1970 Odysseus visits cousin Patsy in New York City she introduces him to her best friend Lauren’s older less attractive more reclusive sister Tanya Mulhaney extremely wealthy family father founded corporation manufactures pinball machines which years later develop to video games then casino empire he favors and spoils Tanya but dies suddenly her envious sisters and mother gang up on Tanya is pale skinny flat-chested copious brown bush Odysseus sits in bathtub with Tanya and he probes in a way they hits it off maybe no boy has ever touched her in that way her complexion is so fragile slightest fluster prompts pink blotches on her cheeks neck chest back he admires her book smarts he’s attracted to her refined strangeness he thinks her bush and flat-chest are **** she laughs shyly offers to take him around the world he accepts Odysseus tells his parents Mom goes crazy yells into telephone what are you a ******? you father and i work like fools to send you to the best schools so you can make something of yourself you’re going to throw everything away to be a ***? i tell you we’ll disown you you won’t have a home to come back to do you hear me? we’ll disown you! she sobs how can you just walk out after all we have done for you? you ******* kid! Odysseus takes leave of absence from art school he and Tanya take Iberia jet 12 hour flight with stopover in Iceland to Belgium Tanya sinks into one of her moods swallows several pills to help her rest sitting on other side of Odysseus is curly haired skinny talkative musician claims he has jammed with Miles Davis and other jazz greats Odysseus says yeah right and i’ve shown with Johns and Twombly where exactly are you heading in Europe? musician answers he is a scientologist on his way to visit L. Ron Hubbard in England Odysseus does not know what Dianetics are and wants explanation he asks many questions and musician talks for hours they enjoy each other’s rapport as jet descends in Brussels they exchange home addresses in the States 9 months later when Odysseus returns to America a friend notices scribbled address while skimming through his travel journals Odys! how did you get Chick Corea’s address? do you know him? do you realize how brilliant he is? he’s a keyboard virtuoso! Odysseus questions Chick Corea? who’s Chick Corea? he looks at journal page then says oh that guy i sat next to him on the jet to Europe so he really is a famous musician huh? wow!

in October 1970 Brussels is damp chilly Tanya wears hip-hugger jeans black turtle-neck top North Face shell she huddles her arms around her chest smokes cigarettes looks through hotel room window out into gray overcast sky speaks in defeatist voice i didn’t bring clothes for this weather she picks at her plate in hotel restaurant glumly vacillates later in bed after refusing *** decides they leave tomorrow fly to Canary Islands for several weeks to get tan before traveling through Morocco during winter months Canary Islands are laden with Swedish tourists including bikini clad young girls many not wearing tops Odysseus is thinking about how to swing some of that Swedish free love once Tanya gets drunk succumbs to Odysseus’s ****** overtures it is good  one day while returning to hotel from beach 2 Spanish police stop and question Tanya and Odysseus police order to see their passports then command them into squad car police bark in Spanish rifle through their daypacks point a finger Odysseus can smell alcohol on their breaths Tanya and Odysseus are terrified police drive off main road to remote location abandoned ruins no one is around police order them to step out police drive off laughing Tanya’s complexion is crimson she sobs they could have murdered us no one would know who we are or where to find us we’re lost where are we? Odysseus looks around replies don’t worry we’ll be all right i watched where the driver was going we’ll retrace their trail

they fly to Tangier travel south by train Tanya is irritable insisting Odysseus carry her backpack Casablanca is ***** 3 men peer from sunglasses act suspicious wear tattered trench coats Tanya and Odysseus snack at cafe which provides hookahs for smoking hashish Odysseus scores several grams Tanya laughs suggests they rent car drive south travel to sandy beaches of Diabet for 6 weeks in the morning she paces around French hotel room with cigarette in one hand ashtray in other like she is sultry 1940’s Hollywood actress she stays in room and devours Penguin Classics Tolstoy Stendhal Proust Huysmans Zola turns out Tanya is sexually frigid she buys Odysseus anything he wants but does not put out they take train Marrakech it is sun drenched with blue skies mountains in distance Odysseus wants to go out explore get ***** with the natives he visits Medina daily witnessing many bizarre scenes he does not understand a woman squatting over an egg a man with no legs dragging himself through marketplace holding up cigarette butts in his hand he meets a professor who is out of work because king of Morocco has closed the universities due to teachers’ strike professor explains woman squatting over egg is fortuneteller and man dragging himself has been offered crutches many times yet makes more money playing off pity of tourists cigarette butts are for sale the professor invites Odysseus to visit Berbers in mountains Odysseus persuades Tanya she reluctantly agrees the 3 travel by bus in first-class front row seats vehicle filled with lively families chickens pig bus driver has assistant who lugs people onto bus or shoves them out door at a midpoint bus stops in little town everyone exits bus then men women children urinate in street local venders sell trinkets snacks Odysseus buys nibbles shish-kabob that later professor informs is roasted cat and dog they reenter bus wait suddenly butchered lamb flank is flung onto Odysseus’s lap a man climbs aboard bus stairs then grabs large carcass and heedlessly walks to back seat Odysseus wipes blood and slime off his jeans Tanya demurely giggles bus climbs mountains arrives at small Berber village professor leads them along narrow winding street of shanty huts sheltering merchants open kitchens professor tastes from various steaming iron kettles finally decides on one they are directed to rickety roof where they sit wait a boy comes up with plastic bowl filled with water and small box of Tide following professor they wash their hands then minutes later proprietor brings up simmering *** of couscous serves it with scratched raw plastic bowls no eating utensils they eat with their fingers Tanya seems bothered declines to partake she withdraws into silence after meal she becomes irritable complains of headache says she needs to return to Marrakech she remains standoffish on bus all the way to French hotel

after Marrakech they take boat trip to Italy while onboard Odysseus meets Italian Count who has an eye for him Odysseus wears Jim Morrison beat-up leather jeans Bruce Lee t-shirt scraggly whiskers Count wears thin manicured beard tiny red Speedo swim trunks Tanya grins amused Count offers Odysseus and Tanya to be guests at his villa in Milan city flourishes with stylish clothes loud lively restaurants classical sculptures covered in car pollution following several weeks of aristocratic wining and dining amazing 11 course elegant soiree Odysseus botches compliance with Count’s desires they are asked to leave Tanya laughs hysterically they board train to Germany based on Tanya’s tour book they find historic hotel with wind rattling windows coin operated hot water bath in Munich Tanya stays in room Odysseus goes to dance club meets brown-hared pale skinned German girl neither speak the other’s language he pays for hourly rated room they play German girl in animated gesturing warns him as he is going down on her but he does not understand until several days later scratching beard finds ***** seeks A-200 lice treatment German version leather pants disposed Tanya knows but says nothing she buys Volkswagen they drive through Black Forest Tanya wants to visit King Ludwig’s castles Odysseus does the driving mostly they listen to the Who’s “Who’s Next” and Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” he follows Tanya’s instructions not knowing who King Ludwig was eventually he learns Ludwig was colorful character built extravagant Disney like castles and friends Richard Wagner Bavaria is cold gray brown deep forest green scenic Swiss Alps visible in southern view they drive from Neuschwanstein to Linderhof to Herrenchiemsee then Freiburg lodge in bed and breakfasts Tanya grows restless by all the driving decides to ditch car along road in northern France as Odysseus unscrews car license by road side several cars stop French people concerned they need help Tanya is anxious hoping for clean get away from abandoning vehicle they board train to Paris Tanya speaks a little French in spring of 1971 they are backpacking in search of hotel on Left Bank it rains all morning sky is overcast Tanya reads “Pride and Prejudice” Odysseus draws in sketchbook at sidewalk café sitting next to them are older Parisian couple man detects they are Americans he turns to them expresses in English his contempt why can’t you Americans learn from France’s lessons in Vietnam? Tanya and Odysseus don’t look up they feel like dumb ugly Americans within days they leave Paris

cross English Channel by boat they find temporary apartment in Earl’s Court in London it is overcast almost every day within a month they move to larger place in Chelsea with backyard with run down English garden Odysseus weeds garden plants tomatoes lettuce carrots radishes flowers Tanya stays in her room smokes reads at night they go out to ethnic restaurants one night they visit Indian restaurant a very proper English woman sitting at next table orders exotic fruit for dessert Odysseus asks waiter what kind of fruit waiter answers mango Odysseus has never seen or tasted mango English woman delicately eats the fruit with fork and knife Odysseus orders mango for dessert he attempts to imitate how English lady proceeded fruit slips around on plate finally out of frustration he picks it up in his hands bites into it he is aroused by how luscious mango is sniffing with nose scraping fruit’s skin with front teeth then ******* the seed Tanya makes a face suddenly the seed slides from his grasp shoots across table Tanya’s cheeks neck turn scarlet voice raises stop it Odys! you’re disgusting! are you intentionally trying to embarrass me? why are you doing this? he replies i’m not doing anything to you i’m enjoying the most delicious fruit i’ve ever tasted who cares what it looks like? later she laughs about incident offers to buy more mangos promises to take him shopping at Harrods tomorrow he goes along with their arrangement until it all seems like pretty background scenery to an empty intimacy missing all his friends back at art school he writes about his loneliness he feels trapped in Tanya’s web several times he sneaks English girls into his room when Tanya jealously confronts him he admits he has had enough and wants to go back to Hartford she suggests at the least they fly to Bermuda for several weeks to get tan before returning he declines on June 30 1971 Odysseus returns to Hartford and Tanya moves to San Francisco on July 3 Jim Morrison overdoses in Paris

The brambles in the emo forest
grow sharper with the passing days.
Three months deeper into the oatmeal
on the heels of the turtle goddess
and i am compelled to ignore the trees.
i have never been crazy about shrubbery,
being that the majority of my experience
has ended badly for the plant.

**** it.
It would appear that my green thumb *****.

My pillow is a poor substitute
for the warmth of sweatpants
or the comfort of your arms,
but i am locked into the devices
of another two year paper binge.
i would greatly prefer to be
static in my global positioning
as long as i can lose myself
swimming into the recesses of
your vibrant blue Oceania.
i want to hand you my eyes
so you can see my fixation on
the perspectives of action
and identify with my analysis
on the frailty of beauty,
intangible though it may be.

When i was weaker,
i appraised the value of
a man to be intrinsically
linked to the relation
between time and pride.
Driving a parallel path
to the stars, there is
only one thought:
Reality is like a dissected
frog: i poke and ****
and pull and poke and
probe and stare and ****
and pull but i still
can't figure out what all
those little tissues do
when they are turned on.

What if i want to taste the fruits of serendipitous fortune
or walk the garden path of chivalric sunshine?

If i could liquefy my soul,
i would pour you honey-laced
shots of my longing so that
when the darkness of the mid-week
slanders me you can touch
the sea spray of a wave
i have sent to wash away
the fears of circular evolution.

i want to build the hearth
where we can light the fire
of roundabout destiny and cook
the flesh from the slaughter
of our angry cows and bulls
so that we can incorporate
our weaknesses into our strengths.

i want to shape a necklace
out of my scar tissue
and wear it loudly so
that you can see the pain
that enables me to feel yours.

i want to finish my marathon
with my bag of bricks
because it is impossible to
truly win without the
burdens of justice and morality.

i've collected the screams
of my travels in a glass jar.
One day when the sun
struggles over the distant
cold horizon, i
plan to exact revenge
on the container and
make a concerted effort
to buy American.

In the hills above the
languishing sticks
i appear to have
dislodged a rock slide.
In my estimation,
the carnage will be
exquisite and swift.
If i survive the
judgement of guilt,
i can visit the friends
already lost to the
perpetual fires of the
sanctioning underbelly.

Why can't i take the
burgeoning petals of the
dark rose and elevate myself
above the sickness i have
seen in the eyes of my
accusers and those who would
trample the silly notions that
are all i have ever owned?

i feel that in the life i have witnessed
there are innate weaknesses in the
system i have supported.

In the instance given,
i have allowed myself
to be collared and
pent up by unspoken
deeds and words.
When my candles flicker
and reform, at least
i will be able to stand up
and clarify the point with
the authority inherently
granted to an elder whom
most ignore or ridicule in
the comfort of a happy living room.

i have seen hints of the futility of
nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs,
prepositions, and conjunctions
because they cannot begin to
express the vertigo i am cursed with
or the gravity that will not allow me to
escape unscathed.

i'm afraid that one day
my ink well will run dry
and my fingers will fuse
together and conspire to
undermine my sanity.

i fear the ticking of
my watch when i can
feel its echo deep inside
the canyons between
my synapses.

i cower and whimper
under the auspices of jest
when my soul is overrun
with desires that cannot
be slaked with water.

i want to detach my
aorta so that i will not
be bothered by the
binding of my skin
to the dry earth.

i need to hum the
melodies of aquatic repose
and bathe my wounded
feet in the streams that
flow to the cliff's edge.

When the time comes
for my foray
into the sublime,
i can fade away into
the arbor mist and
not feel the piercing gaze
i have become accustomed
to during this.

And for so long,
i have fed the horses
and watered the hedges
for everyone,
only to find that
all my livestock
dies within the
fences i have built
to protect the few
things left after
my tornado.

Approaching six full, and
i'm camped outside the
city gates and starving.

i puked when the moon
cycle shifted this time.

i thought that if i
sacrificed fuchsia to the
demon he would mistake
it for acquiescence, but
when the clock struck twelve
my pumpkin only rotted.

Why did you want to see the water?

i'm not going to buy
the dumb tourist act.
You knew the sand
was poisoned.

Nevertheless,
i am 3/5 of a man
when engulfed in
purple madness for
your affection.

the bells have fallen silent,
and i have seen your persuasion,
like an old silent movie.

What of your petty elucidations?
Can you teach me about destiny?
Do you have any watermelons?
If not, why not, or, even better,
who cares?

i don't think you have
seen my rose garden,
the thicket i entered
once to reenter time
and again, lonely and
bleeding, twisting and
turning, with no
right-hand-rule
to guide...

but this isn't your story anymore.

the day when my uncle ray became sunday rose kidman urban




you see when my uncle ray pocock died in 2006, buddha was having a hard time trying to put him in

another family, and then uncle ray asked cronus to force keith urban to have *** with niciole kidman

to create a new life, and ray has been trying to search for a way to enter nicole’s body, it was like a

blessing for my uncle ray, you see my grandma who died in 2004, 2 years before ray, decided to

hold a sunday roast when her family went to bed, you see they had methane plants and chicken

and potatoes, and uncle ray decided to die and enjoy this sunday roast of the cosmos, ya know like help make it

and my grandma said, ray, how about when you reenter this world, your earth bodies name will be sunday rose

but you will force barry to hate the name, trying to explain that it sounds like sunday roast, which is cooked by me

and then my grandma invited cronus and buddha and athena to the sunday roast, so that uncle ray can be reincarnated

into nicole’s ******, with the help of keith and when they did the initial bit, it was a good wait, and then in 2008, sunday rose

was born, and it was ray pocock, and ray brought on the roast in her name, sure ray is a girl in his current life, but whether

he is a she or vice versa, it doesn’t matter, you see from the day that sunday was born and then named, this was going to

be a bumpy ride, seeing that ray pocock was a reverend, and died to be apart of the celebrity life, you see from that day ray and

my grandma has been hosting a big nightie conference with the whole family, to reform violence in the family unit, and ray brought

barry allan up there to get him to change the way he talks to brian, and also ray would invite nicole and keith in to meet his

previous life’s family, you see as nicole and keith are preparing to be good parents to their two kids sunday and faith, and ray

was given a job as our family’s joining, so he can make sure we are alright, and that is why sunday rose, is just walking around with keith and

nicole instead of being big youtube junkies, you see they were famous, but they wanted to be there for sunday and faith, for every turn

of their lives, ray was brought toward nicole in a party on jupiter and they bonded, just like mother and daughter, and ray went to buddha

and said, i want to be nicole kid man’s daughter, i want to learn how a famous person goes about living their lives, i like to bring barry allan

closer to liking the famous way of life, and i want to be named sunday roast, and force barry to get puzzled, so the name was not very long away

as the name was sunday rose and then ray was given the new life and buddha and cronus said i now pronounce nicole and keith’s new daughter

as sunday rose kidman urban and in the rose, r meaning ray and o as the second letter of pocock, but nicole and keith has a better meaning to the word

rose, and now sunday rose is 7 years of age, and ray pocock is considering himself the new GOD, flying around keeping all the families together, but the

problem is, families aren’t perfect as we are still having kids being kidnapped and people being stabbed or murdered, and ray has a lot to do

and another thing ray wants to do, is reform brian allan, by getting into his mind and telling people what is going on, even if it destroys other families

but if it destroys the family, ray explains to brian to write with a messed up brain, so you don’t reveal much about what cronus is doing, but if it makes

you as messed up as a hooligan, you must tell, and expect people not to like it, and then ray said, he is the NEW GOD, he is trying to keep domestic violence

and aggression out of his old family, now every time a picture of sunday rose goes on the internet, you can feel that ray pocock is at peace, you see sunday

is enjoying her life on earth, and i suggest to nicole and keith, that they have a little angel amongst them, and this was the sort of angel to lure brian away from

his old mate, because he was too negative, and from that moment  brian’s mate was getting panic attacks, and ray and ivy forced brian not to help him, as

he was a little negative ****, and he needed to stand on his own two feet, as ray got another mate to tease him and getting another mate to make ******* comments

driving him mad, and ray knew this was a hard job, so he made brian rave on about sunday rose and forced a conversation about when celebrities have babies

and then ray teased my mate, by making him think he controlled the world, to, i don’t know, lure him away from brian, because brian was trying to keep positiveness

with his mate, and then as it was hard to get his new mate out of his life, ray pocock forced an old friend to tease brian in his mind, treating brian like a little negative ****

to get rid of his negative friend, so that ray, can enjoy life as sunday rose and ivy can enjoy life as annie from brattayley and lucky can be baby **** and barry can enjoy life

as betty campbell, and not worry about, brian’s stupid mate unleashing his negativity onto brian, because what ray was thinking, brian would be positive without his mate

constantly around sprouting negativity in his head, and hopefully find out what brian really wants to do to keep positive, and one thing brian likes to do, is write out his hooligan

and cronus is a hooligan, because he is old, and brian needs to tell us all what is going on with cronus, to clear his mind, and one thing is, to never have brian and his mate dan

walk past and ray pocock is watching over his old family as well as watching over his new earth body sunday rose

I don’t believe in goodbyes
I believe in hellos, smiles, and questioning whys
Goodbyes are an end, a final, a limit
Goodbyes are terminus
An eradication
I believe there is no proper end

We are cemented within a cycle
A continuum
A never-ending relationship with the world
A flowing river out of your control
Goodbyes imply permanence
A life that never changes
A dormancy  

But Reality has it
You cannot fully control your goodbyes
A person can reenter your life and leave
Over and over and over
Then maybe goodbyes don’t even exist
People can exist in our memories
A perpetual reminder
A video stuck on replay
A beautiful hazy dream
I don’t believe in goodbyes
I believe in hellos, smiles, and questioning whys

If people continue to touch our lives
Leaving a lasting impact
A reason why
Then maybe goodbyes don’t even really exist
Because there is no such thing as a goodbye
Because there is no end to relationships
Because there is no end to memories
Because there is no end to love
Because there is no end to the feeling you have

We are cemented within a cycle
A continuum
And this is why I don’t believe in goodbyes
I believe in hellos, smiles, and questioning whys

Let’s embrace the idea
Yet see its amusing foolishness
Because maybe goodbyes don’t even exist

With a blistered heart
From unnumbered breaks,
A cloud of unshed tears
From untold betrayals,
I reenter the world
After an eternity or more
Of self imposed asylum
From a world of superficial bliss.

A world unchanged!
A cruel untended garden
Of deceptive beauty
And unkind thorny roses.
Lovelorn shadows,
Masquerading venomous claws
With beauteous flamboyance
And undesirable attraction.

Lethargic feelings,
Dousing my desires
With drowsing memoirs
Of countless emotional abuse,
Causing momentary spasms
In cerebral regions
Parading nocuous images
In the plenitude of projected beauty.

Scarred beyond immediate cure,
I recede from said world-
Too adverse for tender hearts
Back to hibernating moods
To nurse evergreen cuts
Cuts so deep, so lethal
Only the indolent strides of time
Can attempt to stitch!

Awaiting prophetic moments
Moments with mirage qualities
When in-love I can fall again
When a damsel I can trust again
When my heart can beat again
For one with pure intentions
Not putrefied by Hollywood mentors
But virtuous in biblical ways...


© Raphael Uzor

tabitha all grown up, meeting the 120 year old ** ** the clown



tabitha was busy seeing people interested in their previous lives before this one

and ** ** the clown, who was having delusions, through his sudden memory loss

one minute it’s as bright of day, the next it’s gone, and then he would pick up a tabithat doll

and as he held it, he would remember that day, where he favoured tabitha more than the other kids

and wanted to find the family, but didn’t want to be a bother, so endora came into his dream

to walk away from the nursing home and all the care he is given, to travel to sydney australia

to pay a visit to tabitha, and it took him 7 days as he touched down in sydney to find out

wherte tabitha is, and then went into a house, which said tabitha’s den, and saw this attractive twenty something

and thought to himself, he is in the wrong place, but asked, i am looking for a tabitha stevens, the girl

that was the inspiration to the tabitha doll, and at first, tabitha was puzzled, but it came back to her

when he said he was ** ** the clown, and he is now 120 years old, and wants to know tabitha’s secrete

on staying young, and tabitha, said, being a witch can do things to you, and ** ** the clown said, your a what1

tabitha said, a witcortal, well, my dad’s advertising firm hired you, i was just favoured because of my grandma

and this made ** ** really excited, and said, can you tell me, was this doll, a cute little doll meant to talk

and tabitha said, no, it was a coverup, so daddy doesn’t lose your account, it wasn’t daddy’s fault he lost the account,

it was grandmas, but she hates the idea of a witch marrying mortals back then, you should see the other clients

that were trapped by witchcraft, no, you were under a silly spell, and ** **, left and went back to his hotel, and

endora came into his room and put a spell on him, to never have him wake, ever, he will reincarnate into something else

and then endora said to tabitha, yeah i remember that day, when we made you into a doll, but i just killed ** ** the clown, ok

he believes in reincarnation, he won’t suffer, and he will realise, that you did the wrong thing, because, now he knows tabitha

death happens, and i didn’t want ** ** being the mortal out living the witch’s and sam and darrin popped in and tabitha said

how is adam, and adams side was expecting another baby, due in 4 months, and tabitha told one of darrin’s old clients ** ** the clown

the whole truth, which made grandma **** him, to reenter his next life, full of happiness, and darrin said, how old was that kodger, and

tabitha said 120, and went to his hotel to die, grandma said, and darrin said, i might be a warlock now, but i show a bit of compassion

and endora said, do you believe in god, well god is your mother in law, me, and i did all that to you, to bring on your sense of humour,

sam knew, but hated the plan, but it was my job, ok, ** ** the clown was too old, and feeble, so i made him escape the nursing home

and find tabitha, hex the house and doll with memories of that day, put a weeny spell on tabitha to spill the beans, so he will die peacefully

and he did, and the stevens family had a meal in new york, to celebrate the life of ** ** the clown, even going to his funeral, larry was forced

to go, and there was a big party, as tabitha, was asked to get rid of the tabitha doll, and zap it out of those kids homes, after a man, said, were you

the inspiration to the tabitha, it was flattering, but freaky, so tabitha zapped all the memory of the tabitha dolls, to leave the world with ** ** the clown

and everyone left, and tabitha went back to work, to tell this 45 year old man, he is ned kelly, cause of a dark lobe, and that is the end of ** ** the clown.

I didn't lie to you
Everything I said was true
At least in that moment of time
I told you back then
Even if I believed in soulmates
I don't believe in only one
If I remember right
You agreed

Our feelings thrived through 5 years
When we didn't say a word to each other
That's definitely something special
And I'm not saying my feelings have changed
But my place in life has

Yes I'm polyamorous
But that's not why we didn't work
Sure, maybe I could've tried harder
But I felt trapped and couldn't breathe
Even though we weren't close
You needed me constantly
Which was fine until the pressure caught up to me

I'm not blaming you
I was there for you 1000% at first
Then I stopped trying so hard
You thought I was giving all my attention to her
She thought I was giving all my attention to you
I should've been giving more attention to me
Because life was killing me

Working full time
And trying to survive the semester
Now add that to the balancing of two relationships
Plus an ex who acted like Jekyll and Hyde

Imagine trying to address
The intense emotions you had
Plus those of my ex
And those of my other partner
Let alone my own feelings throughout it all
That's a lot to handle
And yes I dug my own grave with it
But I figured it'd be worth it in the end

You seem to think that
I'm some unstable person who
Tears everyone down with me
But, even in these last few months
I've grown and changed so much
And I'm finally learning how to make myself happy

I stopped starving myself and joined a gym instead
I am practicing mindfulness to understand myself and the world
I learned how to talk myself down from my feelings
I finally feel comfortable being myself
Radical as **** but still sensitive
I can finally exist alone and at peace

As for believing in reconnection
It's not just 'us' involved anymore
That's where people seem to forget
Both you and my ex seem to expect
That I can't just make these decisions
Without thinking too much about the others

I understand why
You'd hope my present relationship will fail
But I've grown a lot as a person
I've learned more about myself
And what I want and need

With her there is no co-dependence
There's open communication
There's honesty and transparency
That doesn't mean it's 'better'
I am not degrading ours in any way
It does mean it's different though

So how can I reenter a relationship
That was definitely unhealthy in some ways
After realizing what healthy means?
Despite all of my love for you
Despite how much I care
We can't be more than friends right now
Because anything else would hurt us both

If our souls do meet in
Whatever world exists next
Then you can slap me silly
But right now this is what's best

South West


The breed could walk between both worlds of the white and the Native American even in these
Modern times he was a warrior and there were flashes of his shadow that fell against the sandstone
Walls of these cliffs but here among the portals of two worlds was his territory of necessity and practical
In these shadowed canyons once Geronimo Kit Carson and other giants strode there were times in the
Long midnight hours that you could hear their brusque voices in the stirring wind that could scream as
Loud as any mountain lion not creating fear but birthing fearlessness the bleating of sheep will never be
Heard where the unknown darkness lies to face the beast you must lay aside the desire of keeping
Company with human kind a foreign lodger at the edge of the abyss this was the case of this night the
Breed made camp at a breach in the hard rock wall that made a small cave the stillness outward only
Triggered inward stirrings the make shift fire was placed in the same place that others had used for the
Same purpose the blackened stone had a glowing quality an eye for seeing deeply inward and at great
Distance as the breed pierced with searching eyes this hard surface took on a measure of liquidness
Teaming with sights mysterious as the sea there through this quasar of time and space thoughts began
To invade his mind this cave was a fixed point where a searcher and seeker could roll out the meridian
Of time like a scroll on this barren harsh land and the cave only deepened and made a more ready place
It was like the perfect furnishing empty and austere where a herald of timeless tidings should stand to
Announce his proclamations was it not the Raven that was noted as the holder of secrets for the Native
Peoples what better place to begin a narrative than here on this white sepulcher as the fire has indelibly
Given Likeness to the raven as it spreads its wings within the fire it flutters its wings as the fire flickers
The Vision of men on horses rode and wheeled their mounts rode into glories allegory they plunged into
Darkness as wonder played on their proud tall shoulders Grover Cleveland comes out of a blur into focus
This indwelled darkened sky what does it mean it is a nation remembering its birth pains whites blacks
reds yellow and brown into the ceaseless flow bustling wind cut a dance in and out the noise of riot and
Song the smudged finger prints of many have touched the pages of history in these shadowed lofty
Heights Miss Liberty has had her gown made the fabric is peace and liberty she walks these high walls
The over shadowing parapets alone on the precipice but her burning lamp aglow never failing since
It was long ago ignited there the rays of purist gold does glow out upon the sea of freedom he who
Spills blood outside castle walls determines dominions that will plague or bless under the plunders hand
It will show where the heart is benevolent or capricious of cruel knights of courts of blackened souls
Reside in these seats of power as the Vikings with ribbed ships that floated on Icelandic waters that
Sprayed doom on horrific seas true peril hidden within her wetted folds the breed burst from the cave
Seeking comfort in the dark harbor of night many images were burned into his mind on this fertile night
Of a truth the Raven has shared many a secret thoughts they lay on him like the glistening red  
Blood that drenched Black Beards coat one who played with crowns of kings until his own head
He lost for rubies red and emeralds green did many a shipman lie in heaps dead red cannon fire
Floated across the deep like red saffron rare were any that escaped his cutlass his taste for treasure
And the screams of the dying his pleasure the breed faced many strange tales when he set himself
Up as one who would not only read signs of creatures but he would delve into mystical regions of future
And past but not all can be reveled in one nights setting… he did not reenter the cave for an
Indiscriminate period of time he was propelled into his own changing world his entire family would
Be dissolved in this life other dark lessons would he learn but his yearning to know and share would
Call him back to this familiar ground new visions would attest to the change in the country and it was
Not the change one would want a different landscape laid heavy on the entertainment industry the old
Days of heroes in white hats now replaced with multiplicity of characters without moral content just one
Hook or another good looks had to be at the center little children numerous was better grown daughters
With all the right assets it was mirroring where the culture had fallen too don’t give us values just
Distractions make it fast and mindless that was the best formula our society had suffered scenes likened
Unto Apocalypse now for a sweet but short time we all refer to God and possibly see ourselves as we
Once were then with a short fast few days we forget our true greatness let our liberties slip again
At the first cry of political correctness that comes from the multitude of seekers for American justice
And freedom a better way to live then they see the great weakness and opportunity to make America
A hybrid of their former country and instead of objecting we raise the flag of misguided tolerance and
Score another victory for obscene enemies of all mankind then the saddest folly of all watching the rich
Speak and act with such unabashed pride as they whirl through the night and day being followed by
Reality television cameras as the whole world teeters on the brink of destruction that will consume
Everyone and everything I think the one who heads it all up says I will over looks you if I see the blood
Not your stupid material possessions that are fading with the natural world that is to be consumed the
Outer holds many allusions it is the inner being that better have the goods when the world catches fire
In this cave there is clarity of vision of two worlds fathers and mothers who have gone on unprepared
Have only one desire for their families that remain wake up quit being intertwined deeper and deeper
In a web that is made for one purpose to **** and keep your soul unaware of its true danger truth will
Make you free but you have to listen for this to be so the cave now empty but its revelations are here
Being continued blessing or curse lies in the actions you take or don’t take

It's loud.

Violet, Blue, and Green lights
scatter across the floor,
across a canvas of house music,
echoing back into itself.

She crawls towards me,
wearing only poorly inked tattoos
and the lights that kiss us all.

I touch myself,
wishing it was her.

- I leave the room,
the music fading away,
like retreating from
sound-carrying-birds -

The smoke that comes from the cigarette
forms a skeletal web, reaching for the moon.
With rain slapping the dark brick walls,
hugging and creating an alley reminiscent
of a salivating, crooked-cement mouth,
I stand drenched in silver forgotten.

I drop the cigarette in a petrol-colored puddle,
watching it sink, become hard to distinguish,
and fade away.

- I reenter the room,
the song has changed
and is more mechanical. -

It's loud.

The lights are now
Bubblegum, Aqua, and Tangerine.
She lays supine, watching dollars
drift down, slowly, almost frozen.
Then the splitting of the air.

Fat-Man's body does a half-spin
as I lodge a bullet into his obese shoulder.
The music still blares, almost meaning more, now.
Regrouping himself, Fat-Man is weaponized,
drawing a greasy, inky blaster, desperate to spit.

A supernova erupts and quickly disappears--
like the aftermath of blowing birthday candles--
as his black speckled, crewcut scalp peels back,
letting fragments of chalky skull and pink penne
***** out of his square, boxed head.

Blood appears black under these lights
and instantly whips across
Samantha's still supine body.
The remaining people in the room
scatter like light exposed roaches.

Haunted, she is a toppled statue.
My steps move with the rhythm of the song.

Fat-Man's leather jacket
holds more meat than some mouths.
I plant my hand inside all pockets, find $6,480
in greasy, bloodier-than-usual presidents,
and move towards her, with the music.

Crouching beside her, I wipe the blood.
I clean her pale, tense torso
and help her up.

On two painted feet, she looks detached.
Silence exists, now, despite the music,
while she studies me with the same brown eyes.
Her lips quiver, she remembers
and wraps me with much thinner arms
that used to exist in nothing but memory.

-----------I weave my grand                     mother's spirit to life--------
             when I paint with my             words what she dreamed
             in her life.  My grandmother's kimono sat in the dark never
            worn; so needs a     dusting--I lift it up      into this light to be
           seen, to be heard,      to be felt, fabric of          loving  heart
          dreams to be.  It's     not perfectly shaped   or tattered or torn,
         rather fermented       beyond her time  to      take form.  My
       Grandma loved  to        eat her white rice          she ate thirty
      seven million grains      of rice by the time         she reached her
      104-- Born on a             sugarcane plant'tion         on the coast of
     Oahu, a child in               the tropics then a       teen in Japan. Her
    family returned to          their roots to learn,    & grow, reenter the
   cultural force. She                discovered her              new talent as
                                            ------------------------------
                                  ­              K  I   M   O  N  O          
                                               ­     A R T I S T
                                            --------------------­----------
                                       Kikuyo  Yamamoto became
                                     liberated as an artist and then
                                     her life changed as her family
                                    demanded she leave her position
                                   and marry away to a Japanese man
                                    who lives in California (my Grand
                                    father).  The matchmaker said it
                                     would work really well....She
                                   endured life as an American farm
                                     wife, then life in Japanese intern-
                                    ment camps. Five  children, nine
                                    grandchildren...Dear Grandmother
                                     I know you had lots to surrender-
                                           I honor your life as mother,
                                           grandmother, and artist --I
                                          wove this poem in the form
                                       of  a kimono for you  May your
                                         spirit rest in peace. I love you.

A pest festers underneath the
gravel. Groups sequestered
From Two separate, yet identical
Lines. One was aborted for similar
Linear tendencies as the other
Was not treasonous, by our
Standards; but four fathers
May have thought otherwise.

Unless the sequestered reenter
This sector, the vacuumed vector
Of two lines will seamlessly fill
Our needs of technology. But, only
To hone drones in a land where
"Shalom" is only welcoming in
Specific zones. Only if the isolated
We're the ones creating mandates.

i found that only the mono-phonetic peoples of this earth act like neanderthals did: protectively... implying i had a chance with one of their ****** counterparts... the loss of monotheism in a largely diffused area creates them, they're prone to shouting drunk slogans when watching a football march: with no foreign invasion impeding... to say the basics: that they can't intellectualise drinking is their downfall... drinking is shamanic like eating certain mushroom is: drink is liquidated fungus, it's an implication of all things thriving on the degenerative, to thrive on decomposition... even those championing the psychedelic escape route with the fungus can't see for a miles' worth of **** the potential of liquidating mushrooms / wheat and bottling it... i never expected to say profound things... and even if i did, i wouldn't get a ***** from saying them as those quasis who say profound things and leave me limp-dicked anyway.

a bottle of beer in between glugs of whiskey as they are:
the most refreshing and happy: sunshine down
my throat... and with those words unsaid
but typed: how i too can adopt a sarcasm
for all the woes that un-inebriated
people state, middle-aged and sexually frustrated
from socially-invoked inhibitors concerning image...
sarcasm is all they get back...
it's kinda sad... kinda...
all i'm doing in writing this verse
is an attempt to re-enter the haunting
house of the epic i started
writing two days ago...
    on the principle of ensō i find myself
unable to reenter than narrative,
every time i think about doing so
i think of: inauthentic...
                and it would be,
authenticity and the equivalent of
said once, therefore said properly...
but i wish to: only to erased the (pending)
in the title...
   but then i look at the script and think:
i've moved past this...
    why would i want to turn a river
of yore, into a lake of the now?
then unto man, who unable to coerce the elements
sought a fifth for elemental as too sensory
encapsulation and boundary,
   lightning being the fifth element...
candles v. light-bulbs, right?
       for too long the tetra-said-and-tetra-experienced...
or toward encapsulating man in
     water (creativity)
       and within wind (empty talk)
          as with earth (proverbs)
so too with fire (rhetoric)
                    so too with lightning (genius),
how i wish to have been able to write those
belittling notes down in industrial print
away from what would be considered
mindless sketching: that is why industrialisation
of print has created a medium of uniformity,
but also the Picasso's worth of hand-craftship
in what appeared at Belshazzar's feast in
the invention of late, western origination of graffiti:
******* rebel. can anyone else imagine
saying something like that, instead of asking
us why the flu or the tapeworm exists?
       the re-, the one true unfathomable monstrosity
apart from the logic of moving from point A to
point B... the re-, the one true unfathomable
monstrosity that burdens us all: who are rested...
the repetitive dream when we are instilled into
lying back and unconscious...
   for the blinking of the eye: and what is sight...
     for the first oyster gulped wriggling down
our oesophagus, alive,
    to the second and third, on a date with a lovely
   at Harrods... for all that re- is, without the -s,
it can only be a thing...                        as
thus said: that ancient curse of the vampiric
insatiable thirst to continue: under whatever circumstance,
repeat, replicate... oh the woe of the re-
                         as to be endured, heard, seen, felt, tasted...
with the demagogue all suicides rebel against:
master pro, master pro,
         who ***** his re *****, who ***** his re *****
in all of us: as transcendental genetics might not teach
us... bound to only escape such a formula,
staging ourselves within the groundwork of
the pre formulae; or how i can understand true will,
or the existence of will, as only a suicide might
investigate: to take death into his ***** and say:
for what will continue in me is but mere an apathy
of submission, but if i take death to the dancefloor,
i will truly find death's master: for in old age i will
not find wisdom, but merely the plagiarism of
childhood with less haste: to chase, to hide, to speak...
i find old age as not blessing with that childhood
already was... let me take death to the dancefloor,
on the seabed, in the hands of a hurricane,
         in the sunken sockets of gravity...
       please, here, in the crescendo of what i feel,
rather than in a congregation of mourners who
weep only in the thespian courtesy for others.
suicide? that is what i understand as true will -
              man, bacterium infernum: lost within
a blinking of an eye - within which all fates of things
freeze, undisturbed, as if alive and relentlessly blooming,
for within them an untrodden path and
within them a hand that never endured tilling as
a scythe... of that Edenic hope: to live among
the less mechanised things and in turn be a lessened
replica of that mecha-...           should this be seen
as an encouragement? too long has the asylum been
romanticised...
                    few have ventured to romanticise
the eventuality of Camus' culmination...
of what had to become the *sole question...
          hence the taboos... people demand to think
that certain cognitive states are akin to viral infections...
   as if all those bound to the unexplained are
pulverising leprosy to the general public...
   a common trait, among neanderthals.

& after six years
put the same people
in the same room
and nothing will have changed
you reenter
and all of that growth is gone
for a moment, all progression
dissipated
by their presence alone

stepping onto the E train
where it's so claustrophobic
you might as well cut out your lungs
and die

that would be a bit dramatic
though not as much as the pain
bottled up in the eyes
which want to cry but can't
looking through you not at you
just don't take it personally

walking along 3rd avenue
where cars colonize the street
like it's a newly found kingdom
labeling yourself a New Yorker is a title
not yet earned
since you still check Google Maps sometimes

why bother getting lunch two blocks down
at some unheard of but kinda cool pizza place
when there's a Chipotle right here
and Nintendo World is a few blocks away
and Midtown Comics is right around the corner
there's magic to this

setting your search on Tinder to one mile away
where your options are as endless as your "swipe lefts"
wondering if the next one is the one
it could be, couldn't it?

work ends and you reenter the flux of people
moving so fast it's like they're running away
maybe it's getting Happy Hour drinks
or simply going home

there's less summer every day
only a little bit of sunlight at the end
not much but something to cherish

the ******* about it being hot
will soon be the ******* about it being cold
seeing yourself march through a labyrinth of strangers
going here to there
sometimes with life scaring you
moving into territory without open arms

The sweaty ghost opt to reenter from behind vapor walls creaking back cross forgotten boards

Mesmerized by the fireflies licking the jar dusting magic onto Hendrix sparking guitar

Best continue not a care while drifting thru your sound coma blank eyes straight through ya

So the sun pulls up outa blackened ground every day another city offers a profound sigh

To never rise in the light disrobes each spectre for descent towards its own dusty puddles goodbye

To all those who reach this earth decomposing,
May you reenter this planet with vivacity
Run free with the sparkle of life.
I hunger to hunger as deep as you
To never cease
To have a penetrable mind
To understand the curves of my body do not restrict my movement
I will move past the bend in my spine
The arch of my foot
The joints in my arms
I will run faster than my legs can carry me
To the army of open arms,
You spread harmony among the masses
We are equal in your eyes
I will become instinct and reaction
I will be the flight to your fight
You have given us wings.
To you who have returned against “never”
May you prosper on this ancient land you’ve left
You beacon of hope to those of us with forgotten dreams
And broken promises
You are the exception, and therefore the healer
May we hold on to the hope this brings us
May we too break rules and skew pattern.
Thank you, you the soldiers of woe
Clearing the path of the heavy weights on our souls
The sickness before the health
And the parting do us death

"Just to wake up is to make a separate peace."*

They come and go, each
the same and different.
The night of
tempestuous dreams
opens to a morning
of vague dread.

Ghosts have tracked you
into the waking world:
old lovers, dead friends,
battles fought and lost
a grinning death's head.

You must recover
your center,
find the unwobbling
pivot of existence,
the still point
to calm the monkey mind
and allow you
to reenter the world
of phenomena.

Go to your pillow and sit.
Just breathe, just breathe.
Just be here now.

Let the hyenas of night
slink back to their lairs.

Somewhere, she is warm
and lovely.  You feel
her soothing warmth
from a far away land.
Distance is only illusion,
Maya barking in your
trembling mind, but you
never really are alone.

Don't think; thought
will not suffice.
Only sit and breathe,
only sit and be.

The night terrors
retreat into the darkness.
It is light now and
you are still alive.
That is something
to be grateful for,
breath is a living gift.

Sitting there quietly,
the earth stops spinning;
the new day awakens
in the remains of your heart.

You get up, still broken
but better, and walk off
into what some mistakenly
call reality to meet
whatever must  be and,
perhaps, even to smile.
   ~mce

we walk along the edge,
bodies lay, scattered, mangled,
leaves.
we notice tire marks in the mud,
the rains last week weeped on this scene.

the concrete feels meek,
ready to bust. feet upon its back
too much. the scores of energy
pulsing up naturally relax its stance.
the plants find single slits of space
and reach for the sun.

the land prepared to bake in the sun
with bodies of friends, slowly breaking
down. life released into the air.
we breath it in as we approach the mesquite.
we knew from glances ahead
her home was raided.
we come to find the ground shaken,
dug up, ripped with a force to ****.
she is gone and her team of nourishing cousin
are too.
none survived the pillage of the
big white truck.

bodies, leaves, roots, blood of kin
poured into her skin, charging now.
the final message is,
rebirth! alive!
my eyes fill, my heart sighs.
the dark skies claim their victory.
the black fate of new.
all must return to her womb
and live again. i return to her womb
to live again.

we say prayers over our friends
and celebrate the time they had.
days before we were working with them,
right here, amongst living, breathing
beings of the light.
we harvested,
stored bits of their coding.
hoping their roots survive the assault.

in the city, we live cloudy visions,
manicured horizon, the eye shines
bright away from the skyline.
that night eye is watchful and we see
the life walk alongside.
we see the stars slowly twisting clockwise,
we know all the vibrations have been here,
before and will always prosper.
we reenter and the movements get
harder to see.
soon the night lights are on,
we are defecating in our water
and mass murdering healing beings.
and yet they still believe in us.
still grow for our shot at life.

at the very least,
they died knowing my children and i.
they died knowing they were seen and
recognized.
and the block moves on swiftly.
we end our survey and we see
survivors! a small patch of community.
the roots all sing and stretch to
send these beings energy,
love,
attention.
look, a new bud is forming.

White is for rice and brides - ready to commit.
White’s for ghosts and clouds or even carnations
but it should never, ever, be used for privilege
or worse yet, as poetic inspiration.

I’ve been waiting for the urge to write
while facing an ugly screen of white.
Waiting for the vowels to fall into place,
for words to congeal and finally displace
the awful, foreboding, blank white space.

Learning is our struggle, our crown of thorns.
The more we study and prepare for fall,
the more excited I get to reenter those halls.
34 days until classes start. For fall weather,
and the bee hum of crowded life in the dorms.

My roommates and I are like a single, nameless thing
- an emolument that happens to have 6 heads.
We’ve beaten the freshman “imposter syndrome,”
and we’re ready to bring sophomore year home -
together - no muss, no fuss - I love that for us.

A freezing cold breeze playfully pranced across the room from the slightly open window. The January air scampered over my face and pulled at my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps that rapidly spread out from their icy epicenter. Reluctantly I shuffle over, placing each step more carefully than the last so as not to fall over and succumb to one of many dizzy spells I had experienced that day. As I reach for the window lock, I give into impulse and open it further. The cold winter air no longer was a relaxed breeze but now an assaulting gale force wind, knocking over stacks of papers as it raced into my once comfortable bedroom. The cold wind hurts, but this is the kind of benign pain that you can easily become addicted to. Leaning forward, elbows resting upon on my once pristine windowsill and face poking out of the rear of my family’s home, I appreciatively look upon the miles and miles of land beyond the small opening of the window in which I stood last. Directly below me, I observe the curious case of mums and tulips still blooming deep into the Northeastern winter. Shocks of orange, yellow and crimson peak up from the vast expanse of white and frozen snow. My eyes blink rapidly now, to compensate for the dryness brought on by the persistent wind, drying my eyes and harassing my face. Again giving into impulse, I raise myself up. I plant my feet upon the old and worn windowsill and firmly grasp the edges of the window. Now I am at least three stories above the miracle flowerbed and I contemplate all the things that could send me swiftly barreling towards the magnetic draw of the blessed soil beneath me. I could become victim to insufficient support from the small overhang upon which I now stood. Yet another violent dizzy spell could fall over me, causing me to lose control of my grip and balance and drop into the beauteous blossoms. The final scenario which prompts me to climb back into my room and re-introduce my self to the inviting warmth of a fireplace was more disturbing that the last. I imagine if I just give up and let myself fall and embrace the logic defying flowers as we rush to meet each other. Before I reenter my bedroom, I hear my door close. I turn to be confronted by a faceless, glowing figure. His presence stunned me, rendering me immobile, caught mid climb. I was entranced by the movement of the genderless figure. So entranced that I had not realized that it was racing toward me, not quite running but not quite floating. The distance between us decreased instantaneously. The figure had some hand like extremity that made a violent pushing gesture. The figure, despite having not touched me, managed to push me just slightly off balance. I now teetered out of the window, still frozen in my mid climb position with only one leg inside my bedroom. The teetering led to weightlessness. I was thrown out of my home by the vague and indescribable figure and sent out of the window. This unanticipated end was one of great distress as I descend towards the impossible flowers, slowly flipping as my head shifts toward the ground so that my resting memory would not be of anxiety and fear, but of clarity as those winter flowers grew and grew until they consume my entire field of vision. For a split second I can feel the impact as a series of cracks and pops ascend toward the heavens. The flowers disappear, the faceless figure was gone, the miles of empty land were no longer there. All that remained there was Nothing.

She was ****** and bruised
Life beat her soul out of her
She was suffocating in a sea doubt

I didn't hesitate
I rushed into action
Removed the blood and iced her bruises
Filled her soul with laughter and joy
Pushed her to keep moving forward

Now she found a man off a dating app
She has now disappeared from my life
She ran away with a military man

Oh how I fear she will reenter my life
Broken and destroyed
For I believe they are moving way too fast

from an eighteen year absence as I stood staring into the silver surface
awaiting the appearance as she would once again  part the mirrors glaze
sudden thrill of foreboding anxiety passes across me as ribbon of silk lace
or that momentary nostril flair when a sudden snare of rarified air plays
havoc on the ancient receptors nearly forgotten as aromatic sprites pass
along those corridors memories reside and sometimes hide behind doors of this maze
awash in the dusty overlay of that which still seeking to delay realities consistently amass
when a graphic form of de ja vu breaks thru passing and suddenly does appear
as calm still silver slightly shivers then parts to deliver the hand and then humanistic form
to reach for the rounded edge of porcelain solidity gasping in  oxidized atmosphere
i watch decades lost disappear as if only yesterday i stood here and again this the norm
in wordless anomalous aplomb i watch her face apperceive my image as i etch the scene
so intent upon my scrivener scrawl in my rush to capture all onto my minds private wall
that only in the faintest of my subconscious can i recall the echo call my name as she covered all distance between
attaching herself in ways far beyond the physical bond and thru time uncertain beyond the curtain we fall
tumbling into that void where nothing exists outside that infinitesimal moment of infinity
with the eventual return to the constraints passing back thru the curtain and time certain reapplied
once again the prisoner of the laws of time space and the reality of gravity
plans made to meet later to catch up with those details with smile i say thank you for that ride
her eyes twinkle and i know with absolute certainty she understood exactly what i meant
that is why she said i still do this everyday as i am addicted to that moment when Einsteins laws don't exist
then with laughter she denied me an answer to the question on my face later she said and up she went
so i paused at the door to watch her grace from a hundred feet high she bounced and leaped into the air then i saw  what i had just missed

for there she was not going up and not coming down  suspending all physical laws and she was unbound  weightless and free and addicted

and right then i had to admit to myself ....i was a bit jealous but nowhere  near as brave as i watched her reenter that mirror.

i met love in the 4th grade.
he was a transfer student and
he didn't speak much.
love had a little sister who would check
on him during lunch breaks.
love smiled when we played games
after school with our friends.
love gave the best hugs.
love left at the end of the year without a goodbye only to reenter 7 years later with the same boyish smile, carefree attitude and a confession that created a small room in my heart complete with an armchair, afghan and a small ottoman.
love lit up my world with his words, his smile and his spirit.
love took me back to a time of innocence and trust.
when love left again, he didn't tell me he was moving out.
love set fire to the room, the memories, and all the promises love made.
love gave me reason not to trust anyone for a while as love was already months into an affair with his new love.

Windows down,
The wind pumps through my car.
It dishevels the already mess of papers that cover the floor.
Forcing the wisps of my hair to cling to my scalp and whip against my face,
They seem to struggle to stay connected.
The noise of the wind is drowned out by music,
But I know it’s there as it courses through my veins.
The wind blows the thoughts from my mind,
They escape out the open windows,
And circle the earth in every pathway imaginable.
But when the windows clang shut,
The thoughts swarm back to my brain,
They slam into my head bouncing inside my skull waiting for freedom again.


Music up,
Pumping so loudly there’s no way for me to hear my thoughts,
Trying to invest myself in the words, I attach to them.
My ear drums, grasping, clutching, and holding onto every word that’s sung.
The louder the music, the more I can drown out the world around me.
The never ending two seconds between each song,
Make my mind remember all my thoughts.
I want to scream and make them go away,
Bring the music back I plead, let my thoughts scatter.

Like a legion gas molecules,
My thoughts can’t be contained.
They bounce in whatever container they’re in,
Stretching out as far as they can go,
They fight to escape and reenter my mind at their free will.
I’ve lost control and the riot of my mind has begun.
I must succumb to the power of my thoughts.

maybe the only reason my hearts so open to love and beauty is because I've been such a ******* in life no one wants to reenter my diseased heart.

On a beach shore
just you and I,
looking out on the horizon.

I can feel the salty warm
air brush my against my checks and
wrap its self around us
like a blanket.

The waves lap against the
sand, creating a soothing sound
and your hand is comfortably intertwined in mine.  
It is the only thing that keeps me
from immersing myself in the beautiful
crystal clear water beckoning me to
take refuge within its waves.

Slowly,
gently,
you guide me down the beach.
Our feet sinking in the sand with each
step, but we don’t stop, despite
the breath taking beauty
before us.
We know are on the journey;
together.

I feel so small, surrounded by something
as vast and glorious as the sea, so many
mysteries lay at its depths, but your smile
makes my thoughts and worries disappear, your strength
gives me strength, and
for the first time in a long time
regardless of uncertainty
I feel safe.

Your kiss meets my lips, and I feel so alive,
so happy, and at peace with the world.
I think of nothing more then standing there
and being held by you, in a place made for
just the two of us.
Nothing else seems to exist but
you and I and
the seashore on which we stand.

As you open your mouth to speak I'm suddenly
awoken by the eerie silence of night.
The darkness brings me to tears.
I wish for nothing more then to fall back to sleep,
To reenter that moment when nothing was wrong.
When I was so happy,
when I was with you.