She crept in through my window sill,
As fair as autumn moonlight, and as sleek as silver silk,
Her eyes they shone like summer rain,
And void they did, of all my pain,
The ruby of her lips, rivaled the roses of the morn,
And the beauty of her face, rivaled the coming of the dawn,
She crept in through my window sill, nothing she did take,
She crept in through my window sill, and my heart she did break.

Colonial mansion, in an ocean of grass,
windows aglow as I walk past.
funeral service now used of verandah,
but I hear music, not mournful stanza.
french doors open to a reminisce,
with boyhood heart, of vitreous.

Footfalls on parquet floors,
tux and gown past crown moulded doors.
captured ambiance of a setting sun,
shown from chandeliers highly hung,
day I was born, born the day of prom,
I smiled cordially, and my date fawned.

Girls betrothed by corsage on wrist,
rare french curls--a lunar eclipse.
bedraggled boys now dapper and genteel,
vest and bow-tie, a knightly feel.
chapperesses smiling at maidenly gait,
happy drowse in  mansion estate.

Cuff-links, silk gloves, nail polish of gloss,
beheld tonics and sweets, carefully aloft.
opening cord, an arrow from cupid's bow,
striking coquettes to their tippy toes.
they sprang to dance,I stepped back,
invisible in shadow with tux of black.

Shoulders, lake ripples easing to shore,
hips, gentle waves, right before they pour.
boys stiff, as if waists beheld sabers,
legs, sweeping brooms of on shore waiters.
"your too handsome to stay here unseen,"
said rivaling chaperess, past semblance of queen.

"You should dance ,"said glittered lips of pink,
bent like sparrow wings, during teacup drink.
privy to why in shadow I hid my blush,
her class my crush, that crushed me so much.

She strained me, even the shadows she gave,
black silk, stretching,--convex and concave.
crude metal and wood classroom seat,
clasped her waist of slender physique.
she was guarded by a window in curtain mail,
and tended to by servants of light and gale.
light loved her skin of Mediterranean sand,
and wind enthralled by each and every brown strand.

Light penetrated strands, blondly hot,
wind would blow, cooling pony tail off.
her shadow curtsied under my desk,
long legs danced in irritableness.
mourning class is abuzz with scent of prom,
flower not frost, rules the school's dawn.

I gave my consent, to an earlier invite,
then on, suitor blinded me with light.
and Great Gatsy, and looming prom night,
subjects of sparrow wings pressed tight.
" show of hands, who do not have a date?"
slender wrist arises, from an arm curvate.

alone, she shown that no one asked her,
this stone of Rome amongst boys of plaster.
hand fell with boy of teachers match,
wind shrouded her,from the window sash
rays gave discomfort,to gaze her way,
but I looked through burning ray--

To see a trace of a tear,in eyes ovate,
a goddess unsought, with sadful face.
I, poor, fatherless, could not possibly go,
to prom with princess of arched portico?
I could not interweave my hands to dance,
or know where I could place my glance.

Wind blew a scrap from her desk, indiscreet,
it was pierced by light at my feet.
"will" and "with" were dotted with a heart,
"prom" and "me" before most painful part.
my name in her beautiful free hand,
the color red from hearts inkstand.

(Class bell rings) I travel over star lit lawn,
the music gets louder as I return to prom,
eyes turn to cotton, in shadow as I ponder,
as pain was forgotten, I came upon her.
invisible hands, lifted my chin to a red shape,
our eyes met, her's smiling, mine agape.

Only a glass-maker could imagine my sight,
seeing hot curves form in dance floor light.
only a wax-wing could have rivaled her eyes,
waves gently broke to gown down her thighs.
"will you dance with me,"she softly entreated,
" I don't know how,"a coward repeated.

A princess which tournaments were held,
for which every timber of mansion were felled.
not for Rome the mansion's Corinthian column--
--for her--from quarry prom did befall them.
I could not tarnish this feminine form,
with my lineage in crown she adorned.

I turned from beauty, to dark acres tread,
under willow, I play the last thing she said--
my name--as I shunned from last chance,
now back under willow, cane marks my stance.
I have preserved her forever, shying fate,
even if it was with my own heart-break.

I still see her--in the most beautiful prom poses--
--still--as lights flicker out and a coffin closes.

You promised to take me to the woods and sleep with me under the stars,
You promised me an adventure,
And by God you took me on one-

You weaved me through forest just trying to find you,
Searching for your remnants in the fallen leaves and branches scattered across the forest floor
You led me to a tall tree where I could carve our names into the wood, as selfish as that was,
And deface beautiful Mother Nature because I thought our love was also as breathtaking as she.

Our love was breathtaking-
You whisked me away and ran us to the tops of mountains.
You took me to peaks where I felt alive,
And valleys where I felt so down to earth I could've melted into the paths we paved
The same way I did every time your arms wrapped around my waist
And your head rested on my shoulder,
And you whispered in my ears about how you didn't want to be anywhere else.

I jumped rocks and cliffs with you,
Falling so hard and fast the same way I did
Any time you looked at me with those patient eyes,
Any time you found the time to hold me and love me in any way you could muster.
I fell into water and your sea eyes any time I jumped;
You made me fall so **** hard.

You took me to the edges of sunsets
That never rivaled the way your smile shined
When I told you I loved you,
Or rivaled the way your face looked when you laughed.
You had Mother Nature beat when it came to beauty.
You had me beat when I tried to find a reason to be upset you never actually took me on an adventure like you promised,

Maybe because falling in love with you was an adventure all in itself;
You left me blistered, aching and sore.
But I left you with the world in my eyes, the sea dripping from them,
The mountains weighing on my heart
And the shores soaking my soul because venturing into your world meant I had left my own,

And it took me so much **** time trying to find a path back to mine.
You took me for one hell of an adventure,
And the paths you treaded left footprints in my heart
That are blown away but aren't forgotten.

You promised to take me out to see the sights and walk the world-
Falling in love with you took me for an adventure that you didn't plan for,
And one I couldn't sustain much longer.

That's the thing about you, us, adventures-
They're thrilling and beautiful,
Breathtaking and wild.
They come to an end though,
And the adventure you took me on stained me with a sense of wanderlust you'll never come to see or know.

I’ve found another gem in the creek,
it shines with blue orbs in the sun
and white pearls before a coffee
black canvas.  I will keep this one

but I can’t remember
where I put the last one…  time
took it away on travels tragic— mythic—
and I don’t miss it anymore

now that I have you, my shiny gem,
smoothed geode, cracked
down the center
like the last earthquake that struck my passions

terrified I’ll lose you, I put you away
in a perfect box, in the perfect darkness
of a crawl space crack, a loose closet wallboard

where I will never look again,
hidden
by an idea, hidden
by what I need you to be,
hidden with furious passions

only rivaled
by that of a 12-year-old’s rock collection.

i like you a lot
like maybe more than mary jane..
and she's my main
***** because when I'm with her
I can't remember the definition of the word ******
but I'm nervous for this fervor you stir in me
when i laugh with you i don't need ****
and that's crazy coming from
miss wake and bake
lunch break light up
dinner doobie
and don't forget the late night blunt ride
but you make me feel so high
my cheeks hurt and my stomach bursts
with butterflies sometimes i forget to eat
because I'm too busy staring into your baby blue eyes
my heart dances in my chest even worse than when i have anxiety
but it's different
i gave you my heart on a silver platter
but pulled it away the second i had a hint you may not deserve it
and that made both of us feel worse than
when your **** shattered

My dad would always warn me to be careful when falling in love;
I fall too quickly for my own good.

So on the days leading up to the moment you arrived,
I made sure I steadied my footing,
readying myself for the moment I would.
I could tell I was going to.
I wanted to be prepared.

But as I stood in that airport, my knees were already trembling.
It seemed as though the moment I saw you coming down that escalator,
I lost my footing.
All of a sudden everything around me had disappeared.
All at once, I was falling.

I wondered if skydiving rivaled that thrill, and the fear.
My heart never stopped pounding.

When we got back to the car,
I kept staring at you as though you'd vanish.
My mouth grew dry with dread.
I worried I would wake any moment and all of this would have been nothing but a dream.
But I didn't, and you remained.

We stepped into my room and everything blurred.
I heard nothing but the air rushing by me as I fell harder each moment.
I turned to you, begging for clarity, and was met with a kiss.
For a moment, I could see again.
I warned you I was petrified.
You held me.

I saw the pieces of me I had lost when falling in the past come hurtling towards me as I fell.
When I woke up to you, your chestnut irises were still closed,
yet your breathing stabilized my rugged heart rate.
I was completely unaware of where the ground was,
or how hard I'd hit it,
but I savored the sight as though it were still all just a dream.

Each and every moment with you,
I feared the outcome.
I prepared myself with every aching hour for the impact.
My breathing was so unsteady, I felt on the verge of collapsing.
I closed my eyes. I couldn't let myself see what was coming.

As we sat on my bed, and you held me in your arms,
you begged me to open up.
You insisted I open my eyes,
and I fought tears as our breathing synchronized.
I could see the ground now.
The panic clawed its way out of my heart, up my throat,
and I felt my body shake as the words finally spilled out.

I braced myself.
I winced, expecting the pain.
I had anticipated every bit of me to shatter.
I was ready for there to be nothing left of me to break.

But I didn't break.

I could tell the world around me was still again,
but I wasn't on the ground.
I was not broken.
I was pieced back together, carefully.

You kissed me, breathing into me the life I thought I'd given up.
I finally opened my eyes, and as my vision focused,
there sat every piece of me I thought I had thrown away for each and every heartbreak before.
The parts of me that I had lost so long ago, that I assumed nobody would miss or remember,
sat upright, polished, and presented like precious gems.
The feeling in my body returned,
and I turned to those perfect orbs in disbelief--

you caught me.

You never let me go.

It was then that I realized that all the while I had readied myself to fall,
I had already spent my life preparing my heart for you.

So when my dad reminds me to be careful this time, I'll let him know:

I was, but I never needed to be.
You were right here all along,
waiting to catch me.

Everyday’s affliction with what we know is missing
Countless moments wishing that fishing was as simple as whistling
Remembering that willows wither in winters un-warmed
and wandering wonders willfully repose when rivaled against ripening woes
Come closer potential memories of exposes’
Clothes skydiving with expectations of faceplanting into the floor
Lady classifications disguise the actions depicting a *****
Heaping hopefuls cascade over glistening gazes that persuade the perilous to lay dormant
Come closer to the oops
That second guess in the back of your head that taps the shoulder and says go
That same go that was an initial no and now corruption has spidered the criteria


It seems the cat may have found the trick to the ball of yarn

In a distant dystopia, it towers above all.
It radiates a dim blue glow, that
Transfixes eyes and minds alike.
Pulling with the gravity of 20,000 suns,
Its force cannot be rivaled.
An irresistible, iridescent abomination, and
An admonition unto the autonomy of thought.
Weaving tapestries of illusory illustrations,
Into the indigent intellect of its unsuspecticng viewers.
It's images penetrate the psyche like magic, as
Minds are manipulated into the madness, of
Mass consumption of manufactured "needs."
Its reporters replace reason with rhetoric, for
Objectivity is no obeject in an age of sound bites.
It demonizes difference, distracts, and desensitizes.
Apathy becomes queen, and facile pleasures become king.

Remember your vigilance.

The tile roof gleamed in the sun light after the morning mist left the mix of glint and glistening
The adobe walls ran down to the cobble stones that made the side walk and street above the
Door frame was a single window that had two hanging floral baskets it played favorably when
One recalled Spanish Harlem a place of heartfelt dreams a mystifying groan lay in the streets
And the abodes of those living there Elena had been a frequent guest here now she had broke
Completely with that part of her life but it still swirled up the streets like quiet smoke and when
It fully engulfed her you could see this sadness in her eyes it spoke of a crushed Spanish rose it
Didn’t matter if you had only been a visitor the tendrils are far reaching a place and its people
Those broken glimpses the heavy sense you felt even with the delightful aroma of food and
Laughter in the home oppression race difference was like a dark shadow you resist it in many
Ways but it prevails you are awash in its sadness but here she would sparkle and shine in divine
Ways she brought the sea away with her it seemed to cling to her she had deep soulful eyes
Black as part of the reef her eyes still but full of wonder and mystery were they not as moist as
The sea breeze that gently assaulted their sea side homes there was sureness about her an
Independence that truly rivaled the sea and it tempestuousness her heart was rugged but
Fiercely true and it did seem that great waves broke over and against her life but she remained
Calm and serene as the sea when it set flat as glass this mirror as you behold it you see
Sacredness at its edges life from land here is displayed against such grandeur and vastness you
See large and perplexing problems in a clear bright light at times she spoke in a whisper you
Could swear you were hearing the sea when it moaned as it had problems this continuing
Lapping of waves at times it delivered dreams and then just as suddenly took them back to the
Deep from where their origins are but at that moment you were extended enlarged you were
More than just the small measure of self but wind and water an depths now have become the
New fabric of your life an now Elena doesn’t seem strange anymore but she is a gift most
Wondrous a stranger who comes with emotional weights from her former life now they have
Been weighed and judged by the sea and then all is transformed the intermingling of loss on
Land and then finding the eternal equivalent in the timeless waves of the sea a sea monster  
Didn’t arise but a lovely one that engaged the sea in a love that brought victory and hope to all
Who were blessed to know her and the gifts she had received and with generosity she
Continues To give to all who have needs in this writing she has visited you today be increased
Be happy Know that you are loved my friend no one can truly hurt you is it not spoken by the
Sea by waves that never stop their caressing the brow of land and the wind delivers the life
Giving rain and when you stand at its edge the immensity drives deeply into the soul you are
Immersed to the point you must let go and there is where answers are found when you realize
You are not in control but there is one who controls the sea and He controls your life as well
You are surrounded on all sides by a sea of love float in its healing waters you are a child of such
Matters you can’t even fathom so turn and plunge into wondrous joy of hope and expectation
Adrift look up more than sun and moon are above you but a Holy crown Heaven is His throne
And Earth is His footstool and He is familiar with the mighty deep so you come steeped in
Trouble but the calling from the sea speaks truth and freedom it all belongs and was made for
You so be not a castaway but cast your life on the water by faith and all of earth and heaven is
Yours Elena found it to be so you will find what she found when forlorn she looked and called to
The sea for help all she found now she gives to others

the first time we kissed you initiated it
you were nervous (i think)
and i.. i wanted you.
so badly
to hold your hand
to feel your heart beat
to touch your lips with mine
i hadnt kissed anyone in over 6 months
i lost count; a blur of lips
and tastes,
and people who never even mattered even then in a fruitless attempt
to find a pair that rivaled yours
about a month ago, you reappeared
the second time we kissed (after about 2 yrs) i initiated it
and. it. was. wonderful.
in the morning you asked if you could kiss me again anytime soon
if it was alright
what i said was yes
but what i meant was
in the second kiss i realized yours are the only lips i could ever want for the rest of forever

The moon was my mistress tonight. She offered me light when it was needed, and never was it too harsh as the sun, that gaseous blimp in the morning and evening sky. His conceit to reveal his ostentatious rays were unlike the moon who looked so beautiful in her silver linen of light and her drapes of dark clouds overlapped each other in a silken pattern. Her black and silver cloth combined to create shapes of known and unknown animals.

The animals flew to cover her face momentarily covering her true beauty only to reveal that extraordinary face surrounded by sparkling gems like a goddess that could rival Aphrodite. It was not until I examined closely that I saw those few blemishes on her face. Those dark spots located in a spontaneous order, but it only added further to her beauty. It was in her imperfections that she rivaled the illusion of Aphrodite. With her flaws, she symbolized true beauty by having the ability to reveal her disfigurements and still remain the most beautiful heavenly body.

The moon’s light came down to reveal only the bare essentials of the earth. She allowed enough light to see, but not to examine the other beauties of the planet. It was almost like she demanded the attention after living in the shadow of the sun quite literally.

The sky seemed to be so dark and uninviting in comparison to the moon. It was like staring into the eyes of an apathetic killer. It held the moon gently as a father would. My mistress was suspended in the sky. She floated above the earth gracefully held by the sky’s imposing body.

The sky stood by her side as a defender, almost daring me to approach her and giving me an impending doom that would fall upon me. Perhaps, Chicken Little dared to look upon the moon and that is when the sky fell on him.

My mistress revealed the world in a monochromatic fashion allowing for fantasies of old drive-in movies and black onyx set in pearl. The trees were silent in such a night, and not a single sweep of wind came to disrupt the sleeping trees. My mistress demanded total respect for this night which only occurred every thirty days.

Her peerless body wrapped in dark silk, the moon glided across the night sky as if she had all the time in the world, and she did. She would not allow anything less from her subjects. She would not allow her few moments of glory to be taken from her.

Even the smallest of creatures honored the moon’s enchanting presence. They dared not move nor buzz nor hum. They sat and meditated on the spell that the moon had placed on them. They had desired to become as I was. They wanted to be one with the moon as I was, for she guided me in the darkest of nights, and would never forsake me when I needed her.

It was then that the sky began to ripple. The moon began to dance and the stars were a chorus line. Her face smiled at me once final time through the mirror of the water. She knew that I thought I was not worthy to see her face-to-face. The connection was finally interrupted. I had become as those small creatures and once again the wind swept through the world.

The wind swept across sheering dunes of white sand
the way certain kinds of dancers sway
like flames
The way young children often play
free of their father’s shame

It filled his lungs with the fire of his innocence
and the longer he inhaled the larger he grew
no sooner had he rivaled mountains
did he hear the cries of his former self
this being bound in chains spoke thus

Be wary Apricus,
many great men have had their heads over hills
and their fates delivered them to the stake.
Are you willing to burn, to crumble into ash
and return to the dirt of mother earth
for all that you believe?

Broken by doubt,
the mountain becomes a man again
but the heart of a giant still swelled inside of him
It raged against his fragile frame like a violent slave
until it grew weary of its own restless thunder
and there it sunk into the deep,
the deep frore of a wintry slumber

Sleep for now my lively child
for the hearts of giants reside inside of all men
but first they must learn to love themselves
before the giants can walk the earth again

Oh heroes of our youths, drawn in
splendid colors and panels or flying across
screens for sake of justice, you stars
of infinity and all realities sparing us
from the scourge of boredom while you
saved the day with ease, right vs wrong
clear as the cerulean sky, for you we pine!

Your winsome smiles soothed housewives
and maidens and doe-eyed youngsters
even as your capes became faded
and tattered and no longer were draped
over bedposts of intrepid lady reporters
willing to overlook, like we all did,
the familiarity of your unspectacled faces!

Your somber tongues gravely implored
us to redeem our grimy criminal cities,
lighting our fervor by spotlight against
darkest sky and even in the absence
of grappling hooks or alone with only
the latest fashionable belt, with no
hot young bird in the passenger seat
of your improbable nocturnal sports cars!

Your responsibilities and power came
all woven together, kept you from looking
out of any of your eyes the wrong way
either up or upside down, holding
the universe together with chivalry
and astute entomological acrobatics!

Your master kicks rivaled any other
rat or amphibian, and it was pure art
how you would karate chop through
our mutated melancholy, radical dudes
freeing us in every dimension
from maniacal brains and threats
of shredding our dignity like pizza cheese!

Your ecology was right as rain,
bio-available when we'd ring you up
and always giving back the power after
cleaning up some toxic mess, blowing
our adolescent minds as you flew about
kicking *** and spouting corny puns
long before oddly-dyed hair was trendy
and when Earth was a few degrees cooler!

We mourn you now more than ever,
remembering you with longing
as true villains appear, their green rocks
growing heavier and more radioactive,
their twisted jokes severing us
from one another, spewing venom,
bidding us conquer this land
and scorching the world for spite.

We mourn you now, our heroes, gone
but not forgotten and barely evoking
this nostalgic sense that you never left,
summoning within us the courage
to claim our inheritance, to finally discover
those ancient powers you've bequeathed;
to finally step up and save the world.

Today, I'm going to **** them with kindness.
I'll walk the streets with a skip in my step,
corners of my mouth arched, skin tough.
I will be rubber. I will not be glue.
I will avoid sticks and stones.
I will be Teflon.

Yesterday, I killed someone, with kindness.
I created art, in many ways, I created Hell.
A page filled with gestures may seem ageless, however,
a spectacular self-awareness occurs.
There is closure. There is completion.
Unlike the manipulation of one's face.
There too is completion, but closure is not
always certain. Some leave with last words
that linger. Some lift their arms to The Lord,
Lord hear their prayer. And others find
themselves at peace, living on in the hearts
and minds of others, loved or not.

Is a legacy more important to an Atheist?
That's speculative, I suppose. But if what they
say is true, and most CEO's are psychopaths,
then I would assume that it is. Monetary value
will always triumph over theoretical morality.
And I say that morals and ethics can be theory
to a man certain of his faith, because in the end,
sin can be absolved. Faith in a higher being, in
something bigger than yourself, often leaves
thought of peers as dismissible. For they have
their own demons to overcome.

How do you accept indifference in a system
that is above natural law? Omnipotence should
never be exposed to have a grey area, especially
when it is considered to be set in stone. Oxygen
and gravity aren't, but tell that to a man who
is falling and trying to catch his last breath.

Lastly, consider art.
As the creator, the mastermind hidden in
the clouds to let his work speak volumes.
The divine grace that is told in brush strokes,
in notes placed to play, to be presented.
That's a beauty that is foresaken.
Another key representation of something
seen but not seen.

Even a deaf man delivered notes he could not
hear, rivaled ones able, and challenged normality.
The difference between an artist, and
a person producing art, is that an artist
will use blood, whereas the latter
searches for a comparable color.

Stunning she called the morning to gather it was her reflection that made all luminous and she
Turned from side to side all quarters of sun and shade settled in precise conforming feature it
Had no deviation it had no desire but was content to be her blossoming statement where her
Hair softly flowed down the sides and back was illusion and reality colliding slipping into a soft
Dark unspoken richness that defied appropriate telling her forehead was the first mold God
Used to make the first Angel from this creation dreams were first formed they arose mist like in
The quietest indulgence of the mind the eye brows were the seeding place of richest
Placements on fine porcelain it would begin the guessing of wonder how can such creation be
The eyes were jewels not mined in any worlds that we know cheeks aglow from fires deep
Within jungles unexplored by man the nose pristine you have to venture forth to rarest tents
Where nomads set in the midst of tapestry where inlaid golden folds lay with purist
Silver and emerald cloth and distilled breathing of goddesses and gave them a fitting that
Staggered the thoughts of those who came to look on these sights her lips were desire
Encapsulated in pink the entering of layers rivaled one another one on the top and between
Teeth a mix of ivory and pearl to be exposed was to lose ones breath and cast away
Reason briefly the chin the master stroke the line flowing from the ear was the perfect order
Holding all in eye appealing perfection the neck was enthralling understated composure
Shoulders rounded joining the graceful arms that premiered as musical a ***** that completes
Everything into perfection curvaceous loveliness man proclaims his strength woman surpasses
Him through soft quiet femininity that even assures his success through these powers that rise
Not from pride but from gifts that is profound and indescribable not better than man but the
best of man resides in her heart of hearts

It sits nestled between two tiny towns in a tiny county in West Virginia, a strong walk up Stranger's Pass. . There tucked away stands a field, a fine one. Only a few dozen acres, you could see clear across to the tree line on to the other side. But nothing about it felt tiny.

And at the east end a powerful old oak, its leaves still making up their mind as to what color they want to be for Fall. It lived its life in a spot unmoved from seed to giant. Now it stood proud, guarding its beloved slice of heaven. Purples and blues of lavender peppered throughout catch my eye, but their sent holds me long after my gaze lets go.  Butterfly bushes with their stained glass painted namesakes floating just above line a lightly over grown path that hasn't seen a sole in years. How did I miss this?

A rose bush had bloomed. "Miraculous' I think, more miraculous having no one to tend and care for it, nurture it into the beautiful growth of red petals now before me. My mind flashes back, remembering my grandmother's  greenhouse, and how lovingly she cared for her roses. The hours we would pass quietly there.  She'd ***** her finger accidentally and smile at me, and I knew that's what made the roses red. But this bush here rivaled hers, and strong it grew on its own. I wondered.

The sun was high in the sky when I stepped through those low hanging branches at the end of Stranger's Pass. It's still glowing  in the same spot it hung the first time I was here. I walk the shadow line the sun creates through the field as it slowly works its way along its daily arch. It feels nice to stand tall here, to walk. To take my time.

My mouth hangs open, I don't realize it. My eyes are wide even with the warm bright sun shining on my face. My back straighter than it has been in decades. I have never known the beauty of a place like Lovers Field that drew my body into such an open state of Awe, separate from my mind.  It's as though it knows my simple mind too well, and is going to make sure I don't miss what I now see growing all around me. It won't let that happen again.


I once thought I would die in Lovers Field. A long time ago. Thinking about it now, I don't think it would have been that bad. If my heart stopped now, I couldn't be happier than to become part of eternity in a sea of green and gold and life. Back then I fought on. Angry and young.  Never once letting the smells and sounds capture me, never once  letting the colors take hold of my wrist and guide me home where I belonged. My color palate was Red. A soldier.

We all were. Soldiers. The men (who were barely that) on my right and left left their fathers and mothers and school crushes behind, left their homes as boys. And the boys across the field the same, their eyes flashing red with anger and white with fear.

It's a quick walk to the old oak tree. I take it slowly. My shadow shows long in front of me, the old oak's cast heavy at its back. It's bigger than I remembered. "It's grown," escapes a whisper from my lips. And that makes me smile. At the same moment a sadness fills my chest.   I run my calloused fingers along its wide set trunk, catching my ring finger in a bullet hole. I hold it there maybe a moment too long. It was a wound from another day, deep. So deep I could near put my second knuckle to it. Almost feel the shattered metal ball left behind. The chill running through my spine could be alive. "You saved my life once, remember?" That day. I didn't stand tall. My mouth was shut tight and my eyes were pined closed, a boy, a child, hidden behind this old guard.

When I unpinned my eyes...finally, I found not one hole in my flesh. Just the raised and red imprint of bark in my back where I pressed to her with all the force of my cowardly lion legs. I cried.

I trace my hand around her body, until I'm back where I began. Those same legs, sore and weak from the walk finally give out. Again I found myself in the arms of my old friend, this time not hidden by her shadow, but still being warmed by the sun.  It was nice to close my eyes next to her not in fear, but in peace.  I opened my eyes one last time to look upon the flowers and life of Lovers Field. "You never changed."  Breathtaking from the moment my Sergeant ordered me up an unknown path until this day. It has always been this beautiful.  How did I miss this?

Hidden holes and trip wires, mines and ambushes.  What are those new ones called? "I.E.D.'s"? They're just tools of war.  Symptoms of underlying disease. I marched into my own trap. How hate and anger and fear can hide such simple and perfect beauty; that is Life's cruelest and most devastating trap.

I take off my shoes and socks with heavy breaths and clumsy bent fingers and let the dirt and grass feel me for the first time. I don't want to fight anymore. "I'm tired of fighting!" I don't know if she hears me but I imagine she does. The sun line is fading over the tree tops, and a blanket of firefly stars tuck me in. I hear a wolf howl, but feel no fear, no sadness. Nothing but the cool earth of Lovers under my feet. I lean against her, close my eyes, and welcome the night.

my heart is on fire
one half cup espresso, a vape
and a song that drapes my heart in a purple fire,
with the same purple glow inside the go go bar
where that dancer handed Bukowski a dried lily
But only for a moment.

lesson #104 and the
music rides a sine wave into
my left ear.
I sat upon a lotus pad and kept
a straight back
the Angelus Novus couldn’t (insert link)
close its wings against
the winds of Paradise so
elated were the Gods by the
progress of man.
so high the rubble of the wreckage the
view from its summit rivaled the
vantage gained from
standing atop the Six Grandfathers within the
Four-headed Dog from across the pond.

national broadcast in the jungle and
all the box would do is
talk
and all the cockroaches would do is
persist
and all the machetes would do is
hack
and all the bodies burned
and Felicien Kabuga was kindly granted asylum by the West
and remained at large for over 25 years.
THANKS A LOT SWITZERLAND.
(insert link)

its not like i traded up
or for that matter down
every cog still turned to the left
each lever, still up and down

it started like an episode
of ricky lake
and ended abruptly
on springer

im in the sound proof booth
judging those who stand encased
aside me
i should leave before this gets ugly

indiscretion led me here
fortitude kept me
embarrassment fed me words
and loss encapsulates all

every stitch
the joy and glee
lost to ants in a wildflower patch
it stings now

verbosity rivaled only by impetus
but quickness
if only counted in months
falls short with words

im sure there's a happy ending
a call in the black of midnight
in a letter carefully opened
through a kiss tentatively given

Bones in the rye field they sang, brittle stems of iron spreading leaves of
rust
A hidden look in watery eyes, secret sickness, ripping my guts
asunder
That space between midnight and morning when the world has been reduced
to monotone
In the blue-gray lucidity we sit, absorbed in cigarettes and gusting
wind
A few notes of Satie and I’m sitting in that blue room again, bamboo out the
window
Your voice like a finger running up my spine, singing to me, drowned out by
spring showers
Clay pots on the shelves, wilted sunflowers on the floor, grass pushing its way
through the floorboards
I step into falling rain, dream of sleep, dream of nothing, the blankness between
wakefulness
Hands carrying the scars of a thousand days, much like the day before, unconscious of
its passing
In tired two syllable words we exchange our hearts
In smiling kisses we pass each other breath, fresh like fertile ground split by
rugged plow
Black and white photographs in odd fitting drawers with cheap brass
handles
A pocket watch carried by many men before me, strewn upon stained counters
and newspaper clippings
I will these tired eyes to come to their senses, absorbed in a single word in a single
line
Losing their focus for minutes at a time, the sensation of drifting, the feeling of
fading
Like watercolor or lines in well-trod earth, shuffled into meaningless
harmonics
I still miss the sound of your violin, though you thought no one listened through
that ***** window
Scraps of Scriabin and Brahms, your symphonies saved me many a night
Such frail hands and white scalp, but you did not shake when bow met
fingers
Those nights of cheap Merlot, secretly stealing a moment of calm from your
skilled hands
The records never quite rivaled those nights, my unknown
friend

While strolling down a river heading seaward
I stopped beneath a sweeping willow tree
And lay peacefully gazing upward
Till slumber’s charms warmly captured me

An idyllic scene that seldom could be rivaled
All round, nature’s gifts were freely poured
And yet in the midst of untold beauty
Was a strident note of sad silent discord

Oh, why weepest thou willow
In this beautiful field of green
What memories create your unhappiness
What sorrows have you seen?

Can a willow yearn to meet another willow?
Does loneliness drive your arms so wide?
Does the lush, soothing facade of your canopy
Conceal a broken heart, deep inside?

Sometime later I awoke in thoughtful silence
Oh Willow, why does’t thou weep
What were your sapling aspirations
What sad and sorry secrets do ye keep?

I used to be your morning.

Back stretched,
arms reaching,
asking the day its first question.

You always slept on the left side of the bed.
Our left.
My right, now.
But then.
And now,
My right has never felt more wrong.

Your eyes were always soft at sunrise.
Lids lifting like lungs and falling
like feathers.

You loved the smell of coffee
and the taste of special k.
Though I never understood why.

You never watched the news
because it was always
heart breaking
breaking news
news worthy
never worthy of your worry
so early in the morning.

I used to be your afternoons.

Your smile always felt like the summer,
when I met you.

You wore a white dress
and a warning label.
I wore heart stained sleeves
and a nervous smile.

I'm glad I didn't listen.
Most of the time.
You lived like flowers.

Toes planted in the grass,
always greener.

catching rain like a break,
light like your breath.
Impossible to keep
but never the less,
you were beautiful.  

Beautiful in the way you took naps,
in the way you brushed your hair
while complaining it was too straight.
Beautiful in the way you would sway
To any music that I'd play,
I couldn't say it then but it's too late now
so,
stay.

Beautiful.
Always.
And in the way you'd get excited
when I would pick you up
but somehow, I let you down.
And I'm sorry.

Your eyes rivaled every sunset,
But the light always leaves with a promise,
you left with a suitcase.  

I used to be your nighttime.

I sleep in the same spot that you left me in.
But wake up in the middle.
one arm outstretched,
hand hiding beneath your pillow.
our.
My. pillow.

My fingers are foolish,
still thinking they'll find you.

Like myself when in sleep.

How do you tell your memories to close their eyes
when you dream?
when the only world I am aware of
is the one that I've been keeping,
saving, holding, tending to
my mind is a garden,
growing dreams, still, for you.

I suppose one day,
I'll run out of seeds.
The soil will spoil,
I'll be knee deep in weeds.

But until then
every bud in my brain blooms in bed,
vines and fields of flowers
fill every inch of my head.
So long as I keep my eyes closed,
shades drawn,
room too dark to invite the dawn
that hits the fields like winter.

I used to be yours.

I don't know what you dream of now,
who slows you down when the world spins
faster than your stillness can stand,
how many times a day you find your hand
wandering to where I've been.

Though I tried hard not to say it,
I know that you knew.
I didn't mind how you felt,
but I always
loved
you.

All I have now are used to be's
to keep these,
my own hands,
hopeful.
Hoping.
That happiness finds you happy
and freedom finds me free.

But until they arrive
Every morning,
noon,
and night
I'll know nothing of you
And one thing of me,
we used to be,
I used to be.

When word spread in the Hearst Tower that Carolina Herrera would be pulling up a chair to chat with Elle’s Robbie Myers for a Masterclass Q&A;, the speed of the RSVPs rivaled those of Barbra Streisand.

In less than an hour, Herrera regaled the crowd with her telling insights and signature élan, detailing some of the highlights of her career and deconstructing the current state of fashion with her wit.

First things first, Herrera: whose own personal style is practically synonymous with elegance, said of that trait, “Elegance is not only what you’re wearing but it is the way you are wearing it. It’s the way you choose what to wear for your style, your personality, the way you live. It doesn’t have anything to do with beauty or money….It’s what you project — your taste in books, houses, paintings, the way you move, the way you talk.”

When Herrera decided to do what she now does, she turned to her “great friend” Halston, whose initial reaction was, “‘What have you been drinking? Are you mad?'” she said. But his trepidation was only due to how demanding the industry is, Herrera added. “You have to be passionate,” she said.

Diana Vreeland, a friend of Herrera’s husband Reinaldo‘s family, was her mentor — “a very, very interesting woman, intelligent, very for-the-moment,” she said. But her initial plan to design fabrics was not well-received by Vreeland. “She said to me, ‘Well that is the most boring thing that you are telling me. Why don’t you do a fashion collection for women.’ She gave me the idea,” Herrera said.

In business for more than three decades, Herrera said her company’s DNA remains rooted in sophistication, elegance and timelessness. “I want women to look like real women, I do not want them to look like clowns because of what’s in fashion. I like fashion to be for now and for the future. You cannot only be for the past…like everybody in life — painters, musicians — you have to evolve. You have to live in the times that we live in.”

With two of her four daughters involved with the business, Herrera said, “Of course, we have little problems — tiny, tiny — but they always end up doing what they have to do and they always end up doing what I say they have to do.”

Herrera is very much all about today’s social media with 500,000 Instagram followers and 1 million Facebook fans. “You have to listen to the likes, dislikes and whatever they say — that’s the excitement of social media. But if you start reading all the messages, you will not have a life. It’s impossible to read all of them.”

Here, a few of Herrera’s other observations:

• “I didn’t live at Studio 54 and I don’t wear the white shirt every day.”

• “It’s very important to possess in your house a full-length mirror.”

• “Bob Mackie did the naked look years ago for Cher. There was one — now there are many.”

• “There should be a little mystery with women. They have confused sexiness with femininity. They think to be **** you have to wear a dress that is four sizes smaller than you, and also show everything you possess.”

• “You go to the opera and you see a sea of sneakers. It’s not like before when things were in a certain way, and everyone pretty much did the same. There are not anymore rules in fashion. Everything is accepted. You have to be strong. You have to be you.”

• “Mrs. Obama has her own style and she knows exactly what she wants to wear.”

• “Perfume is the invisible accessory that a woman is wearing. It is very strong for your memories.”

• “Stylists are getting more famous than the people they dress.”Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses

We loved
With a love
That I didn't know existed.

This is not a love poem;
This is a ballad
Of all the sweet love songs
that finally made sense,

This is a dictionary
Defining the new outlook on life you gave me,

This is the final scene
Of something so perfect,
It had to be nothing much more than fiction.

God stitched together
All of my cuts and wounds
With thread made of your touch,
Your scent, your voice,
Your laugh, your hair flip,
Your 'I love yous', your leftover strands of hair
Still clinging to all of my clothes,
As if this distance between us
Was never there in the first place.

We were like Romeo and Juliet,
Discarding what everyone had to say.

I loved you like I was an abused dog
Straggling along, pouncing on any piece of meat
That came my way
Until you held me tight close to you,
Letting me know that
It'd all be okay.

Your love rivaled that
Of the Sun and the Moon,
You had shed light on my world
When I couldn't see
Past my insecurities and downfalls,
And brought shooting star showers down upon me
When it seems like the bad days could not get any longer.

We trekked over hills and valleys
And sure, sometimes, we slipped -
but we always made sure
That we got back up and kept going.

Our love was a perfect melody,
And sometimes, we struck a sour note,
But your voice was always a beautiful symphony
That slowed everything back down to its right pace.

I loved you
like diamonds yearning
For the perfect ray of light
To grace its surface
So that it may project a perfect spectrum
Upon your naked left ring finger
That i had daydreams every day
Of staking as my territory.

We were a binary solar system
In supposed equilibrium
Until your gravitational pull
Ripped away all my outer layers
And you left me vulnerable,
so that you could use all my flaws
To become a black hole
and tear my whole being to shreds.

I loved you
Like the breeze loves flowing through
Your hair, making a cascading waterfall
that left me drowning in your beauty.
But now -
You're not mine anymore.
*And I'm not okay with that.

summer is nearing its end and I find myself mourning its loss
never have I considered myself one suited for the heat--
the sharp flames of raging arguments are enough to burn me to a crisp

but I smell the heady scent of smoke, thick with ash and cooking food
and I hear the birds sing to each other as if it were their last time
and the sky is blue and clear and it stretches onwards to the sun, which is setting in shades of coral and ocean brine

I feel the loss keenly in my chest, a bittersweet longing for the summers in which I lit up the sky with how brightly I shone
scorched and forged, my heart of hearts was unyielding and flooded my body with luminosity that rivaled the stars themselves
invulnerable and filled with a relentless energy that could not be stopped
until it burned out alone

I miss those days where I felt as if I were controlling the sea itself,
pulling and pushing like a brand new moon
the days where I flew so high on swings and sand dunes I thought I may never come down
where everything fit in the center of my palm and I held on tightly because no one could shatter my world

but these days, I sit and watch as the real star settles down to sleep beneath the ocean waves
and feel my skin become painted by the swathes of color in the sky
the sounds of motors and sirens remind me that I am no longer floating above it all
my brief flash long since faded, just as any other firework lit at dusk

I stole away, with an

Angel intent on keeping 

Me company, for my

Last day on earth

She drew my name in the clouds with

Ink she bought from God,

Broke my bed,

Ripped my blankets, and

Sat me down to

Mock my ignorance

Needing a place to sit,

We built a bench, out of

Broken promises

Each knot in the wood

Melted into a bitter syrup, as I

Recommitted it to memory

We drank coffee behind the

Store that sold my

Innocence to those more

Deserving of the 

Luck they’d received.

Their tender was 

Myth and merchandise,

Final sale,

No return.

The torn soles, on the shoes I

Wore, slid softly through the

Field of grinning flowers, their

Beauty rivaled only by their

Obvious ignorance

Fingers wrapped my wrist,

Departure was inevitable

Wings spread, we soared over the

Blue and purple of the 

Flowers, shaded darkly by the 

Sun’s embarrassment

But from miles up, my

Sight, seemingly unchanged by my

Decreasing proximity

Showed me their vigilant smiles

Had she dropped me 

Anywhere else, the

Beautiful field of 

Terminal foliage

Would sway the same, with

Each windy eve

I woke up, drunk on

Sleep and whiskey, as the

Sobering veracity of my

Failure to keep dreaming

Became achingly apparent.

I dress in black
I listem to screamo.
Asking alexandria and
Bmth all day
But emo tho?
I dunno.
I like black alot.
I wear it alot
And  skinny jeans  are my best friend.
People tell me I'm emo
Like it's  a bad thing.
I think being emo is a beautiful  thing.
I dont cut.
Never will
But i stand down sometimes.
Being emo  should  be a privilege.
Its not bad.
If i am emo
Than i am strong
I have a spirit not rivaled by many.
I can endure being screamed at because i prefer it in my music.
I will grow out my hair because i can
And my band t shirts will hold their own special place in my closet.
If i am emo
Than so be it
But  i will not be slandered
For who i *am

I’ve always had a fascination with bones. The skeletal system was taught to me in my fourth grade year. I learned the name of each bone that laid just under my thin layers of skin. I read books on how they were made, how they were broken, how they fixed themselves. I saw them as self-sufficient. I gazed at the plastic skeleton that lived in the corner of my classroom. I tried to match his bones with mine. ******* in my stomach to pinpoint each individual rib. Stretching my skin to watch the edges of my bones appear. I remember narrowing my eyes at the plastic toy in front of my face. It was like he was mocking me. He was showing me everything I wished I could see on myself. Staring at me with such contemptuousness in a sneer of his plastic teeth. I walked away in a mood that rivaled a hurricane, tears that felt foreign against my soft cheeks and a boiling pool of disgust deep inside my body that was covered in too many layers of skin.

I spent my first two years of middle school in quiet distaste. I forgot my fascination with the bones inside me. I never quite existed anywhere but in my own head. I was content. When my father pushed us away the first time, we fled to a different home on a different street. The second time, he shoved us into a different house in a different state. I started a new school with new people that inhabited new sets of bones. In my biology classroom, another plastic skeleton took up home in the corner. I went back to my new house everyday to my mother who I only saw once a day if I went to seek her out and sisters who had to take the blows silently. I trailed behind them, gathering their missing pieces and using the glue holding me whole to stick their parts back together. I scrambled to feed the zombies wandering around my house, shaving off layers of skin. I had to stand by and watch my own body turn into the skeleton I envied. I could peel back the skin I had left and finally see the sharp edges of milky bone.

We were pushed again. To another house in another state. I panicked to hide what was festering inside my chest. I tried to shield it from the eyes of my sisters, trying to keep them pure from fear of death or something just as scary. I pulled a veil down over my face, building a wall between the people I loved and myself. I watched as girls my age twisted and smiled and matured. I felt uneasiness as I tried to be like them, taking note of the way they flicked their hair back and tried to replicate it in a mirror. I painted my face with powders and rimmed my eyes in black to cover the red. I grew out my hair long enough to cover the bones trailing down my back, trying to bend in a shape that I didn’t want them going. I spent nights trying to find something that could bring my bones to life. I danced around death, grinning like a maniac when I dipped my toes into the ******* I had found. I watched the blood drip from the cracks in my skin as I stared by at my own face that looked like a ghost to me now. I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror. With white around their nose, red around their eyes and with features almost parallel to the skeleton that had mocked me so long ago.

I came back from myself in the months following. I tried to rip off the veil over my eyes. I worked to carefully dismantle the wall between me and everyone else. I let my skin grow and grow until I couldn’t see the bones I used to find beautiful. I let myself dress how I knew I wanted. I let myself be who I wanted. I took the pain I had nurtured in my chest since I was a child and bundled it up, pushing it away because it was a friend I didn’t want to be around anymore. I had to learn how to hold my sisters up and climb up with them too. I started scribbling a new name on the canvases I have poured my heart into. I stopped trying to carve my own bones into the shape I wanted them to be and instead, I painted the way they grew. I molded creatures out of clay. I drew beautiful things. I made beautiful things. I began only drawing the things I saw most beautiful. I drew flowers and animals and the people I had allowed to help me. I drew architecture and waterfalls and insects. After my bones had disappeared and the smile on my face wasn’t pulled up by the thought of being non existent, I drew myself too.

Into a spiral of words, we go once more
Into the head of a madman;
On the contrary, he is self-proclaimed,
None proves he is a madman, after all.
He sets his machine ablaze,
Sculpting words upon his hundred epitaphs,
Exclaiming he'll end his hell today,
And rise again, tomorrow.

He is but a tinker of words,
He is but a feeble being;
Unable to voice the change he desires,
Unable to converge in the norms.
His machine seems rusted,
Rusted, but not broken;
Spewing out nonsense in disguise,
Molding empty grandeur.

It is not his machine that needs repairs,
It is the Tinker who seeks soothe.
He toils upon his machine,
Only to find that none is wrong;
It still basked in ivory and gold,
It still made what it does.
Yet, why does the Tinker feel such incompleteness?
All was vague, until it, came;

It had a smile that rivaled the sunrise,
It gave the Tinker the eyes to see the truth,
It showed him the light, and umbra of life.
It guided the Tinker to the stars;
It made the Tinker feel new again.
Together, they tinkered the machine once more,
And together, they saw the marvel before their very eyes;
They were truly, a cog and a catalyst.

Yet all is not forever.
It vanished without a trace.
It left the Tinker lost.
With its departure,
It left wake of the darkness in his heart.
His eyes grew dimmer,
He saw his masterpiece again, as a loss,
A failure.

The Tinker left death to feed upon his happiness,
The Tinker felt incompleteness once more;
He gambled for it to stay,
Yet all gambles fail in the end.
Yet the Tinker never knew,
It never left him.
The Tinker was made a fool over nothing;
Art lest, just offer nonsense, in love's yonder.

I fell in love with the angry winds
the deep breaths of the world unbridled
they cannot be stopped nor ever be rivaled
the winds that whip and whistle
tear at the roofs and sting like thistle
bring down the hard rains, bring down the hail
with thuds of pain, that makes the earth wail
winds that bend the tall trees to bow and crack
that tear at their leaves, their needles and break their backs
the winds that herald the storms to come
the winds who follow to blow them away
the wind who's voice urges the seas to writhe and spray
that forces and leads all things astray
bringing in new clouds with hues of gray
I fell in love with the angry winds
who blew away all of my angry sins.

I found myself cheekily smiling today
The type of smile I only do rarely
The type of smile that hasn't visited
This earth in a real good while
I want to smile like that everyday
I want to look stupid while grinning
Like a fool,
Because that feeling that bubbles up
When I smile like that,
It is rivaled by no other

I'm just another one of your
Misfits. I am
UNpopular. I am
UNcool. I am
UNconventional and that
Makes me scary.
Can't handle my
Opinions. Can't
Accept that I am
Content with myself
Just as I am. Can't
Understand why I
Don't worry about
Tomorrow. Can't
Explain why, even though
I am dragged down,
I keep getting up to try again. Can't
Let me get too close
Because I must have some disease. Can't
Shove me into
Your perfect boxes because I
Can't
Be
Contained. Because He is
UNrivaled. He is
UNsurpassed. He is
UNdefeated. And I am
UNalone.
Let's get
**UN'd.