words are more inspiring
when composed of seemingly
random pictures
rather than strokes of
alphabets.
letters aren’t beautiful unless
strung together and altogether
forgotten in the meaning
they create
our eyes graze by them
seeing words
not fugly letters
hoping meaning wont dissapoint
Sure, that walk
ain’t so bad
but a block and a
half through two
feet of snow in
tennis shoes
still makes wet
feet
Of course, if it’s
a walk back home
you can always
change your socks
to dry ones
Existence has been ripped
to shreds
all decadence, been torn
asunder
all the worriers put
to bed
coroners sliding back
their covers
clockwork clicking near
to dead
comfort pillows now to
smother
remember what the wise
men said
we’ve lost ourselves but
found eachother
when the tin man tries to love,
his lover working endlessly
to purchase more oil for his
useless joints,
the battery acid may suffice
for months;
however, as we all know,
and in the back of his lover’s
mind at all times,
there are gears under his
tin chest. and on lazy sundays
when the sun floats through
the slits in the shades,
and they lie awake, she should
know that when the battery
acid wears off, he will no longer
feel the warmth of her touch.
and worse yet
when the oil gets thick
and
his going
gets tough
and the
battery acid
isn’t doing it
any-
more
the gears in his chest will
drive him to the door.
(or maybe the cpu, or
his legs, or his feet,
or his hamstrings,
irregardless)
one day the tin man will shut
the door behind him and
freeze up a half-mile down
the street, with no oil saved
up to keep him spry.
deep winter morning-
an empty chair
on a fire escape landing.
we once thought ourselves to be
but now its only you,
liberating me,
allowing me to return
to the sleep i once enjoyed
while you, alone with your fear,
go about your bondage,
sobbing softly in the dark,
watching reruns
of shows now long dead,
looking to the future
and hopes of what lies ahead.
a perfectly round pot
with nary a spout
holds in my rare oolong
so tea can pour out
the soft purple sand clay
on hand crafted shelf
brings me joy in the way
i bring it myself
big red robe they still call it
the emperor once drank
now passed down through the ages
that i may partake
The curve of your eyelashes undresses the god in me and folds me into sinewy layers of desire and then … You grin at my discomfort. Damn you.
The sea, my faithful lover, undulates my genuine fear and resentment towards shellfish and sharks.
Madness contours your supple lips stifled only by the last unsorted uneased thought-duties to humaness and civility – mother forgive me I am a mere beast behind a faltering rampart.
Yet, how your thoughts echo mine in the dark gets to me, like a cluster of cosmic woes crowding and questionning my purity…
While my gaunt silhouette waltz with your light in a bottomless silence, I believe I can see the summer end and myself with exactitude.
I love bright mornings
cold air bites,warm bricks glow orange
day breaks over me
When you finally arrive, please let me know.
Let me know that you made it.
(At least when you think you’ve made it.)
When you’ve found success and meaning—
Wholeness.
I’d love to know when reach that place
But there’s this uncanny intuition
That’s telling me you never will.
But if you ever do make it on your own,
Without the help of someone much greater
Than yourself – you let me know.
I’ll be waiting (forever.)
everywhere i go i hear people talkin’ bout themselves
so very short of content but they got alot to sell
they say “every day’s a torment i am in a living hell”
and the rooms they fill with dust
at the mall the body-paint stores are packed
they got the lacquer for the skin of the stars
they got the happenin’ boats and the cars
got easy ways to talk about yourself when its hard
sometimes i see my friends there
they all make me want to go back to sleep
it starts down low
and moves pretty slow,
tightening my guts,
making me feel nuts,
then slowly rising up
but not quite to throw up;
so i try to breath deep
and close my eyes to sleep,
then submerge myself in work
which is as helpful as a spork;
and when someone comes in,
hide it all behind a grin.
make me
make my
fingers move
oh, make it
make it so
so I can
make the
music, make
the sounds
I made so
long ago
again, just
make me
make my
fingers move
oh make it
make it
so
the sun shone bright 10 days
after i blackmailed you into
a dance
you were way out of my league
that was the fun
i didn’t really like you, people just
said you were unattainable so i pursued
and blackmail does attain
(even the unattainable).
so there we were friends
(or something like it…)
walking from lunch car parked
to classes soon to resume
the ground warming us beneath
our feet as blacktop can even in winter
“you do whatever the hell you want”
said you
and i responded more truthful than i knew
at the time
20 feet from the door
on cement at the time.
i remember it clear
under a tall cotton-less cottonwood (a shame to nature) ‘s shadow
“in a way thats exactly what everyone wants”
but in retrospect
my burns, yellow shaded glasses, sad excuse
for dreadlocks and invincible red chops
i was one sexy bastard
and i was
way out of your league
God and
Greed and
Johnny Dubya
and the Devil
and crying over
SPILT MILK
and crying over
Dead Friends
and everyone
)I mean everyone(
can sit so
high and migh
ty and it’s
sickening
but noone’s
sick enough and
then there’s that
one person gone
and all but for
gotten (forgiv
en) sitting somewhere
too far north to
even think about
but shit, it’s all
a waste of breath
and Mr. Hugo
was right. It’s
time for me
and everyone
)I mean everyone(
to just stop bitching
for just a little
while.
at last winter’s passed, the sleepers awake
at last squirrels, birds, green emerge
blossoms on branches, rivers run fast and high
movement in the bones, music in the eyes
at last there is skin, bare arms bare legs bare feet
at last black blonde brown hair falls free, words spit quick unseen
people step off the sidewalk, swim in the warm grass
the city has emptied, its concrete gravity gone
I smell life, how I long to live
I smell sky, it screams of coasts
I smell sun, we fill our lungs with light
ready to exhale and create new continents
darkness lost as last year’s dream
all is open, outstretched and inviting
like a frisbee, carried by a strong breeze,
we disappear over the horizon.
but where you were born
determines your ability to play
in some three letter acronym at the national
scale
be it nhl, nfl, nba, or whoever
but say you’re born in samoa?
you’re probably great at just one
maybe your grandparents are from africa?
you’ll fit in any at all.
but before you say i’m racist
let me tell that you i aint white
i’m as minority as the day is long
in the country full of yella’s
It was at a
restaurant
some other friends
were with me
when you called
and I remember every
little thing you said
and shit, it’s tough
when I look back
and wonder just
how much you really
spewed your bullshit.
I have not found
the bottom of that barrel,
and I’m confident
I never really will.
coming to earth in
human awkward form
running, walking, eating, sleeping
incarnate holiness
still you chose
to die painful death for me
stuck there, hung there nailed there,
till three days later
undeservedly, the breath fades from your lungs
carrying my sin with it
k
i sit staring at rearranged
pixels in a grid made by
god watching plays played
by ghosts
i make love to the marionettes
in my dreams and sometimes
in the wires
of the grid
(on simulated sunny days
in graveyards and in minivans)
remember all the times
you sat staring at mannequins
screaming “WHEN WILL YOU
TALK BACK?”???
so does half of
jcpenny
and the
crossroads mall
security
yet
i
digress.
the sieve and the sand 
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