magical forces

through my body

until it
tells you
my secret

I say three
words

with nuance

only three
words

and each
time we

speak

you seem to
understand

more about me

eventually you
will know

me so well
I won’t have

to speak

how lovely
that will be

her eyes

framed
with thick
outlines

sweat and tears
make them bleed
black

she leans
her body
forward

a *******

her arms bent
her fingers
extended

stroking
provoking
the ivories

she disappears

searching
for a key

to express
her voice

she lives
for that
moment
of silence

when everything
in her has been

expressed

Today my mind is in a dream state,
disconnected images come at me quickly;
emotions overtake me
transporting me
from anxiety to ecstasy
and back again
in a flash, in a violent dance
between two angry lovers
who want to hurt each other
in the most personal way.

I am feeling fully the chaos of a newborn’s brain.

Think about being lost
in the crowded streets
deep in the mist of human breath
at Times Square during New Year’s Eve.
You can only sense and absorb your surroundings
you are deprived of the ability
to express or influence
or to make any sense of anything.

Now you know me.

Now you know that
it is only when I expend all
my physical, my chemical energy
in all manner of unspoken words and phrases
when I color the white spaces
of these pages
with my dark matter
while my body remains
mostly stationary
that some of my stability can be regained.

It happens subtly
like the movement of the gold hands
of an antique watch against my wrist.

Oh sleep, sweet, sweet sleep;
why hast thou forsaken me?
You are the only angel in my hellish brain
telling me I am ok
I am ok.

my lips are

scissors or
swords or
scythes

whatever is
needed to

cut through
all the crap

spreading
through the

electric waves

thinking for
yourself is

the lost art

this is not
what they

meant when
they taught

us to share

I wake to a buzz then
go back to sleep

for a few more hours
the day is too long

anyway

it squeezes the darkness
from the night

tries to make me
pretend to be happy

but I am the moon

cool blues
deep oceans
long nights

a howl

funny how you
disappear for so long

that I almost forget you
I almost forget

your possession of me
my obsession of you

and then something
strikes me

suddenly

and I remember you

everything about
you and me

and I am once
again overcome

with you inside of me

dreading the pain
loving the comfort of

familiarity

he has never met me
but I live in his world

this man of small deep spaces

he notices the gaps
that never end

what could be
what wants to be
what needs to be

and he works
always working
toward something

he makes me feel okay
to be unfinished

to age
to become old
and still be
unfinished

to live
to be
to become

part of life’s
grand experiment
that never ends

to work on my own gaps
and be happy

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

I am not
invisible but

I do not take
up much space

or sound

I like to leave
room for you

whoever you are

feelings can be
subtle if

you let them
they have a

lifespan like
a dandelion

flower to dust
then disappear

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

red blood or
red poison

I am awake
in the middle of
the night

feeling bugs

a swarm of
energy

coming
to life

others
asleep

I dare not
scream out

so I scream in

death is an
implosion

breaking through
my inner skin

into the silence
that surrounds me

and my cells bleed
poison not blood

I would not cry

my heart would
continue
beating
steadily

mornings would come
and go
time would pass

more slowly
perhaps

I would notice
less; details
would disappear

and gray would become
my favorite color

a whimper would
be the closest I could
come to a scream

and I would
forget the words
to my
favorite songs

eventually
just as angels
living day-to-day
I would not notice
that anything
was missing

and when they asked
me “how are you”
I would say
“fine”

just fine

to be clever
to make god laugh

and tell me I
never thought

of that

but making
you laugh

is enough
for now

the thought never occurred to me at least not in its complete form fragments maybe at best come to me at times I am not ready and then quickly abate into confusion I do not like sentences more to the point I hate punctuation I would rather throw words together and let you figure out the starts and stops because where you want to stop may not be where I feel like pausing and this way we can both figure it out on our own there are no obligations for us to ride this thing out together but if I look over one night and find you on the same trail that would be great not saying that it is meant to be just that at that moment it is and then I will know we are both honest living our own lives close to the same spot on this planet if I am near you because you are you not because I am me there is something wrong with that inherently the daily interactions of our simple lives should bring us together so put in your own pauses or let it continue without stops until it burns out whichever way you like is right and when I want to stop and pause or start all over or elaborate I will do that

the laughing cackles
from over there

lips of a pack
of perfectly
manicured hyenas

unable to control
their simple natures

they speak simple and
repeat each other

simply

they would choke
on three syllable

words and

I would laugh
but they don’t

deserve my
sense of humor

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

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

I have seen
your garden

delicately
maintained

I have walked
through your garden

carefully

admiring the
colors

absorbing the
fragrances

I lean down
toward your

prized flowers

and kiss a rose
to show you

I am not
afraid to

bleed a little
for love

I knew the sounds
had meaning

but I did not know
what they meant

their beauty was
evident

in their sounds
and their spaces

but is it the beauty
of pleasure or pain

is it the beauty of love
or loneliness

I could not tell

I just knew I felt
something pure

and I had to
find a way

to say thank you

I am small words
beginnings

I can merge
into anyone

and become
anything

belief is a grip
born from hope

formed and deformed
hope is a mutant

disconnected from
beginnings

this is ****
I like to write

mouth shut
mind open

for a day
I let go of

what I know
empty all

the chambers
that are always

loaded and
ready to explode

I let you speak
until you say

you are done
and I only

speak to ask
not to tell

and then
once again

I listen

The street is desert. Thin lines of waste race across the surface of the street.  down the curb. gathering around a clogged drain. turning thick and brown.  

From earth to air.  The street is almost empty of life.  Flies don’t fly and earth bugs are too scared to scurry.  I smell the vultures.  In this city the air is heavy and they flap their wings but they cannot fly.

They walk around and look for dead things.  Zombies are dead things.

We see life in chemicals.  Chemicals need containers to thrive.  We are containers.  
Chemicals see life in us.  Chemicals thrive in us. Chemicals multiply in us.  
Chemicals are life in us.

People, people, so many people.  Living so close to each other.  People are lonely creatures.  More people does not reduce the loneliness.  People are lost creatures.  Following every direction.  Getting nowhere.

People have minds.  Some minds are swamps.  Full of life yet lifeless.  Stagnant.  Devoid of meaning.  The smell of air that cannot get out of its own way.  Accumulating trash that is never discarded.

I lie in all this muck and make dirt angels.  ***** angels.  God makes ***** angels.  
Sick from the smell of themselves.

I live in thick skin.  heavy like a morning fog.  more like smog.  that never lifts.  created by humans.  nothing penetrates me.  I do not feel.  I was not always this way.

I live in a city.

i am nobody’s son

love without love
is a sin

and mostly sin
is a little thing

that grows
and procreates
and separates
like cells

like infected cells
spreading through
generations

she chews gravel

so every sound
aches for
absolution

and when I hear her

i want to
feel my
deepest aches

i want to
feel my hardest
separations

i want to be
disconnected
from everything

i am doll parts

bent arms
bent legs
tangled hair

a plastic smile
painted in
pretty pink

to create
full luscious lips

I am love without love

i am an
interchangeable
sexless torso

playful letters
tease me

they come
together

make me
see things

make me
feel things

make me
laugh

make me
cry

make me
believe

in something
more

make me
doubt

anything
is real

what would
I do without

my playful
letters

I fall through glass.  looking.  a mirror.  an image.  I am cut into pieces.  small versions of me.  scatter.  across the planet.  I cannot follow.  everyone.  so I sleep.  after all.  

I am tired.

I wake to a whisper.  she is the wise widow of the wind.  she smiles at me.  lasciviously.  she tells me secrets.  I listen.  sneaking peaks.  at her mystery.

I grow.  large.  I put the beautiful planet.  in my pocket.  for safe keeping.  the oceans drain.  I have a stain.  I can’t explain.

who would believe me.  anyway.

seems to be

the basis of
every faith

transcendence

conquering
this life

the magic
of belief

we crawl
and learn

to walk

we walk
and learn

to run

we run
and learn

to fly

we fly
and learn

to transcend

we transcend
and…

only her body
was small

everything else
impacted the

planet

compassion
is the best

type of
passion

I think her
voice is

an echo

living in
many

generations
she will pass

through time
and be felt

just short
of forever

life was young
and chaotic

there was no
purpose to me

or anyone else
around me

so I left the
house early

searching the
whole earth

for one truth
to hold me

with sunflower stars
lighting my way

I hid my lonely heart
in those wild fields

singing the song
of the honey bees

searching for
nourishment

******* on
all the honey

hidden in the wild trees

smoke then ashes
what is left behind

after I disappear
memories are made

of soft putty
meant to be

manufactured by
our minds

we are all sculptors
or perhaps

magicians or
better yet

manipulators
trying to mold

the past with
a future

into something
we can live with

at least for a moment