I want to write a poem
about being swept away in the ocean
except everyone else is being moved
and I am the tidal wave moving them

but I am not the tidal wave
and you will not move for
me

instead,
we are both being moved
and the wave is something
greater, hiding openly in
the shadows of our lives

there are no unmovable objects
but there are unstoppable forces

so I wrote a poem
about the tug/push/shove/drag of
           the ocean
about digging my feet into the sand
           and finding just enough purchase
about seeing how long I could hold on
about feeling myself weaken and give way
about falling, eventually, into the sea’s arms
           and floating away, lost on the world

I stepped outside because the lighting had hit
and the thunder was sounding and the clouds
were still rumbling still electricity

the clouds growled loudly of their power,
screaming madly for any man to challenge them
and then laughing heartily when all men cowered
beneath their roofs and inside their houses

the storm had become something else:

an animal

full of deep power
that rolled around inside it,
bouncing off the walls of its mind
and arcing out its claws,
they could not be stopped
but desired a force
to reckon
with

rain, then, splashed my face

cold drops, starting slowly
but picking up pace and I
quickly returned beneath my
roof and inside my home

the storm thumps off in the distance
looking, I assume, for a force worth
wrestling with for the last time

my last four days have been spent away
in a lightless pit at the bottom of my mind.
but the time spent there is not what is important,
as I could not hear what happened above me
and likewise, they did not hear what happened
to me, alone in the cold floor of that depth.
it is now, as I emerge shaken but fresh eyed,
that I notice how the world seems to be off
in a way words have no business describing.
to be sure, I seem to have missed something
and from the faces of those I talk with now,
I can see that they are missing something
as well, but I’m not sure if they know it.

there are still drops falling from the trees
still gray clouds in the sky
still small birds and bugs crawling form beneath their holes
still angry thoughts in our heads

there are still people waiting for savior
still men thinking women hold the answer
still books left unread
still meaning yet unfound

let it roll
let it move
let it grow
let it show

show you how to
roll
move
and
grow

let every little tingling idea
cropping up like weeds in
the back of your mind grow
and fester into something
great though not necessarily
good

let it grow
let it find its voice
let it find its way to show
the world what it
knows

we all have the seeds
but only a few possess
the will to plant them
and even fewer to let
it grow as it turns into
the monster it must be
before it can become
beautiful

let it roll
let it move
let it grow
let it show the world
let it show the world
let it show the world
what you let it do

lying in bed
thinking,
wondering,
planning something
to make me happy
forever

had a good day
playing,
working,
planning something
to make me happy
forever

watching tv
observing,
contemplating,
planning something
to make me happy
forever

lying in bed,
thinking about my day,
wondering about the future,
planning to ask her,
something,
to make me happy
forever.

but until I do it,
that is,
well,
you know what,
I will not be happy
and I cannot sleep
because it’s not
that I’m unhappy,
it’s just I can be even happier
forever.

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

big drops drop down on
everything as the evening
consumes the day

it is neither
cloudy nor night
yet
it still rains

suddenly the world
is all wet

suddenly the animals
are all hid

suddenly my music
has a new rhythm
section

but nothing is
different

it’s only
raining

you can
turn your back
on poetry
but
she will never
turn her back
on you

you cannot hurt her,
she is long beyond
that

no matter how long
you wait

she will welcome you back,
hugging you against her breast,
reminding you there is still
goodness in this world

so stray,
if you must,
go beat the bushes,
try to find a new way to
settle your restless
spirit

but you will not
and you will return
and that first poem
will be as sweet as grape juice
and as intoxicating as wine
and you will wonder how
the two of you ever
found yourself apart

dwelling in the teary memories,
doubts of my past and lost decisions,
I freeze as the world moves on.
even the stones of the wall
and the branches of the trees
move into the future faster than I,
so I cast aside my worried mind,
take heart that I can get past this
and jump into the snowy day
to prove my boldness correct.

I’m fairly certain
nobody would know
I think at all
if it wasn’t for my
poetry

that’s ok

perhaps,
I have just a
little bit
too
much
to live
for

have to much
stuff,
too many
friends,
plenty of
family
that actually
cares about
me

but I have this,

sneaking
suspicion

that it’s
not good
for
me

when I have all this
stuff
to do the living for
when do I have time
to live for myself?

why should I even
live for myself?

I, myself.
am not the
most important
thing that
depends on
me



if I died,
it wouldn’t be
who lost the
most

it would be my friends
it would be my family
it would be the theatre
it would be literature
it would be my society
it would be my country
it would be the world

because once I’m
dead
I can’t lose anything
more

but I’m not dead,
and I’m not dying
so why think of
these things?

because I fear death
because I fear my own mind
because I fear what living
for others has done to me
after all these years

when everything
I have to live for
is gone (as it will be,
one day) will I go
on?

and as long as I don’t have
an answer, this question will
haunt me still

to be chased
is the best feeling
I can think of right
now

to be hunted
that may seem bad
but try it:
feel the adrenaline
pump through your
veins and then come
and tell me it’s not
wonderful

to be wanted
because I am who I am
not for what I have and
to know that someone
cares enough to chase
me through my hoops
and ladders just to get
a chance to say “hi”

chasing
is all I’ve ever known
and I only imagine the
wonder of being chased
back

I suspect
that I may be the
greatest man
ever born

because,

I am by-far
the worst man
to ever walk
the earth

in the
burnt
carcass
of your child-
hood home
remains
only ashes
and
what used
to be
humanity

down looks the eye
spiked through with
a blade of black steal
and on wings of clouds
it shall ascend into a
better place that cannot
exist for you

I watch now
colorful poets
moving their hands and mouths
with the words
of their own creation

so many different monsters
jumping out at my ears
what is the nature of their
existence?

are they born of the writer
or of the world in which
they are ****** into?

are they more than ink?
this is every writer’s dilemma

as the pen scribbles
does the monster only live on the page
or does it escape
into the minds
of those unlucky souls
who happen to pass by at just the wrong
moment so that they monster’s claws
can then tear their simple flesh?

I listen now
seeing so many different monsters
their existence only real
on the white page
but as I look at my own scars
I wonder at my own monsters
and put down my pen

the problem of mortality is
that we will never know which
poem will be the last.
so we have to keep
making them,
better and better,
each one an improvement
on the last,
because we fear
that from the afterlife
(which all poets believe in)
we will read our last poem
and it will be about
something stupid.

like the futility of life
or the last poem we’ll
ever write.

I was asked today

"you're a senior,
right?"

no,
no,
no

I said
chuckling

"Wait,
really?"

yes,
yes,
yes

really.

I repeated,
glowing.


"well I'd never had
guessed,
the way you took
charge
and all
that."

I was silent

thanks

I said

"your welcome"

he said

and I stood there
in the afternoon
sun thinking about
the things I can do

night night
fragile world

I say goodnight
without saying
goodbye
and
I sadden myself

the end is coming
we all know this

the end is something
that can be prepared for
but the best finish
comes out of the corner
of your eye
or from way out of left
field
or even like a snake
sitting right in front of
your face

the end is nigh
as we all know

the end is coming
the end is here
this end is one of many
this end is a simple thing

so close your eyes
or don’t
I hope it comes
when I’m seeing something
nice
but it can come however you
want

you can choose your finish
or you let fate make up its
mind

everybody can find meaning in poetry

it’s the easiest thing
in the world to do

you just read it
and say
it means something

that’s it

ha
ha

simple isn’t it?

too simple
I suppose

ha
ha

I sure wish I was
writing this down
right now

so that somebody could
find some,
uh,

meaning
to it

hehehe

hell,
just so they’d
find some meaning
in something
anything
even
this

the poem is the line which starts it
that and the title
and the stanzas
and the word choice
and the meaning
and the message
and the theme maybe too

what is a poem?
is it best short or long?
how bout in rhythm or even in
rhyme?

what makes a poem?
is it the poet or the words?
or is it something we do
not know? That’s past us,
at least,
for now?
----
100 reads! Thanks guys! 5/9/10

I awake,
finding myself
in a car
speeding
down a highway
in the middle
of the
night

someone
is driving

I do not recognize them,
I am afraid to speak

something
hints that it’s
smirking,
taking a small laugh
at my expense

it leans over then,
looking at me I know,
but it has no
face

it whispers

your turn

and is gone

I tell you one secret,
a most high security
and yet low collateral
thing,
and all of a sudden
all I can see
is me
sending that message
over and
over
and
over
and over

why?

why did I send it?

why couldn’t I keep it to myself?

why you?

why now?

logic has been defeated I think

my heart breathes victoriously
above my brain’s corpse

but then the picture gets hazy
the red of the heart
looks like the pink of the brain
and the juices running from the body
look more and more like blood from
that central *****

what does this mean?
what is it?
why?

why does it haunt me to let you back into my life?

why would I give you chance to ruin it again?

the electricity shoots through your brain
the boom blasts through your body
the gentle fall of the water brings you
back

the lightning
the thunder
the rain

the men shivering and cold
the men lost as home seems further and further away
the men are you and I

crack
boom
shush

the lightning
the thunder
and
the rain

no reason to live
or die, no purpose
to be seen, and no
idea why

life sinking down-
ward, stuck in sand
and digging out’s
impossible

smiles and frowns
and blank looks,
mind and body are
gone

I’m not enough for
myself, so how can
I be enough for any-
one else?

some say that losing control of your life
is like having water rise around your feet.

bit by bit the flood builds
and all the stresses add to its grip
soon it’s at your ankles,
at your waist, at your neck,
then your chin, and nose,
and eyes, and then your
swimming in it, swimming
to avoid drowning but it’s
no use:

the water is pushing you up to the ceiling

and all you have left to do is say your prayers
and think your final thoughts

but that’s not what I think

all that stress,
all those expectations,
all those terrible ideas
that sneak into your head
and then can’t be forced
out

they’re not water

no,
to me
all that
transforms the air,
into something that
drowns you just as fast
if not faster than the
dreaded
water

what I mean to say is:
this is better

that rising water
that inevitability that comes with
having to face your demise in the
face

that cold water is unnecessary
because death is cold enough
already

kings can float on the water
longer than a beggar
their treasures making a life raft
(that should eventually fail)

but when air turns to water
even kings can only
drown

Run,
free men,
run

by train
by car
by plane
by horse

depart from this
stagnating and dying
place, free men,
you must

you will be the first to go,
then the strong,
then the smart,
then the talented,
then the great,
until finally
only the meek
are left
and the world
will fall to ruin
in their hands

you must run,
free men,
you must seek
a new earth

you,
the ones
with dreams in your eyes
and love in your hands

you,
the men and women,
who hold the greatest
above the rest

you,
the people
who live despite
our culture of
death

run,
free men,
run

you,
free men,
must

free men,
run,
I beg of you

run,
escape,
I pray

I ask of you one thing,
free men and women
of the world:

do not look back
do not wonder what becomes
of your mothers and fathers
and brothers

we are lost
we are slaves
to our own
fortunes
and
we are not you,
you, free men

we are what you could’ve been
so learn form that

do not be us,
run from us,
part from us
without guilt,
we are jealous
of your truth

take this chance
free men,
use your willfulness,
your youth,
and
run

let this dying world
be dying

let our histories
be histories

let the past
be the past

let yourselves be
yourselves

run,
free men,
run

this earth will be here
for you to, one day,
reclaim

I need you to
say no to me
because I need to
learn what I can’t be
and what I can’t
do

but if you don’t say
no
to me
then I will never stop
until one day,
very soon,
it will **** me

my sister once told me
brother,
you’re not like everyone
else

and I wasn’t

I wouldn’t be my entire life
and I would be perplexed by it
but I would be happy

+

my father once told me
son,
you’re born to lead everyone
else

and I was

I would lead my entire life
and I would be stressed by it
but I would be happy

+

my friends once told me,
Caleb,
you’re more arrogant than everyone
else

and I was

I would be my entire life
and I was misunderstood for it
but I would be happy

+

I once told myself
man,
you’re not what everyone
else says

and I wasn’t

I was who I said I was
and I would accept that
and I would be happy with it
like no one else knew

how often now does one let go?
to truly not care
to look the other way
and listen in the same
direction

I have given up many a time
knowing I have failed
or others have failed
me
or perhaps the cards
were drawn wrong
or
the bet just wasn’t
right

but whatever it is
I have always known
that failure is not
an option but cutting
loses is

I don’t want to fight
if there’s no way to
win

so I don’t fight

I don’t want to hurt
myself if someone’s
going to

so I go with someone
else

I don’t want to lose

so I quit

it’s backwards and strange
but it’s what I do

I give up
and enjoy

leaving looking back
for the weak and the
guilty

blood in my teeth
taste so familiar
as I head into another
lonesome night

nothing is funny
or ironic now
only cold reality
offers a blanket
for the night

it is a red scarlet markings
as I bite into this evening
that sits in my once beautiful
and magical mouth

it is truth that runs forth
staining the white jewels
perfectly placed at the end
of throat

the evidence there,
in the mirror,
terrifies me

because it reminds:
I am flesh and blood,
not gold or steel.

I am not perfect.
I am not immortal.

I am…
human.

oh, god.

always somewhere to be
always somewhere to go
always something to do
always something to be

cold water,
american water,
down and out
and all over
us

never needing
only wanting

never seeking
only demanding

we are not the chosen ones
and we are more often than
not wrong

completely aware of the rest of the world
completely unable to accept the best option
completely lost in a sea of paranoid tradition

rain,
soft and
unforgiving rain
comes down
upon us
and whispers
in the softest
tone possible

“you are not great
and I shall get you
yet”

I am reaching
the end of the longest
and most arduous chapter
of my young
life

I do not know how
it will end

perhaps in divinity
perhaps in destruction
perhaps in death

but I do know it is
fast approaching

I can hear it on the wind,
whispering,
that voice
that reminds me
when things aren’t going
as planned,
that things must
change,
that summer must turn
to fall,
fall to winter,
and the leaves must fall
and the trees grow
bare

I can see the storm brewing
as the first flakes of snow
float down and melt upon
the ground

the only thing to do is pull my coat closer,
bear my face against the piercing wind,
pray for a home ahead, forget all that I
worry, and remember all the good I know

the chapter ends in whiteness,
a static out of which anything
can emerge

the plane crashes.
silently.

people scream.
silently.

lives live their last moments.
silently.

drinks spill as panic spreads
eyes go wide, adrenaline pumps
the world falls apart
the shroud of reality
disappears into the void

silently.

everything collapses
the walls close in
faces transform with fear
the humanity drips away
madness consumes

silently.

I reach out to the man next to me
he does not see me, does not hear me,
I cannot hear myself either,
the world grows further away
as the gravity grows heavier
we have entered a different realm

silently.

the ocean nears
the moment closes
the last prayers are prayed
the last embraces made
the eye close, waiting
the mind finally accepts

silently.

the plane pulls up
silently.

people stop screaming
silently.

lives begin living once again.
sound returns.

the tragedy is
not that I am alone

it is that I can
never not
be
alone

my life has been a series
of encounters,
each one between me and
the truth that
I discovered much
too young
and,
truthfully,
wish I never had
at all

it is impossible
to escape that ghostly
truth

he is patient
he is smart
he is fast

and

he is right

(but I can still run
from him)

and I do run:

into women
into poetry
into the arts
into new locales
and exciting
venues

I run and hide
and hope

hope that truth will
leave me alone for-
ever

(but we all I know
he can’t do that)

eventually he’ll find me,
walk leisurely up, grab
the paper out of my hand,
look at it, laugh at a story,
and throw it the ground

then he’ll say it:

you’re going to die son

and nothing you ever do
is going to stop it,
and nothing you ever do
is going to last

you know as well as I do

this “life” thing is all a
sham

so come on, come with me,
I promise you the darkness
isn’t as bad as they say it
is

(but somehow I never take
him up on that option)

I always run

I always distract him
(just enough) and then
bolt

it’s all I can do
it’s all I’ll ever be
able to do

my life is just a series
of encounters with that
truth and his solution

trying not to believe him,
trying to defy myself

I think it’d be real easy to **** someone
take the gun,
take the knife;
pull the trigger,
push it in tight

I think that’s all there is too it
but I notice one thing that makes no sense
if it’s really that easy to **** somebody,
why isn’t everyone dead?

to each his own trotting legs
to each his own working hands
to each his own wizened mind
to each his own deep decisions

we are given two things
in this life:

a chance
and
a choice

in my case,
I got lucky with
the chance
but
was poor
with my
choice

so I offer myself up,
as an example

look at what can happen
look at the fat,
the pain,
the self-
hatred

fear it
fear it I tell you

remember me
and be afraid
of what can
happen to
you

I have fallen silent
after speaking for so long
and finding the world
only staring back in confusion
and condemnation

tears like fire, the truth
burning your flesh as a
string of swears flow
off your tongue, every-
one tells you they told
you so and you know
that they are right

anger, darkness, suicide,
doubt, hatred, self-hatred,
and self-loathing fill you
and consume you and in
your heart you feel the
beating stop

this is what death feels
like until:

you stop

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

you say to yourself,
wetness burning in
your eyes and freshly
opened wounds

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no

no more, you scream and then fall
silent

no more,
you whimper

crawling to the mirror is like torture,
looking, seeing yourself; sockets puffed
and red, examining your unkempt hair
and the rawness of your soul

you scream, break the mirror
with your hands, and take in
the scene you’ve created

the blood looks rich and
vibrant and reminds you:

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no
no no no no no no no

you remember you are human,
you must take a deep breath
and move on

my eyes stare into the future
and they glaze over with sad-
ness

my hands cover my mouth
to hide it but I know that it
cannot be ignored

my fate is coming soon, the
beginning of another end I
must endure

I was going down-stairs
for some water
and the last thing I
remember
is pausing my music
before
I was getting my
water

just like that,
just in a blink of
an eye,
I was there

and I can’t remember
going down the stairs,
or what I thought as I
went down them,
or what I did as I went
down them

and I worry perhaps
I just missed something
great,
but most likely:
I didn’t

wham
ow!
****
****
****
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
****
­god ******
why’d you do
that?

sorry…

there is no way out of this
this time

I’m deep in the haze
of disparity,
lost in the truth
of it all

I would love to just say
hello and mean it
be happy to see others
to look at them and
see value
but I don’t,
I can’t,
I can’t fool myself
so willingly

the biggest tragedy of all
is that there’s no lying to
me

I’m a man in the midst of reality,
it’s hard edges cutting deep into
my soul, each nearly decent face
gives way to a dull and trivial
mind

I am guilty for
suffering

for hating

for the fires that eat
at my own feet

there is no way of this
this time

I have the few who (can)
understand me

and

those who love
me

most men only need one,
and, let me tell you, I need
mainly need the other

the traveler rarely thinks
of all the molten emotion
that forged the mountain
his trail cuts so easily
across

all we need is a tiny bit of luck
random occurrences even
that line up
just so
that we can be reminded

life is still worth living

things are still worth fighting for

that marching on
is still worth it,
even through the times
when there’s no reason
to keep moving on
other than the very act
itself

there you are,
the greater part of
every population,
the few and far
between that are
secretly exactly
like every other
person next to
them on the bus
or train or office

there you are,
you pretentious masses
of quivering cowards

there you are,
hiding in the corner
acting like someone
else put you there

there you are.

I have no sympathy
because I cannot be
sympathetic

the world is your oyster
and I know that and for
that reason I sit here and
plot until it is time to
strike

but there you are

crying over bruises
and paper cuts like
you’ve been stabbed
in the back when
every one of your
wounds came from
your own dagger

there you are
and here I am

and that is how it
is, no more and
no less

it smells like smoke,
***** fog,
burning bodies
of wooden souls
scream out:

stop! stop!
no, spare me!
spare me!

as we throw another log
into the mouth of flame
their screams grow louder
then fade to nothing

tiny voices
each screaming,
begging:

stop! stop!
no, spare me!

fading like so many into
the light.
their bodies gone, turned
to ash, their existence
turned to the warmth
upon our
faces

tiny screams,
like so many of our own,
begging, pleading:

no! stop!
spare me!

the one
thing
I will
never be
allowed
to be
is
myself