Why Again?

She had wanted me,
there was no pretense
on her veneered face.
She had lain her flushed
body on my couch, and
despite the blaring view of
her globes piercing
my sexual eye the only
thing I could ponder
was if she was mussing
the velvet cushion with her
moisture.

Never mind the fact that
all of my erogenous zones
perked up, that a soldier was
saluting his captain or that
headlights were in my doe eyes,
her juices were on my very expensive,
not that it mattered mind you,
but very expensive
couch cushion.

When she turned and crooked
an inviting finger at me I stood
still, resisting the worm on her hook
still thinking of the last time this
happened and the awful ordeal
with the Vietnamese woman
at the dry cleaners.

Something funny happened to me

the other day.
I watched the rise of
neo-fascism,
trumpet blare and all.

I feigned patience in line
at a coffee house
I frequently adore,
eagerly awaiting my
hot bean juice
when slowly, my ears
perked up to the scene
unfolding before
me.

I think my life flashed
before my eyes.
It’s supposed to do that
you know,
right before you die.

I took a step back
almost falling over my mind,
crouched in terror on the floor.
One question floating
in the air around me.

What the Hell
is
a
half-caf
half soy/half skim
low cal
unsweetened
caramel
half cappuccino
half latté
chai on top
with whipped cream
and a twist of lemon?

I tried very hard
to hold my composure,
and did, save a small
“What the?”
as my friend the barista
attempted to pool
all of her caffeine powers
and conjure this drink
from Never Never Land
I shook my head
Yearning

to explode in a fury
of uncouth words
Enforcing the opinion that
such an abomination was a travesty
of the human race and
by the Geneva Conventions
must be tried by
Military Tribunal.

But,
I didn’t.
Instead, I just watched
as the Clueless twenty-something
chattering away on her cell phone
grabbed her concoction without so much
as a nod of thanks and
passed through the door
with a hauntingly familiar
straight legged march.

I
took a step forward,
and said
“Coffee, black”
hovering for a tick and
Executing the scene with
a quick draw
“Please.”

Punk

The quilt covered walls
gasped loudly when I realized
I had never called Grandma
a cunt,
But I should have when the runners
had finally come to a decision and the
geraniums had gone to Mom, the paintings
to Dad and the antique thimble collection
to the disparaged adolescent sulking
in a putrid pool of self-loathing
imagination, gunshots and bloody bathwater.

Marketing Messiah

It was the street lights.

They had brought you out
from the tarnished shadows
so that you could gleam for me.

The plaza bustled,
barely containing the
flury of businessmen in suits
and shoppers succinctly shifting bags
from arm to arm as they
stood still, laughing in front of
the sparkling displays of ugly shoes
pretending they thought such atrocities
were beautiful.

They might have stared at you,
or I should say they would have
stared at you, if they hadn’t been blinded
by the Prada handbag
with the tacky buckles.

You aren’t blind though, are you.
You sat there and stared
into the planter of a sickly shrub
that held the remnants
of a Happy
Meal.

I approached to see what you
were devouring with empty eyes
full of such intense focus.

You noticed my awareness, stood
and went away, almost running.
I thought of chasing you down
and forcing a conversation on you
but saw no logic in the act and
crouched where you had stooped
instead.

It took a moment
for me to see
and another
to understand.
Why had you bled so much
intent upon the ground by
an ordinary slice of sidewalk?

Was it the curse word
carved in concrete or
the slippery pattern of the stained
ground?

Was it the self important
posture of the shrub
that struck you so
or the thundering march of
ants along the metal grate?

I did see the shadow
that looked like
some sort of savior
from the name brand temple
around me and
savored the moment where
I alone noted the microcosm.

Did you?

or had your shoelace
unraveled its twisted
form, forcing you
to squat there
on the dirty
street by
the
sickly bush
in front of an ugly
handbag with tacky buckles
for me to notice under a
street light with my
bags weighing
heavily
on my arms?

In Earnest Its Just a Coca-Cola

I offered you something to drink.

In return you handed me an effigy
of my self, already aflame.

Honestly though, I suppose I should
have expected that after I rode
your heart out on a rail, laughing at
the feathers that waved good bye
as the wind plucked them from the tar.

It was a strange war, the one we fought.
Our hearts stood strong in their camps, marching everyday.
In the morning light our heads devised new weapons systems
and spent all night with Liver and Genitals,
losing themselves and sleeping around.

Even now the tensions are still high, I see.
For my small attempt at diplomacy
has escalated into a fire fight between our eyes.
Upon hearing this news my stomach cringes with resentful anticipation
and my lungs let out more disappointment.

A Moment By the Sea

I found myself between a rock and soft breast.
Wisping fabric floating on a light breeze,
the cliffs breathing heavily onto the ocean,
the trees bobbing their heads to the undertones,
the grass beneath, with broken backs, still tried
to bear the weight we pushed on them,
as I wiped the dewey tear from your cheek.
I drank in your scent rushing over the earth and
my soul ruptured bright and oozed from my eyes
falling smoothly into yours.

That Look You Gave Me

In a dark corner
sits a solemn stare.
A blazing look that
speaks the world.
Without a peep or
a single sigh it
Sits very simply and
Stares.
Fiery eyes flood
with iceand become
barbed spears that
Ignore nature and refuse
to melt.
Wicked weapons of
Quiet that rip and tear
and blanket the ground
with a cold sticky carpet of
blood.

Rearranging Furniture

Every Now and Then I
believe it Is useful to rearrange the furniture
In my mind.

To take a breath and
blow all of that cluttering dust
and old post-it notes filled with thoughts
into a giant dumpster and wave goodbye
smiling as I turn the corner.

I think it’s useful to pull that old dresser
out from the wall and stick it somewhere obnoxious.
Move the bed where all my dreams go to die
and throw the mattress up against the wall,
then move the frame across the room.

I find it useful to mix my mind up a bit.
Just to make sense of the things that have happened to me.

So when I say I’ve decided to go mad,
It has nothing to do with actually being insane.
That quality of mine is everlastingly permanent.

When I’ve decided to go mad
it is simply time to make a little more room.
A small act just to allow space
to fill with more unwanted crap
that no one understands or needs.

If Only

If only I could grab you
and wrap you tightly in my arms.
If only I had strength enough
to sweep you off your feet.
If only you weren’t so far away.
If only your words didn’t seem
to float just outside my grasp.
If only I knew the magic words
to make it all just seem okay.
If only I knew how to apologize
and not push the moment over the edge.
If only I could know exactly what you
feel,
What you think.

Then maybe I’d be a better partner.
If only I wasn’t so bad already.

Pleasantly Drowning

When I make you mad
a strange set of switches flip
and I suddenly
realize just how much my heart
yearns for yours.

In those precious seconds,
where I could possibly save
the situation,
my feeble attempts do nothing but
force a wedge in the dam’s crack.

When the flood hits me
it comes not in words
or raised voices
but in your tone and language.
an almost silent riptide that
pulls me from my feet.

Then when the inky
water starts to pull
me from my sputtering
and nonsense ramblings
and down into its depths…
I suddenly know,
not just think,
but know just how
much I love you.

By the bursting
pain that runs through my lungs.

By the flailing lack of control
my limbs seem to master.

By the guilt
that forces me to question
How exactly I am able to
keep you
by
my
side
when
I do the things that inevitably make it worse
And when I say the things that only seem to bring
me a foot deeper and the surface a foot farther away.

I believe I love you
not only because of the
glowing ring above your head or
the shimmering wings you hide so well,
but because you hand me a ladder
when my perpetual watery hole has gotten too deep
to handle.

1:11 AM

At chopsticks minus one:
There is nothing.
Volumeless sound
Unspeakable verses

I start to think
That I understand

These are the notions
the musings I pursue
as I flick somethings
from my bed sheets

Fleeting thoughts
of slaying beasties
slip through my fingers
where the controls
sat earlier.

I fall back onto
pillows of endless dreams.
Seeking sunlight on days
where only the lifeless
clouds of grey seem to float,
giving nothing but that melancholy
I need.

and

I want.

I apologize to you
if I control the weather.

Gloomy uninteresting skies
are all I predict.
Dull
Matte
Boring
and grey.

But
So is life.
You’ve been there, I know you have.

Life doesn’t exist without the
days filled with
grey.

That grey
The one that pervades the soul.

The grey of one who has lost.
The grey of one without
Grey.
Only grey.

Needless Worry

I made myself worry again.
I say again when really it’s always.

I could never tell you.
Not even if you paraded a Sultan’s
treasure in front of me.
I just wouldn’t be able to pull my heart out of the well I’ve
hidden it in.

I haven’t taken it out in a while.
I think it likes it down in the
musty, moldy black, at least
I never hear it complain.

Maybe that’s because my ears
are down there too.

That’s not even the problem though.

Even if I somehow gathered up the small
Tidbits of my courage and
decided I could pull it out of the water,
The words I would have practiced
over and over in my head
would leave and fly away.
Unfurl huge canvas sails
and float out the holes where
my ears used to be and slip
onto the rivers where all my other thoughts
seem to go.

The only thing that I have anchored is you.

Yeah, try to pull that load of baggage away.
Isn’t going to happen.

My whole point is that I worried.
I almost cried.
It was late; you said we would talk later.
But it only got later.

My mind didn’t flood with the myriad
of flippant colors that is a dream
but with the stagnant flowing tar of
unadulterated, poisoning thought.

I realized something in the midst of
this.

I realized what love is,
Not what it feels like.
Everyone has felt love,
but the actual fiber its warm blanket is woven from?

It’s a hearty blend of desire and jealousy and hate and happiness and
a multitude of feelings from the entire spectrum
all of them pressed tightly together.

So when I should be cozy and carefree
under covers, all I feel is cold and clammy.
So when you don’t call when I thought you would
all the happiness melts away and the
beach fills with warped logs of concern
and a thick tangle of anxious seaweed.

Insomnia

I’ve noticed
by a severe lack of curiosity
that “they”
say a lot of things.

They say up is up
and black is black
as well as a great deal of
rubbish that everyone
knows,
and therefore don’t ever actually say.

They also say that
love comes from the
heart.

This is completely,
utterly,
and irrevocably
wrong.

If love came
from the heart
then no one
would say it…
However, they do on a regular basis, every single day.

So
upon deep and
intense contemplation,
I finally realized
that if not from the heart

Where exactly love comes from.

Love lies in the warmth of a kiss
in the heat of a hug
in the shared comfort of bed sheets.

Love comes from an airy laugh on a summer day
from a dark whisper in the failing light
from the shadows of a candle lit frame.

Love is a word.
It comes from lips.
But love is a thought
a memory
a hope
a speck of time.

Love is you and me.
It comes from us.
So forget about they
and tell me where your heart is.

White Noise

There they sit
in silence.

White flowers
capped,
floating in space,
wrapped in snow.

A disturbing mixture of
beauty and pain.
A juxtaposition
of awe and desperation

There is no protest.

They just are,
existing in the frosty haze
As if there is nothing
wrong.

There is no screaming.
No ranting.
No pissy moods.
Just complacency.

The soft petals
seem cozy
despite the piercing cold
that their blanket
affords them.

Wouldn't it be nice
to live with
the knowledge that death
is coming, and still
float, as if everything
was right?

And now
as smoke trickles
from my fingers
I pull my thoughts
around me and
begin to envy those
small white
balls of fluff.
And I wish
it could
be
that
easy.

Weather

The blustery wind
hails a fateful warning
in the mind of one who loves.
A titan of a storm approaches
One to shake the foundation.
Do not shut the shutters.
Do not close yourself in the closet.
Stand straight, strong and open,
eyes on the Clouds.
Accept the storm as a blessing
and let it weather you.
So when the next one
comes along you wont be
swept from your stead
and into the dark.

The Night i Said I Love You

The sky was crying.

i can't say why, or how.
only that dry tears fell,
Aimlessly.

i had spoken those words.
You know, the ones that
always sit, knees tucked in tight.
gently rocking.
They rarely raise their head,
except for some reason
they jumped up and
screamed at me until
I had to acknowledge them--
bright and wicked.
strong and quiet.

I had scorned them for so long
sitting there,
Pathetic.

Maybe i should have
cut them down.
Forced them back into
submission.

They would still be there though.
sitting.
waiting.
like some overzealous tea kettle,
billowing steam from the stove top,
that will hiss, patiently,
mocking you in secrecy
from the other room.

I kicked them out though
the freeloading sons of bitches.
I set them to the street,
those silently whistling words.
who cares anyway,
their work here was
finished.

i miss them now.

a chasm has replaced the silent patience
and try as i may, no amount of pain can fill it.
they brought me comfort,
though i cant say how, or why.

and i wish,
As the rain collects
In my upturned eyes,
that i had listened.

to the rocking in the dark

Allegory #1

The sprightly stream bubbles on, flowing forth from the crack where it began and into stronger currents yet to come. It grows in strength and speed with each crumbling bank and overly stubborn boulder it passes, roaring and rushing around what it can, but pulling with it a smattering of pebbles and gallons of sand, a collection of undesired souvenirs. A roaring creek then falls complacent, forging its way to calmer places. Then meandering, barely moving, through pastures and fields until it spreads unwittingly to the sea.

Does the river ever forget the brook, the solemn simpleness of its beginning? Or, is it much like it started, a peaceful, blissful reverence?

Senru #1

If my toes could talk
they would say that life is damp
but Fuck them, Live on.

Oak

An oak stands solemn,
The wind washing through its branches.
A split trunk and fusing limbs
strain, fighting some absent weight.

Of sleepless nights and angry days
The tree still stands, gnarled and steadfast.
How does it survive the ever changing
torments of scorching heat and dagger like cold?

Why can't I stand so proud?

I feel like failure is coming from
all sides, I feel like nothing will come
from this. I feel so lost and so
desperate for answers that I
can only try to bear the wind.

Perhaps I am only a sapling.
Perhaps my branches have only begun
to tangle, my trunk to stand straight.
Perhaps I am meant to bear my weight
now, to ease my journey later.

But I am so tired... I am so Tired.

Now I sit and contemplate
this twisted and warped tree.
And as the light of the afternoon fades,
bathing the nearly broken branches
in a warm glow,
I ask in a solemn voice.

“Why? Please, please tell me.
What is to come?”

Exquisite Agony

Perfect
harmony, shaped and
polished on a face.
Pure, priceless innocence
found in the smell
of a perfumed nape,
smoothed flesh
and curves.

The fairer sex
becomes all the fairer
when there is
None
around to hold you.

Like brightly shining
sapphires dripping arsenic,
they place daggers in
the mind. Forcing
us to long for the pain,
because we would rather
be hurt than alone.

There is no greater drug
than the love
of a woman.
It hooks you
with a sideways glance
and instantly digs
fiery nails into
the heart.
A white knuckle grasp
that can never
be fully
shaken off.