light exploding through small arched windows in doors
warm and temper the cold and clutching fingers
wrapped around the bleed in his side and stomach

There is no sound but the ticking of the loudest clock
that he’d ever heard and it is not long before he realizes
that in this mess and easy chair he is going to die

the explosions in the window get brighter
and the ticking clock gets slower and slower
just like every movie says it will
and he tries to breathe deeper but only gets shallow gasps
and he wishes that he hadn’t taken all that air for granted
and there’s nothing he can do about that now

The tick sounds one last time but does not decay
it just stretches on in to a sharp warm hum
and his body begins to shake like crazy
and his breath is not shallow, but gone forever
and he can not see, but he can see everything
and he can not feel, but it’s not bad so much as perfect

And when I walked in to find him dead from two cuts
laying on a La-Z-Boy with the back door kicked in
he didn’t tell me anything, but if he did
he would have told me that he hated getting stabbed
but in a way it’s alright because the rest of the thing was beautiful

Absence makes the heart grow fond
or some shit.
But there is a point of diminishing returns
somewhere between day eight
and mile 600
and then the routine readjusts
and then they start to slip away
and then they’re gone.

Statistically, though, there are outliers.
and I think you may be just that.
Not your hair though.
You can leave that shit in Dodge.

the hype, i fear, is becoming nearly anticlimactic
as the waiting builds to crescendo never coming
but then,
when the peak is never reached
you never head back down.

A smile found
my face, finally,
after they left and it
all passed.

I am home, now, alone
in my quiet kitchen illuminated
by nothing but windows.
All is calm if only
for a minute
and I am contently
discontented.

O sweet Mother-Child,
a barking siren to us all,
you may bring me the most
of any- who else
might make me equally
enraged and sorrowful? I
grovel at your feet
to know.

For now no one may
tear me from my solitude
as I anxiously await the next
storm.

any given flight around the world
begins and ends with misery/anticipation
as you say goodbyes (even if temporarily)
and uproot yourself 13 time zones.

the food/comfort gets you there
the friends/work gets you back
diarrhea is my only loyal companion

And his soul was cut out
and stretched across a table
and with pins, it was held open
while a big black sharpie
was taken to it, corner to corner
then once again
so an X was clearly visible
as if it were a tree to be cut down
Then it was left out in the open
in the sun to dry
and the carrion birds picked at it
and after a week
there was nothing left
but tatters.

I wandered in hoping to fear you
and that you’d tear me apart
and that my blood would flow freely
down the crevices in the masonry
of your fine study
but I was not so ruined
and when you told me
that everything was alright
I almost evaporated

But then the clouds rolled in
and things got a little darker
and I said ‘see? It’s set to
start raining, now!’ and I
waved my arms in triumph
but you would not be deterred
and that smile almost killed me

So I tried to show you the blood
on my hands and on my jacket
and you wrote it off as souvenirs
of some accident. And when I
drove a dagger through your chest
to prove I was no good, you shrugged
and said that everybody makes mistakes,
sometimes.

I’d scrape your knees and elbows
feed your dog meat behind your back
spit in your best friend’s coffee
and still come short to your petty misery

There was a time I was eager to please you
and you pleased yourself with my soul
robbed me of my candor on top of my meager money
now you holler at me on the street and
call me your little-no-one

So don’t say I left you with nothing
my marrow is still fresh on your lips

Yet you still thirst after a puddle of tears
like some thirst after god or happiness
but not today
I will not cry, pain is what holds me together
one day, far away in time,I will sit down and cry
remove stitches and acknowledge my past

I looked up
at the stars and immediately
looked away.
They mean nothing
if you aren’t
looking too.

You are my bridge
which crumbles at the last
minute,
just before we reach
the other side:
safety.

My darling light, how
can you dim? knowing
I need your elusive illuminations.
Might
I rely on you just once?
I am worthless under
your shaking branch.

alas, i talk big but know when the time comes
i’ll be incapable of putting that foot confidently
forward into His presence because i know where
that foot has been.
what these eyes have seen.
what these hands have done.
the wrath due is deserved.
and when gone paid by another,
what claim have i to stand?

he drew lines
[I am not happy, but I am not any less alive]
said I owed him loads of money
I offered my skin in the mirror
or heaven in my blood
but he said, he didn’t need any …

he would not crown my love
[some people get unhappy trying to get happy]
‘said I brought him misfortune
folks from my past stood heavily on my eyelids
they said I needed a little lesson
[sometimes,you just need to live with your eyes closed]

for years, I dug a tunnel to him
but he threw sandbags around his heart
‘said love is a thief and it’d cost him his sanity
[don’t wait to be found]
my friends said breathe soon you’ll wake up
with grey in your hair

I looked to the sky for meaning
birds told me what to hope for
‘said you wade in the water or you drown
[don’t wait to be understood]

but I don’t believe what anyone says anymore
I once saw happiness flying with pigs
‘said it’ll come down for me one day
I laughed and let it go
[even pain knows when to stay away]

Dandelion and crossbow, shape of an eternal queen
in a constant brawl against the forces of blah
gesticulating her lack of remission, she was born by comparison
with a disclaimer of all she could be
a poster child for mercurialness and incompleteness,
colorful and blind, hopeful and loud, sultry and brave

Life attendees throw words like spires
in a swift race for her light and desire
before another season comes and withers her
she who isn’t herself yet, she who is dust motes
whirling in a morning sky
half-shy still, she’s got a halo that kills
like a well-kept feline
she hops to places she does not know
diffusing soft light, and

in a tarzanic fervor swings on electrical umbilical cords
landing her static heart green with moss before a cosmic plug
her wiring need repair, her lights are going out
her dreams in hover, all her imperfections and compulsions
roll up a red carpet, in total resignation, to
an organic culture she cannot fully encompass

later to find out the thing
you so wonderfully
openly
trumpeted to the world
was heretical brainwash.
so time to fit for a noose
and letter go.

And sometimes you catch me
singing Steely Dan
into a telephone
at 1AM

but at least it’s not
The Monkees

WHO ARE YOU AND
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH JOHN?

HE WAS HERE JUST A MINUTE AGO
AND YOU SWEAR THE DEVIL TOOK HIM
BUT I’M NOT SURE THAT’S TRUE
AND I’M NOT SURE YOU’RE NOT THE DEVIL

YOU SWEAR YOU’RE NOT
BUT YOU’VE MET HIM, AND GOD,
AND SERENDIPITY TOO,
THEY WERE DRINKING AT A BAR TOGETHER

BUT THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH JOHN
AND I KNOW YOU SWEAR
THE DEVIL TOOK HIM BUT
I’M NOT SURE THAT’S TRUE
AND I’M NOT SURE YOU’RE NOT THE DEVIL,
JOHN

calluses
my pride
when gravel
underfoot
feels like
smooth paved
cement
i have
arrived

Wet
bathing suits and towels remind me
of a beautiful day-
together.
That I musn’t forget the
sweet serendipity of smaller seasons
expired.

But a bowl, eyes
like a chino,
the temptation awaiting
my consciousness reminds
me of moments that
could have been, but,
never were.

I am chewing seeds and
spitting them

I have half a mind to do
anything and I
won’t do anything
because
half a mind is
just enough for
nothing but
chewing seeds

I count the flaws on my fingers
and run out in no-time
and another handful to chew
while I keep counting
and look for more fingers

I taste vertigo but
it is not the same

It is a lack of forward motion
and I feel it in my
muscles and my bones
and I taste it and it
tastes like vertigo
but it’s not

and chewing these seeds
doesn’t make it taste much better

In the flickering lamplight
I listen or your call,
the sound from you returning to
this solid soil.
~
I awoke at 5, whence once
the jazz turned to talk
and I, alone, in my bed,
was reminded of my solitude in the
night. While all others slumbered.
~
Alone I sat, I sit alone. Listening
for that sound, that
single signal showing me you’re
near.
Never knowing if I should return
home, giving up the search.

Your sketchbook, your soul,
given to me to stow for the while,
sits on sheets and somehow I
sense you through it. You will
be back to reclaim what is
yours in time.