fury and insecurity are tempered with patience and effort.
spend your days wishing misery on your enemies-
or spend them cultivating your own advancement.
you have two choices: excel or stagnate.
succeed or atrophy.
how brightly does your fire burn?...
do you consume your demons and spit them out ashes?
or do you warm their bones in the cold?

cool iridescent droplets
tumble soundlessly over damp stone steps
spat from a dark cloud-smitten sky.
the corners of your lips twisted
in an ominous snarl,
eyes flashing
green lightning.
make-up streaming down porcelain warm-apple cheeks,
mixing with ***** rain.

you, typically picturesque magazine perfection
trussed up in delicate pin-up duds
your hair twirled into a million
intricate, flawless little curls
that fall together like pieces
in a puzzle.
secretly pinned together to uphold a pretty facade.
far from easy and natural,
yet more desirable.

but look at you now.
hair soaked, tendrils of slick dark silk plastered to cold skin,
with mascara running down
an immaculate visage,
that finely curved chest
heaving with furious little sobs.
fists clenched with white hot knuckles,
you shake with rage.
just like a little girl...
a little girl hiding behind a layer of mother's make-up,
throwing a tantrum.

Maybe it's endearing;
to see such passion
from one who never showed her soul
and kept her musings locked tight in a faraway place.
Maybe it's not.
The creature I once loved,
destroying little parts of my soul,
one by one
with sharp words and cruel insults
guilt-trips and indecencies.

But the tear-stained face in front of me
no longer evokes the desired emotion.
Hollow steps take me away,
in the opposite direction,
her dismal cries following me -- wailing ghosts
lost, wandering through the wintry rain.

You may
Whisper lies
But
The truth
Shines along
Colour changing
Patterns
Of your
Irises
Eviscerated
For me
To see.
Observing you
Observing me.

My mother's soul: demonic voices. Shizophrenic whispers twined together...
A clump of burning sage billowing serpentine smoke into the still air.
What is she? A creature of regret,
Pathetically keening for pity to cater to a hollow heart,
and an empty stomach.
My shoulders wither, weeping willow'd, beneath her red-nosed, tear-glossed stare.
I'm nothing.
Exploited.
Made of love and guilt.
I try to get close to her -
but even touching fingertip to fingertip, there stands between us
a plate of glass.

You won't be smiling anymore
Once you too feel this betrayed.
Don't worry -- don't hold your breath.
The guillotine will drop quickly.
The knife blade will be fast,
The killing strike lightning personified.
You won't see it
Coming.

You
Brought me
In blood and tears
You yourself but a child-
Into this world.
From a distance
You watched
As I grew.
First a whelp,
Now a wolf.
You
**** yourself
With every inhale
Of that odorless
Drug
And here I am
Helpless
Watching you die....
Just as
You watched me grow
Not long ago....

smoke drifted across the thick silence hanging in the air
writhing in serpentine patterns toward the ceiling before lazily bursting apart.
"what do you see in me?" you asked.
i had to take a moment to think, shocked by the suddenness of your question.
there were a million answers that could be given.

"i see someone who strives to be above perfect."
someone who broke apart the glass barrier of adversity closed around him,
and who is still picking glass out of his arms and knuckles.
he fights every day to be something more than what he is.
he embodies perfection without realizing it.

"i see someone who wants love but is afraid of it."
it's like looking into a mirror, sometimes.
maybe inside, you're just as shredded as i am.
you only give a little, to the misery of my aching heart.
but the feather light touches of your fingertips
granted in sweet morning light, when we both have yet to wake up,
well, it speaks volumes.

so many more answers i could have given, but you invoke a series of complex emotions.
some of them aren't worth naming.

you stared at me, and i marveled at the exquisite angular artistry writ in your visage.
i can't look at you without noticing how **** handsome you are.
but the next words cut like ice,
"that's not good enough."

you,
a mind of stardust
and a heart of gold.
i delight
in the challenge
of your mystery.
i am
enamored in the crosshairs
of your smile.

it was a dry mojave afternoon,
with crows cursing shrilly
the streetlamps bearing broken bulbs
and the striped cat sleeping in the sun.

the wind drew frantic breaths,
exhaling dead leaves over the hill
and sending the blackbirds
spiraling into the sky.

a lizard stirred, somniferous almond eyes
gazing lethargically over his rock
and at the old man on the porch
leaning back- impossibly uncomfortable in his rickety wooden chair.

his name was Jackson.
gnarled gray hair mixed with gnarled gray beard
appropriately framing a pinched, ornery visage
and tattered clothes adorned his whisper of a body.

it was his sixty-fourth year here in the desert-
on the fifty-second he'd lost his wife
on the fifty-eighth he'd gained a kitten
named him Waldrop and let him **** the mice and lizards.

'sixty four years is a long time,'
a thought murmured in the back of his head
eyelids peeling back to give a cursory glance to Waldrop
who was stalking the reptile watching him.

he remembered his twentieth birthday
when Edna had first said she loved him
and he remembered that glorious July morning
where she said she was his forever.

he remembered the pain of labor
down in the factory,
and the camaderie with his fellows
chewing tobacco and cursing the bosses.

he remembered the time spent weeping,
but remembered more the time spent laughing
in places miles and miles away
that now seemed imaginary.

exhaustion echoed through tired bones
and he wondered who would feed the cat,
drooping eyes closing one last time
to await the warmth of sunset.

His form a shadowy sketch, thin and gaunt
Leaning up against a wall.
At the right place, at the right time – as always,
A touch fancy, a bit dressed up
Ready to take on the world;
armed with the freedom to fail.

His occupation?
The consuming of miles of white paper,
His inspiration provided by
A lonely view off of Devil’s Highway
Where Pico blvd. meets the sea.

Seeking the inner root of expression
Through tall red wine bottles and nightly wanderings
In places beautiful yet dangerous,
Packed with life’s complex geometry
– the city breathes, the streets are alive.

Visualizing in delicate penciled lines and thick brush strokes
Vibration, sound and light manifest in brilliant colors,
Depth, shadow, color / the void – all merging together.
Pushing abstract boundaries;
Inter-dimensional windows
Through the intricate layering of transparencies.

Experience of self-discovery.
No mistakes, no traps, just childlike experiments.
Experiments and initiations;
A fusion of universal laws and ethereal dreams.
Kinetic value, composition,
Balance.

Creations – sealed in time like amber.

Part of me thinks
This is a mistake

The other part
Remembers how you told me 'no'

Over and over
And how painful it was.

Forgive me
For being drawn in

By someone
Who says yes

You could walk by,
Catch my glance
Envelop me in a warm smile.

And I would grin back,
Wondering if you can feel
The dissonance radiating from me.

Four, almost five a.m. --
The witching hour for those who prey upon the wee minutes of the morning and fool themselves into believing it is still nighttime.
Brains fastidiously pursuing ramblings of false ambitions and heady pipe dreams of successes that are too far away to be real,
(But just real enough that they can nearly be brushed by eager fingertips)
Goals that aren't goals, follies of the highest calibur.

Stars above dance their sparkling song in a silent vibrance,
Inspiring those minds that wander into illusory comfort, for a time;
That or the rocky crags of anxiety that accompany reminiscent thoughts picturing those moments one is most ashamed of.
Northern lights slip across a vast plain, and the mind mumbles on, spitting blood.