A leather chair
It's comfy
And the headrest actually fits!
The woman
A nurse of some sort
Explains **** near everything
"This does blaahhh
And that does bluhhhhh
And this other thing does
Blegghhhhh"
Thanks.
Let's just get it over with
Then in comes the dentist
Well
He's an oral surgeon
He tells me his name
And hooks up an IV
And in goes the anesthesia

                    BLACKNESS

A comfy chair
I must be coming to
But in the office?
Then I hear the cat
Ohhhhhh
I'm home
Ok
Cool.
What do you mean?
All I can eat is ice cream?
And mashed potatoes?
Ughh... I wish I was back asleep.

A drive-by piercing with a lemon going haywire
Some day-old sushi seen floating in a milk shake
Biplanes soaring on a river made of goldfish
Hamsters running like a maggot being stepped on
T-Birds flying on a highway made of spike strips
A sleeper hold keeping pleasure from the culprit
High-speed boats with Bond at the Olympics
A Cheshire cat that is famous for his slow wit
A hands-free call using carrots as a pitchfork
Motel 6 giving buckets full of sunshine
A loser shakes when he’s calling for a train wreck
Two horned-toad dogs seek pleasure from a princess
Pineapples dance on a table made of tall grass
Swimming pools run like the nostrils of a cokehead
Lawnmowers chase televisions made of chocolate
A headrest pops like a package full of mayonnaise
Full moon falling like a stock that’s made of pennies
Some ring-toss games using members as a target
Horse-drawn buggies have turtles for a driver
Captain Crunch cracks three teeth with his product
Unicorn strippers charge nothing for a snow cone
A fig tree shoots his rifle like a marksman
Time-lapse photos lend credence to a journey
A night jog leading to the starting of a win streak
Cotton ***** fighting like the heart of a palm tree
Rabbit holes filled with a rocket made of red glare
Alien red giants just as sure as I am breathing
A high-speed rail system travels without leaving
Lamborghinis resting on a bed of melting ice cream
Then there’s a cuckoo clock riding on a white mink
I saw a cowboy yesterday atop a pile of hay
Leaches lurking everywhere really like to play
Red newspaper taxis burn at the pole in June
Hearts of gold at harvest time, hear my drum in tune
Playing in the band was my only decent goal
Rake, a shovel, and a pick dig working with a ***        
Prince without a pauper will rise from down below
Hot tamales drop like hail the radar never showed
Squids sign a new record deal using their own ink
Octomom wants it all; such ***** I’ve never seen

Tonight my gums ache
Because of the sin of 2:41 am
And the cigarettes I stole from you
After we drank the red wine
Your father exclaimed was royal
And originally drank by Paraguay princes.

I returned home dizzy with fatigue
And empty of joy and sorrow
Apathetic because I am not engaged
So I thumb my phone book to find
Anyone who will talk or kiss
Me numb, tonight.

I can't sleep after because the box fan is purring
And the October air is not
Devoid of Magnolia scent and hope
So I lay in my bed with crumbs
Sticking to my stretch marked hips
Taunting me even beneath the barracks of my sheets.

I saw no sky-moon when you left
So I smoked another Camel Crush
On the back porch watching you leave
Once our lips sanded the sin permanent
Into our raw faces and pulsing fingers
Smacking "joyful joyful-be filled! Filled!"

I barricade pillows against the concrete headrest
That my inherited mattress sleeps on
So the cold has to try harder, tonight
Even though your lips felt dry
and your sighs left ghosts exhaling
In my mind and neck and *****.

This is how I justify sleep tonight:
An attempt to evade sins damnation
And my nature that, by Tuesday,
Will be able to paint over
The deep white lies you tongue
Painted across my prickled body.

Come, rest and restore my soul
To its belief that words are sharp
Though the imprints of your nails
And the burgundy couch fabric
Left on my body and on my soul
Are eulogized by the alarm clock set for 702am.

fangs dripping
poison—dripping with
death.
yellow eyes slither stalking,
so hypnotic in their convincing;
in pursuit, our every step
pressured into flight’s direction.

a nightmare’s seed
planted beneath pillow,
following into dream.
the serpent’s coil riding
headrest’s rooting *******—
even slumber thought safety
infected.

a viper of self-consciousness, the
familiar of societal impositions
fuelling reflection’s hostility;
its venom—an injection of insecurity.
fangs dripping poison—
fangs dripping with
dishonesty.

you curl your fingers around the nape of the
passenger seat and the cold
metal stings but you can feel the
ghost of the prey brush your body
like the streetlights on the backseat last night
before you clutched the headrest and
you reach in the dark but
your hands miss the leather

the warm body heat of the car
thrumming up beneath you slams
your head into the dashboard where
the light turns from a bruised yellow to a crippled red
you are awake again
the steering wheel is cooler than you remember
smoother, sleeker, stealthy the wheel
will turn the predator around in a circle because
it seems to mimic itself where
in mimicry it is found
oh tyger tyger simmering out
you drive.
the gear shift does not obey when you
push it up rough and messy but it
locks in gear while you
wrap your fingers around the curve
and grind to a halt in the road
you cannot make this cliff.
the light in the dash blinks.
the trunk is opening and the vehicle is still moving
you roll down your window to ask the night a question in the glazed white of moonlight that is
so much like forgetting
will this road take me back to Del Sol and the Girl Who Lost Her Lover on Route 66?
she doesn't respond but
that is okay because the vehicle is still moving
and the leather is slick between your thighs
and you are going down
tonight you will descend.
the night will draw you home.
goodnight lover.

Nobody is in love.

Shoulder to shoulder, flesh spilling over
Flesh: our warm bodies heave
And contort together, leaving no room
For sentiment that goes deeper than
Your off white down comforter.

Nobody is in love.

The harsh sunlight seeps in
Through down turned blinds,
And thin, translucent eyelids,
Both half open, but oblivious to the
Indifferent world. Life is too much with us-
Never leaving us alone to really feel:

The cold, smooth wooden floor pushing up
Against the delicate archs of our sinewy feet,
As they drop down to meet the brisk  morning air,
That seems to coat everything revealed and left vulnerable
By the crumpled up sheets limply collapsed over the headrest,
Or the soft, steady breathing
Of someone left unstirred by the dizzying
Relay of thoughts that dance across my

Foolish mind. No one is in love, here.
The last fragment of hope
Was forgotten underneath mismatched blankets
That bear the faint scent of lavender fabric softener sheets
And something that lingers nameless beneath your presence.
The indented pillow, where you lay your head
Holds fast your hollow shape,
As if to remind us that reality is only as real
As those who are brave enough to feel it.

Time treads on and on,
Leaving us scrambling over coffee tables
And yesterdays newspaper strewn across the bedroom floor,
Blindly groping the abysmal space to find something
That isn't really there. Instead it's nestled between
The tiny slivers of our hearts,
Scattered across neon billboards and thee star hotels,
Pleading with us to acknowledge it's elusive presence
Before the world runs out of excuses,
And we're met with a big boom,

That probably will never even be felt.

it's no good,
no good,
no good.

No good for tomorrows,
where coffee's been cold,
tastes like battery acid,
kicks nervous systems up into highest gear--range = infinite.

then kills.

It's no good.

No good for saturday afternoons,
lonely as clear blue sky
on open highway
hurtling through ferocious air.

No good.

Definitely not a monday morning thought:

A day for hangovers,
tightly-capped lips,
****-smelling ****,
and linoleum stained as an old man's scalp.

It's no good for that time.

It's good for moments:
the window open, the tune of hurled air humbling your eardrums. Music loud, but not unbearable.
someone laughing in the back, kicking up their feet on the headrest
and taking the last sip of Wild Turkey.

Asleep in a securely blue bar;
laying your head on the wood paneling;
feeling the hum-drum earthworm of puke
on your tongue: Tasting guacamole and seared steak.

When the cop hurls around, cuts the lights, and hops out the squad
like a monster with a conscience.

You know you're drunk,
but fear doesn't hit you
until everyone involved
has peeled off.

Fear lingers, like shaking a dead man's hand,
but there are other things that wash well.

you and her.

It's good for moments perplexing,
it calms.

It's good for moments of fear,
it throttles you into sanity.

It's good for moments of confidence,
it humbles.

It's good for clarity,
it maintains.

I hit the headrest of my friend’s car
more than the pillow on my bed
as the traffic light turns
from yellow to red.

I remember what you said about
The eagle and the **** that are
Coming down at me.
You said forget about the words in your head.

You said you were proud of me
That was enough to get me on my feet
You said you were proud of me
that was enough to make me happy.

“You can’t get what I don’t have,”
And everything in between.
It gets better but it doesn’t get easier
You have to make sense of what it means

They say it’s darkest before the dawn
But the daylight haunts you before it’s gone
I know I’ve got you to get me through
The night that feels so long.

There’s not enough time in a day
to tell you how much I’m really grateful for you.
How you kept me alive
and how you taught me to turn the tides.

Bar dreams came dripping in
Beer bottles a headrest
Towers of bottles tops for weary eyes
Moonlight will capture my tries
Morning light will fill my demise

Wake me up when my mind stops raining
Flooding the gate of pain
Hurtful shadows taking my sane
Peaceful remedies go down the drain
Love always forgeting my name

Goodbye says the sun
The sky fell asleep all over agian
So did the smile from her eyes
All I see is frostbitten grass
Talk to the light while dusk tries to pass
Make your way to the end of all wars
Dont look down
Dont you fall to the floor
Someone has to remember my name
The stars remember nothing
When clouds drift ahead
While misty liqueur came making me drunk
I awake and I'm lost in my mind
I have taken the last of my time
I end up escaping the murderous fiends
I'm always hating these midnight bar dreams

Her Garden

Her world is an explosion of colour.
Flowers paint her pumpkin walls,
Fuschias dance in her back garden
and exotic roses watch over the plants that play to her music that breezes from her soul.

She is their sun
and their shade-
their very earth
and their rain.

Her children are loved
and her beauty adorned
with the essence of God.

Her Home

So warm.
Large wooden windows give light to the rooms.
To be there is to be in history:
faded photos, art, collectibles, aged mirrors,
take me on journeys to old souls and to myself.

The walls that hold them are boldly coloured and yet so comfortable. Every corner is a suprise placed with care.
The butch duck on the grandfather clock has laid an egg and curiously glares at the fireplace in the opposite corner.
I will always remember her fireplace.

Her bed is dressed with a red and gold silk oriental throw and large pillows resting on the headrest.
In the corner a tree laden with colourful handbags and hats for all occasions.
She has a mirror on an antique dresser for company
decorated with rings and makeup and jewelry
and many many interesting things.
The basket holds scarves and gloves and shoes,
and her sheets hold the moment i was born anew.

Her Art

She is her art.
Full of suprise,
eclectic,
eccentric,
bright.

Her home,
her garden,
her songs,
her interests,
her way.

She smiles poetry and wears classical movies.
She dances flowers and daggers
and speaks mystery and passion.

So soft and perplexed-
a roller coaster of colourful tastes
and memorable aromas.

To meet her is a pilgrimage,
to lose her is to lose an eye.

you could get caught up in all that nonsense like you wanted to, or you could just jump right into the fray like you did last night--the choice is yours, but you shouldn't mistake one for the other: the former is filled with nothingness and lifeless characters who are only ghosts in your mind, while the latter is at least a struggle to figure out what all this **** really means and where you need to go, what you need to do to make it all work--take what happened last night when you got on the bus: there was no room left except in the space right behind the punk girl who was chewing gum--now, you knew it was a bad idea, but what were you going to do, grab some ceiling bar and sway, and lurch, sway and lurch till you got where you were going?--hell no, it was supposed to be a civilized world, and so you'd wanted to sit--in your head, you'd already earned the right to sit just by virtue of there being a seat, just by you wanting to sit down without ever wanting to push someone else out of the way to get it...so when you finally did change your own mind and convince yourself that she was just some kid trying to act cool, that there weren't going to be any problems, that's just when she pressed that button underneath the armrest that adjusts the angle of the chair, and the whole thing headrest and all, came crushing down on you so that you had to look across at the women you'd come onto the bus with, the one who was supposed to be your lover and your friend, and you knew from the reaction on her face, which was fear and horror mixed with laughter, that you were once again allowing yourself to play the ******* clown, and all so that it would take the edge off of what you really wanted to do and say--who the hell did that little ***** think she was, anyway?--she knew you weren't supposed to lean the chair back that far, she knew there was next to no legroom back here--it was between the rear of the bus and her chair for christ's sake!--and yet as you felt your face pinging with both the pain of sudden discomfort and with the u deniable and stinking presence of the upholstery that had been filthied by years and years of ***** hands, *****, sneezes, and smoke, you also felt through all this that she was getting comfortable in her chair, that punk girl, that she was maybe even readying herself for a nap as you were living through a new experience of being torn between losing your **** asking who the **** she thought she was and the civil propriety expected of you to solve all of this amicably, or at least without harsh words and ***** looks...but if anything had been the story of your life, it'd been this very thing: how to not lose your mind when almost every ******* button was being pushed and pressed over and over to make you do just that--it wasn't an easy thing to first wrest your whole head from between the wall and her headrest and then lean to the side and whisper to your friend that you really needed to move, that you'd meet her at the next stop if you lost each other on the bus, and her silence meant exactly that: she wasn't giving up her seat for anyone or anything--she'd seen it first and had gotten there first and it was hers by right of this layman's etiquette, it wasn't like you were going to argue the point with her because you knew she was right--the seat she was sitting in was hers, you weren't suggesting that she change seats just go be closer to you, just because the two of you were together--what was this, middle school?--it's not like this was a nightmare or something, you'd just have to find each other later on, no big deal, right?--except that for you, it was a big deal: it wasn't that you were asking her to trade places with you or surrender her place and that she should go find another because she was smaller than you, no--you were just hoping she'd want to give up her seat in order to be closer to you, and you couldn't help but feel a little slighted and you knew it wouldn't take very long before this "slighted" feeling made you feel put out, that once more, you'd be expected to hold your tongue and get over it because when compared with the "big things" in life, what the hell was her not wanting to exchange her comfort alone for being uncomfortable with you possibly in a standing position till the bus pulled into the station?--it wasn't a big deal at all, you knew it, but it did feel a little "larger than life" just because of the physical discomfort you'd been put through just now...seriously, what ***** would've just stayed there being squished like a bug between the wall and that punk girl's seat?--in your head you were playing alternate ways you could've handled that whole thing that wouldn't have resulted in you squeezing yourself out of what had felt like the jaws of death around your skull, you had started imagining what might've happened if you'd simply asked her to put her seat up a few degrees so you could pretend you weren't a ******* veal being prepped for slaughter, imagined her response to be, "it's my chair," and doing nothing about it, which would've prompted you to say, "but it's my fist," and what kind of trouble could you have expected after that bus ride when the thing finally pulled into the station?--she would've taken a picture of you with her phone, gotten a cop, and you would've been right back in trouble just like you felt you always were, like your old man had always told you you'd be because of that mouth of yours--and in the life you'd always wanted to live, the one where people did sort through their problems using communication, using the experienced gleaned from previous and present relationships, the life you often lived yourself where you heard yourself speaking the words in the way that you'd always wanted to speak them where you could convince yourself that you really and truly were that person, that man who could refrain from all violence in order to serve the greater good of actuating all desire through talk and thought and connecting with other people, like this you had convinced yourself this was the norm, that everyone should just ask things politely and be gentle about getting rejected or when life handed down some pretty rough **** to deal with...how many times had you heard yourself speak such words that you couldn't help but think we're too soft or seemed too obsequious...but were they "civilized," were they peaceful?--yes, they had been, but maybe they'd been too civilized, too peaceful, and maybe the propel who'd been listening, those you'd been dealing with had mistaken your kindness and respectfulness for weakness--hadn't it happened before, and hadn't it brought out the very worst in you?--because, in unwind response, you had become the animal: it started with that look of yours they used to call part of your "black mood" and then sometimes it would escalate into the kind of cursing that pre-empted a scene of violence--between these two things, people usually caved or the situation resolved itself, but how had you felt afterward?: always like an animal and never like the educated man you'd spent all your life cultivating from the deadness they'd given you to work with, from the nothing they'd given you as a blueprint for success in this world--yes, you were a wolf, but life had made you a lone wolf, and now you were growing tired of all of it, tired of being put into these situations, tired of having to do the exact right thing in any given situation even if you knew it was someone else's version of what was right you were being judged by...and what were you going to do?: dump her on her *** because you were expected to "be a man" both by finding another seat and by intimidating the punk girl into submitted to your will?--who could satisfy both at once?--you didn't need this kind of judgment, it was bad enough already that you all "all this" just having a blast with ******* yourself up with all these options that weren't really options at all--if you gave the girl a ***** look, your woman would snub you because if it and she wouldn't let you forget it--for years later, you'd be called out for behaving like an animal...and yet if you said nothing and found another seat, she'd be mortified that she had chosen someone who wasn't a "real man"--god, how many times had you wanted to show her that if being a "real man" meant using violence or the penchant for using violence as a first response to any and all problems, then you would always be the "real"-est of men...there was no way to win this, it was the hallmark of civilization after all--you might've wanted to think you were a "lone wolf," but weren't you with that woman not giving up her seat back there, weren't you on a bus full of people?--weren't you going to busy yourself for the rest of this day and most of the next trying to get your mind off of this flashpoint that had almost become an outburst not "then and there" but in the here and now?--and what had been the chances of you coming out of all of this looking good, what were the chances that you'd find her at the station after you'd both gotten off the bus without a moue of disgust on her face you'd be expected to ignore and also ask her about because both would show you cared too much, both would show you'd ****** up, both would show there was no way to win, which was something you knew in advance, that you'd known just as soon as you got up lurching and swaying from ceiling bar to ceiling bar looking for another seat...but that didn't mean you were used to it, not yet anyway--

the incessant running of a faucet,
a clock ticking rhythmically
with the sudden clink of metal on tile.

drip, drip, drip

a flow that's too late to stop
splashes filling the tub
gallons and gallons rushing to supply it.

drip, drip, drip,

crimson on clear creating spools of red colour,
this is it. this is all i'll ever be known for.
i've never seen the end so near.

drip, drip, swallow

it's all gonna be okay
i'll close my eyes and lean back
everything is a headrest if you make it one

drip, swallow relax,

i see dark, fuzzy spots yet feel a burning pain,
i feel so colourful yet soon i'll be gray
so here i'll lay until it's over and i'm found
cut scene, fade to black,

roll credits.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Smoke escapes through my teeth and circles my head as my mind prepares for the trip that awaits.

A pair of dark sunglasses act as a safety blanket, setting my nerves at ease.

And an involuntary smile invades my face.

I tilt my head back on the headrest as if it were its rightful place.

Still I know that this feeling is nothing but fabricated happiness.

These ashes and this roach serve as evidence.

But I don't care.

The troubles of the world are set to pause.

The music is set to play.

Each note ripples through my ears, drowning out the sounds of the city.

This is my escape.

Miryam slept
most of the way
through Paris
that evening

her head
on your shoulder
her eyes closed
like pink shells

her mouth
slightly ajar
an innocent
sleeping child

kind of look
on the coach
as it travelled
through the bright lights

and sights of Paris
Beethoven's
5th Piano Concerto
pouring

from the coach's
loudspeakers
you gazed
at her tight

red haired head
sense of her
laying there
a soft sound

of breathing
a barely felt sense
of her pulse
and feeling

that the most
important thing
at that moment
that pulse

that sound
of breathing
that the whole world
would cease

if she did
neither again
you lay back
your head

on the headrest
taking in the sights
the lights
people passing

street scenes
bars and cafés open
couples walking
arm in arm

a kissing couple
here and there
the second movement
of the Beethoven concerto

easing through
the coach
and looking down
at her hands folded

in her lap
as if they too slept
fingers holding
thumbs touching

her knees visible
where her skirt
rode up as she sat
and as you lay there

taking in
her being there
that eternal moment
sinking in

the Proustian connection
of her sleeping so
and the Beethoven episode
the piano easing out

and her head there
on your shoulder
rested childlike
and all or most

of desires kept at bay
seeing her lay so
like untouched
untrodden snow.

stay up with me please
stay silent like me
let’s be quiet like death
let’s live as one in peace
i want to hear you breathe
just let me hear you
    exhale
  inhale
    exhale
  inhale
stay, i’m so restless
my headrest, your chest
resurrects me beneath stars
just let me listen, please
you help me just by breathing
just let me hear you
    exhale
  inhale
    exhale
  inhale
i feel your heart, it pounds  
my ears pound with its throbs
the pounding in my head
beats down my heart’s rhythm
but there's peace in your breath
just you can hear me
  inhale
    exhale
  inhale
    exhale
    stay up with me please
    your beatings mend my pieces
    i’ll meet death halved and peace-less  
    if for one moment you leave me
    with lungs that gasp for air
    and no exhales to breathe in

- end

Exhausted.
His head slunk into the headrest
in the window seat. A stark contrast
to the eager little engine he could see
clinging to the plane wing; rumbling
with childish excitement.

The trolley rolled back and forth through the isle
a few times. He could wait no longer.
In his backpack a letter sat, with words
from the one he loved.
Hunching back down in his seat he slowly
and nervously unfolded it.
His inhales heavy at his gut,
where after scanning a few lines with his tired eyes,
his heart rocked against his rib cage.
He hadn't finished. He couldn't.
Folding it back up he hunched further forwards
with his head in his hands.

All the burdens of Atlas paled to the strain he felt,
everything dark and everything  a lead weight right now,
he wanted to read the letter to it's end.
Was he strong enough to keep it together?
He wasn't sure.

...He had too!

Opening the letter he continued.
Those last lines.
Tears ran to the exit, the **** walls had fallen.
Like a toddler with a stubbed toe he succumbed to a
hopeless chorus of wailing and sobs.

He was a King in his new life, a ruler of all he surveyed,
something he could never be at home.
Why did things have to fall apart?
How!?

Those last words ringing like a bell
as he lay there like a defeated adversary.
"I love you forever and always"

Baby Mamas with their prams
Eating up wonderland
Dropping bits of food everywhere
Under their chairs

Laughing like schoolgirls
Flustered red
Bits of food
For non-believers
And the un-anointed
Are scarce

Clogging toilets with diapers
Dispensing waste
At an alarming rate

How much for a wonderland?
In the sky
Red marker
Rise and rise
White tissue
Go from white to brown
Bits of pea and chicken
Falling down
  (all together now)
    Bits of pea and chicken
      Falling Down

How much for a trip to wonderland
With a cushioned seat
Padded headrest
And comfy feet?

Eat

A wonderland in the sky
The market is on the rise
The ground is black
And the clouds are white

Every minute
Clouds gather spin and rise
The Earth looks small
Falling behind

How much for wonderland
Up in the sky?

I prefer to drive home after drinking too much at 2 AM.
It's safer.
I'm convinced that all the cops are out after bars' happy hours.
I only know about that from my favorite bar, which is 9 to 11.
After 11, I think they prowl until one.
Come two, they are exhausted and bored.
But not like us.
The streets are like a blank canvas and we have all the paint,
And we are eager to make a mess of its purity.
I steer the wheel with my knee as I stretch my arms wide,
While one ends up hugging the headrest of your seat,
You look at me and say, "Pay attention to the road."
You mustn't know.
You mustn't know what it feels like to look at you
When you look at me
The way you do.
You mustn't.
You can't even begin to imagine all the things I see,
But I direct my gaze through my drunken haze to the expressway,
With the lights passing by us like previews before a movie,
And we try to comment on all of them,
Which ones we choose to see and not see,
But we're too excited about the feature presentation,
Because it's the first night that it feels like summer,
And I remember why I can't keep my mind off of you through all the seasons;
You have always been my summer scent,
The carefree afternoon, the elongated dusk, the crickets before bed,
The one that could keep me from feeling the cold that runs through my bones
And somehow make me whole and warm.
And I stop the car
And take you all in
And wait
For your eyes
To meet mine

Fingers
Wrap around my waist
One hand curled in over my back
Your headrest isn't solid board and creaky springs
I'd laugh but it would fall flat as
Against the curve of knees over knees and face to shoulder blades
I cushion you. Curled into me more than around me and
We look silly because I'm so much smaller than you

She opens her mouth and sap pours out.
They speak about their desires. Someone who won't leave after two weeks. Someone who won't break away.
I'd laugh but it would fall flat as
I'm the one who leaves after a day.
Isn't that the worst? No. I can think of so much worse. Then they speak about me. "You better hold onto her" and "she's good people" or "don't they look adorable?" then "he stole my cuddle buddy"
Then they kiss.

I try not to move, much.
I'm the reason they stayed.
But the man behind me is better behaved. And he doesn't want me for more than my warmth. And he's never slept the night here, not unless I put him there. So I stay. And I listen to the two on the floor. And feel the crick in my neck start to get sore.

Legs
Wrap around my thighs
One foot atop mine
Your breath isn't evened by force
When I turn to you I want to cry
but it's a thought away from falling asleep
So I fall asleep with you.

I remember a calm sort of bravery in the way that she was.
Not the kind that you find advertised
on billboards and television,
or in mothers and soldiers, no.
It was a kind that you could see in her eyes
(the only animate part of her body,
besides her leg, which shook without her approval,
like a dog fresh out of a river, annoying and unpleasant.)

It was there in her eyes even as she'd lie her bed in the nursing home
at the ripe old age of 20.
It was there as she stared down from the headrest on her wheelchair
at her disabled body,
trying to forgive it for betraying her.

And I remember sometimes when I looked at her,
I could've sworn I saw her thoughts floating around in her head,
like fish in a tank too small for comfort.
I could almost hear them bouncing off the walls of her skull
and echoing, echoing, echoing too, too loud.
I could see her trying to make sense of them,
and I wanted to, too.

And every now and then a look of concentration crossed her face:
her eyebrows furrowed,
her jaw tightened just a bit,
and that was the full extent of the control she had over her
own
*******
muscles.

It was times when that look appeared on her face that I wanted,
more than ever,
for her to be able to just say what she was thinking.

After two years of various types of therapy,
learning to eat through her mouth again instead of a stomach tube,
and the expectation of a long and happy life,
a second brain aneurysm came and did what the first couldn't quite do:

it killed her.

It's been about six or so years since then,
and I still remember how cold her hands always felt,
and wish that I had taken a better look at her the last time I had the chance.
I wish I had told her that I loved her more often and really meant it--
not those absent "I love you's" that only exist as fillers before goodbyes.
I wish I had gotten to say goodbye to her,
but the doctors wouldn't let me in the room where she was,
attached to the life support machine,
because I was too young.

It wasn't fair--she was too young, too.
Too young to be dying,
too young for freaking working lungs to be cause for hope that 'she
just might pull through!'
instead of being a given.

But she was braindead.
That was that.
And our parents held her hand and let her die,
like no parent should have to.

I can picture my mom in the room with a dead daughter and a silent husband,
sobbing as her daughter's heart stops and her world collapses.
And I don't know if that's the only corpse my mom has seen or not,
but it was one that no mother should witness.

And because of all of this I can't **** myself.
It's not a lack of resources or desire to do it.
It's the fact that I've experienced the loss of a sister,
just like all of my siblings (except for one.)

It's the fact that I've seen my mom on mornings when she wakes up
and, like a ball and a paddle in slow motion,
it hits her over and over again throughout the rest of her life.
I can't do that to her again, no matter how badly I might want to die.

I saw my other sister fall on the gravel, screaming, "No! No!"
I heard her say through tears, "You know, I don't think God is a very nice guy,"
and I can't have her think that it's even slightly her fault now that we both know God isn't involved here.
She would miss me too much. It would hurt her too much.

And those are the real reasons I'm not going to **** myself, Doc.

Where one could only place a thought on  rest,
but for a moment, reflections that are addressed  
on eyelids needing the collection of bedtime unrest.

My blankets are woven in comas of oppression
as when my eyes are entombed and depressed.
No one realizes that when they pass this dispossessed
huddle, lives life never given a moment as were oppressed.

For below this perceived cluster of a homeless man dressed,
is the dignity of man once upon a time blessed.
But I fell or stumbled, now my body slumbers on a headrest.
All that others see is a robin who lost his dignified vest.

Full of momentum
Intoxicated on summer's sunshine
No respect for the rain
I need to stop suddenly
Can't do it gently
Slam on the brakes
And drift eloquently
In slow motion...
I aquaplane



Danger in beauty
Beauty in wisdom
Bones fracture brilliantly
Like light in prisms
No room for logic
Slow motion gliding
Common sense hiding...
Cataclysm



Palace of wisdom?
If I live, leave me bleeding
******* moist air
With blood, hair and glass
Wrapped around my face
Whiplash with no headrest
Leave me crippled
And crumpled...

Another rusted ruin
At the side of the road to excess...

Remember the headrest—muted
and pasted to your arms.
How it felt to smother in voicelessness.

Remember hair stains, decade-weary leather.
Remember the revolutions around ourselves.

Remember as inky sky purples from sunlight;
Confront the oppressive curls of memory.

Irreverent words flow as I spill this ink across the page
Suns rise and set, while this planet weeps black blood
The midnight stars shine solemnly in their eternal watch

God sighs at the universe sets, he can finally put down his burden
He aches and pains from toiling so long
Joints creak and his stomach rumbles

Maybe it's time for a nap
He lays his head down to slumber
The light, tinted pink from the evenings glow, filters through his window

A breeze gently stirs the wispy hair on his threadbare scalp
A bit of drool collects on the headrest of his recliner
His troubles all but forgotten to the tides of dreams

"Heaven is closed," Peter said to the gathered dead, "Here is your eviction notice."
One by one the marched down the marbled gold staircase as the angels descended above them
Jesus was the last to go, after tucking a blanket around his father's shoulders

With a final breath the universe dies, contented, in its sleep
No more witnesses, no more observers
Peace at last

Sweet morning dreaming of lake dip paddling.
The sun, barely up, warmed our skin.
You dipped your paddle in the black swirling lake
and we laughed when it dripped on my chin.
Quietly gliding we passed windbent trees
That should have been dead long ago.
They seemed to grow out of age polished stone
And you dip paddled along gently slow.
The life vest, my headrest, smelled of sweet fishy lake;
I lay on the cold metal floor.
Taking much comfort in the amplified lapping
As you paddled us on to the shore.
Then we swam to cool off while the sun climbed above
We floated the hours away.
Drifting together hands clasped and eyes closed
I look back and thank God for that day

Mine Spanish amour'
The one I talk of daily,
Well anyways

Me and her mine Spanish amare
Hast the moon as ourn bolster headrest
And the planet as ourn footstool's

As for the stars
And the asteroids

Well I can telleth thou this...............
They dance for us,

And what a show we get to enjoy!!!

And the best part
Between the moon and stars

Is when I see her smile
Than I knoweth its all for something!!!

The corner of the room

The corner if the room
The writing table
A cloud of imagination hovers
Cast over the halo of the desk lamp
The journal lay open
Calling upon the atmospheres
From the ambiance set
The genesis of dreams waiting to be plucked
Like a swarm of butterflies
Hopes waiting to be painted
Wishes waiting to be told
a corner if the room
The helm of an imagination
An empty chair
Headrest faded with miles of pondering thoughts
Armrests look like bridges
Leading back to the sanded surface
Of the pine
Treasures channeled , and a river if ink inside the pen
An ocean of odes already poured
And more just over the horizon.
The corner if the room
A passage to a universe
Were love perseveres
And nature has a voice
Emotions are teleported
From soul to soul
Hearts are won over
And some of them hurt
From the corner if the room
On the face if the writing table
Another moment lays in wait ....

Tower of Silence - Track 2

Intro
(((Hey, I’m heading back up my tower
I am be careful!
I’ll come down when it’s no longer safe)))

Hook
There’s panic in the lines of these rhymes I make
Maybe I shouldn’t tell you but it’s kinda late
You should probably be concerned with our mental state
The truth is all around me but my mind’s not made
My heart is with you somewhere but my head’s not safe

Verse 1
I’m a product of this culture, just another soul convinced it’s over
Taken over, taken fall to the world of overexposure
I’m the poacher, killing this son and killing my brothers
I fear my crave for blood—circling above
No I am not enough, no this is not enough
Whose blood soaks the door? Should I even do this anymore?
I am a vulture, feasting on a past that’s dead
Blood-soaked feet—keep my fangs soaked in pain
Can’t escape the thoughts ramped in my brain
Plummet on the thought that my mind’s insane

I’m just another copy
Copy and paste, brob’ly, He caught me
Is this really who I’m suppose to be?
This is not what you’re suppose to see
Who is this that’s stoppin’ me?
Voices, voices tell me I’m a copy
Bounty, on me—tired of mockery
Counterfeit seems to fit the description
To the point it’s ‘bout to stop me
Is this the plan of the one who bought me?
If so, nothin’ can’t stop me

Hook
There’s panic in the lines of these rhymes I make
Maybe I shouldn’t tell you but it’s kinda late
You should probably be concerned with our mental state
The truth is all around me but my mind’s not made
My heart is with you somewhere but my head’s not safe

Verse 2
My Kind, my Blood—they mean so much to me
I hide, behind—who I’m not suppose to be
No, this is not what you’re suppose to be
Is this suppose to be what’s truly me?
Take it easy with this poet, please
I’m scared to death of what you’ll think
Because it could be the death of me
I’m scared of my own voice
I don’t know if it’s my own choice
This thing—is it just a dream or is it the beginning
If singing is my meaning
A cover over my head, I wear a headset
Noise begins to make me afraid on my mindset
I let words get through—I regret
That I allow the words to linger and set
This has come to be my headrest, I bet
The reset, is just another test
A solution to drown is not the best
Because now the sound gives me no rest
But the nepotistic noise and voices I get
Becomes my choice with the volume I set

Hook
There’s panic in the lines of these rhymes I make
Maybe I shouldn’t tell you but it’s kinda late
You should probably be concerned with our mental state
The truth is all around me but my mind’s not made
My heart is with you somewhere but my head’s not safe
You should probably be concerned with our mental state

Verse 3
There’s a problem with our society
Worse than suicide, depression, and anxiety
It’s how we deal with these problems
Rather, it’s how we cause them
If I didn’t know better, I’d think you look a bit dead yourself
Not a Heaver, not a Breather, just caught up in your head
But wake up and join our battle cry
To help these dry bones come to life
Scared of the pace in change so you stay in place
Open your eyes and crank up our volume
Fall out of formation, help our vocation
And take a chance to take off your costume
Because right now our rates are hallow
It’s culture’s fault, though it forbids
So wake up to the things that you hid
And what you put on display
That death is a logical way
I don’t mean to sound harsh
It’s just, we need your heart
I don’t want to be crude
It’s just, I think it’s a but rude
Just what Sleepers do
Listen, I fall victim to it too
Please excuse me and do what I do
But no it’s not just a mere fad clad in sadness
They need to know, together we will get far
And help us say this gloom is not who we are
Come together in this path that needs paving
And be wary of the message you’re engraving

Outro
My opinion, life’s worth living
Culture say, might as well
Problem is, it won’t sell
Death’s addictive, but the price to live
Is worth the pay, so I will stay
Please stick around, I’ll have you found