there’s a heart
grown heavy
laying in bed
trying to wake
up

453 times he’s said
to himself
“wake up”
but it’s only putting
him back to sleep,
a hypnosis
untended
or fate that cannot
be escaped?

wake up he says for
the 454th time
but his eyes stay shut
and he can hear birds
chirping their bird songs
outside of his
window

he can feel the weight
of his existence:
each social expectation,
each biological demand,
just another pound on
his shoulders
but
he’s been down
on the ground for a while
now

the heavy heart
prays to be
emptied

wake up, he says,
and counts 455
wake up, he says,
and counts 456
wake up he says
and counts 457
wake up, he says,
and counts 458
wake up, he says,
and goes back to
sleep

the days will keep coming
the problems will keep mounting
the buildings will keep crumbling
the hatred will keep building
and
the rope will keep thinning
the laughs will keep dampening
the eyes will keep shutting
the cities will keep burning
and
the clocks will keep ticking
the lives will keep ending
the bodies will keep piling
the meaning will keep hiding
and
the madness will keep growing
the arms will keep reaching
the lips will keep searching
the future will keep slipping
away

regardless of whether
you like it or not
things will keep moving
with you or not

I hurt my back yesterday
and it ached and ached
and ached today
so I laid flat on my back
and twisted myself
all around
but nothing made it
better.

I took some pills
and I took a nap
and had my girlfriend
rub on me
but still nothing made
it better.

I got angrier and angrier
and angrier still,
at this aching
in my back,
so I flailed about
until I couldn’t anymore
and now I still hurt
but it’s been so long
that I forget what feels like
exactly.

I twist myself once more
and feel no relief,
so I turn back around,
slouch into my chair,
give into it,
and turn on the
television.

it is the nature of dogs to sleep
it is the nature of rocks to crumble
it is the nature of the sky to be blue
it is the nature of the day to be long
it is the nature of the car to break down
it is the nature of the tree to grow upwards
it is the nature of hands to seek hands
it is the nature of birds to sing songs
it is the nature of hearts to beat
it is the nature of rivers to flow
it is the nature of roads to go onwards
it is the nature of suns to beat brows
it is the nature of worms to burrow
it is the nature of tops to turn
it is the nature of grass to be dew-covered
it is the nature of the earth to be hard
it is the nature of the siren to blare
it is the nature of the eyes to roam
it is the nature of the shelf to hold
it is the nature of hammer to build
it is the nature of a river to roar
it is the nature of a voice to whisper
it is the nature of the book to yellow
it is the nature of paper to burn
it is the nature of the blanket to warm
it is the nature of the arms to comfort
it is the nature of the family to challenge
it is the nature of the breakfast to fill
it is the nature of nations to bicker
it is the nature of floors to creak
it is the nature of gods to laugh
it is the nature of man to laugh too
it is the nature of the mind to wonder
it is the nature of the body to fear
it is the nature of life to consume
it is the nature of all else to oppose
us

rightfully so
we were to be fearful
in the days
when tigers
roamed the
night

but now,
with our computers
and our Big Mac’s,
is there anything else
we really need to
fear?

the worst part of any wound
is receiving it,
don’t let anybody
lie to you,
including
yourself.

the pain is only as bad
as the knife
is sharp
and
while
you think you’re never
going to forget,
you will.

faster than you’d think
you’ll start filling your head
with new thoughts
of the new adventures
you are having
and the new stories
you are writing
every day.

so don’t let pain get to you,
if you don’t die
then you will
get better
and the pain will pass soon,
it’ll pass quicker
then you could
believe.

enjoy what you have
when you have it
and when don’t have it anymore,
take a deep breath,
close you eyes,
and really let it
go.

it’s a whole lot easier than
you ‘d think.

fortune-telling is a load of horse-****
but I don’t think seeing into the future
is impossible

take this little moment:
it’s 11:59 on new years
the count-down is happening
thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty,
and my mother is taking photos
and my dad is trying to pour champagne
and still the numbers dwindle
eighteen, seventeen, fifteen,
and I’m sitting on a high stool
with my girlfriend next to me
and the final count-down is coming
but the glasses are lined up
and my mom is still *******
with her camera
and even as we yell out
three, two, one,
we’re not ready

after the ball hits the ground
I’m reaching over and trying
to find my girlfriends lips
and also reaching for my
champagne
time slows down
I haven’t found either yet
my eyes are closed
celebration blares
from the TV

I find the glass
with the tip of my fingers
and it tips over
shattering
sparkling gold
spills over the counter-top
and I never found her
lips

I swear
feel hot blood in my face
look away from everyone

we cleaned up,
wiped up the broken glass
and the liquor with a rag
and moved on

eighteen hours later
I’m still wondering what
it means

an omen?
maybe

eventually life must go from
future to present tense

she didn’t want me to go
not again
not this time
lay with me she begged
and I’d smile
and say
but I have to
I have to
you know I do
and she would nod
in agreement
but then ask me to stay again
and I’d smile even bigger this time
and kiss her on her fragile lips
and feel in her breath
how badly she wanted me
to stay
and then I would stay
for another half hour
or so
and then I’d tell her
that I really needed to go
but I could tell that
she didn’t want me to go
ever again

a hush fell over the universe
those Christmas eve nights
when we would toddle through
the snow, up to the tiny house
where the rest of my family
had already gathered and begun
celebrating

it was in these quiet nights
that I understood everything
I needed to about our existence;
that it was fragile, that is was
insignificant, and that it was
unavoidable

though I could hear nothing
and see nothing, I could feel
the entirety of the world roll
away through that darkness

there was so much to do come
the morning, but for now, we
had to reunite with the others
and celebrate the two-thousand
something birthday of some
desert-dwelling hobo

a Merry Christmas to you,
dear reader, I hope you too
have received gifts as good
as this

there was a boy
who got all he ever wanted
one day,
all of a sudden,
out of
nowhere

and then he sat there
with his car
and his house
and his job
and his wife
and he thought:
now what?

and his wife told him
to have kids
and so they did
but when the kids
were born and
grown and
gone
he turned to his wife again
and said:
now what?

and his wife told him
to retire and move to florida
so he retired after
thirty-five years at his company
and moved to a shack
across the street from the beach
(because he couldn’t afford
a house on the beach)
and as he sat one night
looking out at the sun setting
he would turn, again,
to his wife and ask:
now what?

and she told him
to just enjoy all that he had
all that he had done
to look back on his life
and smile
and so he
did

but before bed that night
he turned to his wife
and asked her with all
earnest:
now what?

and she told him
to go to bed
because that’s all there
is to do right
now

and that stuck with him
it was all he could think about
he stayed up thinking about it
all night in fact
and when his wife woke up
she found him out on the front porch
sitting in a plastic chair
watching the sun
come up

she didn’t think anything of it
and didn’t say anything about it
but something had changed in him
something that took him three weeks
to figure out
because that is when
he turned to his wife
one last time
and asked:
now what?

and she told him to answer
his own **** question
for once

this shocked him
and made him angry
so he barked back
that she’d always
had an answer before
where were they now?
where were all those things
to be doing now?

she didn’t know
and his yelling brought tears
to her eyes so he left the house
and she sat their crying
for a bit until
she could pick herself up
and go work on her knitting
until he returned

the boy drove through the sea-side town at twilight
and he could look into the bars and see
dozens of young people drunker than sailors
singing songs completely off key
and genially enjoying whatever
they were doing right then

the boy then drove to the pier
and parked his car ****-eye
across three spots
and got out and walked
across the rickety planks
to the end of that bridge
to nowhere

there he looked out towards the darkened sea
and he could see nothing

not a ship
or a lighthouse
not a buoy
or a feature in the
sky

and there he stayed until the dawn
enveloped him and other souls
began to inhabit the pier

he returned to his car
pulled it out from across three parking spots
drove it out of the parking lot
away from the town
and out towards his shack
across from the ocean

once home
his wife came to him
saying she was worried sick
saying she could barely sleep
saying where were you?
oh god, where were
you?

nowhere
he said
I was nowhere
and for the first time
I finally felt like there wasn’t anywhere else
to go

what do you mean by that?
his wife questioned

I don’t know
he responded
I really don’t
know

I write about us
for the same reason
every writer
has written
about
us

because we are tragic
and we are helpless
and we are victims
of the merciless fates
and we are depressing
and unbelievable
and astonishingly
sad

but we also are happy
and we are smiling
and we laugh at the world’s
attempts to destroy us
and we are joyful
and laughing
and so amazingly
elated

we are wayward souls
destined from the dawn of creation
to wander in search of each other
and if this sounds too fantastical
then I understand
because I, too, cannot
believe it

but know
that beyond my calculating stare
I also find all of this too amazing
to assume it all happened by
chance

though this universe
will march onward whether
we find each other’s arms
or not
it is good to know that
we have
because it gives things
a happy ending
doesn’t it?

that two of these tortured lives
can find their way to each other
and be rid of their strife
if not rid of their sin

let this gospel not torture our lives
but know that I write about us
because there is nothing better
to write about

for life,
in all her wisdom,
has declared that humanity
shall strive forever for
those that we love
and that every part of our small
and insignificant lives
shall be dedicated to that higher purpose
whatever form it might
take

it would be a quick
and beautiful death

out the rift in the space ship’s hull
and into the cold black abyss
a few instants of breathlessness
of desperate lips gasping
of wild eyes searching for
a reason
and then the calm
a reunification with the universe
that brings with it the realization
of how quiet it is out here
how far the void extends
in every direction
and how small
you really are
in the face of even the tiniest
cosmic body

then you will be torn apart
so quickly, you’ll never even know
brought back to your natural state
tiny pieces without order
atoms flying erratically
through the chaotic darkness
and though you may will to fight it
I much advise using
the second or two you have
to make peace with your existence
and be happy to be part
of something
so much bigger
yourself

if you hold up your thumb
and cover any sliver of the night sky
you are ignoring ten billion galaxies
with all their trillions of stars
each one possibly containing planets
each one possibly containing life
each one possibly holding up their thumb
and removing you from their consciousness
just as easy as that

things don’t have
to add up

love does not equal marriage
death does not equal sadness
life does not equal suffering
and pain does equal fear

in life
and all throughout the universe
there are holes in our equations
that we will never be able to fill

know what can known
and know what can’t
and accept that
things don’t have
to add up
and
most times
they won’t

it’s hard to say
if our little lives
really matter
in the long run

but I do know
that love can make
any little life
more important
than anything else
in the universe

how
does one put
into words
the infinite beauty
of love?

don’t touch
he’s got skin like sand-paper
blood like acid
his heart pumps
cold blood
and his eyes are full
of devil’s fire

he’ll cut you
or batter you
he’ll leave you feeling sick
or feeling disgusted

so don’t touch
he’s too harsh,
too rugged,
leave him to thrive
amongst the
rocks

seven days now
till childhood
no longer becomes an option
when I become a man
strong and powerful
full of vigor
wise
ready to take on the world
and willing to
thirsty for it
in fact

it’s not that
I’m not ready
but how could they expect
everyone to be?
that’s a lot to ask of a kid
still in high school
never lived on his own
never loved or
if he has
only to some *****
with a power complex
and maybe he’s had a job
but never a good one
and he’s probably never known
what it’s like to be relied on
or to be responsible
or to even own anything
and yet those are all things
they’re saying he’s
ready to do

it’s a ****** up world
we grow up into
and my race through it
begins soon

stepping out into the daylight,
I can almost hear the crowd
screaming:

three,


two,



one.

it’s a winter night tonight
and I’m sitting in my room
in the warmest jacket
I could find
but my hands are
still frozen
and the darkness
seeps in from the
windows

I’ve given up trying
to argue with my
suffering,
I’m just sad
and with plenty of
good reason
too

but when I climb into bed
under a thick comforter
and still shiver
I wonder why
things haven’t changed
yet

I’m still alone
nearly seven months
later
I’ve found no one,
not even a fling
not even a friend
and each day it gets harder
to get up and smile into
the cold breeze

the stars have stopped
talking to me

the earth no longer
shows me her
beauty

I do not think I will
survive the winter
alone in the universe
like this

but that’s the lie
that I like to
tell myself

I will always survive

through  hell,
burning or freezing,
through apocalypse,
through upheaval,
through war,
through abandonments,
through destruction,
and even through
certain kinds of
death
I will still be here,
writing poems
for the darkness
of night
for no other reason
than to prove I existed
for one more
moment

like a soldier always marching
like an ant always building
like a tree always growing
like the world always churning
I am unstopping yet
not unyielding,
living, as I do,
in accordance with
the earth:

surviving,
if barely,
from each harsher winter
she puts before me
and always rising
greater than
before

anything but love,
he begged,
I love her too
much.

she’s trying to study
but she can’t

there are beautiful clouds outside
and trees growing in the sun
there are people playing Frisbee
and birds fluttering in the breeze
and even just a spot on the ground
that’s a little more interesting
than the other ones

that won’t do though
her work is due in an
hour

she sits up in her chair
pulls her notebook closer
leans down, writes for a second,
then looks out the window
again

what a beautiful day
she thinks

she bites her pencil
examines her yellow nails
and looks out the window
again,
at the ground
this time

what a beautiful day,
she thinks,
but I really must get
back to work

he was cursed to love everyone in the world
and he could do nothing but try and enjoy it

I am stuck in a part of my
life that nobody else is in

speaking a foreign tongue
repeating strange rituals
talking of places
most call imaginary
and dreaming dreams
in a sleepless
land

I am drifter and an outcast
a blasphemer to some
a prophet to others
but nobody
really knows
which

I am surrounded
but time is my only
companion

I beg them to understand
but they are not capable
they stare at me
and I stare back
both of us wide-eyed,
wondering, thinking in
our minds:

what savagery
thrives
here

I had just learned
that I loved you

the walls rattle
with my voice
as the walls fell
all around us

she would hug me
when all the anger and sadness
and depression got too much
and in a moment of final weakness
I would cry tears as
my way of praying
and she would come, like a god,
and take me into her arms
whispering to me, cooing me,
telling me that all was forgiven,
all would be okay, and,
eventually, once the shudders
had stopped but the tears were
still wet on my face I would
raise my head and  look
into her beautiful eyes
and she would smile then
and kiss me with her soft lips
and it was only then that I knew
how to forgive myself, to forgive
god, forgive the universe, and
move on, holding her hand
until I could run free again
and go and get my heart hurt
all over again

there is a beautiful world
just outside my window,
unattainable and smug.

it’s loud in here
between my eyes
and my soul
in the neural synapses
that make up the “me”
that we all know
and when I ask you to
say it again or
speak up
or yell
know
it’s nothing
to do with you
and all do with the
rushing whir of gears
that I long ago
stopped trying
to quiet

she’ll start smoking
               eventually

                  after her boyfriend celebrates
                           his third anniversary with his
                           seven dollar an hour job

                  after she can’t find a school
                           that will accept her since she
                           was kicked out of her other
                           school in the first place

                  after her brother finishes high
                           school and promptly does nothing
                           with his life

                  after her boss brings her down
                           to five hours a week

                  after her car breaks down, but
                           she can’t afford to fix it, so she
                           leaves it broken down

                 after she sees the same movie
                           for the third time in a row at
                           three in the afternoon

                after she drinks all night and
                         wakes up in the morning not
                         hung over

                after the hundredth argument
                         she has with her parents

                after the third apartment she’s
                         been kicked out of

                after the thousandth time she’s
                         faked an ****** (but before her
                         first real one)

                after she decides she’ll marry
                         him, because, in the end,
                         at least he’s a good guy

after all that, she’ll decide
that the risks aren’t really
           that bad any more

he reached out
with his cold hands
not to injur others
but to try and find
some warmth
for himself

you had the voice
and body of a goddess

the kind
worshipped by natives
in the thralls of
their drug-induced
dances

they prayed
that you would
feed their lands
and
give life
to their crops

they sacrificed
virgins and
children and
their enemies

you taught the birds
how to sing
and
the day
how to be beautiful

your lips were
the entrance to
heaven

how I worshipped you too,
silently, in the moonlight
when I awoke at two AM
like I so often did

your hair would drape
over your eyes
and
your face
would seem unconcerned
so full of love
ethereal
not of this world

a sight that would put me at rest,
lulling me back into sleep, but,
as the native heathens learned,
not all gods are meant to be gods
and good worship is scarcely
a guarantee of good  fortune

your folly lied in everything
that made you perfect

your detachment
your care-free-nature
that you were a goddess
trapped in a mortal world

though I grew
and stretched out my limbs
upwards towards the sun
there was no way a mere man
could teach a goddess
how to celebrate
all this beauty
she had made
possible

all that’s left is ruins
holding within them
the stories of so many

but the jungle barely notices
as her vines begin to reclaim
that which is rightfully hers

rising from the gritty earth
to a chilly day in October
love blooms with the pump-
kins

in warm coffees, hay rides,
turning leaves, and harvest
moons you can see love do
her best work

a young couple holds hands
for the first time, smiling as
if they’d never smiled before,
and all across the country
the green turns to orange and
the orange turns to brown

but before the last life seeps
from the last leaf, love will
creep into the hearts of just
enough souls

and even as the land freezes,
and the smiling couple turns
cold and stiff and brittle, love
will still survive, in memories
of Halloween night and that
kiss shared beneath a clear
evening

soon, spring will come, and
love will run free once again
and teach a new generation
how to plant and harvest her
crop

fall is coming
and the winds have turned cold
the leaves aren’t changing but
a few brave ones have fallen
and although it’s hard to prove
I can see the new season arrive
in the sky, in the way the clouds
hang still, as if waiting, and the
blue shines brighter than ever

I’m lucky to be here, I think,
experiencing the sun-shine
and breathing in the world
at large

what a thing
to realize

it is easy to forget
how to write or
how to love or
how to clip your nails or
play guitar or
pick out cereal or
enjoy a sunny afternoon

happiness unfolds for
so many like a miracle

the simplicity of it all
escapes them

I hate my poems
that’s the problem
I hate them because they try too much
(they try the impossible really)
and, yes, some of them are good
but none of them are great
and none of them get it
right
they all **** it
mess it up in small details
or don’t make out the big picture
from the little parts
except,
perhaps,
this one.

lean back in your chair
stretch your sore triceps
write a few more lines of poetry
take a drink
turn off the light
rewrite the last line
consider it
leave it be

it’s three AM and
the world unfolds before
you

know,
that just like time,
life passes by
day by
day

it will be good
to feel loved
again

even if it’s just for a moment
even if it’s misguided or fake

like a flower
in the sunshine
I will finally
show my
full
colors

he walks out onto the street
pulls a cigarette from behind his ear
places it gently in his mouth
rests the garbage can
lights his smoke
and pulls the can
back to rolling position

you can only see him
by the faint glow
at the end of his cigarette
and eventually even
that is gone
and the universe goes on
as it was

sometimes
there is a poem
you just need
to write

it was good because
I could laugh off the small things
and smile when I was challenged
and grin at my enemies
and smirk at my loves

it was good because
I could be happy and not feel guilty
and enjoy myself without being sad
and dream of the future
and not need to fear it

it was good because
I could finally be alive
and only someone who’s lived
and then failed to live
can really appreciate
just how wonderful
that first day
of living
truly
was

you may try and fail
and try again
but never fail to try
my friend

it was one of my shirts
large, even on me,
but you loved it

the green matched your eyes
and it reminded you
of places
we would
one day visit

and each night
you’d strip off your day clothes
and pull that oversized shirt
over your beautiful *******
and lead me down
to the place
where
my best
and
worst
memories
were made

she made a point
of thanking me
for my care
these
past
few
weeks
and
made sure to tell me
that I was like a
“brother”
to her

squirming
in bed, like a child,
tickled with excitement
by opportunity,
the night before
the big day.

it has been a long time since
I have been around so many
people, each one with their
lives, their thoughts and ideas,
their questions, their families,
their personalities, and their
problems

walking across campus, trying
to find lunch, I enter and leave
too many lives to count and that
leaves me wondering:

what changes because I walked
across the campus today? did a
girl see me and suddenly find her
boyfriend unsavory? did a man
laugh at me, and feel better? did
a professor feel the presence of
a young soul, rearing to learn,
and somehow feel lifted?

so being around all these people
gives a new meaning to my life;
it has impact. even if no purpose

what little waves do we
never know we make?

we were both horrified
at how easy it was to let
go

as I laid in bed
waiting on sandman
to carry me off
to sleepy-land
I thought about all
we had done
together

each date
each talk
each smile
each smirk
each fight
each hug
each kiss
each ****

and in the end,
when sandman finally
found his way to me,
he had to ask me why
I was smiling so
much