"stoplights" poems
the thick frames surrounding
my prescription perspective,
are the curtains to the ceaseless show.
the same charade everyday.
it's a 4-15 minute drive from my apartment to the campus.
4 minutes if the dark-humored, aliens that control stoplights are kind,
15 if they are looking for a laugh.
my feet hit parking concrete outside of classrooms.
it's rhythmic yet mundane.
but it's a game we all play.
i fall into line, the slow parade of apathy,
that leads us to lectures each day.
the professors project views of wicked youth,
we like white, pull-down sheets,
sport whatever image they insist,
so easily.
it's branded boys
and
tanning bed-inspired girls.
it's blind acceptance and
weightless regret.
i want to change lenses.
pull the curtain,
and start all over again.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 10:14 AM UTC
Halt our shallow breaths--
staccato fogs at the stoplights
Cling precarious in cold
like the frost on the stop signs.
The streetlights keep on winking
Winter's late but, now, it's sinking
into bones
clawing coats
shut. Clutching
wool to swollen throats
I swore I'd never stand here again
at December's ******* doorstep--
ring the bell every weekend.
I always circle back every year
when
I take the same old punches
and wince when I hit play-back.
Halt my raising glass
and analyze my afflictions:
28, alone and broke
so cop to addictions, now.
It's freezing--getting dressed
you've question marks in your brown eyes
It's hailing, breathing out
Carry my bags of old goodbyes
The walls just keep on shrinking
But the outside's gonna swallow me
Eaten whole
even bones.
Spit me out back on Mydland road
I know I'll wind up back here again.
at December's ******* deathbed
sleeping in every weekend
Held all chips, played hands, drank a year
then
I pulled my vacant pockets,
defrosted my losing bets
Mea culpa. So long. Stay friends.
*"Twenty-fucking-five to one,
my gambling days are done.
I bet on a horse called The Bottle of Smoke,
and my horse..."* (Finer/MacGowan)
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
sometimes my parents will ask me
"are you really going down that road again"
with such disdain and bitterness
and it just makes me so angry
because they do not realize that depression
is not a road one chooses to go down
and it is not a road one can easily exit
it is an unpaved road riddled with cracks and potholes
with no street signs or stoplights to guide us safely home
and to accuse someone of willingly taking that road?
well, that is how some of us end up there in the first place
-
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
I make trips to the corner store, at 12 in the morning.
Calling all cars to get the **** out of the road,
I'm swerving.
Calling all lights,
blink and be gone. Streetlights,
stoplights, lamps, lighters,
blunt tips, cigarette butts,
all lights be gone.
Dear Earth, get low in the darkness.
On my first trip,
I was accosted by rabid dogs who drooled shoelaces
and I could tell they were being hounded
by the kilter of their angry maws
and sawed-off minds.
They barked like guns.
And they saw me--completely irrelevant---
popping caps off Lokos
taking sips that could **** up an Orca,
completely swimming.
I had to kick them home.
At work today,
Someone got caught stealing five pesos worth of food,
and got threatened with a felony,
but they've got some lint in their pocket,
and knew how to keep it cool.
My girlfriend operates in ideas.
I've been at work for so long,
that I yell and walk around,
like I'm in the shower.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
It came quickly, roots
broke through marbled concrete
And vines draped off
balconies of skyscrapers
Floor to ceiling windows
disappeared behind ivy
Some beasts melted into shadows
around the corner as their
barks were adopted
by the wind and pushed
in strollers by the howl
and the cold bite
In the air, you could hear
unattended car alarms
And neon signs flickering
on and off as they hum like
a deathbed, EKG flat-line
Hanged stoplights
swayed back and forth
off streetlight arms
bent like telekinetic spoons
spinning like criminals
left on olive trees to die
And the drab color seemed
strangely magnetic and
right
I can swallow a pretty big storm
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
Oh ferocious angels,
lionesque children of Eden
on narrow streets and polluted alleyways
whispering cruel things to each other,
you're radiant in your belligerence
and as my enemies you are virtuous.
Beside me in this carpeted rectangle room
a faint glow exhales
from the tall alpine ivory lamp illuminating
firefly wings of blossoms
alluringly exuberant in the afternoon sun-ray
diamond shine and shimmer.
Dusty tin roofs billow
firewood smoke in the thick violet shade fog over-top cabin potted
mountains and hills sprouting firs and rose bushes abounding.
Spectrum cast chandeliers echo staircases which
jot up and up arduous ruby landings,
hardwood floor cracked
and stacks of novels ballast the senescent hallways
of bookshops where poets works and journals diaries and memoirs blur
the serpentine walls with memories.
Angelic the soul which is too often contaminated with
avarice rebellious to concord living
harmonious midst dew grass and calm waters in residential lakes
empathy equanimity, far from Bodhisattva.
Few kinds of darkness transcendental
subduing other darkness to a weak shadow.
There's an importance to admiring the delirium of metropolitan roads on roads
this intricate unspoken connection to those who
rest by stoplights and crawling traffic metallic molten aura of
cars in July heat.
Paying attention to the open window of adjacent apartments
where Mr. Norris waters his tulips and shares this moment
modern meditations practiced
finding a balance in such an anxious
volatile world like this.
Oh ferocious angels, impetuous
forlorn seraphs,
sing! sing and soar!
Boundless is our ardor
and our passion.
Unenclosed is the lion
in it's bloom.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC
whilst they chase us,
and murmur hymns 'neath swollen wings,
they guide us,
with beckon words.
for the birds of baby eyes,
and elderly minds,
they wish for and dream just as much as we,
and ask many questions 'neath--therein--night.
who are you?
who are we?
who are they?
who is may?
simplicity within sliver tongues,
and nocturne in starry eyes,
we learn,
and grow,
listening to the native tongues from the birds of age.
for they speak in rhyme,
and rhythm--you see,
and bless us with the ability.
highlighter eyes blind we,
our neon stoplights, we see,
our teacher--our father--our mentor,
that wishes we move as he does.
for he feeds us rats!
and breaks his very neck for our arrival,
'my child--my pupil--my daughter--my son--welcome'
ever he always,
'mind you--mind you--your eyes beg wonder--sleep waits not for the lazy!'
and with a hardy laugh he bellows, the wind whips its hair as pompously, and only then his feet grabs for our shirts as we soar.
with darkly snoozes,
and sickly snores,
our teacher--our father--our mentor,
cares for us dozens!
for our wings dance lots--dance lots!--midst the rocky blue sun,
and our hearts shriek with candy teeth,
at the earth swimming below our dusty feet,
and clouds preach hello in wonder.
for the twilight knows of many bodies,
of many hands,
of many feet,
of many faces,
for they look up and see moving paintbrushes 'ganist canvas!
and wish for many easels.
and the earth knows of many tired bodies,
that the night has sickened,
with drooping eyes,
and legs a-limpin',
for they become the elder too,
as they play it and earned it well.
and the night sky argues and blinks many,
and births a new globe all and of its own!
as the olden wings guide us,
and our beings ache the part,
with sliver tongues,
and nocturnal starry eyes,
whom sweeps us into Forevermore.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
2:35am. You say,
“Lets go for a drive
through the galaxy.”
Your car turns into a spacecraft
as we fly through the blackness.
You take me on a journey among the stars.
The streetlamps and stoplights
become colorful particles of our galaxy,
and the cars around us
transform into the UFO’s
we can only read about.
You show me the best-kept secrets
that our vast ocean in the sky holds,
from the eyes in envy.
Your kiss
sends me into the mysteries of black holes
and the awe of a supernova.
3:12am I whisper,
“Can we sleep upon the radiance of the moon?”
and you respond,
“Yes, and tomorrow after breakfast
I will take you to swim in the turquoise blue of the sea.”
You take me everywhere
and back again with the simplest of actions.
You do this to me…
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
your friends pity me
i see it in their eyes
but pretend it's
not there
you bring me along regardless
holding hands under the table
laughing alongside them
and we toast to your
oncoming sobriety
and i think they pitied you too
knowing that you and change
were fated mortal enemies
starting from conception.
god buried you in the dirt when he crafted your soul;
and the angels cursed you, turning the earth
to marbled heliotrope:
we met in that dark prison.
you whispered that everyone
had given you up. so i swore
to never leave. to try.
to fight for us. to
love.
you hold my hand for 46 seconds underneath
the sputtering pools of blonde light
after your narcotics anonymous
meeting.
and the angels pitied me as well,
turning their heads at stoplights
and crosswalks like i wasn't even
there.
as if i could forget or pretend
that i've never seen the
eyes underneath
our bed at
night.
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 3:53 AM UTC
Did you know that I hate you?
Every second you ignore me seeps into my skin like ink
Your words are a tattoo I can’t remove
I’ve spent months scrubbing my skin of your touch
The memory of it lingering
Between my fingers
Behind my ears
On my lips
Around my waist
An invisible hand-shaped scar on my cheek accompanied by
The sound of your voice between tears
“I want to do my best for you”
Unless your best is weakening me to the point I can’t get out of bed,
You’re a ******* liar for that
And so much more
I want to rip the memory of us from inside of you, you don’t deserve it
When I think of you I want to scream until my voice goes limp
And then you smile
And I remember you again
The goofy ************ who spends days making music
Lover of takis and neck kisses and bridges
I remember you holding me while I cried
And taking pictures while I laughed
Always knowing when I’m hungry or sad or anxious or tired
Jamming out to Inner Voices on a 20 hour road trip
Getting ****** and petting dogs
Snowball fights at 2 AM
Making out at stoplights
Taking an hour to say goodbye
The way you grinned so wide after we kissed
Every
Single
Time
You ******* ************* *******
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
Dead heavy eyes stare...
Glued to stoplights lining rain-soaked streets.
An arid tongue placed, no permanently stuck against pink flesh bone
Waiting for when everything doesn’t seem like a dream.
She thinks blinking is a way to clear her seafoam eyes,
But no matter how hard she rubs
The rain falls harder and
Clarity seems like a wish
She dropped in a puddle.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
the door is still ajar and there is still a lamp lit
and hue spills out in a straight line
where I follow markings on the
sides of highways to forget
how I won't forget the impression
you leave on the sidewalk through
season after passage of next to
brightlit stripmalls somewhere
with snowcapped mountains
and lakes and lakes and lakes away know
I'll probably miss you
when streetlights burn down
when stoplights wear out
I'll be out on the ocean
you'll find me in
hillsides on
indian summer mornings
or in
rain flecks on train windows
winding trails around
provinces I'll
never figure out how to pronounce
you won't miss me
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
the trees are rustling,
whispering welcome, aerodynamic
flutter shuddering leaves;
there is an insect
traversing my backpack,
up one strap, across,
down the
other; moss covered Buddha
staring serenely at me,
myself returning the favor and
silently scrutinizing him.
it is tranquility, dyed yellow and
dying leaves floating to cobblestone.
birds chirping: sonic reminiscence of
Migos songs played at too-high volume
in your car, riding shotgun,
screaming punchbuggy and
stealing kisses at stoplights.
my legs are folded like
a lotus, albeit less
colorful and more
awkward edges, bamboo
casting shadows beside
me. wait- was that thunder?
are those raindrops?
or perhaps a signal that
talking about you
and photodocumenting my life
aren't going to do any good.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
The passenger window was coaxed down
Creating a vacuum
From the outer orb of the car
Whisping violently to the back seat.
I imagined this accumulated mass of air giving me directions
Just as my mother would.
“Next left”
Turning my head back to the road
The stoplights were my own private assortment of fireworks, it being so late in the night
I was their sole admirer. The sound that the wind now made reminded me of the
Shutter of an old camera, looped, repeated, into one single strand of noise.
I was being documented. Perhaps nature is just as fascinated with us as
We
Are
It.
Pulling up to the driveway, the car and I were eaten and digested.
Every living and inanimate thing around me was taking photos.
With their hands over their mouths, politely, like a secret crush.
Fame doesn’t bother blades of grass.
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
Streets as hot as metal
Where bodies turn to ice
Bullets litter cracked sidewalks
That broke the sad stoplights.
Laughs flood through the fences
With shattered slides and dreams
The man passed by this every day
With feelings that tested seams.
Every day, the same old thing
Drugs erupting from the bricks
Graffiti covering an old cafe
Crime makes this city tick.
Another young kid crying
For he hasn't got a home
Another car's been totaled
The wrath road rage has shown.
Another playground built again
Trying to make the town look clean
He can't ignore the orange jumpsuits
That stick around to plant some trees.
Blood stains here and flowers there
Take a stroll down Contrast Street
Ignoring grimy street vendors
Cause he's heard they've got the creeps.
Another gun shot in the air
Another cry for help
Another pretty restaurant
And people trying to convince themselves.
That maybe it's not happening
Someone will come along who cares
Someone else, take care of that!
Me? No, don't you even dare.
So I guess this can just keep happening
These walking contradictories
You're defeating your own purpose
We're losing, don't you see?
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning
There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight
Beyond the ledges of concrete
restaurants fall into dreams
with candlelight couples
Lost Alexandria still burns
in a billion lightbulbs
Lives cross lives
idling at stoplights
Beyond the cloverleaf turnoffs
'Souls eat souls in the general emptiness'
A piano concerto comes out a kitchen window
A yogi speaks at Ojai
'It's all taking pace in one mind'
On the lawn among the trees
lovers are listening
for the master to tell them they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush
on the freeway tonight
as a Pacific tidal wave a mile high
sweeps in
Los Angeles breathes its last gas
and sinks into the sea like the Titanic all lights lit
Nine minutes later Willa Cather's Nebraska
sinks with it
The sea comes over in Utah
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra onstage in Omaha
keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water
ans bass players float away on their instruments
clutching them like lovers horizontal
Chicago's Loop becomes a rollercoaster
Skyscrapers filled like water glasses
Great Lakes mixed with Buddhist brine
Great Books watered down in Evanston
Milwaukee beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve of Buffalo suddenly become salt
Manhatten Island swept clean in sixteen seconds
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
as the great wave sweeps on Eastward
to wash away over-age Camembert Europe
manhatta steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
in empty eternity
as the Hudson retakes its thickets
and Indians reclaim their canoes
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
Crossing over the train tracks
to get to where you were
it wasn't that hard.
I never realized all the other obstacles I had to endure
until it was too late
until I stopped coming over.
A bridge, our high school, some shopping centers.
And stoplights. So many stoplights.
Sometimes, I still hear the train whistle from inside the depths of my room late at night.
I wonder if you hear it too, at 10:38 p.m. on Sundays,
and I wonder if you think of me.
But I never go that route anymore.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
She couldn’t bring herself to believe that you held your ground for her,
those nights you crossed the highways
and stoplights to reach her doorstep
only to tell her why you can’t use those dusty lungs,
filled with rust and waste, crushing the air you breathe in.
She didn’t have much to say.
You didn’t have much to offer,
just a lot of heart and a little dash of bitter biting your tongue with the ideas that your father put in your head,
the ones that tell you that you can’t feel the beat of your own heart
or taste the saltwater crashing down on your own weathered hands.
No, you gotta be a man.
She listened to your words and chewed on it for a while,
and gathered all her strength to pour the mason jar of alcohol you stashed in her cupboards for last two years down the sink,
as you yelled up to whoever might be listening,
“I never knew it’d go this far, I never thought I’d be this way.”
So she turned on the lights,
made your bed and you laid down to another restless night,
following and circling the cycle you have fallen for over
And over
And over again.
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 3:11 PM UTC
*A body like running pavement
and filled with
skidmarks --
broken pictures of sunset sky between trees
power lines--
they fall and rise like waves,
quickly flashing.*
*A mind like an endless set of highways
there's no map to tell
where anything could end up--
ideas that are
headlights, move with uncontrolled velocity,
bobbing in the darkness, wheels
humming from the engine, throaty engine--
voice that's a radio, projects songs
and thoughts
to the passengers--*
*it's not a roller coaster, we don't choose to be behind a wheel
but we're all in our vehicles
with horns
and shouting matches and road rage,
swearing, arguing our luck,
gambling the speed limit
to try to get to all our destinations
"on time"
but God only wants you to feel the wind rushing
through your rolled-down windows,
or contemplate on silent journeys, a
seemingly never ending stretch of road,
breathe through the starry summer nights,
sunlight flickering on rooftops,
dirt paths in forests,
trees, lights,
pedestrians,
a hitch hiker,
clouds,
parks,
mountains,
cities,
stoplights,
billboards,
but all you see is the
pictures fading into a blur--
blurring,
all
blurring,
and sudden--*
collision.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
I hate myself
for wanting to be pretty
but even more, I hate the world I live in for
making me feel like I need to be
pretty
in order to amount to anything
but it's been etched into my brain
like the alphabet or "I'm fine, thanks, how are you?"
I guess I ran
out of words
when I stopped believing
that I needed you to love me back
sometimes I still think of you but only
in the moment between tracks on a CD
or at stoplights
or in the the spaces of light between my fingers
when I shield my eyes from the sun
but there are a lot of things I
sometimes think about
so maybe
you're not so special after all
just a speck of static
I clung to
when I had nothing else to hold
or when there was no one else
to fill the space around me
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
If you fancy
a cheap thrill,
I suggest you
buy erotica read on CD.
The narrators never disappoint.
Listen to it only in your car.
Be sure to take the route
with one too many stoplights—
teeming with all of
the self-righteous pedestrians
who think they always warrant
the right-of-way.
Roll down
all of your windows.
Turn the volume up
to a number that will
allow you to suitably share.
Employ a smirk of
the most contented caliber,
& bank on making
someone’s ********* day.
*('Cause, no matter how you skin it,
we’re all some kind of human.)*
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
There I was standing in the stark cold
in New York staring at the fast-paced
traffic breezing past my sight, flashing
bright blurs blinding my eyes, heavy
rising fumes lost in the air from rusty
engines, as I breathed in the loud
vibrations and mixed creations
surrounding my eyesight.
The towering buildings concaving
around my soul. The high pitched
trains pounding my brain, steel
scraped railroad tracks sifting
inside broken lanes. The blinking
stoplights lingering in helpless
shadows. And as I gazed at the
scarlet stained sidewalks, how
the cigarette butts sunk in
meaningless mazes, screaming
embers disturbed and scorched,
scarred and surrendering,
my heart was against the wall.
I could feel everything around me
moving in accelerating speeds,
scurrying pedestrians clouding
my wild breaking frame, swollen
grayed trees clicking and blazing
in little language, red smashed stop
signs falling in between compromised
worlds, while I struggled to break
from the love that stole my heart
in the nighttime spark. I could see
his dark twisted eyes in the shadows,
crimson-black designs destroying
my mind, smoke shattered kisses
torturing my dimension, as I
gasp deep heavy breaths,
embracing every single solid
drum shuddering inside my nation.
How was I to know that your love
could burn my flesh, razor flamed
and ****** over flattened and
rammed, a cold unrhymed beat
diminishing my existence in the
blackened skies.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC