I hope that
sleep will bring me
me answers
tonight

or if not,
a direction,
or suggestion,
or tiniest
hint of
where to go
next

and if that’s
too much,
ok,
I suppose
I’ll need the
rest to conquer
these looming questions,
constantly blocking
out the
sun

looking at the people, with all their
faces, legs, arms, shirts, *******, hairs
and eyes. I see a million different
flavors of the same thing but in
practice you cannot prove my theory

down to the tiniest strand of DNA, or
smallest molecule of amino acids, or
even the minuscule atoms of carbon
or oxygen, I am absolutely
right

but in the large term, in
the space where you are
greater than the sum of
your parts, I find that we
are so much more than
atoms or molecules or
DNA

we are destined to live every day for our lives
but we have since passed that stage (at least for
now) and ascended to the plateau of higher
thought and a meaning to life other than survival

what can I do to deny woman?
what can I do to deny man?
they are so compelling,
even in their idiocy and
(my more Darwinist side says)
should be given no pity

but I feel the fire of human interaction deep inside me
to hate, to love, to loath, to want, to need, to feel, to
be there for your friends, your enemies, or your people

I feel the fire deep in my heart, deep in my mind, deep in my
groin

It’s there and burning on the fuel of my darkest and
inner-most thoughts. It’s there and (slowly) burning
away my soul

I have created much
in the name of myself
and for myself,
and for myself
alone,
have I made myself
make more for myself
so that one day my self
might be myself
through the sheer fact
that what I create is for myself
and is all that I can say
is truly me.

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

silence
is such a perfect
torture

not quiet of others,
you see,
but of myself

to be able to hear,
to think,
to know

but be unable to answer,
to teach,
to speak

silence is such
a perfect torture,
for me,
the loud and
boisterous
one

to be trapped inside
my very own lips

to be filled with words
but be denied the voice

this is a
greater punishment
than any
prison

I suppose this is why
poesy is so important

it is my voice,
on the page

it is the monologue,
that I attempt to make
dialogue

it is who I am
and my way of
telling you
that

this silence
is such perfect torture
for me

it eats at me
without taking
any bites

it causes pain,
only because I
try to fight it

silence
is such a perfect
torture
for those who
exist
in their
words

and this silence,
could drive me to insanity,
forever left alone
with myself

the bomb siren
going off
makes my heart sink
and sends my mind into
panic

my eyes search for the nearest exit
my legs and arms scramble to the door
my ears are tortured by that wailing doom

the wind blows southward
I smell flowers on the breeze
skies are blue and cloudless
there in the distance I can see

I close my eyes then
waiting for…
just waiting.

seconds, minutes, hours,
days were all the same

breathes of animals mixed
with the sighs of the trees
and the world was silent
and blind and feelingless

so long
so long it felt
my eyes and ears and
body shut down waiting

that when it didn’t come
I was not the same man
I had died and yet not died

I cannot pick my heart back up
my mind is always jumping at
the slightest surprises
this will not go on

I just can't

though not yet ready to take on the world,
I am desperate to attack the rest of my life.

I am
seventeen

smart, strong,
and optimistic

over-brimming with
energy and excitement
and juvenile grit

it is time for the world
to meet the real me

a being of inexplicable good luck
determined to make the best of it

women, men, and children
I introduce to a man not yet
fully realized

but know this:

he will come to you with fire
and the best of you will carry
it on beyond him

twin coke bottles
stare down from atop
the tv cabinet
snug in the back
corner
that I look at too
often

tomorrow she’s coming back
but don’t take that to mean
something

I just realized I wasn’t doing anything
so I called her up
and asked her over
and tomorrow she’s coming
over

my poetry has been…
off
lately

people scream at me about punctuation
about their disagreements
and their confusions
and all I can do is stand there
wondering how to bring back to
them

yet
my heart has been on a cloud
thinking happy thoughts
dreaming happy dreams
wishing happy, hopeless wishes
and tomorrow she comes over
and I want to show her my
poetry

so now I wonder
at myself
and
at my art
and
the lines in the palms’ of my hands
do little more than laugh
at my conundrum

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

I don’t know how
to start this
poem

lately
so much has been going on
or
so much hasn’t been going
on
that I can’t seem to find
the time to write

but that’s a lie
I have the time
I just don’t have the
will

I’m afraid of reaching the
highest height I can achieve
I fear I wrote the greatest
thing I’ll ever write
months ago
and
it’ll never be the same
I can never be
greater

but that’s a lie
I have the talent
I just don’t have the
will

I look around
as if someone is
watching me do
this

writing out all my
fears
spelling out all my
dreams
understanding what’s really going
on

I take off my watch
there’s no need for time
here

just work
and through that
I will get past this

I will emerge from
the mist
to see a new mountain for me to climb
and the path that I will use to conquer
it

they crawl out
silently
over the carpet
on six skinny jointed legs
they come out to
die

their tiny antennas feel the earth for one last time
their tiny eyes blink as the light surrounds them

the tiny creatures
forsaken by man to live in the shadows
only coming out into the day
when their eternal night
is most near

the bugs
crawl out
on six jointed legs
to die on my
carpet

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

she is so
magical
because I am so
sick

my body aches with
years of abuse and/or
neglect

my mind is the graveyard
for so many toxic thoughts

she can fix me,
I hope

not with bandages
or medicine,
nor therapy or
treatment

she will heal me
because she is so
healthy herself

sure, she has her own
scars, her own diseases
and lingering ailments,
but there’s something…

pure

something that tells me she
can understand my sins,
sooth my wounds, forget my
disfigurations, and nurse me
back to health

something no else
has ever been able
to do

she is the one who
will soak up the poisons
of my life

she knows just how
to turn my toxins
into gold

heaven, for the first time,
seems like a possibility

sitting on the toilet I had another revelation
it’s five pm and today was a little hot
but I guess now that school’s almost
over
and all my troubles are melting
away
my mind is flowing in the weirdest ways
and in the weirdest places

the epiphany was:

the watched *** never boils
the flower gazed upon never blooms
the storm only moves when nobody’s looking
and thus
the boy cannot grow into a man
whilst the cameras track his every
move

back at the computer it seems rather
simple

but I think I know it more than I realize

all my strife and anger is usually do to
others
others who won’t mind their own business
or
others who have right to know what I do
but who I really think should just leave me
alone

I’d be so much greater without the guilt of on-looking eyes

I’d know the guitar, the piano, the sax
I’d write better
I’d be more outgoing, more open-minded
I’d be much more

my music would be louder
my voice would carry further
I would be so much more

Now a days,
I just wilt away like the flower in the heat of the
sun

those eyes burn fear into my back
and I now live hunched over, forever
tending my wounds and planning my
escape

sometimes,
the best move
is to restart
even
if it’s in the
middle of
the biggest
moment
of
your
life

wash,
dress,
breath,
begin
(again)

the first time,
it was a real smooching,
there in the rain
the passion
running down our
skin

I had just asked her out
I had just brought it to a head

everything up to that point,
the flirting,
the jokes,
the talking back
and forth for
hours,
had all been leading up
to that moment,
there in the pouring rain,
the water flowing down
the side-walks and we
couldn’t even feel our
feet

but I grabbed her,
asking what secret
she had been hiding
from me

and she wouldn’t tell me,
but she gave this little nod,
this little glare, that said
“do it now you fool”

so I did

I did and we kissed,
we kissed as the world
flooded and our friends
partied on and it was
magical

now we’re not really sure
what the future holds

we haven’t gone on a date,
yet.

but that’s what Friday’s for
that’s what the future is for

and for now,
I can deal with having
a single kiss a day

still flirting,
still shy,
still unsure

but we both know
there’s something
different

something worth smiling
about

death
will
come
but
it
will
be
peaceful
and
there’s
no
need
to
fe­ar
judgment

we’re all equal in death

some things
aren’t meant to be known
by man

but when a man
picks one of those
up,
or rather,
when they are dropped upon him,
usually in the most arbitrary of
moments,
he must then carry it
with him
for the rest of his
life

he will bear this weight,
and for some,
it will be too much,
breaking their backs
as well as their wills,
and leaving them to writhe on the floor
until death comes

but for others,
those like me,
we bear the weight
without strain,
looking only downward
at the road ahead

and our backs will not break
despite their cries for that fate,
and our wills will not crumble
despite the failure of the inner
columns to remain upright
and sturdy

those men,
with the weight
of a secret world
on their shoulders,
will march through their lives
looking no different than the man
not burdened with the
truth

apparently,
to me,
staking my whole life,
all my possibilities
and future achievements,
is not a good enough motivation
to do the right thing
for me, for society,
for anything

as I nurse my wounds
of love lost,
of happiness
shattered,
I realize I was not enough
for her either

so I look to other things in my life:
was I enough for them?

apparently,
I am not enough

not even for
myself

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

shadows are doors
to another realm

creatures look
in from them
their eyes
tainted with
desires
and
they plot for how
they will enter
our houses
and replace us
as we
slumber

these apparitions,
translucent except for their
perfectly formed eye slits,
cannot remember
their last sleep-filled
night

(they were once you,
you must understand)

they are the over-stressed,
the over-achieving,
the well-known,
the famous

they are our heroes,
our role models,
our kings
and
fathers

they are the ones
we look up to

(and despise)

those we want to be
those we can’t admit to liking
those we take for granted and
ignore
those we call names and
bully constantly
those we cannot face alone but
who we sneer at in groups

the nerds,
the geeks,
the leaders,
the counselors,
the presidents,
the cops,
the valedictorians

we hate them
for we are not
them

the trend of our lives hurts
the deeper with dig down

but we would not dare let them take us

let them come through their doors,
take our covers and beds,
sleep, eat, *****,
let them have our lives in exchange for theirs

we would never do that

we know better

we light up our drugs,
**** in jars because the bars
don’t let us in anymore,
eat from garbage cans,
date ****** and pay pimps,
**** our brothers just to buy
*******

it’s the life for us you see

to **** up and
not give a ****

and it’s good

so the shadow doors can slam themselves
and the blood shot eyes can close shut

we’re going to bed alone tonight
and that’s perfectly fine with us

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

I was on a plane
when suddenly the
“fasten seat-belt” light
came on
and the pilot
came over the intercom
and said,

“I’m sorry folks,
but it seems we’re
going down”

whilst everyone panicked
the man to my right kept
reading

did he not hear?
he’s not old,
he can’t be deaf

how is he not saying his last
prayers or begging or etc.
etc. etc.

so I asked him

and he seemed not to
hear me

so I asked him again

“oh be quiet
for god’s sake”

“I’m trying to
read”

what’s the book?
I asked, shell-
shocked


“who cares?”
he said,
“I’ve got half a
chapter to go and
about half a minute
to finish
this”

and suddenly my situation
seemed all the less grim

there is a fire
through the fog
in the forest
as old as god

there is a breeze
which fans the flame
caressing our children
touching our dames

there is a hunter
who watches it burn,
cooking with blunder
his freshly-caught game

there is a star
that shines in the night
reflecting the fire
as a twinkling white

there is a season
when the air is so cold
that men forget treason
and together, they grow

there is an ancient fire
that through ephemeral fog
burns in the land of forests
to be seen, only by god

music and family
do little
to comfort me
now

the sad inevitability
is that my life is getting
****** over for no
reason

welcome to the reality
of reality

I look at the band-aids,
to holes in my skin, the
look of my eyes and all
seems no different

but things are different,
things are dying and changing
and falling apart as all
things do

(welcome to the reality
of reality)

I see the entire world flying past
at seventy miles per hour or more
and they all seem so happy

so perfect

I’ve never known that
perfection

even better off,
even smart,
wiser,
richer,
older,
younger

I’ve never known that
bliss

welcome to the reality
of reality

it’s hard to face
a fate that lives in your
house and eats the
same cereal

hell,
I don’t remember
the last time we
talked

time has come to do it
though

(and I’m ******)

it’s not anger,
not shame,
or hatred,
or cries of
unfairness

it’s just the mere fact
of knowing that I have
to

welcome to the reality
of reality

then I see that I’m alone,
typing to cold machine in
a cold, voluminous space

what have I done to be offended?

outside the trees grow,
the birds fly, the kids
play, the adults drink,
the addicts smoke, the
teachers teach, the eggs
hatch, the new lives live,
and the old ones die

in here
I am left to rot
until the sands of time
themselves
have washed away
into the
mist

the world is alive with living,
the human race does not know
my name,
quietly the world spins in space
quietly she stands out amongst
the black

welcome to the reality
of reality

when it comes down to
it; life is exactly what it
seems.

consisting of going to the
bathroom, eating your
favorite  dessert, driving
hundreds of miles every
week to work and back,
writing papers for teachers
you don’t respect, finding
and falling in love, fending
off doubt, feeling terrified
the first time you hold your
child, making meal after
meal without any thanks,
looking at yourself with
scorn, wondering where
you are and how you got
there, fearing death and
turning on the fan when
the room gets a bit too hot
for comfort

never forget the simplicity
of the universe

never forget that humans
are just animals, animals
just life forms, life forms
just atoms, atoms just tiny
clouds of indefinable
importance

when you get down to it;
the universe is exactly
what it seems:

a space too big for us life-
forms to understand, offering
only the acceptance of this
poem as a means to stave
off insanity

it’s not the
greater truth we’re
looking for

nor the
answers,
nor the
way

we search only for
a reason,
a meaning for
our lives

for some it comes
as women,
or drugs,
or work,
or
play

for others they dedicate
their time to causes
against injustice
or for their god

and still others
stumble along
listening to music
and writing down their
thoughts

not content with
their limited knowledge
they agree with themselves
that not knowing is the best
answer and stride ahead
despite the pack
not worried in the least
what might await
them

constantly struggling with fears of failure
I face the truth of why I cannot succeed

I do not own my life
I do not own what is
in my possession
I do not possess the
acts that I commit
I do not commit to
the life I have been
given

there is no reason for me to succeed
the spoils of victory are never mine

I do not know achievement
I do not know repayment
I do not know enjoyment
I do not know myself

so many decisions I didn’t make
in this life that’s suppose to be mine

I am without commitment
I am without ownership

this life called “my life”
is not mine, it never was.

I want a chance
I want an opportunity
I want a reason
to give a ****
about myself

let me start over
all on my own

I will be successful
I will be great

let me do this one thing
let me jump out the door
into the cold world and
prove that I’ll be fine
let me start it all over
so that if I ***** up
I know it’s all on me
but if I succeed, there’s
not anyone to take it
from me

We are a people that only children love
Men and women proud of themselves
But when asked, cannot tell you why they
Should be

Ideology replaces morality
Sin becomes greater than overcoming
It
Never forget we are the sons and daughters
Of immigrants too

We quietly grew strong
Munching on fallow fields and iron-hard
Men
Our adolescence ended in war
But our virtue is still fading like those
Battles were justified

Like so many others,
We did not realize how great we were

Too late did we think, oh,
We are not entitled, simply
Lucky

We have yet to realize this

Never did we think god was not one of
Us

Just as we dream we live
Caught in high clouds and strung out
On past success
We are a people only children could
Love

and simply put,
they do

fire from deep within
bursting out my eyes
and my ears and my
fingers and my toes
is a spectacle for those
few close enough to
notice it

everything I love is
swelling up and out
and I gave up containing
it after my head caught
a’ flame

I am burning on the
inside and now the
outside

may the trail I blaze
be the one to victory

so now it’s ten
fifty-five PM
and I sit here
alone
with my computer
slowly edging out
everything that I
couldn’t say as those
shells of people
walked my halls

in truth,
I hate them all

I hate their laugh
I hate their smiles
I hate their “hello, how are you!”s
I hate their greedy faces as they eat my food
I hate their moving bodies
I hate their requests for more, more, more! when I’d already given them
everything

I hate it all

half way through
I sat upstairs pulling a nasty splinter
out of the hard ball of my left foot
and when I finally got it out
and I retracted my leg from its twisted pretzel shape
I felt a million tiny pains
shoot up from that leg
and then back into my
brain

I didn’t yell but I wanted
to

and I know that if they had been
there
watching me pull that tiny wooden sliver
out of my foot
and then spreading my leg out
and feeling all that pain
they would’ve laughed
laughed
and
laughed
and
laughed

and I wouldn’t
have

later on
I will play pranks
shoot back jokes
enjoy myself
just as they had
done
and all I will get is ***** looks,
angry grimaces, threats on my
life in the billions

and I will feign surprise

I don’t what it is
but I’m always
the bad guy

call me a ****
call me a ****** bag
call me a ****-******* jacked-up *******

but the moment,
the moment,
I return any of that
(no matter how truthful)
I become all that worse
every
single
time

and as the night ends
and their numbers slowly
dwindle away

I watch the door swing close
just as quickly as it had swung
open and I
smile
smiling is all I can
do

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

there is a beautiful
poem hiding behind
the little spaces in
my mind

the words are in there,
not out there, and some
how, I need to coax
them out

but I don’t know what
they’re like; they hide
so well I can’t even
describe their shadow

so it might be a dog,
who wants thoughts
on anger, and hate,
and frustration

or it might be a horse,
beckoning me to be
free and run wild

or it might be a man,
or it might be a woman,
or it might be a whale,
or a cat,
or a bird,
or a car,
or it might be a
dog

so I throw out everything,
dog-treats like remembering
how I’ve been ******* over,
and cat-nip like the last time
I snuggled up with an old
love,
and human sweets, like poems
that display the worst possible
existence any person could
have (and how I have it)

these words,
hiding somewhere
in this big ol’
mind:

come out,
come out to play,
I need you boy,
I need you back,
you know it.

oh is that’s what you are?
oh ok,
maybe I’ll go chase
another animal,
your inspiration
isn’t any
good

the little leaflet read out in bold letters:
ARE YOU HAPPY?

I thought about it
read the rest of the sheet
it told me how if I came to:
DREW HARPY’S SELF-HELP CLASS
my life would be changed

so I went
the initial question still not
answered

I go the office park where it’s supposed to be,
go back into a maze of cubicles and white brick
walls, and then this simple wooden door reads:
DREW HARPY’S SELF-HELP CLASS

I knock
the door flies open
and there’s Drew Harpy
smile of plastic
muscles of
silicon

he asks
WELL ARE YOU COMING IN FOR A NEW LIFE?

I say,
no thanks,
wrong door
and walk away

the little leaflet is still in my pocket
reading out:
ARE YOU HAPPY?

but,
I still didn't have
the answer

here in the valley of despair
there is a forest black with
the blight of your failed
aspirations

here in the valley of despair
there are endless pits filled
with outcropping rocks acting
as the teeth for the crazy smile
of the men who lost themselves
in these endless pits called
depression

here in the valley of despair
the brightness and elation of
life is known only as a memory
of the forgotten sun

here in the valley of despair
we walk about knowing we
cannot go anywhere for here
in the valley of despair the
mountains that block our
escape only grow as we climb
them and the pits in which
live refuse to have a bottom

clouds are quite a violent thing
the wind, the rain, the storms,
never creating, only destroying,
at least in the short term

but with winter upon us now
and the freezing air drives us
inside, huddling around the
fire, the clouds that come, do
not seem like soldiers, rather
like a blanket, keeping us in,
and everything else out

air filled with hatred
sanity ****** clean
from the atmosphere,
I drown as the pressure
goes critical

ground now gone,
stability disappeared
into the dark void,
I beg for death in a
world devoid of life

I have a grapefruit
sized welt on my
right shoulder-blade,
my muscles crack
when I move them,
and my beard is
coming in thicker
than it ever has
before

I clocked a random
guy in the hall and
I completely meant
it,

it just wasn’t meant
for him

poor guy

guess this is what it
means to be a man

scars on the body,
violence in the heart

tears, love,
and vice
not allowed
on the
outside

I reject my right
to all this

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

everybody’s always going some place.
traveling, the idea that a vacation can
be enjoyed anywhere else but here is
left only to the crazies and those too
awkward to be going out in the world,
the world is abuzz with a constant
movement that some would call as
beautiful as a million silver fishes
working as one being to make a dance
infinisimly more amazing than anything
we humans could ever produce but to
me I see this only as the quivering of
cockroaches in the moments before your
shoe comes down upon them

float slowly
downward

under the water
air fades
lungs gasp
panic builds in the
mind

remain calm

coil the fear
in muscular energy
find your footing
wait

for the moment

then jet
away

boom
the trees shake
and heads turn
birds fly out of
the tree tops
and rain begins
to fall

this moment out of memory
is like so many others easily
created and forgotten

is creativity an absence
of sanity?

the making up of reality
you can scarcely seem to
hold onto?

boom
the sound seems
so familiar
the fearful birds
so real
but is this a moment
of memory
or a storm of my
own creation

the morning is soft today
the light, caresses my skin
instead of burning it,
the air feels like a fluffy
cloud come down amongst
us mortal folks

there is a new day filtering
through the blinds of my
window; promising a chance
to do what you’ve always
wanted to do like it always
does

the problem is not with obtaining the goal
but figuring out what it is in the first place

fighting for survival
the small ant on the
hot pavement

each tiny leg slightly
shorter every time he
picks it back up

he’s going home to
a house where he has
no value and the sun
seems more welcoming
than his million siblings
each competing to please
their mother better

here the fateful symmetry

fighting for survival
the man walking on
hot pavement gives
up and lets himself
cook as a merciful
release

there are still bits of
her about

a dress in the closet,
an apron in the kitchen,
notes she wrote me
posted on my desk,
a jar of letters,
a karma sutra book,
and not to mention
all the memories

can I exorcise that?
I can throw out the papers
and give back the clothes
but after living here for
so long:
can this place exist
without her?

I sit alone,
unsure of what to do
with these totems,
these idols to a false
god

thunder crackles outside
as it begins to rain

I had forgotten
what it was like to bolt up
at three AM with the want, no,
the undeniable need,
to write
the feeling
you had at that moment
because it was all clear for once
everything made perfect sense
and you needed to take note
or else you’d forget it
forever

I had thought
I couldn’t have feelings
like this anymore
that through
growth and aging
I had become outgrown
or immune
to such strong
forces
and
yet:
here I am,
writing down
this moment of intense clarity
so that I won’t forget
that I am still human
that I am still feeling
that I am still making it
even if I felt lost for
these past few
years.

forgive yourself,
I realized,
and I had to take
note.

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

I laugh behind my grim expression

I gaze back at a boy

his legs weak,
speech stuttered,
eyes diverted from
the woman standing
on top of him

her nails draw his blood,
her feet crush his bones,
and all the boy does is
smile his nervous smile,
for he is in complete
bliss

I shake my head

I laugh behind my grim expression

this is the only
way to deal
with tragedy:

keep it light or
keep it without
meaning

the trick is keeping it within your mind,
far away from your heart

I look back at the boy

I shake my head

I laugh behind my grim expression

I look at myself
lost in Stockholm
Syndrome;

You’d call it
love

spring arrived today in a green convertible
with the top down

he smiled, behind his sunglasses,
looking refreshed,
at ease,
and he asked how my
winter was

good, I said,
barely even felt like it
to be honest

“good, good.”
spring said, still smiling

and we stood there.

I, baking under the fresh sun,
he baking too, but somehow  
seeming not to mind,
seeming to like it,
be empowered
by it

spring took a deep breath
and smiled even wider once
he closed his lips

“well, old friend”
he said,
“I’ll be seeing you,
I’m headed to the beach,
or maybe into the woods,
I dunno.”

“but I’ll see you
there”

and he drove off

his green convertible buzzing happily
towards the edge of a new and beautiful
world

it’s too hot to sleep
the night air is not cool for once
and all day I felt tired,
dead at times,
and when I got home
all the lights were
off in the house

sometimes that’s how life is
******, ******, ****** up,
and today was one of those days
that proved it to me once again

but above all else
there was a deep
confusion in this

because…

of her

looking at her
talking to her
even thinking
just…

lifted me

above all this ****,
above sickness,
above doubt,
above everything
I think is wrong
and dark with the
world

she brings me up
and leaves me there;
only letting me come
back down when
the walls and the
world comes
between
us

no, I don’t speak
of just one girl

she’s been many different ones
with many different names
and many different forms

so don’t go looking
for meaning in this
I’m simply saying
that I know what love
is

and,
thank god,
for that.