And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin

Spanish

Vagos preludios. En la noche espléndida
Su voz de perlas una fuente calla,
Cuelgan las brisas sus celestes pifanos
En el follaje. Las cabezas pardas
De los búhos acechan.
Las flores se abren más, como asombradas.
Los cisnes de marfil tienden los cuellos
En las lagunas pálidas.
Selene mira del azul. Las frondas
Tiemblan… y todo! hasta el silencio, calla…

Es que ella pasa con su boca triste
Y el gran misterio de sus ojos de ámbar,
A través de la noche, hacia el olvido,
Como una estrella fugitiva y blanca.
Como una destronada reina exótica
De bellos gestos y palabras raras.

Horizontes violados sus ojeras
Dentro sus ojos–dos estrellas de ámbar–
Se abren cansados y húmedos y tristes
Como llagas de luz que quejaran.

Es un dolor que vive y que no espera,
Es una aurora gris que se levanta
Del gran lecho de sombras de la noche,
Cansada ya, sin esplendor, sin ansias
Y sus canciones son como hadas tristes
Alhajadas de lágrimas…

              English

Murmuring preludes. On this resplendent night
Her pearled voice quiets a fountain.
The breezes hang their celestial fifes
In the foliage. The gray heads
Of the owls keep watch.
Flowers open themselves, as if surprised.
Ivory swans extend their necks
In the pallid lakes.
Selene watches from the blue. Fronds
Tremble…and everything! Even the silence, quiets.

She wanders with her sad mouth
And the grand mystery of amber eyes,
Across the night, toward forgetfulness
Like a star, fugitive and white.
Like a dethroned exotic queen
With comely gestures and rare utterings.

Her undereyes are violated horizons
And her irises–two stars of amber–
Open wet and weary and sad
Like ulcers of light that weep.

She is a grief which thrives and does not hope,
She is a gray aurora rising
From the shadowy bed of night,
Exhausted, without splendor, without anxiousness.
And her songs are like dolorous fairies
Jeweled in teardrops…

                          The strings of lyres
                          Are the souls' fibers.–

The blood of bitter vineyards, noble vineyards,
In goblets of regal beauty, rises
To her marble hands, to lips carved
Like the blazon of a great lineage.

Strange Princes of Fantasy! They
Have seen her languid head, once *****,
And heard her laugh, for her eyes
Tremble with the flower of aristocracies!

And her soul clean as fire, like a star,
Burns in those pupils of amber.
But with a mere glance, scarcely an intimacy,
Perhaps the echo of a profane voice,
This white and pristine soul shrinks
Like a luminous flower, folding herself up!

They're feverish with desire
Eclipsed in love
Raging like a black smoke fire
****** scents rising above
The pheromones they release
Must be smelled miles away
They've missed this, the tease
And liquid glances, it's been days
Since, either have touched the other
But they still feel that ****** tension
On every inch of their skin
When they're finally away from prying eyes
Their lips mesh, his hands move to her thighs
And hers slide up through his hair
Gripping on tight
They could be spotted, but neither cares
He pushes her hard against the wall
Bringing her legs around his hips
She thanks heaven she wore a skirt
And quiets a moan by devouring his lips
He quickly, fervently unzips his jeans
Releasing himself and promptly
Entering her sweet, wet heat
He groans as he swallows her scream
Then pounds in hard, fast, ferociously
She rocks her hips with a delicious little motion
Squeezing her core tight, biting his lips
Coming almost instantly when he growls with delight
He thrusts harder, incessantly feeling her getting tight
Moving her ankles to rest on his shoulders
He delves his shaft as deep inside as he can reach
She scratches scars along his back
And they kiss so deep like it's the final feast
She throbs in her core as another wave hits at full force
Starts going weak as she comes once more
Feeling her liquid pour, brings him to the edge
He grips her ankles stretching the limits of her flexibility
Then roars into her sweet mouth as he comes, vigorously
He lets her legs go, but holds her upright
They both sigh knowing it's the beginning of the night,
And that was just a quickie

i follow the steps
down to the sea
i follow our path
the one of you and me

the sand quiets my footsteps
and the wind whispers my name
as i follow her down to the shore
there she welcomes me in
embracing me deeply
and i sink to her depths, forevermore

What does it mean to be a man?

A hush quiets the room.

Seriously, what does it mean? I asked.

Because I've searched online forums and the trolls don't have much right to say,

I'd ask my father as if he would know himself,

I look at celebrities, friends, strangers, and yet I still wonder....

What does it mean to be a man?

Heaven help me because role models are hard to find. If God created sinners he must have made men with a special idea in mind.

Why do I desire something that is so hard to understand?

So tell me, what does it really mean to be a man?

what?
nothing.
i have nothing
to say.
for the lack of plea
and expression,
anyway,
I wrote you
a list of quiets:
- turning of a cab
into my lane at 10:30
- stirring sugar in tea
- closing the door
behind you
- last word in a letter
- squeezing toothpaste
onto a wet toothbrush
- millisecond to realize
something's funny
- a song
from the neighbor's window
- the longest argument
- drinking cold water
- searching for the towel
- kissing against a wall
- moment of not-over-this
at the kitchen sink, washing
dishes and spoons
- walking over to a friend
- switching on the string lights
- anxiety outside a restaurant
- warm feet on cold floor
first thing in the morning
- i think,
i really think
we can make the sweetest life.

To another day
passing like the parched foliage
dangling from the roofs in
the ***** Bronx

left of the ferry,
right is the skyline
doubled three times,
cloaked in solar panel
glass and shimmering
against the smoggy array of light
that
will
quit—
in due time.

Daddy, sweet
East River father,
where is the little
meatball you had grounded
up for eyes.
For a Roman nose
and Mafian stubble
when your Sicilian tongue
was clipped at age five.

For English-Only stamped on the roof
of your waste factory
of a mouth.

For the neo-tongue that
was bred liked
strong As
and
young ****;
And copious liquor upon
the grounds of your hiking
trips.

Mutation
       of
vile majesty.
Cannibalism of the **—

Buttons budding
for *******.

I saw your phantasm
figure, soiled in
dark tan, curve in
my lens.
Swallow the hazel
like a viscous sauce,
sweet, fresh.
A fuckable baby—
of five. You clipped
my tongue with now
cloying giggles and in the bunk bed,
red and ***,
like a locket, limbs

dangling out the sides, fleeing in
a fountainhead of
DO NOT.
Effaced by an amnesia.

The old man in my skull speaks,
— I was thirty two days ago.

Now the IVs DRIPDRIP,
Chorus with the TICKTICKTICK.
You are the hour,
I am the minute
Hand.
You are slow, I must
go-go-go in compulsive haste.
Run for sixty,
start anew,
encore, solo, imbrued
with the days that twine the middle, framed in
white.
Forget.

The doctor parses the old man like an
obsolete phrase with theatric hands,
-touch-touch-
push,  press.
Then comes the Shakespearean
soliloquy:
—He hasn’t the coverage.

The trigger as a glove of flesh
hits its target, quiets the machine,
puts me to sleep.

What is it that
I must do?
-become the platoon,
an infantry of sun-empired men.
Fight the shrapnel,
the blitzing of
scar tissue.
Become the fireman
with an axe wielded—
Scale the towers like cracks in a mountain.
Die from the smoke or
the spherical flames of the
planes that rode like the hooves
of a horse with bubonic pallor.
Fall like a worker
for stories down until
God, or some sadistic keeper
of this earth, slacks a noose
and reels me in like
a bluefin tuna, prized,

as you
salute. You ‘Nam
prevailer heralding
the lacy harlequins of corporeal
God’s pardon
on
you.

I am in
eternity from
the waist down,
object of the tight, frictiony
satisfaction you
almost indulged in.

To be a daughter, so sonly,
revoked of all features.
Stripped of the places
you liked to touch.

To understand that *** is not a primary priority in our relationship means more than I can even say. To have a Dada who focuses so much more on making sure my little is whole and happy before anything else is done makes me truly feel like you see me and what Gracie needs.

Don’t get me wrong big girl time is amazing when we have it. You make my body sing for you and you quiet my mind until nothing else exists there but you. Your hands on my body remind me that I am ****, desired, and very ****** – and that those needs are not to be forgotten. They’re just not the priority. I wrote something for you that has been on my mind ever since you posted that writing 10 days ago. I hope it helps you really hear how much it means to me.

It’s ALL about Priorities

I love that your priority is Gracie, your focus on her is entirely unapologetic and that means the world to me.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is her happiness. Life itself has many distractions and I know that devoting so much time me (to her) is not always the easiest path. But the fact that you do, even when it means 36+ hours on Skype most of which just “being” which you understand is just as important to me as playing and talking and laughing, makes me feel like the most important person in the whole wide world.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is keeping her healthy. That you take care of me when I forget or refuse to take care of myself. The simplest things like asking what or even if I’ve eaten when you know what my response will be shows me how much you care about the smallest of things in my day.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is helping me find peace when I’m floundering. Whether it be from nightmares or when I’m physically not feeling well, everything stops while you help me reach a calmer place in my head and that cannot be more important to me in that moment even if I won’t come out and say it. And that is one of the biggest expressions of love you could ever show me.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love spending big girl time with you, feeling my body submit to your touch and your voice as you make it sing for you. But it’s the peace your dominance brings to my mind (even if my head isn’t in a bad space) that is what I love most in that.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love that your priority is meeting my need and you see how much I need your touch. To feel of your touch on my body, from the lightest of touches to the most intimate of places. I love the tender possession of your lips on mine or the taste of your skin as I bite your shoulder in ecstasy. I love the way you make me pant and whimper and sigh and then to feel it all come crashing down as you make me *** again and again into a state of pure ******* bliss. But what I take from those moments is the feeling of complete desire for me in every way. Your need for me without filters or guards is how I’m truly learning to see that I’m beautiful.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love it when you pull me over your knee and spank me Dada, just the thought gets definite reactions and makes me gasp and blush. That moment of when my mind clicks into a literal “sub” space, surrendering all of myself to you, and with the simple strike of your hand against my bare skin, you remind me that you’re there to take every piece…every part of me to help me find peace and put them back together again.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love the intensity of *** play with you Dada, something I haven’t so openly explored before. But I trust you with my every breath so I know that even the most intense of moments you’re there to keep me safe. And in that, I would give you any part of me without you ever needing to ask.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love feeling you taking every part of me, knowing that I want to know you in every way that one can possibly know another. Not just for the primal satisfaction which I love just as much, but for the sake of strengthening our bond. One that continually gets stronger with every touch, little or big.

Because honestly *** isn’t all that important to me.

I love when the feeling of exhaustion as you continually use my body, beyond the point when I think it can go on. When my mind cries out that it can’t even while you show my body that it can until all is silent and nothing is there but you and I in the peace of the silent black space. Then I reach out and feel you take me close to your chest and remind me that you’re always there to keep me safe and secure.

That’s called priorities.

To the flutter of butterflies in my stomach and the squeal I have to quiet just when I see a message from you pop up on my phone.

That’s called priorities.

To know that I’d rather lay there in silence with you then go out with anyone else just at the risk of losing the smallest measure of time with you.
That’s called priorities.

To feel the sense of peace that quiets all of the chaos after you’ve listened to me whine, complain or just plain ***** about all that’s going on with me without word one of the mess that your day has been. That moment, that peace.

That’s called priorities.

To be able to be little with you with no boundaries, to be as little as I need to be and to trust that you’re there to be with me to protect me and play with me.

That’s called priorities.

Dada, you have taught me that a man’s priorities are evident through the actions that he takes and the choices that he makes and for the first time I truly feel like a priority instead of an accessory. And for that, the words “thank you” could never be enough.

Gracie
09/23/2015

I like to find beauty in the things that hold on to us.
The universe has been writing wills and testaments on my typewriter and I am trying to listen.
It's saying things like "Let go... a little bit... let go... your grip has always been too strong".
The universe calls me dear and I want to scream when he tells me to let go.
Let go. Let the light in. I'm tired of letting things in, I am tired, universe I am tired
and you are a ***** liar.
Nobody is coming back.
Nobody is coming back.
My wrists are full of dead friends.
NOBODY IS COMING BACK.
And the universe replies "but when they do..."
Everything is always a hesitance. Why can't something be forever?
My words will die the day I do and what will be left of me?
A promise? A broken promise?
A broken promise.
I hope you know by my poems if I am doing well or not.
I hope you know it's usually the latter.
I hope you know I have loved you as long as I have thought
and oh, I have thought.
/
/
/
the universe never saw this coming
the universe quiets his mouth, lets her speak with only her tongue,
tries to decipher the back and forth.
the universe never knew I was a shadow.
nobody knew.
and all that's left, when the echoes die
all that's left will always be our prolonging.
our promise? our broken promise?
a broken promise.

Is it a mystical force

Within me

That shuts the streetlight down

As I pass beneath?

That quiets the crickets

As I stride by

At this ridiculous time of day?

Such silly girlhood notions

To imagine I posses that kind of power

And I thought those childhood fantasies

Were evacuated

Must be hiding away from the darkness

Behind my spleen

Undectable to me.

Thai China
buzzes
because
we
buzz.

It quiets
because
we
quiet.

I'm at the end of my stamina,
me and you,
we've had a few beers;
got to talking;
and BAM!!!:

WE"RE MOROSE.


The business crowd
goes crazy
for some Thai China.

The tempers
calm
over hot bowls of white rice
(costing $5)
that steam up into
hooked noses.

Our lips,
juicy by now,
are so numb
that
we gave up talking a minute a go.

And got into a *****, male mood.

We just stare at the girls,
the waitresses,
wanting to **** them
in our nasty dreams.

Wanting to stick
our *****
in EVERY HOLE,
but we just get drunker
and drunker
and stir over
our bowls of rice.

The business
of business
commences;
our suppressed urges
and office angers
dull
by the mouthful.

In life, we have those moments.
Those moments where,
everything seems to stop.

And the only thing that seems to matter,
is you, and anybody in that moment.

Your heart beats faster than
it ever has before
and everything is now
in slow motion.

The rain even seems to fall slower.
The wind quiets
and in the distance you can hear
a Lynyrd Skynard song
or maybe it's Bob Dylan.

But it's smooth and calming
and you feel like the moment
couldn't possibly end,
but it does.

Like all things it, it too must end sometime.
But you know what's really great?
We can always make more.

I've had a lot of moments,
with you.
They take my breath away
and remind me.

They remind me that no matter
how I'm feeling:
Angry
Excited
Glum
Happy
that I'm ALIVE

Mon Cheri
You are the best thing
that has ever happened to me.

I was once petrified
at even the thought
of uttering any sentence
close to that.

To admitting how I feel.
Especially to myself.
I was terrified of getting
broken.

But that's apart of life!
To be upset, happy, scared, confused,
Full of love.

And we as people
are not like the broken glass
in the alleys of the cities.

We are humans!
Resilient! Persevering!
Not just surviving but living!

And what do we live for,
if not love?

Mon Cheri,
you have my heart.
My everything.
Everything I have to offer
it's all yours.

You are my one.
I will make no comparisons
of princes and princesses,
or of fairytales and fables.
We are not those things.
Make believe.

We are the realist thing
I have ever had the chance
to be apart of.

We're human.

We make mistakes.
We scream.
We cry.
We get hurt
and we kiss the broken parts
of ourselves.

But, amazingly,

We also help each other.
We laugh.
We love.
We pick each other up
when we fall.
And we kiss the broken parts
of each other.

We have love between us.
It's similar to Kryptonite
for Superman.

It's the source of his strength
which makes him invincible.
but it's also his weakness.

We'll get hurt sometimes.

But together
we are still invincible.
You literally make me feel
like I'm flying.

Like I was saying about moments.

There have been moments where
you're in front of me and
tears are sliding down my face
and I feel as though my heart
is banging on my chest,
trying to escape the pain.

Where we're yelling and I'm
afraid we're going to lose each other.
Where your eyes are full of tears too.
Where I don't think we'll make it through.

But we do.

And then the relief washes over us.
And suddenly, we're clinging to each other
for dear life.

And in those moments, I'm absolutely sure
that I NEVER want to lose you.

Arms, legs, and lips are intertwined.
Hugging, kissing, laughing.
Like we never had before.

I love all of those moments.

I love the moments on a lazy Sunday.
Where we wake up, make love and just
hold each other. Just enjoying the morning.
As the light creeps through the window
dancing on our bare skin
and smiles are stretched across our faces
and our hearts are full
and we whisper to each other and laugh.

I love our adventurous moments,
where you scare me to death
and I shout your name and smack your arm.
But really,
I'm laughing on the inside.

I love the moments spent on the couch,
fighting over what to watch, or
playing video games.

I love the moments we spend in the shower,
it just feels so normal.
So comfortable.

I love the moments when we
go on dates. How you hold
my door, hold my hand,
hold me.

So many moments spent together.
Doing normal everyday things
with you is so much better
than alone.

They just become so full of love.
They become moments.
Things to appreciate.

Even sleeping next to you is better.
You keep the nightmares away.
You keep me safe.

I love you Mon Cheri,
for everything you do,
for every part of you.

From your messy hair
to your toes.

For every piece of you,

From your kind and sweet words
to your ADHD.

I love how loud, how vibrant you are.
I love how excited you get for things,
you could never annoy me.
Everything that makes you who you are,
I love it.
and I love you.

With every part of me.
Even the parts you don't particularly like,
but I know that you still love.
Oh darling,
even with all these words,
they still don't come close at all
to how much I love and care for you.

Oh, my darling.
Mon Cheri.

The year
1966.
Manson was on his spree
Hippies chilled the breeze.
Chicks dancing with rubies on hips.
Then came 1967
Hendrix wowed the crowd
Janis Joplins soul came out
Music splashed
Hallucinogenic heaven.
1968, patterns of clothing
Seemed to be from faraway.
It wasn't American to the main stream
Still wouldn't be today.
1969, Woodstock, the time
Of all togetherness, and weightless
Rockers heads filled with dust and buds.
Cities broke to riots
Gangbanging quiets over colors lust!
1970, met grandmammy
Touched the farmers scene.
Found the happy
In the sixties baby in me.
Today, now a mountain boy
On a machine that cuts down anything
In its way.
The farming hand
Making a living off of dirt and hay.
Spit and clay.

The shades of the red
Painted in the sky
Let me know
The end of today is nigh

Soon the dark
Night would befall
Uneasiness restlessness
Gets filled in my soul

But the truth comes
Before my eyes
The mighty time
Always flies

It always goes on
Never stopping is its art
The fear quiets
In my soul and heart

From my mouth
Comes a sigh
From today
I take a goodbye

In the morrow
See you soon
Be on time
Like this night's moon

A new tomorrow
Would begin
Just same as today
Because it's today's twin

The vocals scream into my ears, you'd think my thoughts would bend in rage.
Instead a sudden peace crosses over, engulfing me wholly in a blanket of relief.
The lyrics take me to a place of calm. No chaos in the world I now reside.
It's as though everything reaches a halt. All feelings are vaporized.
The music slowly pulls them away with the wind. And I'm left with relief.
Then the music quiets, the song is now ending. And the feelings return to a solid form
They fall back into my head, crushing everything in their path.
Until the beat starts again,
And the process begins once more.

I found it while unpacking boxes of old books in the basement.
It slipped out of a Spanish to English
dictionary that I probably smuggled out
of a middle school library ten years ago
and haven't opened since.

I knew what it was, of course-
whole years were spent with bad posture
listening to substitute teachers and CCD carpool-drivers
lecture about the bold beauty and senseless frailty
that was youth.
Their bodies were at once tense and earnest.
Their voices were at once condescending and pleading as
they sang deeply of the space we blindly occupied and
they fiercely missed.

My understanding of youth was a
sepia-streak stumble through tall reeds below an open
sky; taking clumsy steps on sea-cut feet
and one day regretting not passing enough
notes kept folded in pockets or taking
enough pictures of the faces whom I ran beside.

Youth, obviously, is subjective-
It can be teased up or sculpted-in tight
in relation to circumstance.
In my own mind youth is a cool breeze,  glory days thing- like prom night or my first kiss.
Really each took place years ago but, since they didn’t
carry the weight or sheen I was told they should,
I still sit tight and wait for them.

They will find me eventually.
They’ll arrive a loud booming from a furious sky that births open-prairie rainfall that quiets my
teenage sadness as I sit shotgun
in some boy’s pickup and we race
a  cornfield to the Wyoming border.

The fact that I’m in my twenties is irrelevant.
The fact that I live in New England, where corn is imported and gas is expensive, is not worth noting.

So when, in the basement among the books I've hoarded and arranged around me like armor,
I saw my golden-ticket youth slip
out between pages and waft slowly down, I let it  hit the ground.
I could have crushed it with a sneakered sole
like a cigarette or crumbled it into nothing with shaking fingers.
I could have let it careen down between damp paperbacks to
the box’s bottom and know for certain it
would never reemerge.

But, surprisingly, I didn’t want to.
It was light and lovely in a way I would have never guessed.
It wasn’t as sticky as I thought it’d be.
In fact, as I flipped my hair forward and
double-no-triple knotted the bouncy, silky strings
(Strings that felt more like existing than regretting)
at the nape of my neck- a smile so severe I thought I'd crack found it's way to me.

My youth will never be something I flip through
like a catalogue and miss and cry out for. I will never
be haunted by it nor will I conjure it
around a fire while trying to make a point.
I won’t tell ghost stories about my youth
to bored kids because I am not going to let it die.

I saw it today. For the first time I could touch
it and smell it and I realized it didn’t have to be
the sarcophagus of who I was,
but instead could serve as the shifting
and stretching prologue to who I will be.

I’ll let it hang loose and light from my neck.
Its colors will fade in the sun and its beads will
probably warp as it trapezes altitudes and climates.
It will dull and tarnish.
It won’t stay pretty but neither will I.

I’ll gladly sacrifice any lace and filtered polaroid memories
and oft-repeared stories of my youth; kept behind glass and propped up among rags at a museum exhibit,
for the low belly excitement of closing my eyes today and not knowing what I'll see when I open them tomorrow.

hope
is
a bird with wings
and
it
quiets
the storm

how long to live through the next thought
to have a brief encounter with time
an impossible time of intolerable anguish
where embarking upon a sentence
is a violent wrench from perceived notions
of reality, one that causes nerves
to flay upon my body with weal's of words
where vatic poetry is wrought in trembling rages
spilling, dripping upon the traumatised
parchment that is my pages
in de-congealing interrelated drops of image
that crack the pavements
in a visual vibrancy of taut creative tension
where these words keep their own company
and speak in interrogative tongues
causing a fragmentation of earthquake fissures
to radiate across my mind in a cataclysm
of universal poison that quiets and dissolves stability
and asks, no demands of me, what can you see?

And when everything quiets down,
when the dirt settled at the bottom of the jar,
you start to crawl your way inside my mind.
the familiar temperature.
the warm feeling of yellow.

And the pain continues.

This kiss is the last word tonight
It mutes your soft whisper
And the comfort of your voice
Leaving musings on my side of the bed

This noise of a thousand thoughts
It drowns out your breathing
And the silence of the night
As words toss and turn inside my head

This secret is locked in my heart
It veils all our untold stories
Like poetry behind closed eyes
Dreaming that it won’t remain unsaid

This evasion of verbal confrontation
It quiets the bemusing pieces
That would come out misshapen
Making unspokenness easier than regret

an aqua silence
balances a reflected peace
a restrained light
while I wait in filtered hush
and the fish refuse to bite

an aqua silence
stills me, re-fills me,
tells me to wait further
to rest longer
and not wonder why
the fish refuse to bite

an aqua silence
quiets me, speaks to me,
seeps deep in me
while I weigh the possibility
that the fish have it right
when they refuse to bite

I sit in aqua peace
and refuse to bite

I grew up in here,
been here my whole life,
nothing better
really...
just isn't, the air’s...
just a tad sweeter than anywhere else.
It’s the water, or the hills... But who am I,
I haven’t seem far beyond my window,
I wish I could roam endless alone
In the forests, then, I’d capture
each ounce of daylight
like fireflies
in a bottle.

But now it seems,
here in this rundown castle,
Night is the only thing I treasure.
When the castle quiets I can hear the hills speak,
I feel
the ground breathing. I know not to listen to nobody about nothing anymore,
Cause
the earth and the trees, they’ve been here the longest,
we stand around,
thinking...
good...
cause we know something, but if theres one thing I know,
its that knowing ain't nothing.

I can’t wait for England, to see the world,
I feel like learning
though it hasn’t helped yet,
anyway,
I’m alone in this mind, this world is me, and I know nothing of it.

As the Phoenix rose from her ashes
And the Dragon silenced his roar
The distant lighting flashes
And he swoons as he watches her soar
For he had seen never something so bright
She burned with a fire that could not be doused
In this the Dragon felt contrite
And all her enemies the Phoenix would roust
She had this way about her, something so soothing and warm
Legend told of her beauty and intensity
And how she could calm every storm
The Dragon enjoyed her propensity
He found her beautiful, alluring and strong
The Dragon was mesmerized by her brilliance
She sang such a beautiful song
She exalted such resilience
The Dragon could not help but sing along
Though the Phoenix may have her battles, she will always win the war
For the Dragon sees the warrior
And her magic quiets his roar
So the Dragon is no longer a worrier
She moves in a way that's enticing
With every move that she makes
The Dragon will never abandon her
No matter how hard the ground quakes
The Phoenix is a one of a kind
An answer to a prayer
There is no greater light that the Dragon could find
Than the beauty of the Phoenix's flare

The silences surround you,
As leaves fall in the breeze.
The quiets all around you,
As the wind blows through the trees.
You hear nothing in the distance,
As the cars go flying by.
You listen very carefully,
As you look around and sigh.
You were hoping for a miracle, excitement, something good,
But nothing ever happens, as it should.
Birds twitter in the trees,
But you hear nothing in the air.
Dogs bark among themselves,
Loud and without care.
The silences surround you,
Cans roll along the ground,
The quiets all around you,
Never to be found.

As your eyes go
& your skin turns
away from me

I feel the energy transfer
In heat waves
& headaches;
Apathy.

I look at you
and I’m sorry
for the way that I am.

For you
are all
that I’ve lost;
Sensitivity.

Theres a calm
that comes
when I’m not.

Eyes downcast
only wanting
to be pulled in close.
you do.

You are all that I’m not;
Tenderness.

You hold my face
in your hands
and make me small

When our eyes meet
we go away.

for a moment,
the world quiets.

You are all that I need;
Trust.

Listening now
all I hear
are slow waves

& suddenly
I'm lost
in turquoise.

I want to take you there.

hiding in the siren silence
within sight of invites of violence
in the sky the plight of tyrants
righteous mighty fighter pilots

biased bombs in flights of guidance
goliath might, the fire of giants
without a fight or try of defiance
set alight in frying alliance

in the final piles of subsidence
the dying cries of compliance
the price they paid is the highest
the siren silence finally quiets

Sleep is a trial period for suicide
You lay there, try to fall asleep
          trying to end it all
Your mind doesn't quiet down
You run through everything from that day
          everything in your life
And slowly the talking quiets
Slowly you start getting peace
          slowly you start to hear everything around you less and less
          every voice, every noise is fuzzy
Your eyes get heavy
          your eyes get heavy
You let the idea of temporary sleep take over you
          you let the idea of sleep take over you
You sleep, for however long you can
          you sleep for forever
But you wake up
          you don't wake up
And you get up and you live your life
Because you're too afraid of what suicide means
You're too afraid of what you leave behind
You're too afraid of leaving your mom
To leave her to grieve her only daughter
Her world
You're too afraid to leave your cat
Who loves you dearly
And wouldn't know why you abandoned her
When she was sent down from heaven
To save you
But you can only put so much pressure on an animal
But know matter how sad you get
You know you could never take your own life
So you go to sleep
Because sleep is suicide for the scared

i have found
          i have found what
i               have
    
        found what you taste like

you taste like the rusty feathers of a sighing ocean
tempest.         like              the             .

          you taste like a shower of stars crackling
on the belly of the night. white and stiff and minute and.

               like  taste you i. salty. and. put my skin on yours
the most supreme dominion of sudden heart beats sanguine
          pump
                      loose strands of limbs tangled. you,i,taste like you taste like
a
            burst of life in the arteries of the still sons. a delicious
          
              BLOSsom
                                                            slippery petals finger split.

   like  the     rain. do you taste. falling.              enshrouds the crown
of my devotions.               flavor riot                          !

                y.ou     are   taste    like  i like to taste you)

     like the sun likes to taste the mountain girls breast crumbs
                                    jutting
pink. pleasure crumbles from your shivering.

                         and how are your bones so diligently under
your skin? and i lick them. and they are mine. for but a moment.
  but i
                     am
yours                                    till                quiets

the stutter             of          my          flittering         red muscles;

                   .

I rock to sleep a brown-eyed beauty
and hum a tune you once played for me.
A haunting melody,
intended for harmony,
quiets her tears but unleashes mine.

She may never know the way
a lullaby sounds
as it leaves your lips.

Come home soon.

Where a man goes
Often in repose,
Alone in candle light.-
Right. By his own designs...

He doesn't have to answer,
Can drop the role of dancer
And take just whatever.-
Endeavours he has on his mind

As fully as the coming breeze
Breathing in how it frees
His thoughts and ambitions.-
Intuitions resparked because of this...

Where a man goes
To lay down his axe, he knows.-
That in the moment when his body quiets.-
Riots cease and he can dream.|
That no one or thing,
Regardless of the news or excitement it would bring,
Cannot shake him, wake him or.-
Roar so loud as to be noticed.

This is where a man goes in fear.
Where when poverty and idle living, and beer.-
Cloud body and mind.-
Grind hope to crumbs.|
And stand on the perch of desperation,
Alone in fear and perspiration,
Dying for something to do,
Viewing savings turn to dried flies.

Returning always to where a man goes,
Delaying what he knows
To be all too true.
Do or die, or start anew.-

The days grow longer my temper shorter

Houses are built of brick and mortar

Buildings collapse plants die and wither

The only flowers a’ bloom are ragweed and heather

This circle repeats on and on forever

What can we do to change?

To alter it in some way?

When light is closing and the day is done

We’ll ride towards the sunset on the open range

Home comes closer as the light is gone

At the end of the day one fact remains

Tempers still rise and cause great pains

Is it the change in seasons that causes the decline in civility?

Or are we so easily swayed that silly quarrels can ruin a family?

It is better to stop and think before we speak

Than wait until the havoc has been wreaked

Admit you erred when last your temper flared

Like a roaring tempest that resides once the damage is done

Speak up be heard your voice can be the one

That stops the chaos and quiets the shouting voices

And makes loved ones put aside petty annoyances

Loves forgiveness is stronger than any fickle fight

Resolve your problems before the sun goes to bed and you must say goodnight