the sieve and the sand

i am a moment
abandoned
for fantasy

you sneak passed
my gravity and if i
stay i’d give credance to
fate

if i did that i’d be lying

and moments they don’t
lie.

we string together memories
of the same place again and again
trying to add flowers or balloons
or whatever will make the same
sidewalk more colorful
on that perfect sunny day we
return to as we write poetry
in our heads just like when we
were 20 and invincible

and losing grip
we turn the music up louder
and smile at our dancing partner
hoping they fade around the same time

I don’t wanna go home.
I don’t even know
where home
is.

In mother’s July she found her peace.
Idyllic wave smoothed stones assembled a bed
With winding loops like colored carnival lollipops.
Where sunnies and seaweed, though it was an alga, tasted the fresh water
Far from fresh; muddied, blooded, piss-acrid, and briny in spite of its namesake.
But perfect, or so she concluded,
At what couldn’t be a more perfect occasion.
For sake of argument, it’s difficult to disagree:
Cloudless. Cerulean.
Coniferous. Celadon.
Needle soaked, and she, waterlogged.
Bridged branches coiling over the rivulet,
Rickety straw fingers bending in for a slurp fragilely held her clothes.
A mundane setting sun bouncing bronze flecks from her jeweled hands.
A bright spark reflecting from the bullion necklace.
A flaming candle over a heart far from beating.

I smelled something then, tied irrevocably to the keenest of senses
A stench which has transcended the corrosion of decades.
Until I join her, these prayers beg never to smell it again.

all the
little white rocks under
my feet
sting as they stab
in to the skin with their
sharp edges and corners
and I walk funny
trying to pretend that I
don’t feel it

But you can still see me
walking funny
with the slight lean
and the slow roll
heel-to-toe
stepping so
gingerly,
carefully,

The only aim
to get off of these
little white rocks
as soon as possible
not because it hurts
but so you won’t
see me
walk funny

some say love
is like a river
but they’re full of it
they’re all old
and stupid folks

the truth is love
is much more like a pond
or a puddle
filled with stagnant
moss
thriving on sun ripened
bacteria

the puddle will never
fade
but it wont be pretty either

Sally squanders bits of youth on the dance floor
like a tit in a trance, boogying towards death without resistance,
her body quivers and twitches in a lovely meaningless despair,
she is digging for truth. Intangible and eternal.
Her beauty is in the moment; a transient luminiscent energy firing up her atoms in an electric storm. 
    

I don’t know what I’m expecting
I hardly know what to expect
when I
shift my body ever so slightly
to the right
and get just enough of a view
to see that point of interest
(At least a point of my interest)
off in the distance

Back and forth and back
and forth my gaze wanders
body twisting
left and right and back to where
I can see
but what? I do not know.
It is unexpected.

\\\on this given day
–we write in your language
on the L[an(231)]D we TOOK
from
you
777777in gasping sighs
and animal grunts
..eating
and sh1111111iting
a_____s class\\\\\less
middle of^ th#e ro0oad
m:::::o<<<<dels////
of an outdated design;
dea
d words{272634}
,

dead senses.

grease-blackened hands denote
either
recent hardship
or
rent paid
by the fingers that work
furiously
on those grease-blackened hands
to
the bolts and springs and
nuts
and parts that click and shake
when
everything is working properly.
but
goodness, it’s so hard
sometimes
to either wallow in despair, or
to
bring yourself to bear
against
the parts that always
cause
that mess in the bathroom.
Grease
permeates the situation.
That’s
that, sometimes. Now
get
to work.

Everything looks different.
Feels different.
Tastes different.
Height that commands attention.

And from here,
Well,

way

down

here,

Is where you find yourself
Always looking up.

oh i write brilliantly when the sun has been hiding behind the clouds for months at a time and i’m frozen. my down jackets and extra layers of all-humanity-is-suffering-alongside-of-me socks bring out the best in my desire for clouds and trees and something which will bring me joy. the hope on the horizon of the summer they claim will come.

but then i up and moved to where the sun will never fail to shine and i cannot pass the hour without both a hat and sunglasses (an accessory i’ve never used in my whole life and thus had to purchase the kind that fades in and out but embarrasses my wife when indoors and still slightly faded – but i love it because at the core of me i love when i’m judged a fool). now the mountains scream beauty to me every day and the last of our issues are being worked out in a city that actually serves donuts.

yes i’m afraid i’ve shot myself in the foot. or as a writer should perhaps better say – in the hand. i fear these bones will continue to type or write into oblivion or at least eternity and be wrought with not even the slightest of inspiration thus bringing you fear, trembling, joy, love, beauty, and everything you ever longed for

sans poetry.

she is a razor blade
in skinny jeans and i’m trying
hard i guess
not to look but to look all the same
like disasters on tv
the downtown looks like a place
for razorblades to be.

The vastness of humanitiy’s opinions is staggering
and quite difficult to conceive, just as it is
similarly difficult to conceive an opinion
on the vastness of humanity

Are we what we say we are?
and who is we? Is it Science?
I didn’t vote for Science.

Was it God? Can he/she/it/we
give us another stab at
the definition? Oh goodness.

I hope we aren’t graded on spelling
(metaphorically speaking),
or I fear we might have failed this test.

sleep
cereal
tea
bible
pray
feed kids
bike
run
share
lunch
encourage
dream
pray
share
tea
more tea
shake
bike home
feed kids
chillax with the wife
rinse
repeat

Last night, a god dreamt about me,
and I saw myself in the flow of his dream.
Amidst the vortex of  thunderous thoughts,
the eye of creation  was ever watchful.
It was a moment of intense gratification and heightned love,
for this sublime higher being had a spot for me in his consciousness.
I was the  red wine stain on the cosmos’s wedding gown.
The universe was festive and I was bold and depraved,
wildly engulfing myself in the brightest stream of light.
I had not a care. I was a mere fabrication,
thereby disengaged from any morale obligations.
Far from the grasp of gravity and
the vicissitudes of a life rooted in a consensual reality,
i stemmed from the dream instead and 
bloomed in vivid space.
I was
Aghast-marasmic
no
more.   

we can see for miles
on these hills they measured in meters
and beat our heads firmly
on rocks placed here as an ebenezer
by our ancestors.

that or we can buy donuts
beer
and celebrate

We were not
invited.
So, sorely,
we exit,
and hope that
we entered
unnoticed

But next time,

we’ll knock down
the punch bowl,
shake up the
stereo
summon some
hell to break
loose, loose loose.

oh, then we’ll
smile. I’m
sure of it.

Jimmy always ate all his veggies even since he was two,
Ate all his peas and lima beans and so very strong he grew.
He scoffed spinach like Popeye and took his vitamins too.
And when Jimmy ate meat it was thirty times he’d chew.
He drank water everyday, eight glasses or more
He could do fifty pushups when he was only four!

Jimmy knew exactly what to eat and by the time he was able
He wouldn’t touch the meal until he’d read its food label.
Jimmy stayed far far away from any sugary treats,
He had no tooth for candy and that is no small feat.

In bed he snoozed his restful sleep,
Never did Jimmy count any sheep.
“Eight hours for me, no more, and no less.”
And I think that was the secret to his success.

Holding his breathe longer than a fish
He swam through water like a swan.
“He’ll be the next Michael Phelps!” they cried,
Why little Jimmy could swim a marathon.

He never sipped a soda, never smoked a cigarette
He shared his wisdom with me once, but I admit I did forget.
He rode his bike to work and he never once was sick
Amassed as many vacation days as you could shake a stick.

He ran five miles each day and five more at night
Like Usain Bolt, he was a rather impressive sight.
Jimmy was invited and begged to the Olympic trials
But he declined by saying it wasn’t worth his while.

By the time Jimmy had reached twenty-five
The papers declared, “He’s the healthiest man alive!”
They watched in awe and even began to wonder
If he keeps this up, he could live to be two hundred!

Yes, Jimmy was the fittest person in the entire world,
But as he left his house one morn that title soon unfurled:
He forgot to look both ways when crossing the busy street
And now Jimmy is the world’s healthiest pile of concrete.

i wear my feet down as though
sandpapered through pebbled
ground to rebuild the skin in
thicker measure and learn to
run as my great great great
grandfathers did because some
guy in a book somewhere told
me it would change my life

it has.

and throw it away,
this wine won’t live to see another day
because there is what I suppose is called a need,
a need with which I have no wish to plead.

the sun shone bright,
making a most unfitting spectacle
of itself and of us all,
refusing to cooperate,
refusing to mirror our despair.

today it rained;
today it poured;
today drenched us to the core
quenching our inner light yet again
in memories and past remorse.