walking into smoke shop,
hoping to find a girl named
Expectations. hoping she'll
have legs, eyes, all the usual
contrived sights. careful, con-
trolled tiny burns. no one's
blowing up the bridges.
no one is trying for attention.
hoping to catch it strutting like
a Bird of Paradise. strutting
isolated, too lazed to clear the
grounds. too lazed to give too
much of a **** for attraction.
lips broken by the winter wind,
lonesome travelling with
Expectations aside. she's waiting.
hoping. to rise, to strive, to arrive
at finality. and then onward. and
then **** Expectations after.
gripping hands, mine alone,
forcing friction to dry qualm'd
sweats. to remove embarrassment
of inaction in inexperienced persons.
citing her, citing everything
foreseen and predict'd. all in
hopes at removing consequence,
but Expectations' voice threw tog-
ether a string of words unbecoming
of her vocabulary. they were unbe-
coming for a girl in that place of society.

walking out, rebuffing time and ad-
vances. fighting this mortal fight for
invincibility. to be of highland descent.
amending to Expectations on the side.
amending for waste of sacred days. lights
cast where darkness was. and these thoughts
enlightened by Son of Vonnegut on his
northward journey for Nirvana.
spitting blood, searching for immortality.
******* Expectations. *******
up life in the blood-lust. throwing a second
pair of shoes in the trash. waiting to ask
questions of persons un-wanting when questions
unwanted ask'd by persons of a cloud'd past.
and the infection is in the heart, is in the soul,
is in the lungs. with each words' passing from
putrid mouth, with each word infect'd in entirety.
pushing into the world meaningless
****. these un-embodied words are only a
passing lip-service, and have never relfect'd -
never realized - on the recant'd lives they've
run thru. nor the current running. recanting,
redacting, refracting - a disease of distraction.
Expectations lurking by ruined road.
that chance to rise, to strive, never
let her more than some inch of give.

holding prejudices, clinging with
desperation. held by throat.
sacrificial lamb found through
re-imaged scapegoat. watching
hours fleet, awaiting death
of muscles strength. awaiting
ravenous claws at pit's bottom.
Expectations peeking through
slit'd fingers, avoiding direct
contact of vision. learn-
ing to forget promises.
her eyes shine hazel.
learning of life, roots grind the ground
as scapegoat - throat released - gnarls hair
in fingers. feet force avalanche of scree
falling in eyes of ones attached ravenous claws.

silent with-holdings. Expectations
with hand over heart. spitting blood,
and whoa. something's not right.
Expectations *******, partial nakedness
and truth of truth. tears of mud caked
mountains. weighing down, and stare
never longer leaves the ground. and
blood turn'd stone, spitting worlds
with creationist vigor. making some-
thing for sake of nothing and feet
fall to repetitive rhythms. Expectations
falling, Expectations *******,
Expectations' hazel-stained eyes.

I want to knock out all your teeth
with airborne nuggets of wisdom.
I want your empty gums to bleed
with pain and hatred and progress.
I want you to cut your hair off,
collect the locks, and throw
them at the trees in the afternoon,
for sanity's sake,
and I want the clouds sunk
into your head to spell
out like an airshow,
"I am Real, Valid, and going
to die."

Sometimes sitting straight up
in bed has its purpose,
pulling the blanket to the floor
and humming all those songs
without words, it's like therapy,
like rest, like wood.
The Lord will find his face
formed in your gnarls,

and he will cry.
He will say he loved you
since the beginning, since
you pierced your nose,
and that it doesn't matter
that you look down more
often than ahead, and that
your sighs grow flowers
at your feet.

Sea stars, urchins and anemones
     ride the tidal waters at Rialto Beach
           swirling into shallow pools -
      clad in shades of blue, emerald and violet.

Gnarls of ancient driftwood line the beach
     up to the rainforest’s edge just beyond the rise.
           Pulsing waves dash and roar against the sea stacks
       where the Pacific adjoins the California shore.

Legions of seagulls circle above
       piercing the misted air with their cries
           and the tide, beckoned by the Sky Queen,
       begins to ebb and regain the open sea.

As the sun sinks into the western sky –
       the towers of Split Rock and Hole in the Wall
            are silhouetted against the horizon
       pasteled in gold, orange and burgundy hues.

Gray whales and dolphins breach the surface
       before plunging into the sacred depths
           where the ocean beats pulse on and on -
sounding resonant cadences
       through timeless hallows of infinity.

When the hot sunlight meets the shadows of the night,
When the sea foam kisses and lingers on the sandy shore,
When the dry leaves lay with the sodden grass below,
I smile to myself, because it's how the world works.

When the darkest clouds throw down their rainy assault,
When the icy wind brings chills and steals hope,
When the last tree gnarls,  and dies alone,
I smile to myself, because it's how the world works.

When the eyes of the masses are opened and enlightened,
When the thoughts that turn to words are turned to deeds,
When the deeds of one may benefit all,
I laugh to myself, because I've changed the world.

last night with my breath heaving ice
I dreamed of a palace towering so high
magnificent porcelain floors,
each tap of heels a vertigo
of ringing melodies upon shores,
marble white gleaming under
golden streaming sun,
the softest hue of gentle cerulean
kissed like shadows in the empty halls
vivid, startling red carpets muffling
the entrance to every doorway,
hidden diamonds of spruce floorboards
from the mothers of those elegance gnarls
swinging near the front porch,
I dreamt of a beautiful palace
empty but for the pounding in my chest
lingering on hilltop of some forgotten coast
with waves pounding and sleeping at will
wild meadows and daisies sang in the wind
lavender and pines smiled mystically,
the sky was blue, such a clear beautiful blue
I dreamt of this place,
with rooms cluttered of deepest desires
treasures of love, gems of happiness
stairwells to ambition and libraries of knowledge
studios to create and kitchens to splurge
yet I grew a faint as the sun began to smother
the castle walls were blood orange and deep yellow
now I could see the tremble of my shadow
I woke up to a startling start,
and tears rolled down as the plastic stars
glowed on my ceiling, the salivating fragrance
of fresh baked bread ringing with clarity  
I dreamt of palace where I could simply be
with my pleasures and splurges,
following heart's content to sing free
are all palaces really temporary?

I walk between life and death,
The hours when the days are like
Stakes to the nocturnal heart.
   And I know a walk among tombstones
Is a like a fresh death when the earth
Is covered with scarlet and scenic
Flowers,
    I can already write my death on
The slab as clearly as I see the onset
Of the dusk upon my sun.
   And I know to be dead is but another
Interminable word,
   Like the carnival rides of my childhood,
Lost in a crowd but thrillingly unknown.
   Tonight the stars speak a hope
In a new year, and all the years disappear like
Geese to the North,
   Like Gnarls of teeth locked in a mongrels
Cry behind enclosed yards.
     I am ready to die,
But instead I will write death and
Write a verse to make one think
One knows the true beauty of life,
    Like the insufferably brilliant
Deaths of heroes told in myth
And legend,
    A dissolved illusion to the real illustration
Caught between worlds of perceptions.
     I see death on a dance floor,
A psalm sung and written by me
As my soul whirls the words in spectral
Atoms and lost in the momentary
Eternity.
       And I remember I'm a just a man
With Latin blood spitting
From the womb of my mother.
    And I am on the same side as my heart,
The hourglass fades,
The brutal eyes of truth facing me,
Fierce and unredeeming,
I dance with death,
And there is nothing I can do now.
I have nothing to prove I was here,
Except the poem
And even the words will fade.
Except the song I wrote for death,
It plays over and over
And death dances eternal.

Fields turned yellow like the sun
from the old rain
That felled like paint on a canvas

Red Kites hovered a dinner
In their grasp
Amongst the golden wash of life

Trails of steel from above left
lines of snow
Into the clear bluest sky

As the silence of nature bleated volumes
The earth felt a good day from a
mad mad world

The cool wind blew gently over to
a wave without a sea
As my eyes shone to the wonders
of earths senses before me and it felt good

Hills from a distance showed
a landscape
Built on years of time from a land
riddled in blood
In a yesteryear that we chose
to forget

Yet in the center of the field stood a lonely
old tree
Its life still strong from Gnarls of time etched in
pain for all to see and feel

New buds bore a life to prove a life to live
And this was a time to live
A time to grow
A time to give

To give love to this Earth
Our Earth
Our Mother Earth

Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Notice the notion.
Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
Faster.
Hum.. Hum.. Hum.. Hum..
Do you celebrate such occasions?
Linger into the presence of your
long lost friends and different
hidden enemies?
Hum.

What do you want?
Stay on focused.
Your attention is driving you crazy.
If only you’d close your eyes amidst
that notion..
hum! hum! hum!

It’s all in your head.
Hum.. hUm.. huM..
Carve your way back.
Your growing gnarls everywhere.
It’s grotesque but that’s alright.
hum!
You developed the early signs
of decay.. humMMmmMMmm

BREAK!
Inhale like a hero about to
unleash his full potential
against a formidable fiend!

Exhale! Like the last of
your power is beyond the
rites of your will!

REST. . .

Admire your heroes:

Bukowski finished beyond
comprehension.

Mercury came to ‘em all!

Nobody does
The DDT
like
Jake “The Snake” Roberts.

You’re not special.
You’re no different.
You’re not the protagonist.
It’s just a first person complex.
Your life is not a Salinger novel.

but

don’t die before your fears.
die suddenly.
die unexpectedly.

tend to your rots
and tend to your buzzes
take care of your gnarls and seething hot curses
only a child can make such excuses
and even at that, children are not excused.

even the innocent burn in the fire.
take yourself further, take yourself higher
you may as well, man. see what you can do
before all the darkness swallows you, too.

Fields turned yellow like the sun from the old rain
that felled like paint on a canvas
Red Kytes hovered a dinner in their grasp
amongst the golden wash of life
Trails of steel from above left lines of snow
into the clear bluest sky
as the silence of nature bleated volumes
The earth on a good day from a mad mad world

The cool wind blew gently over to a wave without a sea
as my eyes shone to the wonders of earths senses before me
and it felt good
Hills from a distance showed a landscape
built on years of time from a land riddled in blood
in a yesteryear that we chose to forget
Yet in the centre of the field stood a lonely old tree
Its life still strong after Gnarls of time etched in
pain for all to see and feel
New buds bore a life to prove a life to live
And this was a time to live

a time to grow...a time to give
To give love to this earth
Our earth ....Our mothers earth

they still got their hooks in me though
i sure can tell you thAt
tried to fill myself with love today
but now look where i'm at

surrendering to the demons
Like every other day
with hooks and claws
and gnarls and gnaws
they fear my glow away

they rIp my love from chest
they shrEd apart my soul
they stamp out all my light
aNd Put me in my hOle

Smothering all my will
til tearS roll down my face
now i must release my demon
and leave this cold dark place

they arE the ebb
and i am the flow
the tug of war goeS on
stretching my Soul
til darknEss takes hold
and my Demon unleashes their song

Iron shackles to broken wrists,
cold, wet stone:
chains clank in the night.

Fire flickers on sconces
lining corridor walls.

Footsteps echo
down the hall;
guards speak of
a new prisoner's arrival--

Someone important, wise:
confusion abounds at
this stranger's fate.

What time shall he arrive this eve?
Where will he be taken?
This place was not built for
political prisoners.

The rest of us forgotten:
the small, shared meal lost;
hunger gnarls within.
Moans -- loved food is wasted.

My Father used to say “poetry is in everything; darling, even in the way you listen.”
That was before he burned all his books
And moved across the street and miles away
But I hold no grudges
For he has thought my ears more intimacy than my brain ever could
Maybe that’s because they’re prone to ‘unrequited love’
And when Yuna said “you don’t wanna belong to me because freedom feels better”
I understood why my mind never confessed to my heart
What it witnessed heartbreak do to my soul,
Perhaps Marvin Gaye explained it better
When he sang “I want you”
But you see, this piece of literature isn’t supposed to be about love
I wouldn’t dare call it poetry
But it is a work of art
Like the mix tape I made myself when I was counting my last days
First on that list was “hold on” by Alabama Shakes 
I wasn’t oblivious to the irony in my choice
But I suppose I forget all about it when I’m lip singing to Gnarls music
“Does that make me crazy?”
“Probably!”
However, sad brad smith won’t let me give up
And in their words I hear “I want you to help yourself”
As if I was the guardrail to my own happiness
What they don’t see, though, is that
Nothing could ever replace the things I’ve lost
Maybe that’s why I have a certain weakness for sad songs
It could also be why I can find sadness in all happy things
And I know I’m not alone in this every time I hear
“The yawning grave” by lord Huron
He tells me “I’ve sent you omens and signs”
He tells me “I’ve thought you melodies, pomes and rhymes”
But I’ve lost faith in those omens
Because Hozier left his words printed on my chest
“There is something so tragic about you,” he said
I have to believe he knows me best
Well before I even began to know myself.
Sometimes I wonder if all I am is a patchwork
Of all the music I’ve ever loved
And the discarded pieces of all the once I didn’t have the heart to
Because every time I try to
It makes me want to scream “I can’t feel my face when I’m with you”
It makes me want to experiment and live
And blast “Novacane” in to my eardrums
Until all I can hear is the sound of forgetting
But when the play list ends I’m pulled back
By “remind me to forget”
With memories that thrive to live on the surface.
Perhaps I’m waiting to be saved
It could be the reason why my pulse quicknes
When Berhanas song plays in the back ground
“Go the whole wide world just to find you”
Until I’m slapped back to reality by my father’s words
One of many
That I couldn’t be forgiving enough to let go
I have my own escape though
On the rooftop across town
And when I look below
All I can see engraved on the earth
Are the words “wings wouldn’t help you down
down towards the ground, gravity’s proud”
So I take back my words
Truly, Bon Iver knows me best
For I’ve lived up the turret my whole life
Hoping someday my bones would grow feathers
That would protect me from the waves of solitude.

Iron shackles bind wrists
to a cold, wet stone wall.
Moans echo down the hall
while chains clank in the night.

Fire flickers on the sconces
lining the corridor walls.

Footsteps draw near.
Someone is walking down the
hallway. The guards speak
of a new prisoner's arrival.

What time shall he arrive?
Where will he be kept?

Someone important--
that's what one said.
Confusion abounds at
this stranger's fate.

This place was built not for
political prisoners to be taken to.

The rest of us forgotten,
the small meal is lost.
Hunger gnarls within:
no food will come this eve.

Many miles to walk,
In some shoes that just
Don’t fit.
Clouds above and in head,
Blind for all the doubt.

Escaping the pursing shadow,
The darkness we fear
That lives within.
Do I enjoy the flagellation,
Is that why I keep this whip wet?

I've grown addicted to the nightmare,
At home in the din.
The dream dies, in those desperate eyes,
Poured from the lies within.

When the ice berg hit,
I felt relief,
For this titanic,
That you all saw,
Has been shown to be
Just a piece of tin.

As I rust in the depths,
Nurturing my pain,
A diligent nurse,
I take comfort in this urchin bed Iv made.
Now, I know true darkness.

Lies swim in those eyes,
Silver flecks in a rolling ocean.

I got depths,
And there are sharks within.
You see the sun rays reflection,
But forget this mirror is just the knife's tip.
This oceans got more yin than yang.

Theres a certain satisfaction in self loathing,
See I have always wanted to be the best,
But too afraid to take the plunge,
I’ll settle for the worst.

At least when this wildfires burnt out,
There will be certainty at last.
All the bad and wrongs wrung out,
You don’t get no phoenix,
Without the price of destruction and ash.

The thing about rock bottom,
Is that it gives you something to push,
A solid base from which to build,
Now that I know the ends of my worth.

The jokes on you though,
He who types,
See perfection exists only in its totality.
A tree may glow, but its got knobs and gnarls.
The sun may shine, but it also burns.
We forget that sun kiss can ****.

So strive not to be the most good,
Or perfect, or unblemished.
For the destination doesn’t exist,
And the route, rough and wrought with misery,
Loops round and around yourself.

To avoid strangulation,
Let go.
Fall into uncertainty gladly,
And you will find wings that you didn't know.
And thats more than enough,
You don’t need no halo.

The paved road walks straight and cobbled
The crowd it holds - a choo-choo train
Neither forwards nor backwards reveal the way straight
But the road beside it swirls and twirls
Concordance of illusions where up equals down
The path is dirt, mud and stone
Yet there are some stubborn souls who trudge wearily on
The path in the middle does not yet exist
Unlit and untamed leading into the woods
But I know it is the one I’ll take
Through gnarls and thickets and thorns and beasts
To be cut and slashed and burned and slayed
Then behind me my willing flock
Follows me through the still unforged path
To the unknown plains of life’s uncertainties
Either to riches, to doom, or to doom within riches
And where the uncertain path is the uncertain home
Then traveller’s feet will create the way
And it shall flatten beneath to become dirt and stone
Then when the rain falls and lightning strikes
Mud will run like a river
And up will seem like down
Then the flock dwindles but the strong strive on
Because soon the path will become paved and straight
No nature to tame nor beasts to slay
The darkness through will be lit by lamps
Crackling through the night in their eternal fire
The docile road uncertain no longer
The crowd it holds - a choo-choo train
Then another one of us will learn to walk
The path of life and pick their own
On another path yet unwalked
Their journey begins once again
Leaving behind my paved and cobbled road.

Ghosts splash about
on the ice house wall,
beer chitters in the jar,
stories are told in fits and gnarls.

The moon is a bleached breast
in its brassiere of dappled smoke,
up above the cracked wet wire
in the driftwood garden curl.

In a slant, we all watch
a woman across the alley
in her blue dress, scanning
her hands for news of the heart.

In the near square, a thin man
is also a plume, standing shirtless
on his crystal wash of balcony.
The street sings: sea static.

All these people walk blithely by
as rain and steam take turns
on the roulette wheel.
I feel the weight of my interior,

I feel the limit of skin, the world
that ends there. I'm not sure
I belong here at the gathered table:
I'm a reflected photo negative.

Leaves spiral overhead
as the green-bedded steps
rise up in blotches to meet me.  
Loaves of clouds hunt and burst.

Whatever is behind me
presses me forward;
but whatever is ahead
pushes me back.