Stream of Contraband

A haunting

2010-07-27T02:52:00.002-06:00

...you still whisper
in my ear...

...you still linger
on my lips...

...you still breath
in my air
that I expel
with passion
and want
and love...

The full moon
laughs
at my lust
as I peer upwards
and wonder
if you see
what I see...

...did you ever
feel
what I feel?

spirits
of lost love
pace
my halls
as I brace
the door
desperate
to keep
you from
escaping
my grasp.

I block
what I cannot have
and deny
what is not mine
even as the waves
erode the shores
as the tides
change.

The nectar
that once filled
my veins
with a glee
akin
to sublime intoxication,

the scent
that once
infected
my senses,

the silken
alabaster flesh
that once
succumbed
to my touch,

the pleasure
that once
fulfilled
my dreams

now

breaks
what is left
of my heart.

The last ship
has left
this empty port
leaving nothing
but silence
and emptiness
to fill
my soul

while the winds
weep
for me.

she is

2010-03-22T12:32:00.001-06:00

she is exactly
what I want to wake up to
forever,

exactly
what I want to see
on the other side
of my hot coffee,

exactly
who I want to kiss me
goodnight,

exactly
what I wish for
when I am alone
and terrified
in the dark,

perfectly
the vision
I see
when my lids snap shut
for just a moment
and the image
lingers...

she is
what I would draw
if I were the artist
I wish I were

she is
what I would describe
to describe
the muse
that cast a spell
and became
a prearranged thing
in my mind
defined
by certain details
and images
and descriptions
and such things...

she is
what I see
in my dreams

thus
the delightful dread
of knowing
what cannot be mine...

but the stumbling
is supposed to hide
the lament,

the droning on
about mundane things
is meant to distract
from the lust
and the love
and the death
of knowing
the center
of such a passionate
flame...

she is
what should be
and that I never knew
could be
but now
just might be
so that now

she is…

and I am glad.

pensive rendezvous

2010-03-15T14:08:00.003-06:00

Sweet whispers
in her ear
drunk
in the fog
of her intoxicating scent,

her cheek
near enough
to kiss
but instead
I missed
favoring
a brush
with the tip
of my nose.

Her heat,
her softness,
the electricity
all coalesced
into embrace
and comfort
that filled
and spilled
over my rim.

My vessel
is too small
to hold the volume
of this sea.

Her beauty
is too beautiful
to resist
as is her kiss,
her gaze,
her demure
defects
and the way
she glides
across the floor.

A perfect union
never to bear fruit
blossoming in the dark
of a crisp night.

Bittersweet rosebuds
litter my steps
as I stumble
and fall
away from her.

The dawn rises
like a terrible flame
engulfing
my panicked,
cowardly departure
from the very thing
I desire.

The calculations
and equations
of the arithmetic
of it all
boggle
my weary mind.

The cruelty
and fickle nature
of the universe
is a source
of great irritation today.

This pensive rendezvous
came to me like a gift
that I am not allowed
to open,

meant to sit
under my tree
and torment me
with what might be hidden
within.

A temptation
impossible
to ignore.

A possibility
I have been told
that should be both embraced
and denied.

A love
that will live
only in me
and that for now
I refuse
to let die.

remnants of a falling star

2010-03-01T17:15:00.001-07:00

how far
the falling star
will fall
to leave a scar
charred
by the passing heat
as the light streaks
across a cold
and lonely sky

try and try
the fool will proclaim
that he might refrain
from the fallow fields
littered with the debris
of beauty
scattered
and fragile dreams
shattered
beneath the hammer
delivering the blow...

I know not
what I do
but I remember
you
and end up
walking in tiny circles
inside my mind
trying to find
the key
to open the door
and banish the angst
to a place
of nevermore

before
I loose
my mind...

promises

2010-02-09T00:39:00.003-07:00

the way I'd like to see it
is so often the path
to deception
and dread

in so many lands
the refusal
of bread
is offensive
to the point
of death

one breath
too many
offered
in the guise
of truth

intention
is no proof
of intent
and the latent
contempt
kills
slowly

like a cancer
coldly
infiltrating
leaving little stings
all along
the way

the day will come
when I will no longer
be able
to shun
that
which I truly
want
deserve
believe

and then
I pray
for the relief
of rapture

a moment
my soul
can capture
and germinate
and clone

one moment
that will save me
from the endless
alone
I know

and in these days
of uncertainty,
confusion,
desire
and void
of direction
I move either
too fast
or too slow
to capture
the beauty
and gems
that come to my hand...

so it is
that often
the gold
slips through
even as I am bemused
by the grand vision
of gold sun
dancing
in clear water
cooled
by the long journey
down.

My vision blurs,
my voice falters,
my mind
fails me

and then
I just stand
and smile
and nod
and secretly pray
for something
to say
to impress
my self-worth...

yet I am so often
just
simply
lost
in the presence
and witness
of what
I want.

I fail
when it counts

...gasp...

2010-01-18T02:18:00.004-07:00

panatone screams
saturate
my dreams
wet
with the moist
temptation
of yesteryear
permeating
and inundating
my fragile skull...

so much
still to be said,

even more
has been lost
and the cost
adds up
to a monumental bill

the will
swells
and spills
for the folly
of the dam
to dare
to contain
the incalculable weight...

I dare not curse
that she might share
my fate
for the date
some healing
may portend
has passed
in a flash
of regret
and lament
passed on
beyond the content
of what was
and might
have been...

the fool ponders
what he would pretend
daring to upend
the fragility
of a fickle now...

a scent
on a random breeze
comes
to torture
and please...

he dares
not breath
for the pieces
of shattered glass
are held together
with a nervous hand
after retrieving
all but one shard
from the floor...

more
is all
he wanted
but the end
is what
he received.

lustful melancholy

2009-12-29T00:31:00.004-07:00

the flash
in the peripheral
triggers the snap
of the neck
and the eyes dart
to things
that are not there

like strawberry blossoms
ablaze
behind blue pools
of lustful dread

all part of a formula
to drive me mad
from the unknown
for the known
is more
than I can know
and still believe
in the sane

the long road
whether dust
or ice
can break the arch
that supports the man
and bring the colossus
down
into dust
and stones
scattered along the break
between wave
and shore

where the wind
fuels
the flame
framing
the face
I dare not dream
to be near
for the folly
of the fool
is the delusion
become real
in a bloom
of magenta
and pain

lost in a wind
frozen before time
come to cut
my bones
from my meat

the lust
for the heat
once more
brings the madness
of the doomed
and the thundering
of broken fists
on stone
as wishes
are cast at the stars
like spears
of fire

bring the conflagration
to the walls
of this cell
and steal away
all the air
in my lungs
so that I might pass
into the phantasm
that circles
just out
of my vision

and shadows
my every
breath

quiet absence

2009-12-10T17:55:00.003-07:00

I still stumble upon
notes
and envelopes
and cards
with her words
written all over them

and I still pause
and press the cold paper
to my lips
and inhale
trying to catch
some lingering scent

and weep silently
in the quiet absence.

cold tomb

2009-12-07T22:50:00.003-07:00

it was a fallacious fantasy
of the most deceptive kind
laced with misgivings,
misdirections,

possible contrivances
that were beyond
my willingness
to perceive.

it was
such a sweet doom
spoken on pursed lips
laced
with the venom
of lies.

the kiss killed slowly,

the touch
teased
and beckoned
the death to come.

and so
it did
and so
I stand
in the cold
watching the snow
as it buries
my soul
remembering
the heat
just out of reach
of my hand.

these nights
do not agree
with my idea
of what should be
and the loneliness
has become
my tomb.

it's all the worse
for knowing
that I voluntarily
climbed in
and even pulled
the cover
closed.

foolish whim

2009-12-06T01:18:00.002-07:00

there is no better motivation
for a man
than to wake
to each day
feeling
and knowing
that he would rather
blow his brains out
than wake up
to the same slow death
for one more
day.

there is no better
prodding
than the realization
that all those
that are available
for some measure
of comfort
are at the very least
as broken
as he.

there is no better
challenge
than to live a life
in a cage,

to see the world
from a cell,

to hope
for the unattainable
from within
the illussory confines
of one's own
tortured
brain.

there is no greater reason
to want
to leave a place
than the feeling
that the place
is killing you
in the slowest
most mundane ways.

the challenge is set
and so long
as I do not surrender,

perhaps
the delusion
can once more
become a dream.

perhaps
the fool
might yet
still win.

silent rage

2009-12-05T01:25:00.002-07:00

this town
has become a tomb
to me.

this place
where I dwell
turned toxic
even before my time
but it is now
more than ever
that I feel
the burn.

one
must exist
where one
works
into the puzzle,
fits
into the hole,
feels
less desperate,
less desolate,
less alone...

regardless
of the risk
I must flee
forward
into a life
I cannot yet comprehend.

the dark streets
and vacant glances
and the abundant
desperate
angst
all seeps into me
like poison
and I can feel myself withering
on what little vine
is left.

the breaking point
has been breached.

let the flood
begin.

Deathly cold

2009-12-02T13:34:00.003-07:00

The trees stand
brave
naked
resilient
against the cold gray sky.

Silhouettes
of fortitude
and determination
they sway
and dance
in the piercing
frigid wind.

The day
is frozen
in time
looped back upon itself
like a knot.

The dead leaves
covering the ground
crackle
underfoot
to remind the traveler
that his travels
have ended
right where
they began.

The point
of origin.

The scene
of the crime.

The home
that is not.

The day
is in mourning
for the mornings
of yesterday

and tomorrow
cackles
with sadistic
anticipation.

stranded man

2009-12-01T12:18:00.002-07:00

The stranded man
weeps out of want
and masturbates
out of boredom
as he watches the tides move
in
and away
for he can only pace
to
and fro
and throw stones
into the air
in a futile attempt
to chase
the demons away.

The cherished relics
that linger
are the sickest
sort of beauty.

Their poison
tastes like honey
and so is too easily
taken down
yet does not kill.

They only create
the sensations necessary
to cause a man
to wish
for death.

He would gouge his eyes
if he did not need them to hunt.

He would sever his hands
if he did not need them
to feed.

He would cut off his head
if he could shake loose
the last remnants
of false hope
that he might yet
be saved.

He would cut out
his heart
if that was not
where he lived.

lost regret

2009-11-26T22:44:00.001-07:00

a voice from a past
perhaps better forgotten
seeps in on a chilly wind
to whisper softly...

"I'm sorry
and have never
forgotten"

a memory twisted
and torn
between blissful abandon
and regretful dissent...

beauty lasts forever
as does madness
and doom.

I am sorry
for loosing my mind
before ever having a chance
to be driven insane
by you.

I offer my apologies freely
in the form of a fearful poem,
not to remind
of bitterness
nor to deceive
or lure...

just because
I'm sorry
and remember
you.

cursed creature

2009-11-20T13:10:00.000-07:00

The true poet
in the truest sense
is a truly cursed
and tortured creature.

Any fool
that knows some fool
who calls him
or herself
a poet
knows.

Ask anyone
that knows
me.

The sheer number
of hours
spent alone
in a small room
with nothing but an erection
my loneliness and regrets
and a million words
rattling around
inside my brain
have wrought
a terrible price.

The desolation
is so overwhelming
that sometimes
it almost
makes sense.

The pain
becomes so pervasive
that at times
when it is momentarily
not there
it feels as if
I am naked
to the wind.

The dread
has been with me
for so long
it has become
my best friend.

The madness
has become
my flesh
and the terror
my home
filled with antiquities
and memories
and shadows.

I do it all right
and it goes all wrong.

I try too much
and it’s too much.

I don’t try enough
and I fail
for lack of effort.

Damned if you do
and catch 22
for I usually feel
completely screwed
and then
I end up rhyming
in my poems.

Gone crazy,
all the way
around the bend
is what I want
the sign
on my door
to say
so they’ll know
they were right
when they wondered
that something was wrong
with me.

I always did
and now
I am dealing
with the hand
scattered about
the floor
and not even all the cards
are here.

New

2009-11-20T12:45:00.000-07:00

Fantastic…
a new computer
with new software,

a new finish
and a new look.

A new tool
to make new
old things
and new things
all the same.

A new chance
at a new life
in a new place
with a new perspective
until now
only a foggy dream.

New keys
and new doors,

new roads
and new
destinations.

Nearly a new me
although the old one
still lingers
and hovers
and threatens
to not let
the new
be.

New day
new way
new mind
I will allow to find
a new trend
and a new mend
on old scars
that I never thought
would heal.

It’s fantastic,
this newness
crisp like new dew
on a new dawn.

What wonderful
new news
for me.

Beheaded man

2009-11-20T12:44:00.000-07:00

I am longing for flesh
recently accessible
and now
far removed
from my hands.

I am lamenting for a love
left like a
healthy plant
only to return
to brown,
dead
vines.

I bemoan
a woman
despite my best efforts
at composure
and restraint.

I deplore
the events
that conspired
to assassinate
this young love.

I regret
my instincts
did not react
more sharply
and that I could not predict
the turn
in the road
before the crash.

I am left to my own devices,
delusions,
dreads
and I am slowly
driving
myself
insane
with speculation
and conjecture
for there is no voice,
no answers,
no respect
being offered
to the condemned man
before
his beheading.

He must simply stare
wide eyed
as the world
just rolls
away.

ash

2009-11-19T14:35:00.000-07:00

I have fondled this fate
before,
juggling the juicy mounds
of my fantasy
and delusion
in the air
like grenades
waiting to explode
in my face.

I have found
the death in doomed love
to be cold
yet comfortable
in a terrifying way
and the heat needed
to thaw my fingers
and revive my soul
must be handled gently
and with great care
lest the heat
become a fire
that becomes an inferno
that threatens to sweep in
and leave me nothing more
than a pile
of ash.

I wish
to survive
so I might
be burned
again.

Chinese fire drill

2009-11-19T14:12:00.001-07:00

Tragedy and insanity
populate my village
like lepers
breeding like hamsters in heat
on fertility medication.

Madness seeps in between
mortar
and stone
like wind
from a tornado tearing
through a screen door.

And as a gaggle of hot
young
female Chinese
and Japanese
college students
fills the bar
with the air of
internet porn fantasy and
squeal behind me
with glee
I sit on my stool
in front of my beer
with an errant erection
wanting me to point south
and push…

I mean,
seriously,
this is my life
and people
expect me to survive…

the humor
is dark,
sick
and thick.

There are
18
college age,
cute,
Chinese girls
lounging about
and laughing
in a bar
in Cedar Rapids
fucking Iowa
and for the second time this week
a strangeness has struck
from far, far out
in left field.

There are days
I don’t even believe
I’m awake.

There are random moments like this
that are just too strange
for my mind
to accept
as real
and so
I fall into a pit
of ludicrous
and craven denial.

The challenges
are immense
and those
that can’t comprehend
my madness
are a gifted
if ignorant lot
and I congratulate them
on their freedom
from this dire doom.

In the meantime
I dodge the artillery
fired at me from every direction
and try to not say
bukaki
too loud.

When the road ends
and the gas is stuck
and there’s no where to go
but over
the cliff
one might as well
enjoy the view
and the ride
before the reality
hits.

throw a stone

2009-11-19T14:10:00.000-07:00

Some would like
to dictate
my emotions.

Some
would like to
simply dig a hole
and throw
me in.

Some would settle
for a punch
in my mouth.

I fail
to please
nearly everyone I meet
and find
that living in a constant state
of jeopardy
suits me
to some degree.

I’ve hit on
and written poems
to enough women
in this town
that nearly everyone knows me
if only
from a napkin
I handed to their wife
or girlfriend
some night
in a bar.

Enough women are now aware
of my excentricities
that I am nearly guaranteed
to never
get laid
around here
again.

Throw a stone
and you’ll hit
somebody
I’ve rubbed the wrong way.

No,
really,
throw a stone
and make it
a brick
if you can.

fairy doom

2009-11-19T13:38:00.000-07:00

She really does
look like
a fairy.

In every way
other than
stature.

Her lips curl
and pucker
Perfectly.

Her eyes
are bright
and alert
and full of light.

Her hair is spun gold.

Her figure is
petite,
soft,
firm,
slender and seductive…

I swear
she sparkles
in the light.

If she were
smaller,

I’d probably just swat her
and be done with it.

something to write

2009-11-19T13:37:00.000-07:00

I must write,
bleed,
vomit
and shit this constipated
collection of cerebral
and emotional garbage

out

before it bursts my guts,
my head

and crushes
my already weathered and weary soul
under it’s weight.

I feel the urgency
pressing against
the front
of my brain
like a bulldozer
trapped inside a tiny garage.

I submit to the need
but it has been so long
since I was fluent,

It’s been so long
since I swam
comfortably
in the stream,

that now
I worry
and obsess
that I’m simply sputtering nonsense
and self-indulgent puke
that has no great purpose
other than to fulfill
my own selfish,
delusional
needs.

Writing about the frustrations
of writing
can only lead so far
before the reader
and the writer
both get suicidally bored.

Writing about love lost,
lust found
and the debilitating beauty
of anonymous women
just starts to get old
before too long.

I sought out my muse
and found her
sitting at the other end of a bar
waiting for me
to buy her
everything
so I tried
and now
the lies
have come to the surface
and feast
like piranhas in a bloody pool.

The frustration
and aggravation
build
and grow
until my chest feels
like it will burst,

my head feels
like it will ignite
into flames,

my heart
feels like she parked
a truck.

My ego
is destroyed
again.

All around there are odd couplings
and mingling limbs
and lips
and flesh,

souls sharing
and giving,

love being exchanged.

All around there are
signs
that life goes on
even as I stand in my bubble
of frozen time
and peer out
wishing
for common things.

Only my room
and some 300 odd channels
wait for me
to return.

Not even my cat
remains
to comfort,
to calm,
to ease.

Everything
has changed
yet nothing
has seemed
to move.

I seem to loose women
like some men
loose socks
in the dryer.

I seem to loose
bits of my mind
and heart
like loose change
rolling free from a hole
in a pocket.

The frigid days roll in
and the snows
will soon bury
this town.

The winds
will assault
with knives
and spears
to pierce my flesh
and freeze
my very soul.

The days
grow shorter,
the nights
longer
but this town
forever stays the same.

I cherish
the anchors,
the foundations,
the family
and the friends
and will miss them
when I am gone.

And on the other hand
I must admit
the rest of it,
for all I care,
can burn.

I already have
but at least
I found something
to write.

she has become the destroyer

2009-11-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

The treasure shone
brightly
in a wash
of brilliant sunlight
only yesterday.

Today
it has turned
to fool’s gold
and I feel
the role
tonight.

The weed won’t calm,
the beer won’t drown,
the standing
outside her door
in the cold,
trembling from the adrenaline
satisfies no curiosity
for I am too much
the coward
to knock.

It wouldn’t matter
if I did
for she would not answer.

Worse yet
she would yell
and chase me off
into the chilly night.

Worse yet
the police.

There is no way
to predict
such things these days.

Only a moment ago
I had
the warmth
and love
of a woman,

but when I turned
around
I found
only a cold shoulder.

Only
a heartbeat ago
she squirmed in my embrace,

encouraged
the ravishing
of my kisses,

writhed
in pleasure
beneath the heat
and pressure
of my touch…

She joyfully accepted
every gift
with glee.

She even giggled
and blushed
in response
to my eager flattery
and went so far
as to say,
before my journey away,
the words
“ I’ll wait.”

The lightning bolt
that has charred
my heart
came from even further out
in left field
than the first
that ignited
our fire.

She delightfully destroyed me once
and now
I have allowed her
to destroy me
again
but there was no pleasure
in the blast
of this bomb.

Once more
would be
the end of me.

As it is
the wound
has not even begun
to mend.

Right now
the blood
runs thick and red
and pools
around my feet.

After four solid weeks
of glee
and bliss
and hope
and happiness
and joy
and love
and freedom
and optimistic visions
of the future
I have returned home
to a dark,
empty den
and I don’t even have
anything
with her scent.

I haven’t even wept.

I try
to not provide any satisfaction
in that regard.

I try
to not try
to understand
what cannot be understood
for I have no facts
at hand
and theory
leads only to further dread.

Damn me
for the hopeless fool
that I am
and seem to continue to prove
nearly every day
with my naiveté
in the motives
and desires
of the women
with whom
I fall
in love.

Her crystal blue eyes
pulled me in
and crushed me
under the weight
of her possible love
that I imagined
and probably destroyed
even before
it could bloom.

Now I am again relegated
to the dreams
of a year from now
and how things
might be.

Once again I battle
a past
still so fresh
as to be the present
and find myself
completely unarmed.

I walked from a warm
blue
perfection
into the depths
of a blizzard
destroying
all life
in it’s path.

She is a force
of nature
and I am at the whim
of her winds
and tides.

Once more
I have woken
to rediscover
that I have been reduced
to a bit of flotsam
in a stream
and know not
where my drifting
will end.

I must last
through one more winter
of discontent
and wait
for some random
and generous warmth
to come.

I must wait.

I must wait.

I must wait.

And I must
survive.

Does she sleep alone?

2009-11-18T19:27:00.000-07:00

Even when you do everything right
it still
quite often
manages to go
all wrong.

She pulled the love from me
with a siphon

with her giggle

with her swoon
and her lips
and her taste…

she had me
then just as quickly
threw me back.

Like the wrapper
from the gum.

And as anyone knows
it’s the not knowing
that kills
slowly
like a nightmare
that cannot be stopped.

She sleeps alone
I hope
for if not
then this fool
truly is
and then
is as well
just as damned.

fickle fate

2009-11-18T11:12:00.000-07:00

There is a sick sensation
in my guts
since returning to the woman
that was
but now is not
there.

A painfully brief phone call
filled with evasions
and half-truths,
excuses
and justifications
becomes my only source
of reasons
I perhaps
already knew.

The grief
of this
had been forgotten.

This reminder
is unwelcome.

Her lips,
flesh,
fingers,
breasts,
voice,
laugh,
heat
are missed.

My mind
is a mess,
my heart
looses another piece
as my jaw hits the floor
and my soul
cringes
at the pain.

It all seemed
so possible
and promising
but now has turned to a dirty stain
that will not come out.

I took the bait
dangled in front of me
and in return
the hook was set deep
and now
after being caught
the hook has been removed
with all the inherent gentleness
of rusty needle nose pliers.

She sang out to me
in the dark lonely nights
and reissued
the invitations
to come to her
with haste.

She encouraged
my pursuits
and my prose
and my amorous glances
but now
shuns my very name.

Sometimes
the road curves
unexpectedly
and the earth
drops away
beneath our feet
leaving only the open space
and gravity.

untitled melancholy

2009-09-21T20:48:00.003-06:00

the world is silent
to my pleas
tonight,

save
for the sound
of other lives
passing by,
making cereal,
driving trucks,
delivering pizza,
patrolling the streets,
walking dogs,
smoking weed,
and
sleeping.

nothing
of interest
occurs here.

nothing
of any
importance
or
impact.

this place
is a place
of regret
and shame,

surrender
and mediocrity,

cats
and dogs
and zombies.

this place
is the bottom
of the hill.

the shit
has to land
somewhere.

I

no rest at rest

2009-09-08T12:51:00.005-06:00

I roam about
lost
for something
to occupy me.

I sit on the porch
smoking cigarettes
watching the cars
go by
filled with lost souls
much like me
on their way
to work
or home
or store
or doom
or perhaps
all of the above.

I sit
at my desk
and stare
into the web
wondering
and hoping
for a small spark
to engage me.

I've memorized
all the squeeks
in the floor.

There is a battle
in my mind
that no one
can see
and only I
can hear.

The dogs
down the street
won't stop barking
and yapping
and fighting.

I would like
to harm
the owner.

But for that moment
when the dogs
are all
I can hear
I have a respite
from the madness.

For a minute
or two
I can't hear
the bombs
and rockets
and screams.

But then
the barking
stops

and once more
there is
the battle
no rest
begins.
for the weary

I am not Spartacus

2009-09-08T12:22:00.003-06:00

lost on the night air
like a spark
let loose
from the end of a flicked
cigarette
smoked next to
a fire
consuming
and spewing
her name.

propelled forward
by a wave
from behind
like a bit of kelp
broken loose
and floating free
past the otters
until it lands
on the sand
so she might
step on it
along her way.

wandering about
in a heatwave
brought down on
solar flares
to cook away
all the water
and leave the toads
to slowly boil
in their own bodies
until a hawk
swoops down
and takes away
it's perfectly poached meal
to feast
in the tree
beside her window.

there is a cacophony
of blissful chaos
cascading
through the bones
of my skull,

a symphony
of self-destructive
delights
and wonders
many a lucky fool
never see,

an orgy
of imagining,
remembering,
wondering,

delusions,
depravities,
deaths.

I once fancied myself
quite the clever monkey
but these days
I have a different
view,

from the pool
of crimson
on the floor.

Hail ceasar

now pass
the crown.

If I had a fist full of hundreds

2009-09-07T22:27:00.003-06:00

I often pause
in my pity
and reflect
upon the crisp blue
of the sky,

the luscious green
in the trees,

the orgasm
of vivid color
in a flower garden.

I see
all I know
I must see.

I know
what I know
I must know
and yet

there is another mechanism
at work here...

a faulty connection,
wire,
gear

a loose screw.

my brain
cannot overcome
my mind
many times
and I do
those things
I do
to prove
all the loathsome things
people tell me
not to say
about myself.

I have my moments
free from the madness
but of course
there is no one
around
to see
when that happens.

It's as if I found
a bloody body
laying in a bloody pool
with a bloody knife
next to it
and I picked up the knife
just as some asshole
walks in the room.

I know
there are bright sides
I should seek,
and in honesty
I do.

They however
seem quite adept
at evading
me.

I need
to get the fuck
out of here.

I need
a vacation
from my mind.

I want
to smell
the blue sky
and swim
in a sea
of wildflowers
and become
a once
and former self.

The child
that did not yet
know of
the staff.

I often pause
and sometimes
for quite some time.

I look,
I see,
I smell,
I touch
and on occasion
I will taste
as well.

I ponder
and wonder
and dream.

And I hope
like the romantic
asshole
that I am
but now I know,
for a fact,
that even with a grand
in cash
in my pocket...

I still can't get laid.

a hack's death

2009-09-07T22:16:00.002-06:00

There is slow death
in longing
for all the lives
lost
to foolishness
and folly.

The world is made
for those not cursed
with the gift
of self-awareness.

Beer,
lament,
grass,
idle time,
beautiful women,
a poet
and DSM IV
collide
as my mind
vomits out bits
of self-pity,
angst ridden loneliness
and random smatterings
of flattery
that will never
lead
anywhere
but to regret.

An overwhelming
feeling
of foolishness
and fatigue
comes over me.

My knees wobble
as I stand on the front porch
smoking a cigarette
and watching the neighbors
explain their noise
to the police.

My stomach
fills
with sick.

I can feel the plaster crack
and the flood
pushing against my eyes
as panic
and want
consume me.

This is a slow death
full of decay
and flies.

Even if
you would never know it
from the facade
of flowers
outside.

Just beware
of the bees
and spiders
lurking in the garden,
ready
and waiting
to strike.

I had her first

2009-08-31T00:17:00.000-06:00

Once God gets in
The reason
Is out,

Logic becomes
Like a heroin addict,

Free will
Flies away.

God got into her
Right after
Me.

Sloppy seconds lord,

I’m sure
You don’t mind.

She bought my bullshit
For a while

So I suppose
You can have her.

Since I couldn’t save her
I’m sure
She believes
That somehow
You will.

Best of luck.

Let me know
How that goes.

I’ll be waiting
With baited
Breath.

the pigs

2009-08-30T01:25:00.003-06:00

I weave through the dark streets,
a head full of beer
and smoke
and lust,

I evade them all.

So predictable,
so simple,
so easy to know
they'll never
take me
alive!

On the rare occasions
they have tried
to take me
I talked my way out of it
like a smooth frat kid
talking his way
into it,

they couldn't get me,
they never have
and if I can help it
they never will.

Too easy to see,
to easy to predict,
to easy to know

cops...

just about all
of them
are the same.

routines,
procedures,
regulations...

they are bound
while I
am not
and use my guile
and wisdom
to make it
all
the
way
home.

Safe and
sound,
stoned,
drunk,
horny,
stupid,
manic,
self-destructive...

non of it matters.

They'll never
take me
alive.

haunted

2009-08-28T11:10:00.002-06:00

the mania
boils away
inside my head
like a pot
of pasta
lidded
too tightly

I fight against
gravity
like a fly
already doomed

fingers find keys
that open windows
to views I knew
but care not to see
yet I still stare
like a passerby
at the intestines
and crushed skull
splattered across concrete
at the scene
of an accident

she hovers just above the ground,
purple dress blowing
in a cold breeze

she is a lustful wraith
cool eyes
calmly denying me

lips
speaking silent warnings

she is a bane
and I am a fool
for so many things
but more so
for letting go
of my grip
when all I had to do
was climb

love
and lust
rob me of reason
like a rat
stealing cheese
from a bum
in an alley

I miss her
like a severed limb

I miss her
like lost breath

I miss her

like arriving
at the airport
for a layover
on the wrong
day

I seethe
and burn inside my skin
waiting once more
for peace
and escape
from my madness
and the madness
of this little world
I have constructed

art is life

so is pain

village of idiots

2009-08-28T02:21:00.002-06:00

consumed, confused,
cornered
caught
there is no hiding
in the corner
with the light
ablaze
and all your failings,
foolishness
and fuck-ups
become scars
easily seen.

scarlet letters
of pain
and remorse,
the loss brings a man
to tears

random searches
in the web
reveal truths
unwanted

and then the fly is caught
and can only wait
for the fangs
to finish
what its own foolishness
began.

as the mayor of
the village
of idiots
it is known
all
will soon burn
to the ground.

Forgive me my trespasses

2008-07-15T11:20:00.001-06:00

I am haunted by demons
that will not leave me,
give me no respite
and offer
no opportunity to find
a sanctuary
among the burning remains.

I am tormented
by the things
that might have been
but never were,
the lives
never lived
and the loves
never fulfilled.

I am a man awash
in his own remains
as I wish for you
despite my best efforts,
that wants for you
inspite of
my better judgments
and desires
to be part
of your whole
regardless of what
circumstances
have come to pass.

Your beauty destroys me
in ways you cannot understand,
dare not
to comprehend
and are better off
for not knowing.

My life has led me
to a vastness
I cannot bear
for the heat
and sand
and solitude
have stripped me
of all
that I might
have been.

I have wished
upon every star,
I have cursed
nearly every move I have made
and every decision
I failed,
I have hoped
more than any man
should be expected
to survive
that your love
would be my love
and in the coupling
my peace
would be found.

Forgive me my trespasses,
my love,
for some things
no matter how much
might be wished
cannot
and will never
die.

barsweat

2008-04-07T20:50:00.000-06:00

--

the air is thick with
the scent of sweat
and the clutter of
empty words thrown
about only for
the sake of
being heard.

trying to know
something,
anything
more.

wanting
the wet dream
to come true
in an explosion
of relief.

needing
what no one
will pursue.

the dead
walk the land
and fill the houses,
the cars, the bars,
the restaurants,
the stores,
the streets.

The dead rule.

I begin to feel
uncomfortable
and a hypocrite.

I start wanting
to go
somewhere else.

but I know
I’m not drunk enough
to go there
alone.

sleeping in

2008-03-29T13:08:00.000-06:00

---

I put all my cracked eggs
into one tattered basket,
throw it against the wall
and wonder why
no soufflé
can be made.

The diners do not care
to pick the grit
and hair
from their teeth
after building up
their expectations
of the meal.

Cleaning one’s house
can be a daunting thing
after so many cobwebs
and dust bunnies
have been allowed
to collect
in all the corners.

One
may not even
own a broom.

More than enough
of a reason
to just stay in bed.

round and round

2008-03-26T14:14:00.000-06:00

---

There is great lust
encrusted under
my nails
as my hard
begins
amidst fantasies
I do not call
or need.

Normally
I am able to
avoid yet the
intoxicants have gotten
the better
of my soul
so I am lost again
until tomorrow.

A new start,
a new break,
a new chance
to turn it all
around.

It’s no wonder
I feel
so dizzy.

Wasteland refugee

2008-03-25T16:28:00.001-06:00

I feel the fool
once more
as I wander this vast frozen
wasteland of cracked,
spider web asphalt
its shores ravaged
by an icy grip
as the winter’s cold
and the night’s dark
consume this sometimes
fertile land
caught between analogies
for hell.

Below it all
the loneliness boils
and dooms any voyage
I attempt
to make
before the sails
can even fill.

come closer

2008-03-25T16:27:00.000-06:00

There is
the closeness
then
the touch,
light pressure,
gentle heat,
a sublime dance
between tongues
hungry and eager
yet easy
and calm
as the moist
emotion seeps
into each
in the awed breath
and the rhythmic
beat now
synced.

There is the
closeness
between breasts
and palms
and mouths
and thoughts
and fears
and worries
and wants.

There is closeness
strangling us
in this net
entangled
by our hands
reaching in desperate
hesitation
to hold
and pull
yet ultimately
only grazing the surface
only barely hiding
the turmoil
beneath.

There is
the closeness
we dread
not for the
intimacy
but for the death.

The end
that may not come
if not for our own
sabotage,
surrender,
breath.

There is the closeness,
at least,
and with that
there is at least a
perhaps
and not just the
bottom
after the leap.

keys and secrets

2008-03-19T19:09:00.000-06:00

I kick about as
best I can
pretending to fill my time,
pretending to live this lie
and find things outside of me
which contain the things
I seek.
I find a place to sit
from time
to time
and watch the rest of this sad,
cold little town live
or at least move
for living, it seems
is beyond most people’s grasp
as I seek
those that know
the secrets
they keep.
So few know.
Fewer still
will share.

The keys feel cold
and awkward in my hand
and the jingle that was once so
amusing to the child
is a painful reminder
to the man.

Parts of my whole

2007-06-26T15:00:00.001-06:00

I.

Considerable care
Is taken
As each word and breath
That escapes
From these longing lips

For fear of tripping
Over the truths
They contain

II.

I sit and watch
The buds
Blooming anew
From the yawning trees

I sit and inhale
The sweet breath
Of the new grass
Shooting effortlessly
Towards the sun

I sit and imagine
All the tender things
Shared by two souls
Lost and tumbling
Into love
Straining
To contain
My hope

I sit
Alone
Vying for the upper hand
On solitude’s desperate grasp
As my heart beats
To explode
Inside my chest

Unable to escape
The visions
And sensations
Of you

III.

I felt the twinge
Upon the first glance

The poke
Of curious glee

I felt the urge
To know your name,
Your voice,
Your touch

I felt all
The usual things

I found the courage
Just as you escaped
Past my words
Stillborn
In my throat

I found the will
Just as you
Willed yourself
Out the door

Chased away by the threat
Of others

Chased away
From me

IV.

In days past
I would now pursue you
With great zeal
And determination

Intent on winning
Your heart

Diligently applying
All of the charms
Within my means

In days past
I would not retreat
Nor be discouraged
By talk
Of pace,
Patience
And time

In days past
When I was even more
Of a fool
Than I am now
I would never
Have taken no
To be real

But those days
Are passed,
That boy has grown
And now this man
Stands confounded
And unsure
Of how to proceed

…cautiously
and with great care
in each and every deed.

V.

I take each day given to me
As it is

I breathe each breath
As it comes

I feel
Each feeling
In full
Fearing only
Never feeling
At all

I bow to love’s crown
As the jester
So does
To his queen

I reach out
Daring to dream,
Daring to fall,
Daring to become
All that I dare
To believe

I offer my words,
My heart,
Freely
For I know better
Than to attach
Any false meaning

For thankfully
I have learned
Of deceptions bitter prize

With sincere grace
My admiration
And affection
Does bloom

Mirrored
In the coming
Of the spring
And in the birth
Of the fertile green leaves

Filling all the spaces
Between the limbs

Even as my emptiness
Remains

I throw pebbles
Across the pond
Waiting once more
For the new rains

So I might weep
Without shame
Knowing
The evidence
Will wash away

the Artist

2007-04-13T01:27:00.000-06:00

Pen Drawing

Mobius Wave

2007-03-14T17:39:00.000-06:00

Circles in circles
as my steps
retrace steps
that retrace
paths
crossed and
intersected
often enough
to erode my joints
and confuse me
into clarity
for the motion
and repetition
are a dizzy blur
as dust devils
of my own derision
dance
and nip
at my heals

cool water
still slides blissfully
down my throat
and beckons my tongue
to quiver

winter
still seeps
into my bones
like needles
injecting reality
into my tender soul
as I inhale
my only escape
on a frigid
breath
captured
just as it freezes

the smoke
still sings
in my lungs
revived
by the brisk night
as the essence
ignites my hidden spark
and the words
simply fall
to the page

and I pause a moment
to look back
at me
looking forward
at me
with a puzzled look
on my face

storms on the eastern horizon
a glorious sunset
on the west
and the promise
of warmer winds

perhaps even
a little sand

a kiss
moistened
by a cold beer

just before
fresh sheets
and dreams
lost in futures
coming to be

just not
from the direction
I expected

---

Mutual salvation between strangers in a coffee shop

2007-03-14T17:32:00.000-06:00

She is sitting
Directly across from me
Facing me
As we each
Face our computers

I am on the coveted couch
She at a table
In the middle
Of the shop

She is plain
In a delightful way,
Straight, straw hair,
No makeup
On her face

A pretty nose
And beautiful eyes
With a wry smile
From slightly pouty
Yet thin lips

A wonderful smile
That spreads her ears
And seems to emanate
From a grand place
In her heart

A thin neck
And slender shoulders
And attention
To her deed

All seem
To entrance me
A bit
For just again
When I am seeking shelter
From the want
The want
Finds a way in

Right now
It's sitting a mere
Ten feet away

She looks
Like my type
As I judge her
By her cover

Peeking little glimpses
From a bit deeper
Now and again

The things we all do
That we cannot comprehend
Yet display much
Of ourselves

Those little things
We don't know we do

The things that we can't help
But be true
About our nature
And our inner shame

I see her happy
One day
Perhaps tomorrow
With a large
Strapping man

Strong of will
And body
Yet kind
And gentle of heart
Helping her to farm
Or cultivate
Or articulate
Some simple thing
About life
To remind us all
How simple
Can be grand

How plain
Can hold all the beauty
Of the world

How an ocean of love
Starts with but
One drop of rain

And so I must not
Interfere
In a purpose
More important
Than mine

I would not
Want to taint her well
As I have done
So many times before

I will simply write
One more poem
About one more woman
That I loved
Perfectly
For just a little while

One more soul
That by doing nothing
I have managed to save
A tiny scrap of evidence
To contradict
Those that might think me
An incredible bastard
And not
Much of a man

A moment
Of selfless strength
That will shine
In my twilight
And perhaps
In the end
Save me

---

Dangerous Muse

2007-03-01T20:20:00.000-07:00

She is a dangerous muse
Slinking about in sheer
Silk
Clinging tightly
And flowing lightly
As the warm wind
Moves her

There is a point
Of impact
And where once
I believed
Things were intact
I find
After her attack
That things
Are shattered
Again

Doors splinter
Before my rage
Much as flesh
Is rendered
By my needs
Borne
Of fear
I cannot accept

Therefore
I reject
All I know
Must be true

Even as the razors
Slice sideways
Across my steps

Cutting me off
Before I can make it
To bed

And the safety
Of forgotten dreams
Of hard nipples
And crème flesh
Wrapped around
Her arching back
Filling with breath
And exhaling a scream
Released from pleasure
She could not claim
Any knowing of
Before finding
My hand

A desperate love
Doomed to die
In its crib

A dangerous muse
Methodically patrolling
All the weaknesses
In the defenses
Inside
My head

So I pick
A new one
Instead

But without the beer
It just doesn't feel
The same

Balls in a bottle
Sometimes help
When holding oneself
With such daring
To present a poem
To a strange woman
You would otherwise
Have never met

"pardon me,
I don't mean to interrupt…
I don't usually do this but,
Well,
I hope you will accept this poem.
I just couldn't let you leave
Without giving it to you.
I hope
You have
A good night."

All of it lies
But I have heard
Stories of that sort of thing
Winning the favor
Of a young lady,

From time
To time

And so that
Is how the old poet
Demonstrates
The nature
Of a romantic fool

Believing such a delusion
Delivered from his hand
Would bring about
The bliss
He would kill
To receive

And so it is
That dreamers believe
By living
And dying
By the dream

And once again
Tonight
That foggy fantasy
Turns to hips
Of crème
And breasts that heave
With a panting
That frosts glass
With steam
And melts
My pain

Washes it away
In a July rain
That rushes
Down the gulleys
And gutters
Pulling leaves
And disdain
From cracks
Clogged by mud
And dead things

I close my eyes
For a moment
And hear
The rivulets sing
And gurgle
In their merry way

Babbling
About better things

And I feel
That wave
I've surfed
Before

And I hold the dream

---

-----

Sudden Salvation

2007-02-25T23:31:00.000-07:00

I am rudely awoken

By the TV
The cat
A phone beeping
And the pressure
Of my bladder
As it warns
Of an impending
Explosion

Reluctantly
I rise
And attend to
The issues

I start the coffee
And open the computer
And step outside
For a cigarette
Which leads me around
The side of the house
To piss

My alarm is set to go off
In 45 minutes

Church begins
In 2 hours

The thaw
I left last night
Continues today

The freeze
Could be back
Tomorrow

Should these winds
Once again blow

Just before
The salvation
Can begin

Back into the house
And into my day

Just as everyday begins

With one
Cold breath

---

Logic Bomb

2007-02-21T16:29:00.000-07:00

what heavy burden
of debt
has my soul taken on
in a past round
of a lost fight
that the weight
must still hold me
to the ground?

what terrible deed
came from my hand?

what treachery
did I display?

was it in
a life
already led
or was it in the one
I wear now?

is there any difference
between the charades?

is one stage
more truthful
than the next?

what lesson of life
am I meant to learn
and have I already
missed
the class?

questions lead
to questions asked
and questions
waiting to be seen

and so
the cycle
repeats
and the fallacies fall
before my glass
is emptied
and any sense
can be made

---

My first book

2007-01-14T16:32:00.000-07:00

Now available for sale, a collection of 23 poems.
http://www.cafepress.com/squintzgiftz/2385171

support your local artist

2007-01-04T14:22:00.000-07:00

I have a new project that will hopefully become my means...

http://www.cafepress.com/squintzgiftz

Your support is appreciated. More art and merchandise will be added soon.

Cheers!

overwhelming force

2006-12-06T23:12:00.000-07:00

dark clouds loom
incorporating the billowing
toxic smoke
belched
from the guts
of burning rubble

angry winds freeze flesh
to stone

stoic icons of imagination
that once stood proud
basking in noon suns

defiant to the winter gales

now huddle silently
in collections of gray
dusty piles

corpses loosed
of their life

blossoms of death
strip the flesh
from the guilty
and the pure
each caught in a battle
never envisioned

even less
deserved

never dared dreamed

the skies weep
and choke
on the smoke
and ash

from between the stones
from beneath the blaze
despite
the death
of war
and strife
a Calendula stretches
eagerly
for the hidden sun

unknowingly waiting
to be crushed
under foot

as the legions march
to the beat of thunder
to claim
their bloody prize

---

one day

2006-09-21T17:30:00.000-06:00

another day nearer
and another day
further away

somewhere in-between
I drift
on a strange tide

seemingly pushing me
towards a shore
even as the flotsam
seems to slide
the other way

one passing of the sun
one rotation of the marble
one more trip
around the bowl
before I swoosh away

back to
where it all began

one step forward
and one to the side

two others
seem to be stuck
where they stand

but the clouds
still pass
over it all

shadows still stretch
in afternoon sun
sleeping a bit longer
each day

I haven’t had
a beer
for a while
but the bags
seem to have grown
to fill my day

one day
closer
to home

one day

---

Forever is a long time to spend alone

2006-09-05T23:14:00.000-06:00

I remember our first night
On your couch
My hand on your breast
My lips on your nape

Spooning
And meshed
Your words
Of doubt
Subdued
By my movements
Of lust

And so it came
That we shared your bed
And I fell
Into the well
Of your soul

Drowned
And lost
Forever

So that now
I bleed
In your name
And wish
I could change
Forever
But forever
Is already
Here

The only thing missing

is you

---

Heathens pray too (in their way)

2006-08-28T11:24:00.000-06:00

I pray
for the day
of clarity
to come

bright as the morning star
clear as a Rocky Mountain sky

shocking
as that first winter's breath

I pray
for the day
when the wishes
win

I look forward
to the prize

---

obstacles along the way

2006-08-28T11:21:00.000-06:00

rumble

white heat

black rain

the gulls are silent
on gray sand

the last drop has
fallen

a bandwidth
bends
beyond the point
of no return

an autumn clutter
collects

a summer wind
blows away

a crucial weld
fails

bringing the planks
and girders
and bracing
crashing down

opening the breach
anew

stranding
a slouching figure
on the wrong side
of a gap
too wide
for tiny steps

too steep
to climb

winter
is making
its way

---

My daily reminder

2006-08-25T10:39:00.000-06:00

outside
there are men
wearing hard hats
and orange vests
barking
and eating orders
as the steel arms
of their heavy machine
swings
and groans away

they're fixing a hole
or a pipe
a foundation

something
and there is
a simple beauty
in their toiling
and sweat

there is a magnificence
and a glory,
an accomplishment

a small victory
over life,
this thing

and so I boil my water
and steep my teas
and watch
in envy
of their purpose
in their task
knowing

it is not my task
to share
or hold any small celebration
in the deed
well done

done
at least

I sit
and steep
waiting for my small
celebration
to begin
and find
without my notice
the ball
has already begun

---

toil

2006-08-21T12:16:00.000-06:00

it belches
and bubbles
trying to escape

it boils
and burns
as it rises
in my throat

it cramps
and aches
in my fingers

it convulses
and contorts
in my guts
seeking some path
into the bright day

it cannot be forced
and tends to explode
at inconvenient times
and in inconvenient ways

I can't necessarily
stop in the middle
of the freeway
to write a poem
that decided to appear
like a flaming bull

usually by the time
I can get
to a pen
the fucker has all
but slipped away
leaving dust and
divots in its wake

as I careen
over the edge
trying to avoid
the dead end

my last words
in a crimson script
etched into the mud
and for someone else,

it's just another day

--------

Terrible Truths (bury me well, bury me deep)

2006-08-21T00:44:00.000-06:00

if I were to reveal
all my truths
I would surely be banished
from this wobbly
blue ball

excommunicated
at the least

lynched
or stoned
in the square

I would never be trusted
again

even if I were able
to change my ways

the line for the complaint
department is growing
longer every day
and the paperwork
is piling up fast

I think
I need
to hire
some help

if I were to admit
all my truths
and sins,
all my folly
and failure,
all the shameful things

whatever it is
that is left of me
would most likely
burn away

and no one
would be there
to hold my urn
or pour me
into the sea

scattered on the wind
will my name
and memory be

lost
to cleansing winds
and torrential rains

turned back
to mud
and clay

some things
are what they are
and are often
best
forgotten

after all,
we must save
as much space
as we can
for the beautiful things
so that we are not
reminded too often
of the gloom

that
is only
for a few

bury
my truths
when you burn
my remains

but please,
bury them well
and leave
no mark

of my name

----

the only ringing is in my ears

2006-08-19T15:18:00.000-06:00

women from my past
never call
anymore

I've done a good job
at ensuring that

my endless pining

my attempts
at drunken
conviction

the increasingly
desperate
situations I have
become so skilled
at getting in

the fact
that I'll never
hold a job
that will buy
a diamond
or a home

a Cadillac
or a clue

should nicely destroy
any hope
that a few have had
that my success
would come
in waves

late night breakdowns
mid-day madness

empty stares
into the sublime landscapes
I have yet to deny

turgid erections
yet to lead me astray
(albeit willingly
to some degree)

all the lies
laying in wait
and all the denials
yet to come

I'm sure a couple
or perhaps a few
consider renewing contact

from time to time

it's a possibility
at least

the thought probably comes
at the strangest times
and fades
once they come to
whatever senses they have left

some will brand me the bad boy,
some will call me a fool

some have forgiven
my missteps
and some curse me instead

some still pine
much as I often do

some still wish
but know
it's better
to give up all hope

I envy those
able to "move on"

fuck the politics of it all

I’d "get over it"
if I could

why would any man
wish
to feel this way?

why would anyone
want to speak
when they knew not
what they really had
to say?

women
from my past
don't call me anymore

I've done well
ensuring that
but I hope
they know
I know
exactly how
they feel

at least
they could get out
while I must stay
and stand
as the cavern
finally begins
to cave in

they've given up calling
and wishing
and hoping
and that's good
for them

once I start
publishing
and revealing too much

that will probably change

----

tides

2006-08-17T14:28:00.000-06:00

there is no moving forward
until I get word from
the past

no new hope can be found
until the old hope
is lost

no healing comes
from picking at
the scabs

each empty shower
a reminder
of pain

every spoon of ice cream
that goes unshared
leaves me wanting
for more

a ghost burned
into my left peripheral
sitting serenely
flesh soft as
liquid silver

a raven mane
twisted among my fingers
smoke
and breath
shared

perfection's pieces
wash ashore
all the time

brought to my island
on a fickle tide

no raft without trees
no food without fire
no life
without will
or love

the possibilities
of where she is
and whom she may hold
bore in
and drive me mad
enough
to kill

yet with no prey
I am left
to storm about
ranting into the wind
until I collapse again

no rescue can be found
when no one is looking

no mention is made
when the memory
is buried alive

aimless
pointless
lost

at least there's still
the sand

and an occasional breeze
on my cheek
to cool
the burning inside

until the tide
comes in

----

a start

2006-08-17T01:18:00.000-06:00

jarred open
my lids snap
to the desperate
flapping of wings

cats tooth and nail
slashing at the air
amid a snow shower
of down

predatory instincts
versus the universal
desire
for life
just outside my door

before my mind
was ready
to be awake
I must close the door
and keep the dance
from coming inside

and so that action
becomes enough
for the bird
to fly away
leaving my cat
with nothing more
than a taste
in his mouth
and a scent
on the stone

and that's how
I started my day

------------

seed of my demise

2006-08-13T23:20:00.000-06:00

the doubt will kill the words
quicker than a blade
will silence my voice
or a bullet
in my head

the doubt will seep thru the cracks
no matter how shiny
the polish may appear
for there is always
a way
to get in

doubt will take seed
and grow beyond control
until the purest wells
are tainted

crops are dead

topsoil
blows away

doubt
uncertainty
fear

these are
the horsemen
of my doom

only death waits
to join the fray
but death
is patient
indeed

steeping tea
waiting for the flame
grinning
that dead grin

the anticipation
is apparently
the best part of this game

I know it's killing me

------

passers bye

2006-08-13T23:17:00.000-06:00

a tranquil passing
lost in the din

just a twinkle
away

just a tear
in a wave

just a whisper
in a wind
blowing cold
from far away

freezing the marrow
in my soul

bonfires and
fireflies
highlighting
hair and
thighs

while fiery eyes
burnt away
the rest
of the dark
exposing me
for what I am

a fearful child

mouth agape
in the face
of her fire

just a face
in the crowd

just a memory

just a name

that eventually
will go away

----------

tiny things

2006-08-12T12:12:00.000-06:00

tiny feathers flutter
on a tiny breeze
leaving a tiny reminder
that survival
is measured
in tiny ways

as I sit here
and wait
for a tiny bit
bigger wind
to take these
reminders
away

----

idle hands

2006-08-12T12:09:00.000-06:00

ashes and butts
build up
smoldering
waxing melting
waning waking
ambers and gold's
unite

shadows pass
past

clouds drift
downwind

a sun set
to burn

my mouth
clenched
frown

the aching runs
from my neck
down my spine
and firmly roots me
to this dead ground

and as I have studied evil
evil has studied me

and studied me well

--------

reason to rise

2006-08-11T12:30:00.000-06:00

the rough rolling
of skateboard wheels
comes a bit too early for me

but the slight waking
makes me aware
of how badly I need to pee

I rise reluctantly
weaving my way to the bowl
and find the wave of relief
pleasing

it's 10 a.m.
but back to bed
till noon

I rise again
with only slightly more zeal
heading straight
for the coffee
and the weed

they lend some wind
to the smoldering coals

the mind opens
a bit

the heart beats
a bit louder
and the feelings
return

the words
begin to boil again
as the daylight
begins breaking up the clouds
just in time
for the hunger
to kick in

another breath
another day
another chance
to turn it about
roll it over
kick it in the balls
and claim
some small joy
before the evening rains

another tick
two more tocks
and perhaps
that moment
will come

-----------

snitch

2006-07-31T15:25:00.000-06:00

snitch
3.5x5 pencil

(lost) reflections

2006-07-29T13:36:00.000-06:00

moments of lucid thought
coupled with
crushing hindsight
ignite

the blast wave
buries the sky
in rubble

seconds counted
add up to a lifetime
within reach
only moments ago

possibilities offered
on an alter of hope
are stolen
by bandits and
cursed by ghosts
before a meaningful meal
can be made

thus the famine rages on
and the dark prevails
after the cheap candles
have all burned away
and no rescue is
expected
or desired

-----

Sin of man

2006-07-05T22:46:00.000-06:00

I have spent my day
wasting
waiting

I have spent my night
chasing
avoiding

my mind races
the number 9 horse
is ahead
but number 1
is close behind

the debts have grown
as high as they can get
as I wait below the pile
until it topples

the road is worn
and floods
in even a light rain

I weep
and admit all the sins
of men

I hope
and admit
this sin
of some splendid
knowing fools

I love love
and the thrill
the chase
the conquering

the taste
of blood
in the moon

I thrust hard
into this last night
before the fall
of the comet's tail
comes to cleanse
and reseed
a more noble spawn

I look deeply
into a southern sky
before the sun
erases the sand

I weep
and admit
this sin
of remorse
and hope

I weep openly
and let my tears fall
where they may
regardless
of the understanding
so lacking
in the anonymous crowd

a devil twists
in loose sands
and errant wind
while wisps of white
pass too far
overhead

one more kiss
is all I could ask
before the stars fall
once more
into the next
frightening day

I wish to not wake
without
your tender embrace

the cold
so vast and empty
breaks my steel

and I weep
and admit
I am sad
waiting
for the glorious sun
in the morning
I loose
all fear
and thaw these tears

and chains

-------