self fulfilling prophecy

Looking forward

2012-01-25T12:23:00.002-07:00

I stand in the still cold
with a slight flavor
of a smirk
on my mouth
as the smoke rises from my nostrils
mixing with the steam
of my breath.

I lean slightly back
as I listen to the cracking
and popping
of the ice
on the sidewalk.

One of only four sounds
on this almost silent night.

The furnace exhaust
around the side
of the house exhaling
steadily
against the cold.

The train in the distance
hauling its load and
inserting a horn
into the dreams
of the sleeping
for miles around.

My breath
from beneath
my hood
persistently reminding me
that I am still
alive.

Five
if you count
the noise
inside my brain.

The ever present din.

Almost silent.

Almost quiet.

Almost is often
good enough.

I can't wait for June.

3 A.M. again

2010-10-30T02:00:00.002-06:00

The masters have told me
to write drunk
and edit sober
but I wonder
if I shouldn't just skip
the editing process altogether...

I never cared much
to read
what I wrote
in the wee hours
with a head full of grass
and a liver
full of screwdrivers.

I never cared much
to re-realize
the immense size
of my delusions
my desires
my dreads
and my dreams
come to life.

I never cared much
for poetry
to begin with
so why I write it
is truly beyond me.

But here it is
and here I am
and as the zombies stumble about
on the screen
and the screws
continue to tighten
in my brain
I sit back
and refrain
from being refrained
and ponder the dark
and the stars
as the smoke
seeps
from my lungs...

I wither away
day by day
waiting
for a rain
that will never come...

the flood already
tore through
and took all of worth
from this fragile structure.

The winds
and the tears
came
to wash it all away.

Flowers bloom
on my tongue
as corpses rot
in my skull
and I wonder
and want
and desire
and despise
all that I have
become
thanks to
a self-fulfilling prophecy
I never
should have
divined
to begin...

dreaming myself awake

2010-07-23T21:44:00.000-06:00

I believe I am dreaming
as I sit
and simmer
in juices
still hot
from the flame
you were.

I wonder
if I am awake
as I pine
and sift
through what I know,
hope
and believe
is true
even as the foundation
crumbles
beneath
my feet.

I wonder where I am
when I sit
in your silence
and wonder
about you...

...I imagine you
sitting in your garage
sipping wine
and imagining me
sitting on my porch
sipping a cocktail
as I imagine
about
you.

I do not know
if I am asleep
or awake
for every day
has become
a bad dream.

I do not know
what real
means
anymore.

I do not know
how to sleep
without your weight
pressing down
on my heart.

Even as I wonder
how your worry
seeps in
to infect your dreams
even as your days
come
to challenge
anew.

I imagine
the confusion,
the worry,
the stress,
the immense weight
of it all
bearing down on you...

..even as I,
to my own demise,
sit
and email
you
another poem
you will not condemn
but also
somehow
do not
accept...

...so I might wake
a few hours
from now
to the renewed
realization
of what a fool
I have become.

...and all
for the ridiculous idea
of a fantastical notion
and a romantic
idea...

...a thing
I have sought
and thought
I had found...

...all
for love.

...all
for love
of you.

awake
or a dream,
it all
means the same
to me.

Fallen Star

2010-07-23T21:34:00.001-06:00

...like the wind
that pushes through
before the storm
brewing
like an oily cloak
to conceal
the stars
and wonder.

...like a breeze
whispering past
your window
and laying a dream
beside your ear
as you slumber
and dream
of seeking
and searching...

...loving
and learning...

...flying
and falling
past the precipice of love
and the abyss
of doom.

even as I languish
in long lost
memories
of nipples
beneath dark trees...

...open thighs
and wide eyes...

...conversations
caught
in the what ifs
and the why not's
and the what
the fuck
is going on's.

a laugh...

a cry...

a failed try
and a failed

reply...

time
increases
the weight
and the burden
we wait
to unload...

...time
makes the heart
grow fonder,

at least
for some
as they wonder
and wonder...

he sees you
driving ahead
of him
on the road...

...showing
a shapely calf
as you exit
the tobacco store...

...memories
flood.

Passions
never die.

Friends
are missed...

as this fool
sits in the dark
and cries
despite
how hard he tries
to not miss
all
that he
has lost.

...and so
with ale
in his gut
and smoke
in his brain
he falls,

fails,

retreats
to the place
in his mind
where he finds you
sitting
sultry
demure
waiting
for
my word...

...waiting
for my hand...

...waiting
and amused
by it all.

My muse,

my love,

my friend...

...I am sorry
for it all
but most of all
for me...

...the broken bastard,

the foolish whim,

the sad, silly man.

...never believe
that I never
remember
you.

...always
know
that I do
but that I am
as much
a coward
as a noble
romantic...

...I am
only
a fool
pretending
to know
more than he does
despite
what
he has learned.

know
that I know
the weight
of loss
in my world
since your vision
and your voice,

your words
and your choice
to be my friend,

has been absent.

know
that
I miss you
and regardless
of your reply,
or lack
thereof,

you will always be
like a wandering star
in the vision
of my mind's eye.

fall

2010-06-29T02:26:00.001-06:00

let me fall
down
before you
and spill
my words
at your feet.

let me fall
so long
as you catch me
before
I am shattered.

let me fall
and plunge
in warm waves
and swim
as though
I was born to it.

let me fall
without a shove
and I will
return the favor.

Truth. One drink at a time

2010-06-23T02:45:00.000-06:00

People lie
when they are sober.

Not
when they
are drunk.

The truth
has been known
and the consequences
sown
as a result
of one
too many drinks.

Socrates
said it best
and it’s been clichéd
to death
ever since.

The truth
that cannot be denied.

The truth
protected
by the lie.

Loose lips sink ships
and destroy entire worlds
when uttering
the proper phrase.

Fragile alliances
between conjoined hemispheres
collapse
under the weight
of what is
even as they drifted weightless
on the promises
of what cannot be.

I have loved
both what I could have
and keep
and what is beyond
my grasp.

I have sowed
love
just as I have
salted the earth
where it might grow.

I have loved
and lost
and have not yet decided
whether it is better
to know
or not
but I do know
the knot
that grows
in my guts
threatens to choke out
the last embers
of hope
I have held
for so long.

Eventually,
if kept
unkempt
the vines
will cover
it all.

From the foundation
to the roof.

From the lawn
to the sky.

From the truth
to the lie
I spy
with my bloodshot eye
something
that should be
but is not
and never will.

To have and not

2010-06-23T02:34:00.000-06:00

it is sometime a challenge
to keep my mouth closed
and my hands idle
when sitting alone,
remembering
you.

it is difficult,
fending off
the unrequited feelings
that live inside
and to know
there is a gap.

it is hard
to have you
in my hand
and in my arms
and then
to not.

if I knew the spell
to cast
to become the prince
you seek
or to secure
your affections for me
I would cast it
but such potions
and incantations
are not
within my vocabulary.

and so
I lament
and hope
that if not you
someone
much
akin.

The only problem
being
that I already know
of your skin,
your soul,
your love.

I already know
what it is
to be your man.

I have
already
feasted
upon your pleasure
and the delight
you placed
very literally
in the palm
of my hand.

I have
already been
all you asked
even if not yet
all
I dared.

You came to me
like rain
in a drought
or the last meal
for a condemned man.

The problem
is that
I fell
in love
and was once more
destroyed
while prostrate
on bloody knees
and hands.

Those wiser,
crazier,
better
than I
have already recorded
the destruction
and despair
let loose
seemingly so easily
from the hand
of a woman
intrigued
yet reserved
and hidden.

Others
have said it
and will say it
better
than I.

Nevertheless…

to be broken-
hearted
is a weighty pain,

a common madness,

a singularly
destructive
torture…

no matter
who
I am.

4:14 a.m.

2010-06-13T03:15:00.002-06:00

it is dark
yet the birds
have begun
to wake.

No traffic
moves along my street
as the lights
still illuminate
the way.

No voices can be heard
and the dogs
are silent.

The city
is asleep
even if
I
am not.

My heart yearns
for soft
warm palms
on my chest
and the slippery
silk
of her lips.

My mind
scatters
in a thousand directions
preventing me
from formulating
an escape path.

The wound
is fresh
and new
even though
I had been anticipating
the blade
and had been warned
in advance
that the thrust
would be
deep.

I ache
for slumber
and to forget
the love
that was sweet
as honey
so recently
but now
has turned
to vinegar.

I weep
in the face
of my confusion
and disappointment
wishing
desperately
to go back.

But there is no return
to fertile fields
set aflame.

There is no saving
that
which has already perished.

There is no
resurrecting
the dead.

The bliss
is gone,

the hope
has been snuffed out

and I must again face
the dread
of a life
alone.

A life
without
the love
of a woman
that for a moment
I truly believed
would be mine.

The mourning
will pass
and the pain
will fade
but I fear
I will never
recover
from the enchantment
I felt
beneath
her raven's
mane.

Ode to mistrust

2010-06-12T14:31:00.003-06:00

Oh love,
spiteful
and sickly sweet,
you spoke to me
in the words
that fell
from the tongue
of a childhood dream
that draws breath.

You pierced my heart
through her majestic
mahogany eyes.

You consumed me
with her lips
and smothered me
with her flesh.

Oh love,
you vengeful,
spiteful demon,
you slew me
when you raked
her nails
across
my back.

You conquered me
through her movements
and magic
of her line
and deceived me
with her false breath.

Now
I seek
the strength
to simply breathe
so the wounds
you leave
might close
before
I bleed
to death.

Oh love,
why must
you treat me
with so little respect
or regard?

I know
you will visit me
again
and I fear...

will I ever
be able
to trust
you?

blind leap

2010-06-12T14:25:00.002-06:00

Sleep escapes me.

When I am able
to capture
the elusive state
I find it to be
infected
by you.

Thoughts fail me.

They are a stampeding
herd
of hopes
and death
and love
and dreams
that pound
my reality
into a dust
under their hooves.

Love defies me.

It is a prize
too great to request
and too fleeting
to find
save for the tiny
toxic scraps
blown to me
on fickle winds.

Truth lies
and some may wonder
what can make
a man cry
from frustration,
confusion
and pain.

Fearlessness
turns to foolishness
before the leap
can be aborted
and the rocks
come rushing up
to me.

And all the while
the tide
simply rolls in
and out
until it carries away
the evidence
and
the debris.

Diamonds and Dust

2010-06-11T18:16:00.001-06:00

I can feel the weight
of the Earth's
iron core
as it's gravity
pulls on me,

giving me
that sinking feeling
in my guts...

my heart
and lungs
seem to sag
and droop
as each beat
and breath
becomes more labored
as I fight
the sick
bubbling about.

I feel
the singularity
that has formed
beneath my feet,
sucking me down.

I have felt this
before...

the precursor
to doom...

the instincts
screaming
in my chest
as my mind
simply breaks
and falls
away.

The sinking
and the crushing
can turn a man's soul
to dust...

all it takes
is pressure
and time.

dream girl

2010-06-11T17:17:00.002-06:00

The woman
that came
from my dreams
seems
to have left me
with nothing more
than the nightmare
that proceeded her.

The boy
who beheld the face
in his unconscious mind
grew to a man
lucky enough
to find her
in the sea
of tears.

Feeling painfully exposed
to the world
on bloody knees
bent into
the gravel
and the glass
between my madness
and her scent.

A heart
that beat
so strongly
that it burst
from the sudden
decompression.

Ideas
and goals
and art
all imagined
and planned
now lay
as shards
on the road.

I followed
the posted signs
believing the future
to be
just over
the horizon
but it seems
I've been on
the road to hell
all along.

fool

2009-08-30T01:32:00.002-06:00

I hunt her down,
relentlessly,
endlessly
I obsessed,

I yearned,

I mourned,

I wept

until
I found
what I was looking for.

Purple dress,

flowers
in her hair,

a smile
on her face
that I
did not generate.

A wedding photo
that I
was not in.

His face
is weak.

His demeanor
is lame.

His appearance
causes me
to question
the decision
she made...

but she made it
and now
it is done

and I
am still
the same fool
I have always
been.

pop quiz

2008-04-26T10:04:00.002-06:00

-

without warning
a beauty appears
and asks
“what kind of poetry do you write?”

I tumble down
a spiral staircase
chasing my babble as it
falls to the floor
along with my tongue,
my guts
and my brain.

I need to work
on an answer
for that question.

someday
I might actually
want to know.

pool champ

2008-04-16T14:59:00.001-06:00

-

he’s a big guy,
a regular
at pool and drink.

I know him
as well as I can
from shared complaints,
wedgies
and beer.

he holds up a little plaque
with great pride
showing me that he
was one
that helped gain
our shared bar
3rd place
in the annual
city pool league.

one of a two-man team.

I feel glad for him
mixed with a bit of pity.

I encourage him
trying to hide
how sad
I think it is.

I smile
and wonder
if there is no greater aspiration,
some larger reward
in his life.

I already know
there is not.

I do not regard this fellow
with disdain
or disregard
for he is a jolly
good fellow
indeed.

more capable
than I
of rejoicing
in the little things,
the tiny rewards,
the simple smiles.

still too young
to be damned
to his path
but there it is
in front of him.

20 years from now
I don’t know where
I will be
but I am fairly certain
he will be here
drinking
and trying
with all he has
to make his 3rd
into a 1st.

and as I sit in
hypocritical judgment
I am reminded
that no matter what

a man
needs a goal
in life

and that life
is a relative thing.

power trip

2008-04-16T14:58:00.000-06:00

-

it is sometimes difficult
to remember
whom I have offended,
whom I have trespassed against
and whom
I have not.

judging from the look
on the face
of the guy
at the other end
of the bar
I must surmise
that he is one
whom
I have.

most likely the result
of my wanting
to make his girlfriend.

I probably passed her
a poem or two
on some drunken,
lonely,
desperate night.

that is usually
more than enough
to incur
some wrath,
some resentment,
some ill.

when she avoids
all eye contact with me
I take that as verification
of my suspicions
and my cue
to stay over here
and finish
my drink.

some guys never learn.

sometimes I hope
I never do.

sometimes
I hope I will
but for tonight
I’ll just sit
and enjoy
what little power
I have.

Dry hump

2008-03-25T16:29:00.001-06:00

The random scrawling
seems little more than
frustrated masturbation
when it won’t
stay hard.

There is a severe dis-
combobulation of
my senses
and my
equilibrium is all
but shot
as I stumble
into one wall after another
trying to find a door.

I just keep dry humping
the pages
like I’ll never
get laid.

Wasteland refugee

2008-03-19T19:13:00.000-06:00

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.

Waiting

2007-04-13T01:24:00.000-06:00

Pen drawing

Coffee Pot

2007-04-13T01:21:00.000-06:00

Pen drawing

All alone in a crowded room

2007-03-14T17:43:00.000-06:00

fuck me
for the fool
that I am

patience is a virtue
I hear

worth is measured
not in dollars
but in friends

if that is true
then I am a virtual billionaire

yet when I wake
I'm still too broke
to go to the bank

sticks and stones
will break my bones
but words will...

well...I'd rather
have the sticks
and stones

it hurts
far worse
to be left
alone

and so it goes
the warning shows,

be careful
what you wish for

sometimes
there is little warning
before the crushing
of the wave

---

Sacramental breath (thaw)

2007-03-14T17:24:00.000-06:00

With three mighty breaths
The mind is taken
As the light is
Reawakened
I am able
To think free
About the pig
And the cow
And the deer
Just now
Dancing in the frozen field
Beckoning my name
As the freshly frozen
Even now
Thaws
And the song
Follows the rhythm
Of the ice
As it falls
From heaven
And droplets
Gather for
The coming parade

The march
Of the rushing flow
As the snow
And ice
Melt away

In the second hour
Of this holy day
To which
I still must pay
Some respect

So I thank the herb
Nestled warmly
In my chest
And the chemicals
Now racing
Through my brain

I thank this moment
Of creativity
Free
From the daily pain

Even as I wish
For a beer
And a body
To keep me warm

As the ice
Falls
From the trees

As the sacred breath
Comes to calm
My brain

I feel
The beginning
Of the end
Of creation
Soon to die
And all of it
Captured
In the now

Even as it thaws
And does
What I
Cannot

---

who are you?

2006-11-30T14:11:00.000-07:00

who are you Sunnyvale?

my biggest reader for sure but my #1 fan?

who are you Sunnyvale
and is it really that sunny
afterall?

I can't help but wonder
and I've waited long to ask
so perhaps you'll let me know
if I should embrace you
or cover my ass

who are you Sunnyvale?

I wonder if I'll ever know

----

the Bull

2006-06-22T23:36:00.000-06:00

the bull rises up
with bravado
and guile
in the face
of potential
and love

charging madly
at scarlet things

psuedo intellectual whims
and delusions
of grand design
fall onto pages
often better left blank

instead
stained with lament
and sorrow
and angst

a moment
consumed
by Pygmalion dreams

a life spent
like laundered cash

a final charge
into a mountain of doubt
after a message
from ancient stars
to bolster a resentful
and arrogant rage

I kill
I die
and in the wallowing
and in the death
I see
I am

the means

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

right now

2006-05-03T00:56:00.000-06:00

wishing for one more angel
tonite
would be greedy

I've already
been blessed
by two
and for me
that's a fire
and brimstone miracle
for sure

I'll just be content
and happy
with what I have
right now
because it will
be gone

tomorrow

-----------

people think it's so damn easy

2006-04-26T00:24:00.000-06:00

people think it's so damn easy.
they see me whip out
a little drawing
with little effort
and think
I can draw them
anything

I probably can
but that's beside the point

it is pretty easy for me
but that's beside the point too

"man, you should draw a comic book."
"dude, you should work for a magazine."
"man, you should have a gallery show."
"dude, why are you working here?"

I drew a few ninjas in jr. high
to avoid a few beatings

I drew a few pictures
that ended up on shirts
and made some other dude
all the cash

I tried the comic book
but by then
I just wasn't interested anymore

writing
much as drawing
has rarely won me
money or women

I gotta draw
what's in my head

not what's in theirs

I've never been very good
at translations
especially
pig latin

they think it's so easy
and it is
for me

damn,
I guess all artists
are the same

maybe I should have been
a graphic designer
instead

at least they get paid

----------

coffee shop

2006-04-07T14:13:00.000-06:00

I need a coffee shop
where I can smoke
a fucking cigarette,
bottom line.

Denny's
and Village Inn
don't count.

A coffee shop
open till after dawn
where I can smoke

Not everyone lives
for the day

I don't even really get going
until after 10
and usually can't stop
till 5

I tip
when
and what
I can

I'll smoke ya
out back

They should carry
beer as well.
You never know

A plug
for my laptop
and a line
for my 56k

A suicide
seductress
steaming
my cream

I'll bet
New York
has shit like
that.

I'll bet London,
Amsterdam,
Paris too

I can't wait
to get discovered
in Germany

The krauts are crazy,
they oughta love me

The french won't
but I never had
a large desire
for Paris
so fuck them

Sweden for sure

The train keeps going
even further west
from here
so I know
this isn't
the last stop
on the line

But I suppose
I'll need a job
so I'll have the fare

Canada isn't
too far
and I already
paid taxes there

I hear Vancouver is cool

I'm sure they'd
let me back in

They took
my shit father.

I'm gonna be
dangerous
when I finally get paid.

If I hit
the lottery
you'll find me
in 24 hour
coffee shops
around the world

it sounds great
now
but I'm sure
once I get there

they'll all be the same

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

Day 13,497

2006-04-05T15:26:00.000-06:00

Please do not remind me
I have never been to war,
Hosed by police,
Chased by dogs,
Watched my family die

The worst wars
Are waged in the mind

The worst beatings
Are self inflicted

The dogs of hell
Have already had me
And will again

Most of my family
Has been dead for years

I've witnessed
Far worse
Than death anyway

I have had my person
Insulted
Invaded
Injured
Less than some
More than others

I know how much
It takes
To knock me unconscious
And that counts for something

My pain
Is the same
Regardless of the source

My ignorance
Has many ilk

The passion
Has already killed better men
And always will

I've heard it
Read it
Preached it
All before

I understand
The tortures beyond me
I am fortunate
To have thus far escaped

Once it humbled me

Now it just gets under my skin

My god
Knows me
Better than yours
So she'll let a few things slide

I can hear the signal
Thru the noise

I remember
The view
Before the fog rolled in

I saw
The same moon
The same falling star
The same wonder
As you

It's my grasp
That always slips first

Few can stand
In my acid rain
Before the blisters
Drive them away

I stand alone
In the mud
As the ditch starts to fill

A drowning man
Is the most selfish man
Alive
But only for
A little while

Conceived
On pcp
Pain
Regret
In the aftermath of loss
Introduced
To more than
The mind
Should have to understand
Almost
From day one

Day 13497
Hasn't been much better
So far

At least today
I haven't learned a thing

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

angry envy

2006-04-04T14:58:00.000-06:00

neon red letters
are burning my eyes
swimming in drunk
and smoke
vibrations from a heavy thump

from the box on the wall
surrounded by a teeming mass
of bad taste
and two sizes too small

cloves and dark beer
silken polyester lycra blends
streaming mp3
flipped open to capture
the mundane repeat
of escapades already recorded

posted
revealed
stolen moments

passing glances
devoid of life

words released
that say nothing

intentions telegraphed
from a mile away

passe and cliche
coveting of bling
and booty

I watch and see all that
they wish to hide
and work so very hard
to disguise under Saks
and Rolex distractions

plumage that will never
gain them anything
once the molting
has begun

passing thru this night
on a secret desire
fueled by the most ravenous
of thirsts

I can see them blistering
and bleeding
just past the wretched smile
they wear
poorly

I feel their weary longing
even thru their weathered skin
they cover
and conceal

I soar over them
in my contempt
shitting on all the pretty things

I watch them all
as my eyes burn
from the smoke
and the glow

envying
every empty conquest

they make.

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

1967 LeMans

2006-04-03T07:53:00.000-06:00

I used to have
this 1967 Pontiac LeMans
and it was,
once boiled down to its core
really nothing more
than

completely
totally
utterly

fucking cool.

GM green body
white hardtop
white interior
automatic
white walls
3-speed
dynaglide

it was always
that Hollywood moment
dreamed of by
farm boys

to cruise
the San Diego streets
and beaches
glass packs belching
making heads turn

riding in such
a magnificent machine
chasing sunsets and bikinis
along boardwalks
and tides

such dreams
were never dared

only a year before
I was being beaten
by the bullies
and emasculated
by all the girls
crying into blankets
praying to gods
that were never there

even the love
of a good car
lost
in memories of sand
and sun
and laughter

inspires
an intermittent
but powerful
lament

needless to say
I miss that car

more than many
of the women.

It had a better body
less miles
and never complained
when I ran it too hard

I sigh
and wonder
where those days
have gone.

oh well.
it was a great car
but it never did

get me laid.

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

shearing sheep

2006-04-02T14:11:00.000-06:00

another oldie, about a year and a half...

Don't disturb the sheep.
Walk softly,
let them sleep
deep
in the sleep
of the content.

I have no idea
where the real world went
but in the process
my nose has become disjointed
and bent.

Slaughter the cattle
while they mindlessly prattle
until labored lungs strain
thruough the death rattle
that ushers the end.

Jelly spines
are easy to bend.

You can shear a sheep
a thousand times
but only slaughter it once.
Ignore the groans
and the grunts
from plutonium dreams
that stunt growth before the growin is done.

The end of the world will come from one.
Somebody's father,
somebody's son.

The sheep goes Baaaaa,
the cow goes Moooo.
I wonder what sound

comes out of you.

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

there's always much conversation required

2006-03-30T23:37:00.000-07:00

At some point they always
want to talk.

Sooner or later the conversations
must begin.

They need to discuss their feelings,
their fears
and all the details in the contract
that I tend to glance over.

They always want to talk
when I don't want to
or really shouldn't.

Often I cannot recover
enough of my mind
once the high has taken over.

It's hard to have serious
or civil discussions
when you're neither sober
nor prepared.

I find myself content with writing
what I need to say
for often the words are too cruel
too honest,
too real.

Somehow,
sometimes,
the poem softens the blows
from my fickle fists.

She wants to talk
and I don't think I'm ready
for what she has to say.

But on the other hand
it may be nothing more
than the neurotic brewings
within a woman's soul.

One of the waste products of beauty
I suppose.

She wants to talk
and I will listen
and try to comfort whatever fear
is saddening her day.

I will listen and hope
that I am not required
to reveal
anything too truthful.

I will listen
and do my best not
to be a bastard again

so long as she doesn't want to talk

about me.

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

Numbing routine

2006-03-30T14:13:00.000-07:00

they're wheeling another one away
diesels rumbling
their trumpets of farewell
white zippered bag
gray wrinkled flesh
mottled by experience
cast off by wisdom

they load the parcel
clumsily
with a practiced routine
no sadness
they've done this before
and will probably be back
tomorrow

I'll be waiting

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

sight and smell

2006-03-29T13:11:00.000-07:00

every day
every night
every bar
every street
every stop
every drink
every cigarette
every time

I close
my crusty,
weary lids
over my bloodshot eyes.

she's everywhere.
fractured reflections.

especially around shopping malls
and grocery stores.

every breath
that comes from the wind
was recently
within her breast.

I am trapped
in a box
with the smell
of woman
all over my hands.

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

How far?

2006-03-29T13:06:00.000-07:00

How terrible is the deed,
How spiteful the word,
How bitter the heart.

How far must a parent go
to earn the scorn,
the disdain,
the hate
of a child?

Just far enough

sometimes

just a little further.

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

Something stirs

2006-03-28T14:56:00.001-07:00

Knotted dreads wrapped in
a scarf,
hips like razor blades
that slice my throat as she turns
and eyes
that betray much
to he who might see...

something stirs in her soul
and I am but debris
in the wake of her passing

primal whispers rise
in the back of my skull
as her fire scorches my flesh

she sits
so near,
so far
& I cannot find the brass
to close & attack
so I sit back
and lament for feelings
she'll never have

something stirs in me
as her weight spins the world
faster than I can think

without some suave play
I have no way
but my own
to say to you

you are a beauty
and you made me swoon,
a bit,
I looked with lust
but gave a shit
even as my realities
impede my progress
for life is sometimes
too strange,
too unfair...

I pray you know
a stranger can see & care
without all the knowledge
of the why

and so I can only try
to express
even anonymously to you
that you are proof
that beauty exists

and as always
it will leave too soon.

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

bit

2006-03-28T14:04:00.000-07:00

the white wet has piled up
all loafing and lazy on the mud

the breeze curses any
who dare enter her domain
stealing their breath
and stabbing at the bone

little warmth lingered
past the blankets and sheets
since i never found my way there

gone like a ghost
with duties to attend
but on the way out
you managed to snag
a bit of me

so i wait
till the time comes
that i'll get that bit
back

and feel a little more whole

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

last survivor

2006-03-26T12:54:00.001-07:00

phantoms of beauty
haunt my visions,
causing me
to question
my sanity,
my perceptions,
my love.

all the candles
have burned away

all the sweat
has evaporated

all the years
weigh down

the mind wanders free
but once it begins to run
the chain is forgotten
and the jerk and choke
always comes

under the mushroom
the tiny creatures
and tiny beauty
die in a rain
of spores

fallout
hydrogenation
balsamic vinegar piss
green corn
never shared

pass the bottle
over
I'm not drowned yet

Cut these tits
these pussies
these boners
from the sack

Leave a red haired
white frosted bud
where it all used to be
so that I can become
the dream
and holy ceremony
lodged deep
in earthen tomb

I'll bare my teeth
to the lion
knife in hand
and take my death
in a small tanned hide

I'll open the portal
and dare the double barrels
to speak their mind
while waving a finger
madly about

spouting obscenities and curses
like a fountain filled with pennies

women will point
and warn
"if you don't brush your teeth
you'll end up like him"

watch for the vapor trails
heading south from north
past the frozen top of the world

listen for the whistle
as the roaches take a deep breath
realizing their inheritance
is so near

"I need a paper clip
a roll of duct tape
and some vagisil
and everything will be fine."

Don't forget to fill the tub
And stock the cans

Bring blankets
and beer
and if you have a woman
still able to breed
buy a shotgun
and keep it near

bar the door
because there are worse visitors
to fear
than the witnesses
and the crusaders

a full bottle
and a box of shells
I'll sit in the corner
and wait

sooner or later
they'll come

join me in a drink until then

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

love may conquer hate

2006-03-25T18:20:00.000-07:00

Love may conquer hate
On occasion
But signs seem to indicate
That evil always prevails.

Simply read the news
Or listen to the words from
Popes,
Presidents
And mindless men
For the proof
Of their lies.

Strawberry rhubarb pies
But for fuck's sake
Don't eat the leaves
And don't watch the lions
Devouring the cubs
And never fall in love with a
Black widow
Or a peacefully praying mantis.

Love often conquers
But hate always wins
And those that fight biology
Are hopeful or stubborn fools.

Humans
Hate
Humans
and it has nothing
to do
with skin.

So many diversions from the truth
Each road a new illusion
Each path a new doom
Each love a new pain

Brown waters flowing
From faucets plumbed
Into radioactive pools
Still hold a shine quite well
As the sold sign swings
On rusty hooks
In a foretelling breeze.

Love carves many canals.

Hate floods them with rain.

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

my only friends

2006-03-25T13:47:00.000-07:00

I sit here laying words
on pages,
remembering pieces of my life
I often forget,
lamenting for losses
that I can't forget,

dwelling on things
I should forget

trying to find honesty
and purpose
blooming somewhere
in the convoluted weeds.

I sit here
writing
thinking
feeling
and finding that beyond the decay
and waste
I have within my reach
a gem
or two.

I sit here
and imagine the lives
I may yet lead
but fear the green lawns
that always seems to fade.

I sit here and pay respect
to loves betrayed,
abandoned,
and friends
disappointed,
left behind
and thank you
(even if too late)
for your compassion,
patience
and love.

The bastards
know what they can do.

I sit here
wondering what tomorrow will bring
but for now
I do not fear
facing it
alone.

I may be interned in isolation
and cannot come by
say hi
drink your beer

I know I don't call.

But,
for now
even in the thick absence
I have some company,
find some solace,
make small progresses
instead of large transgressions

my words will save me
even if love, god
and the world

won't.

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

slow death trap

2006-03-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

You don't need to die
to get to a better place.
just drive 50 miles
in any direction.

Under the right conditions
of insecurity,
fear,
despair
and ignorance
a small town
can consume more souls
than angry African war drums.

Please pick a vocation from the list below;

Crop farmer
Semi operator
Plant manager
Cereal box stuffer
Car washer
Fast food management
Fry cook
Barkeep
Waitress
Retail sales
Waste collection
Holy roller
Lost soul

Applications can be completed at
Iowa Work Force
Between 9a.m. and 4:30p.m.

I don't trust towns
that go to bed at
or before 10.

In my experience
anyone that needs to wake
before the sun
is up to no good.

I don't trust bars
that can't keep customers
drunk and happy since they close at 1:30
and every year and a half
they change their name
just to stay open.

I don't trust dealers
that sell me quarter bags
and behave as though I'm an Arab
trying to buy plutonium.

They won't even let me sample the goods.

I don't trust towns
with ads for escorts
and a massage parlor

but no head shops.

Small towns often
have the most gaping maws,
swallowing hopes and dreams
and shitting out the bitter remains.

I got chewed up pretty good

but I think I got out
just in time.

of course,

I've been wrong before.

----------

water's edge

2006-03-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

step to the water's edge
to listen
and watch,

the ripples reach
from across the world
and all the knowledge of life
is held in the cool blue truth

just scrape free the foam
and scum
collecting at the surface
green with envy and ignorance
to peer into the mirror
and see all you'll ever need.

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

dying alone

2006-03-24T01:42:00.000-07:00

The cat is pissy today,
already puked under my table
mash and hair
all yellow and hot.

The words had to wait
till I could wrap up the little gross
in a paper towel that damped up
before I could get to the trash.

The wad thumped hard
into the coffee grounds
and cigarette butts
and the scrapings of last night's meal.

The fan spins on low
pulling my smoke away from the screen
and the coffee just seems to go down
too fast.

Another old person died across the street today.
I didn't hear the alarm go off
so at least they weren't alone.

Does it really matter that much?

I have a funny feeling

it might.

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

long line

2006-03-21T14:36:00.000-07:00

then
the speech
about the rally
against the war
and the genocide.

Public speakers should note;
*Bullet Points
*Useful Tools
*Attract Attention
*Stress Points
*Minimize Boredom

hand me a flyer
tell me what it's for
then stop talking
because now you're just draggin it around the room.

Next Poet Please!
(and please be better than the last)

but no.

you lost me 2 minutes ago
now is not the time
to burst forth
with the traditional Irish folk song
that reveals the truth
of St. Patty's iron fist
and how much innocent blood
he pounded into the British Isles.

snakes
druids
genocide

I came here trying to get away from my depression.

get over it,
move on,
deal
you're bringing me down
and some things
never change.
most don't.

just try to dodge
the bullets and mortars
before the big fire
finally burns down
all your noble toil.

every human life counts the same?
really?

no wonder there's always
too long of a line.

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

stare

2006-03-21T13:01:00.000-07:00

snapshot-sculpted face
staring intently
staring vacantly
staring absently
looking at a thought
lost in the background clutter
seeking clarity in a fog
staring longingly
into the night
at people
passing in cars
and memories

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

the good ones

2006-03-20T13:50:00.000-07:00

I wrote her
To not write me
If she couldn't say anything nice.

Also,
Not to reply
Unless a re-reply
Was desired.

I think I covered the main points
But know I missed a couple things.

I deleted your address.
I deleted your mail.

I copied the text into a letter
And saved that
But just the words,
Not the tempting details.

I've got a letter
I'm writing to you
That gets bigger every day,
Even knowing you may never read it.

You can't have it yet
Anyway,
It's not done.

Maybe they'll publish it
After I die.

She won't write
Any day soon,
I fear,
Hope.

Someday
Down the line
She'll cave in.

Even when you kick them
In the face,
Eventually,
The good ones always

Want more.

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

poem on a napkin for a waitress

2006-03-19T23:00:00.000-07:00

Swim in that stream
of chaos and cash,
stroke strongly thru the human currents
that carry all manner of debris your way.

I see you sunning
on a sand bar of gold
suspended in a glow
of white and blue...

I see you thriving
at long last
in calm, shaded pools
of serene contentment
once all the drinks
have been served
and the flotsam

finally floats away.

-----------

all I need

2006-03-19T22:51:00.000-07:00

I'll be here, a mile high
waiting for the doorbell
that's broken
to chime out
your name

but the dream
is only a dream
born of regret
love
and fear

hopeful men
go to early graves
waiting for the life they never live

stoic icons of power
strength
wisdom
crumble under the forces
of earth
and sky,
rain and blood

some foundations might survive
the tide
and wind
buried deep enough
anchored to bedrock older than
the foolishness of men

no fairy tale
no poetic sonnet
no song sung in the moon's wane
can undo the doing
but perhaps over time
the wailing
and tears
might release
enough pressure
so that the brain can still
survive

the heart failed
at a crucial time

and broke
under it's own weight

she shielded me
and spoke of beauty
love
and forever

I cried
fell
and ran
burning buildings along the way

regardless of the warnings
I charted a course
into rough seas
believing the new world existed
beyond my sight

no gold shone to welcome me
only the morning mist
of fantasy
and when it burned away
the beach was
barren
and cold
and now
my sail is torn
my supplies consumed
I am marooned
in memory
and fear

My man Friday
left last Tuesday
and I don't even have
a dog.

the fleas remain
and I still
have paper
pain
and pen.
perhaps that's all

I need.

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

can't stop

2006-03-19T04:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just can't stop

Jerkin off,
Drawing,
Smoking,
Drinking,
Wishing,
Fucking,

Writing.

Maybe someday
I won't feel
Like that's
such a bad thing.

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

You are as mad as I

2006-03-19T04:23:00.000-07:00

Just tell me
You haven't kissed

Anyone.

Even if you have.

Just tell me
My lips
Are still the best
You've known
Even after
You've found a perfect pair
That only speaks the truth.

Just tell me
You still touch yourself
And pretend
It's me.

Please,
Just let me know
You're just as mad

As I

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

I can't wait to buy C.B. a beer

2006-03-19T02:58:00.000-07:00

I read thru Hank's bio
A bit more today.

That sad
Sonofabitch.

I thought I had issues.

I knew I heard an echo
When I read him.

I hope I never know how to fear
As much.

I think I already do.

Anymore
Will kill me.

Ya,
He drank,
Everybody knows that.

He punched out
A bitch or two
Cuz only a real
World-class bitch
Would ever consider
Fucking that guy.

They probably asked for it
Even if they deny it.

Maybe not.
It's all the same.

The guy
Had parents
Darker than any closet,
Colder than any hell
And in spite of it all
He kept kicking
And finally
Managed a fuck or two.

He wrote
More than I've pissed.

We've both lied
About the same,
Just about different shit.

Some of it's the same.

Daddy fucked me up too
But after you pass
About 19
That shit doesn't float anymore.

It probably should.

I won't be renting
Any black suits.

He drank.
I smoke.
He drank a lot.
I smoke more.

I may not have a pile
Of poems
Waist high
Hiding in the closet

I haven't sent 200 publishers
700 poems
Printed 20 chaps
Pissed off all the elite,

Yet

But I've got 164 posts,
250 in another week and a half,
100 Megs and going,
More black books
Than I feel like counting right now,
Papers stashed in boxes,
A handwritten/illustrated book
Held in tiny, precious, brunette trust
That I of course betrayed.

Maybe a shoebox or two
In a closet here and there,
A few modest pamphlets
Given to a few precious lays,
Napkins in my glove box,
Torn scraps in my wallet,
Notes on my hands

And still so much
In my head.

I may never be as well known
But I know I'm better looking
(sorry B, but you'd agree).

Maybe when I get to hell
I can buy him a beer
And he'll let me drive his B'mer
But I'm sure at some point
I'd piss him off,
Annoy him,
Say something too passe'

And bore him to tears
And curses.

I love his words,
His guidance,
His pain
But the truth is

He'd probably just
Piss me off too.

We've got so much
In common and
To be honest,

I'm not sure if I should hope

Or pray.

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

no more

2006-03-17T12:58:00.000-07:00

Black roses rain down
on unmarked graves
from clouds toxic and black.

Bodies lay beneath
the muck and the mire.
wounds have bled out life
and turned the earth foul.

Atrocious acts only hours old
are already forgotten,
unknown.

Laughs,
hugs and kisses
now buried anonymously
beneath death head trees.

Lost affections
never to be known again.

Tracks wash away and lies grow
in the bitter acid rain.

Twisted, tiny corpse
only just now growing cold,
only until recently
still breathing,
terrified to the core of being
but perhaps blissfully ignorant
of the dread only heartbeats old.

Memories never shared
now have no voice
even to cry for help.

Blank graves that contain
no voice
no memory
no more.

---3/21/04---

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

We cannot

2006-03-17T12:36:00.000-07:00

We cannot undo
The damage that's been done.
We cannot fight
But we cannot run.

We cannot change
The horrors of the past.
We can't even see
The die that's been cast.

We cannot count
That others will change.
We cannot remove the debris
Only rearrange.

We cannot die too soon
Or give up too much hope.
We cannot climb the walls
With too short a rope.

We cannot stand
On the shoulders of others.
We cannot forget
To honor our mothers.

We cannot give in
To the powers that be.
We must be ourselves

And in doing find some new truth to see.

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

Enjoy it while it lasts

2006-03-16T20:31:00.000-07:00

What an absurd demonstration
of wasteful,
foolish
horseplay.

Such a frivolity of youth
that will never grow up
and spurns opportunity
at every turn.

Ignorant,
immature
adolescence led
to captures
and distractions aplenty.

And now,
sitting in this booth
drinking this beer
and fucking myself
with this cigarette

all bought on borrowed cash

I write this poem
as perhaps my favorite satyr
sings from his grave,
premature
but probably predestined
and unavoidable...

"I stay away"

Lane,
one link
in the chain
around Alice's neck,

weighted to the bottom
by a concrete slab,
and suddenly I'm a waste
of wanting
wishing I could become
this song...
...until it ends,
again.

And now a man,
too fond of feeble efforts
and vain attempts,
not to mention hopelessly,
romantically
a fool

pays his tab,
collects his things
and heads for a door
that leads only
back into the cold night.

They may be exasperated
by my monumental lack of ambition
but they have got to admire
my persistence
and steadfast
depression.

It's alright,
I don't mind.

Just in case I get there
really early
I'll make sure to save them a seat
in hell.

Until then
I'll enjoy this mad night
of chill
and remorse.

For it will all end

far too soon.

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

All the circumstances lead to the same conclusions

2006-03-16T13:08:00.000-07:00

1)---
I'm so fucking drunk
like a french skunk
with too much funk

As the ball hits the target,
-Dunk-

I spit on some shoes
got beaten black and blue
what else can be done
when I can't get with you
or her
or her

but I kept chasin,
erasin failure only 5 mins old
cuz I'm drunk
with bold and cheap drinks
mixed cleverly
in the kitchen sink,
the tub,
a bin,
cuz everybody here
is looking
for sin

out of time
I got no way to win
cuz I'm too old,
too white,
too wrong,
too right,

got enough vision
but not enough sight

too much chest hair
not enough blight

I have no zits
or sleek modern wit
and don't understand
the rules of this new game

since a while ago
I left it,
without shame
but now I got an ex
and that fact will vex
this nubile vixen
I was fixin on nailin
but some other fucker
is on that ship sailin
on winds of her wailin
in passionate throes
even if
I've got better prose...

2)---
So fucking stoned,
sitting alone,
bored to the bone
but I don't care,
haven't washed my hair,
just sit on the couch
and stare
as I
click,
click,
click

nobody can flick
as quick as I when I
find that zone,
stoned
with a remote control
and all alone

the urge hits
so I pop in some porn,
close the blinds from scorn,
jerk my dick
till I get that funky sick
in the pit
then stop...
wait...
breathe...

then jerk some more,
checking the plastic person on the tube,
perfect ass,
fake boobs,
all illusions of perfection
to satisfy my erection,

then,

the wad is out,
but I'm quiet,
I don't shout,
I just hold it in
and turn on Discovery

some benign shit
is what I need to see
while I resume
and blaze some more,

let the sweat come from every pore
and load a bowl
to calm my soul
since I released some shit
but the loneliness
won't quit...

...I'm deep in it.

3)---
Stone cold sober,
the binge is over
but now I gotta deal
with what's real
and avoid all the temptations
to steal a peek
at the freak
I left behind
just last week

I wanna go get stoned,
get drunk,
go out and act like a punk,
be a prick
just so I'll have more shit
to feel sick
about.

I want to shout as couples pass
without a glance
at me

they are all they can see
that that makes me hate them,
I can't win

damned if I do
damned if I don't
everything I try just
won't

be myself
be something else,

don't matter cuz I got no chatter,
not enough green,
probably need
to be a little more lean,
cooler hair,
something prettier
to make the ladies stare

but in my secrets
I want something more rare,
a soul
bare to mine,
a partner so fine
in body and brain,
someone who helps
to ease
not strain,
someone who can help me maintain
and refrain
from the self-destructive shit I do

I haven't met her yet,
or maybe I have,
whatever the case
I hope she looks
like you.

--Fin---
The crush is a rush
but I want the real
without too much mush

cuddlin on the couch
and every other thing
every guy loves but can't admit
cuz it don't fit
with the NFL,
NASCAR,
or the other guys at the bar
who are already
always
pushing too far.

I want the sweet and the steel,
the love that I feel
when I hear her squeal
and home cooked meals
but don't sweat it,
I can cook
so we're all set

I wanna get drunk,
get high,
get sober,
get paid,
go home,
get laid

I want all of that
before the government raids
the rest of my freedoms

I want my own little kingdom
with a worthy Queen,
a true goddess,
y'know what I mean?

A creature of life
and creativity,
a Tocharian, Amazon warrior,
a deity of love and passion

Somebody with some class
and a natural sense of fashion

I need this in my life
over and above
my needs for life
for without the salvation of love
life is strife and pain
and you can keep that shit

It doesn't fit and

I've had my fill
and can no longer stand alone

against this torrential rain.

---orininally written 6/21/04---

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

Generation Gap

2006-03-16T11:04:00.000-07:00

---a blast from the past...

Don't pre-date my disposition
To your political position
Cuz it's fresh and new
It's just too bad
The same can't be said about you.

You tend to infuriate
When you mitigate
And since you can't relate
We must forge our own fate.

You waste your time with hate
And think me the fool
But that's cool
I often think the same about you.

Self-fulfilling prophecies
Often times come true.

It's all good that
We're misunderstood
Trying to turn this old hood
Into a fresh
Cool place
Under the dirt
There's still a pretty face
Full of inspiration
And grace.

But all you want
Is to displace
And erase
And sabotage our pace

Out with the old
And in with the new
Who originally said that?
People like you.

We'll lay brick and mortar
And repave the streets
We'll give hip people
A hip place to meet
And greet
And make their own elite
Ways among the humble

We may stumble
But we will not fall
All you hipsters heed the call
We don't want another wall

We want a gallery with cool art to see
We want bookstores that support
Magazines that are free

We want
A coffee shop
Where we can stop
At anytime of day
And feel free to say
Whatever the fuck we want to say

We want to spend nights outdoors
And watch a good play.

We want more cool shit to do during the day.

We're done with your morals,
Your policies
Your ideas

We want our own ship to explore these seas
Build our own promised land
With artists and poets
And a few good bands

And don't assume it's all hippies
Getting high and holding hands.

It won't be that extreme
And if you watch
We'll blend the seams
so we won't disrupt
too much.

We just want our oasis
In this world that is so corrupt

If you're gay
Get married,
If you're black
Sit down,

If you suffer inside
We'll give your life reason
Enough not to frown.

We'll put on makeup
And act the clown
With free thoughts and balloons
Just east
Of downtown.

New Bohemia is what we say
Won't you give us some money today?
So what if some of us don't pray?
So what if we're tolerant
Of nonwhites and gays?

Our differences make us stronger,
Some say.

So go hide in your house
With your mouse
Of a spouse
And we'll just keep waiting
Till you die,
If we have to.

Sooner or later
We all pay our dues
And you know it's true
That you're getting old

Tell me you haven't
Hoarded enough gold.

Better make sure
All your stories are told

Once you finally go away
We will rise
And rule the new day.

We'll prove we're not the fool
There are inevitable changes to come.
It's time to pass the rule
On to your son

His generation are the ones
Who will make the reparations
For the sins of your kin.

They'll be the ones
To take the punch on the chin
Because they,
We,
Realize in the end
Nobody wins.

We'll rebirth the earth
And reduce our girth
And somehow take care of all your shit.

We'll just do it better,
Smarter,
Hopefully,
Than you did.

We'll use a more refined sense of creation.
We'll learn how to build a better nation.

One world
One people
Who will no longer blindly listen
To the messages from your steeple.

Why can't we all get along?
There oughta be a song about that,
Melodious and long enough
To show how tough
Love can be.

Just give us the chance
And you will see
That this place,
The whole world,
Can be the land of the brave

And the home of the free.

originally written 5/22/04

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

first step

2006-03-16T00:52:00.000-07:00

blue and gray day
virgin white
highlights across a jagged spine
watercolor washes
fade away even the reds
and the blues
until brick
and stone remain
mottled with time

insignificant details
point out the obvious
points of focus
pretending to be nothing
more than they are
lost in the din
and rubble
beneath trees that shiver
in northern winds
and beg for summer rains
trying to hide
in their own shadow

first steps that stop
and lead
back
to the first step
that led
to a trail
of missteps
already traveled
circling back
to the first step
swirling in circles
of dizziness
laced desperation

a placid peak
speaks
to me in her dreams
of blue and billowing
white,
clean breath that burns
inside polluted lungs,
lush green living
layers of life
on layers of life
on layers of life

life that is
beyond the if
above the why
past the purpose

watercolor washes of
blue and
gray
permeating the mottled
dusted spine
of stone
more ancient
than meaning
divides
and leads
my sight past the drowning
depression
of today
and whispers so slightly
inside my head
that I can barely hear
the ancient tongue

as eyes focus,
lock,
stare
into the sea of gray
and blue
and mottled
white
stone
and tree
jagged ridge
the mind wanders
off the track
to find that first step
but this time
in new shoes

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

pondering an impending passing

2006-03-16T00:41:00.000-07:00

...just sitting somewhere
wondering
what if
I passed
and no one knew...

a john doe
they don't know
what to do with
and so i pass
and people ponder
my wanderings in life
as they briefly
remember
and wonder
what ever happened to him?

----------

I wish I could have them all (together they'd make the perfect woman)

2006-03-16T00:35:00.000-07:00

I'd like to do justice,
pay homage,
make amends
to all my women
but I fear there just isn't time.

Lately I've lamented a great deal
over a few,
one in particular
which I seem unable
to cut from my breast.

I bemoan my corrupt actions
and the results
of my childish game.

I would like to make a tribute
to those lustful and generous women
I've known
but I fear I have no knowledge
of building
either with trust
nor wood
nor stone.

To those who may feel
they've been forgotten
in my shame,
fear not,
I pine for you much the same.

I have a vast collection
of bad poetry
dedicated just to you.

If I manage to write something
less sappy,
something that will perhaps
do you more justice
I will bring it to the light
for all to see.

Until then
drunken midnight emails
will have to do.

It doesn't mean
I don't care,
just that there are other more
pressing pains.

I'd like to do you all,
justice,
but as painful as it may be
I know it is an impossible deed.

I'd like to make you all come,
together
(they'd make the perfect woman)
but you'd probably kill each other
not to mention
me.

I'd like to cherish
each
and all
but the few I have no choice about
are already driving me insane.

I'd love
to love
you all
but I've found
there's just not enough
of me to go around

especially when I'm all alone.

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

fairies' tale

2006-03-15T23:24:00.000-07:00

I remember
and want her,
laying like spoons,
her hand
on my hard
as she slightly rolls
her head to the left
and whispers
with demure
and erotic grace,

"I want this."

I have spent my whole life
seeking the reason,
the purpose,
the point.

I fear I found it.

If doubt were dirt and stone
then I would be lost amidst
the Himalayas
battling snow and cold
and an angry unrelenting Yeti,
thirsty to taste my blood.

One little brunette
beyond beauty,
beyond love...

One little brunette
with a guitar,
a pipe
and a pen
captured me more
completely than
could be wanted
by any rational man
and in a far
stronger snare
than I was prepared
to comprehend

and so
there it is

just behind me a bit,

the end
to the fairies' tale
I almost had.

You'd never feel happy
without a reason to feel sad.

Dear god,
what have I done?

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

I wander thru

2006-03-15T16:40:00.000-07:00

I wander thru
imaginations
of comet tails
seeding worlds
with life
and promise.

spaces between
pieces of me
make the whole
more than the parts.

granite ghosts
wander thru all
that matters
as space and time
collide
inside
the eternal black
of an unharnessed mind.

stars strung along
on strands
of gas
and dust
burn my eyes
and leave spots of
color and light
when I blink.

Terra drifts on cosmic winds
and surfs
on gravity tides...
so small...
so small...
so small and tiny
we hide
behind
our lies...

our passing
in a nova spark so mighty
and terrible,
a bite
from a flea
on the back
of a horse's hide,
calloused and tough,
barely noticed
but perhaps worse yet
never known.

Chasing a dream is easy

2006-03-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

Chasing a dream is easy.
surviving your choices
is the hard part.

Compromise
or strive,
settle,
succumb,
submit

or fight, fuck
and never quit being
a sonofabitch.

The switch to data entry
and middle management didn't work.
Corporate America just can't handle
my kinda quirk.

Chasing a dream
whether tangible or steam,
fog,
foolishness,
can cause a man to digress,
to indulge in baser things.

Can cause a man to cry,
lie,
sometimes try
even when the odds have him beat.

Take the punch
and hold your seat,
curse god and refuse to meet the world
half way.

Chasing the dream
into another day and managing to stay
above ground,
although often unseen
is nevertheless

an accomplishment most profound.

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

Random stream 11/12/04

2006-03-14T17:15:00.000-07:00

wallflowers' words wander
with uncomfortable ease
to tease and please
and increase the interest of bees.
Artists and thieves
wander in breezes
like leaves
of a once proud tree
now naked
and cold.
Young and old
have words
that flush
and float
but don't gloat
over wisdom
never earned.
Poets preach
and teach
and try to reach
but can only succeed
if you
reach back.

reach back
reach back
reach
back

but know when to let go.

book store angel

2006-03-14T16:56:00.000-07:00

There are stories among men
of Angels that visit them
and bestow miracles of healing,
guidance,
love.

I wonder if all Angels are blonde?

I wonder if all Angels have legs
that stretch all the way into my imagination
and lead back to a source
of warmth
and passion
coveted by many men.

I wonder if all Angels
are as magnificent and full of light
and lust and serenity
as the Angel
that visited me.

She wore no halo
and her wings were hidden well.
She wore no white linen,
all breeze and flow.

She did however
wear blue jeans
and high heels
and she did fill
my eyes with a blinding light.

She only visited briefly
on 3 occasions
but the moments were chosen well.

She never exposed me to her
true divinity and humbling beauty
but alluded to it
in many a charming way.

I wonder if all men
that are graced by angels
feel as lifted and
as enlightened
as me?

It is humbling
to be haunted
by a true child
of God
and damning all the same.

If I were Catholic
I would have far too much
to confess.

As a substitute for the confessional
I return to the bindings
and the shelves
and secretly
in tiny voices
pray that my Angel
will visit me again.

Until then,
I suppose,
a copy of "Love is a Dog from Hell" will have to do.

Words won't change a thing

2006-03-14T12:25:00.000-07:00

You've hidden behind your mask
of fragile strength
for so long
do you still know
how to tell yourself
the truth?

Beyond the will
in your words
and my desire to believe
you still give me reason to doubt.

You speak of choices,
right and wrong,
honesty.

As much a hypocrite as I
you too have often shied away
from the hard questions,
the missing details,
speaking much as I do
in verse that reveals much
but simultaneously disguises
your fear and shame.

I feel that we are very well matched,
suited to satisfy the others' sexual
and emotional needs
but it's obvious
we each still have
much learning to do.

I've failed every worthwhile relationship
I've been lucky enough to have,
but,
I couldn't help notice
that you also
were single
when we met.

I had a promise
and a hope
from a distant voice
(I told you my intentions, and plans.
and you encouraged me all the same.
I've heard,
and you know
what women say
about women like you.)

You were pursued by many a lonely man,
all the time. You had your gallery
from which to choose.

Nevertheless
you and I
could not resist
crashing into each others' lives.

So now
I stumble down my path
as you do the same,
managing to exchange
an occasional word from time to time.

You leave little clues
as to your thoughts,
your journeys,

men.

I know you wish to hurt me,
if even just a little bit,
and it's hard to cast blame
so I have absorbed,
without complaint,
much of what you've said.

No matter how many insults I speak
I cannot numb my pain
to those I receive.
Worse yet
Is knowing the tiny stabs
are deservedly received.

It have seen how a great poem
can have an effect,
and sometimes change the world.

No matter how great
I may become
it doesn't seem that my words
will change anything
for me.

At least not
in her eyes

so perhaps on that note
I should say "I'm sorry"
once more,
finish this poem,
this cigarette
and finally get up

and walk away.

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

not good enough

2006-03-14T10:31:00.000-07:00

It's nice to get a word
or two
from the past,
sometimes.

Often
it's just painful.

I don't care about forgiveness anymore.
I've given up hope for things that will never be.
I drag my ass out of bed
everyday
and expect it to be my last.

I may yet earn the admiration
of strangers
but strangers aren't you

are they.

I may not have asked you to join me,
I thought it beyond my right,
my reach,
the scope of what could be,

-fear cripples-

but you didn't ask
if you could come along,
either.

Your exposure to me was so limited,
so poorly timed.
Your knowledge
so tainted by my fear.

You are thus far
the best love
and lay
I've had
but I know that's not enough.

When has it ever been?

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

Let me dredge up one more regret

2006-03-14T07:30:00.000-07:00

My immediate reaction
was of defensive anger.

My second reaction
was to weep
just a bit.

My third reaction
was one of contempt
for her holding judgment
over me.

Others always seem to know so much
and what is best.

I only wanted to know if
I should leave her alone.

I knew the answer before
I sent the email.

I sent the email
anyway.

She wants me to prove my genius,
prove my words,
prove my worth.

Doesn't everyone.

By the time I figure it out,
build my castle
and kill all the dragons of my land
she'll be well within the clutches
of a more honorable knight
than me.

I might,
in a whisper,
wish them well
but I pray they never pass me on the street.

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

viewing the construct

2006-03-13T13:42:00.000-07:00

All the particles
floating around
pretending to be people,

all the color and light
that binds them together,

all the fire of love and hate
that connects them
and consumes
and melts
plastic souls,

all the dynamics
of line and shape
of lives gone
before the form,

all the invisible pieces
of all the world
can be seen

but only when
you're entirely
too fucked up
on drugs
and dread inspired hope.

delusions can be

beautiful things.

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

put it to rest

2006-03-13T13:11:00.000-07:00

I'm having a hell of a time
sitting here silently,
not reacting to this woman
dancing only 3 feet away from my face
with that ass...

Christ, not right now...

I'm drunk
I'm stoned
I'm out,
alone and unsupervised
and damn it
if she doesn't make me
want to take her
hard and now.

How do women learn to move like that?
How do women move like that?
How can women move like that
and not know they are
at that very moment
actually murdering a man?

They probably do
and that would explain everything.

Where will I find a suitable
site to bury this lust
and frustration at this hour?

It sure as hell won't be in her.

I don't know
but I need to find it quickly
and it will need
to be very
dark
and deep.

The sooner I put it to rest
the sooner I can get some sleep
but I think we all know how this one
turns out in the end.

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

sands

2006-03-13T13:01:00.000-07:00

Carefully I etch the hourglass
with words
I can only hope
are worthy enough to withstand
the wash of sand
and time.

The ink in my pen
turns to acid
poor impulse control
too much pressure
applied to the point
until the crack snaps
and the spidery thin tendrils
run around the curvature
until the container breaks,
the glass shatters
and all the sand
spills out.

..."these are the days of our lives"

how very sad

how very true.

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

eye for beauty

2006-03-13T12:52:00.000-07:00

It may be a curse,
this overly attentive eye
I possess
for the tender beauty
and flesh
of women.

But on occasion
it is a great release
and source of innocent pleasure.

Whole lives
can be seen and imagined
within the gaze
of beauty found at random.

---------

I might pray

2006-03-13T02:50:00.000-07:00

I might pray to god
if I knew where to address
the envelope.

I have a stamp & a list of requests
but the messengers all want me
to follow their lead.

They say they know where to send
my mail but they won't openly
share the information.

Their secrets are their power
over the weak & the willing.

Their books hold
their wisdom and proof
yet they have not read them.

I might pray to god
if I could get past his servants
and speak to the source.

Pissing into a fire
is a futile attempt
no matter the measure
of relief.

Climbing the mountain,
blazing the trail,
mapping the wilds.

Seeking that secret place
where the sun meets the clouds
in quiet conversation.

Kneeling before the temple
perhaps I will pray
whether the words are received
or lost in the wind and the rain
will not lessen or change
the symbolism of the act.

I might pray to god
if I thought she was listening.
I might pray to god
if I believed I could still be saved
but a condemned man
is better off accepting his crimes
and his pain.

at this point
I don't see what difference it could possibly make.

Habit Rant

2006-03-13T00:37:00.000-07:00

You call it whatever you like.
I call it pain management.

There are 4 main elements;
1-Pot.
2-Booze.
3-Sex. Solo or tandem.
4-Cable TV.

Some among you
have labels
on a very large roll
ready to apply to every inch of me
but be sure you don't
accidentally tear one
off of your prescription bottle.

some may stick,
some will not
but they all say basically
the same thing.

I'll let history
and my peers decide
what lasting images will remain,
what legacy I will leave,
for I know
that no matter status
or wealth
and beyond all the bullshit
in minds,
words,
beliefs,
that getting fucked up,
jerking off
and drowning in denial
are habits as old
as sand.

Drive your Vette,
run your mile,
drink your bourbon,
take your pills,

shoot your gun,
pump your iron,
fuck your whore,
jump out of your plane,
off your cliff,
out your window
I don't care.
Honest.

And it's no surprise
and it's nothing new
but I can't help but wonder
why you choose to give a fuck
when I choose the things
within my means,
the simple things,
that work for me?

I have no influence over you,
no say in your deeds
so eat me
and go the fuck away
with your judgment
and your more refined
and socially accepted addictions.

Pardon my ranting.
I apologize for raising my voice.
Apparently it's time for
more medication
so I'll take a toke
and a drink
and write a more pleasant poem
when I'm done with this one.

God and the pharmaceutical companies know
whether it's Prozac,
pot roast, bombing people,
grass, adrenaline, pills, poetry
booze or ass
everybody,
everywhere,
needs something to get them high.

Some filthy bastards can just spend more
on what they need
than the rest of us losers can.

God at least left us jerkin off for free
but you'd better get to it
before Pfizer finally figures the profit margin out.

APR

2006-03-13T00:29:00.000-07:00

I read the American Poetry Review
today and honestly,
I'm just not impressed.

I may be a hack wannabe
and may not now my own ass
but I saw no glimmer
of genius in the words
of these people.

I may not know art
but I know not-art.

If my opinion is liable,
and I almost hope it is,
fuck it,
I don't care.

So obtuse,
abstract,
self-righteous,
holier than thou
that my only reaction was
"what?"

if this
and that
is where contemporary
American poetry is at
then guess what,
you win,
I quit,
submit,
surrender,
give in.

If I were to make it and have
to rub elbows with these people,
trying to exchange conversation
laced with arrogance and disdain,
drinking fine wine
until a certain point was reached
and as some have seen
it would all come crashing down.

well,
one way or another
I'm sure I'd end up in jail
that is of course
if I'm not already there
when the invitations start to arrive.

tears run

2006-03-12T16:18:00.000-07:00

Lost wisps of breath
on winds vast
and tranquil...

Stardust still lingers
in my lungs
reminiscent of the vast expanse,
the eternal romance,
the chaotic circumstance

for a fragment,
a moment,
a passing glance
can contain
enough passion
and pain
to fill the soul
until droplets spill
and tears run away.

Beauty at the bottom

2006-03-12T15:56:00.000-07:00

Scrape the crude from the bottom
But there's always more
Below that.

In the muck
And mire
Of desire,
In the bile
And shit of life
Beautiful creatures
Thrive.

In the puke
And piss of the toilet floor
Great miracles
And divinities
Can be found.

Things more profound
Than meaning.
Things beyond
Romantic fantasies
Of idealic existence.

Life lives
In the shit
At the bottom
And no matter
The muck above
It cannot be denied.

Beauty is everywhere

If you know where to look.

bane

2006-03-12T15:17:00.000-07:00

In all the torturous moments
of days awake
and dead,
phantoms of beauty
haunt my visions,
causing me
to question
my sanity,
my perceptions,
my love.

She tasks me,
she tasks me
and I must heed the call.

women are a bane,
and I'm quite sure
they're the worst kind of all.

starving artist

2006-03-12T14:50:00.000-07:00

Oh the grief!
Oh the fear!
Oh the dread
of the artist
in need of a job.

No desire or fire,
no drive
to assist some anonymous employer
in surviving better
than me.

Obeying commands
from lesser men
with empty souls.

They'll make me piss in a cup
so they can determine if I'm
an insurance risk.

They'll run a credit check
to determine my level
of responsibility.

Don't bother,
the piss is green
and I owe
the whole fucking world
more cash than I'll ever have.

Oh the grief
involved in a bohemian
a bum, like me
seeking some relief
from a broke-ass life.

I'll return the applications
tomorrow
for tonite
I still have money for beer.

dream

2006-03-11T17:56:00.000-07:00

I dream still of roses
and tomato plants,
white fence and pool,
green grass and gold sun,
iced tea and summer heat
kissing your bare shoulder
followed by your lips kissing mine.

I dream still of guitars
and sultry songs of love and life
never found to be perfect
but somehow bearable all the same.

Frosting made sweeter
from scratch and love

drinking beer by fire
and sweating inside you
inhaling breath sweeter than mine

fingers falling into each other
without effort or intent,
simply because.

Silken thighs short
but strong and firm,
toned and tempting to the feeble will
of a hopeless man.

I still dream of things
you never knew
but I hoped for all the same.

I still dream
and fear waking to the truth
more than the death it will bring.

I still dream
and in those dreams

I still feel the same.

one moment

2006-03-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

I cannot help
but want to know
every thought
and feeling you held
between our eyes meeting
and leaving...

carried away on a wing
and a prayer
to gods you temporarily worship
my whisper is carried
with you

as my fingers still slide
thru your hair

I wish for you
all the treasures
held beneath rainbows
yet to shine

blowing kisses
past the odd glances
of strangers
I simply focus
on you
and in one moment of seeing
I feel the healing begin

Coffee anyone?

2006-03-11T17:48:00.000-07:00

I would scream over the balcony
at the world
across the street
but I know how futile
it would be
and it would attract
unwanted attention

there are enough people
that know how much
of a lunatic
I am.

The frustration
and overwhelming rage
swelled up suddenly
in the aftermath
of my last poem

but I overpowered the urge
to rise
and walk to the open door
and scream
to all the empty graves
and curse the world
they've built.

Even if you leave all your shit
locked up in your mother's barn
and move 850 miles away

your shit
is still there

and so is the foul
rotten world.

Coffee anyone?

Cause for distress

2006-03-11T17:44:00.000-07:00

heavy breath comes in labored
pulls and tugs
at air that just isn't there anymore

I seep like a sore
into the landscape
of oils smeared with water and blood

till the time,
till the time
it will all come together
or finally fall apart

yearning is long death
fear is a predator skilled in the hunt
pissing is futile
love hovers like a thousand horny doves
with halos of cock-rings
and wings of cum-smeared satin

watch me roll over once more
and sleep

and sleep

and dream

only to forget the visions
before I can wake to follow the path

Does a Pope shit in the woods?

2006-03-11T17:12:00.000-07:00

There is a dawn
each day.
I know this
because dawn
precedes noon
so when I wake
at one
and the sun
is out
I am reassured
that dawn
indeed
occurred
and I am now
in a new day.
Therefore I'm fairly sure
that bears
shit in the woods
while trees
scream
as they fall
and nobody's around
to weep.
As far as Popes
I don't really care

but I'm sure they shit too.

sacred word

2006-03-11T16:58:00.000-07:00

A sacred word
Spoken with respect,
Admiration,
No conflagration of inadequate measure
For her presence is
Simply,
pure pleasure

And love
And grace
And as from Venus' lips
There is sacrament in her face
For her beauty
Is true,
Defined
And I adore the blinding light of her star

For if she is near
Then I am never far
From speaking
That sacred word

some past uncertain words...

2006-03-11T13:12:00.004-07:00

I was digging around and thought I'd drag a few older pieces out, shake them off and see if they're worth anything. I'll break these posts up, perhaps three poems each so that they don't get too long.

I would appreciate honest, constructive critques on these.

Thanx

bevel
by
Tobey A. Anderson

Luscious tastes
and
aromas that intoxicate
and implicate my emotions
on a subconscious level
creating quandaries
complications
and the occasional
natural disaster

All the quirks
create
an odd bevel
on the frame

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

degrading rant
by
Tobey A. Anderson

conflicts corrode the bone and soul as angels still cry for the lost love of higher powers and sustain the influence of divine hypocrisy amongst the stars. serrated temptations carve out marrow and moral fiber slicing flesh into fillets of red bleeding ribbons strewn about the kitchen floor to feed the dogs and roaches. Strangers call to persuade rapes of the worst kind in secure, friendly surroundings neatly decorated with silken persuasion and plush crushed hopes and dreams. I think I can remember but often the dreams confuse my sight of the world and the precognition grinds away in reverse trying to catch up with signals lost in the din and the static and the jamming of the countermeasures as the words and cocks are crammed into all the empty spaces between men. adulations and curses carry the same messages and meanings in the desperate flounderings of whales, beached and crushed under their own weight. The shit rolls down into everybody's front lawn, heaped and stinking yet no one shovels it away. Watching thru windows of anxious dread I see the wheels and gears turning to drag the world forward into someone else's dream. Fear the reaper and the IRS and god is dead, contrary to belief and Uncle Sam was a bastard from the beginning. Orange red white and blue clowns still have cocks and urges and fears and the bad man always has candy, doesn't he? Besides, worse villains have already ass raped the old man and left him gagged in the closet downstairs. The rants degrade into blathering storms of frustration and random threads knotted together with ignorance and hope. The maw munches away on what's left as the rats jump ship hoping to find a new island to cover in their pellets and piss and once it really got to me, once it drove me mad. Perhaps I've learned to cope a bit better. Perhaps I've learned a thing or two. Perhaps I once didn't know the horrible truths of men, the terrible pain of love, the rancid taste of bitter hope.

Perhaps once I wouldn't know how to end this poem, but thankfully
now I do.

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

many know of my tendancies to write lots of sappy love poetry. here's a short one.

flutter
by
Tobey A. Anderson

There is a joyful,
boyish whim
as I swim
in the mirage of you,
overwhelming beauty
of melodic color
flutters by on a breeze
and for a moment
I am the butterfly
and in your breath I am free.

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

text messaging

2006-03-11T11:27:00.000-07:00

Hopeless poets have been waiting
for text messaging
for thousands of years.

In days past humble correspondence
with quill and paper had to do
and even with a poet
writing every day
the letters still arrived
in a tempered flow.

The arrival of the pony express
and the telegraph
managed to speed things up a bit.

And then there was the phone
and I'm sure
that since the first one hung
on a beautiful woman's wall
it most likely began to ring
and too rarely stopped.

The modern communication systems,
primarily mail and phone
greatly increased the ability
of hopeless men
to scare off
the women they love.

Email was a godsend
and text messaging is the holy child
of instant harassment
and shame.

Now the poet
is able to bemuse and give in
to his compulsions and harass
the objects of his desire
24 hours a day.

From the bottom of any bottle
rolling around the floor
of any bar.

You thought some of the drunken
poetry on napkins was bad?
At least the phone has a spell check.
I've already composed a story of stalking
and it's social effects
but to recap,
in a nutshell,
if it weren't for stalking
most of us wouldn't be here.

Your dad, but your granddad for sure
I'm sure
pursued their prey without relent
perhaps leaving a note or two,
calling 12 times in 6 hours,
driving by her house just before dawn.

All normal behavior
for a smitten man
but these days
women will only take so much
before they cut your nuts off
and call the cops.

To all you ladies
who may have received a rose
and a poem
on your windshield one day
and perhaps were a bit worried
about who it was from
worry not,
it was only me.

The poet has been waiting for the
text message
and when he got it
in his sweaty little hands
he was fortunate enough
to find one woman
willing to converse
in prose
and it pleased him.

The rest only brought shame
for the green electric words
meant more than they could
understand.

I've written and shit
in much the same technique
sometimes letting a really good one go.

The same can be said
for my women.

Take pity on those poor souls
sending you messages on the ether
in wee hours of loneliness
and pain.

They perhaps beckon and cry out
more than you want
but if you read
and listen
carefully
I'm sure you can understand.

Life out there

2006-03-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

Europa blooms in the red
of a Jovian dawn
beyond the worry or sight,
surface fissures racing each other
past the glinting of the sun.

Arthur C. Clarke
is probably right.
The bastard usually is.

Bukowski wouldn't care less
and I am torn somewhere in between
as I ponder things
I'll never learn
but perhaps might still see.

I have no horse track
or German wine,
to calm my rumblings
and cosmic contemplations
and to lubricate my mind
to ease the discomfort
of the daily fuck I receive.

Broad mentalistic claims
Breeching the gates of death
Bringing back secrets
Bestowed upon all the
Better minds more capable to translate the
Beautiful tortures and disease that often
Break the anguished souls
Born beyond their understanding
and the means.

I am grateful I'll never need to worry
about being the annoying prick
jumping turnstiles and running to catch my breath
and say
"Chinaski! You the man!"
"Read me and tell me I'm great!"

and so some dignity has remained.

Titan falls to a mere shadow
a quarter million miles wide
while Callisto sleeps
and plots her rise
amidst the tidal plane.

All thru the anxious dance
silent songs are sung
beneath frozen oceans
far from the home of the gods.

A satellite in orbit intercepts
a secret communique
in a billow of smoke
from 3 miles deep
leaking slowly to the surface
releasing radiation and gas
signaling the start
of it all.

Comets cum in fickle mood
as lightning strikes the spark
giving birth to
amoeba and men
and the undoing
of god's childish plan.

I feel confident that there is life
and intelligence
out there.

There must be because
there's just not that much down here.

Rage

2006-03-09T18:52:00.000-07:00

I understand
rage
as well as any man.

I have felt the bloodlust
and the desire to slay
over insult,
irritation
or arrogance.

I have had a word or two
with an adversary
over many a misunderstanding
but whether in person
or over the phone
(especially over the phone)
I must advise against
threatening death.

It is often successful
in defusing a possible beating
if you can pull off the proper demeanor
but perchance the opportunity
to do them in
arises later on
it's not wise
to have a history
of intent.

If you can't take them
then it's just not wise
to antagonize larger men.

Besides,
they should never know it's coming

until it's too late.

neon sign

2006-03-09T15:27:00.000-07:00

Leave me alone.

I see you
looking my way
with that obnoxiously
curious expression
wrinkling your eyes.

Please,
just continue
speaking amongst yourselves.

I come to this bar
because people don't
ask me
what I'm doing
scribbling in my book
in the corner booth
alone.

I recommend
you simply read my body language
much as I read yours.

I recommend you read me well
and look for the big neon lights
spelling out
"leave me alone! thank you."

if you do
as the sign says
the night will end well
for everyone.

screaming

2006-03-09T15:21:00.000-07:00

I am screaming

on the inside

and I wish

someone

could hear it

besides me,

see it,

sense it

better yet,

heal it.

I am screaming

inside but at least

I think

I'm starting to go deaf.

If I'm lucky I'll

only loose my voice.

spider

2006-03-09T15:18:00.000-07:00

i tried to trap

a spider

in a kleenex

but he got away.

it just goes to show

i may not be as clever

as i'd like to think.

the death of me

2006-03-09T14:56:00.001-07:00

Most likely she was never
and will never be
worth the adulation

nevertheless,
I keep the temple
polished and clean.

I must clear some of the clutter
for there are too many pedestals
too long left empty.

My gods are beautiful,
glowing with golden light,
yet fickle
and prefer younger, stronger abs.

The goddess once visited me in a vision
and presented her perfection to me
so I might record her beauty
with paper and dust

In a moment the temptation
and opportunity came
yet I denied the treasure...
proving me a fool.

Betrayed before I ever met her
Blinded by her light
Lost in her vast wilderness
Consumed by her fire and heat
Forever doomed by her curse.

I sit here in a reality I could never have foreseen
recording discretions and failings,
love and reward,
random memories and observations
about a world the lucky will never know
but many have built with the left over pieces
of their broken hearts and glue made from tears.

She is the kind of beautiful
that takes away the breath,
perverts honor and destroys
the thoughts of men.

she is so powerful and full of sex
and passion and lust
and potential she will never know,
she is so overwhelming
and round in the best ways,
the perfect places,
she is so beautiful that she displaces
the world when I pass in her wake.

Sometimes men fail all things they attempt
once they have lost a woman.

The torture of unrequited love
has driven men mad with war
and suicide.

The world will die as a direct result
of the dementia caused by
the desire and primal passion
men have and do hold
for women they will never possess
or perhaps tasted but once
-a far more treacherous pain-

Love so strong
it can heal
or kill.

Obsession so powerful
it can inspire
or doom.

It's no wonder I seek
sublime escapes
and deny destinies
filled with women
that can never be her

I've been wrecked by women
just as I've wrecked a few
but I haven't killed any yet
so far as I know
with fist or word or love.

I've come close
but women have always been stronger
than men.

they have come closer to killing me.

in a car
at the end of a pistol
down the neck of a bottle
at the end of a rope
down a mountain path
under the fire of the sun
at the end of this fucking cigarette
or this poem

all I know is no matter how it goes down
she may be the death of me

but she'll never be my cure.

symptom

2006-03-07T12:13:00.000-07:00

I weep.
I cry.
It just happens.
Sometimes I feel
the cry,
the bawl,
boiling in my chest
and I manage to trap it
so it doesn't break free.

But on occasion
it surprises me
and I must hide my face
from strangers
and friends
because I know

they just won't understand.

grip

2006-03-07T12:10:00.000-07:00

I cannot break free
from the effect
you had on me
as I struggle
to slip
the grip

you long ago released.

All my heart and soul

2006-03-07T12:06:00.000-07:00

How do you dare me
like you do
when you've allowed me
to see
and even,
just a bit,
touch you?

That supple, tiny embrace
and later,
inexplicably,
that kiss.

It's simply too much
for me to cope

all it did was fuel my hope,
against my will,
and now I sit without you here
with no choice,
writing another love poem
you'll never read
and again spilling

all my heart

and soul.

sunspots

2006-03-07T11:59:00.000-07:00

I could never not look
when she wore those damned
black hot panties.

Her bottom filled them
fully, but not too much.

Such a tiny thing she was,
so young in appearance,
so nubile,
so incredibly beautiful,
more so than a fool like me deserved
but I had her nonetheless.

A younger man,
with better looks,
more sincerity and potential
should have stolen her from me
as so many others have.

She'll be on her way to him soon enough.

I can think of many things and summon
many images but they are always
overlaid by a translucent picture
of her perfect posterior,
strong and shapely legs
and that demure look over the shoulder
shrouded just so behind her dark mane.

-Always-

but that's how it goes
when you stare into the sun for too long.

one night only

2006-03-07T11:56:00.000-07:00

A new sight
invokes old emotions,
almost forgotten,
mirroring a lust from the past.

Nearly a perfect copy
of the buxom and briefly,
fleetingly conquered.

One night only
and unprepared
in the front seat
of an '87 Ford Escort.

Too brief.
Too little.
Too drunk
to impress
what I could really do.

All tits, laugh,
freckles and smile
offered up on the alter
of American automotive engineering.

Once she went black
she never came back.

Too much booze,
conscience,
cramped cars
and cold water
can play havoc with
a man's pride.

I've avoided her memory
for some time
but now I stare into a beacon
that burns out my eyes.

But past is past
even as I obsess over it's reflection
from across a noisy bar

and she isn't her
but right now
I really wish she was.

last swallow

2006-03-07T11:54:00.001-07:00

I'll sit with that last swallow
warming in the bottom of my glass,
hoping someone will take notice
and pity
by buying me another beer.

Rarely are my hopes rewarded.

Once in a while
I get lucky.

Sometimes a barkeep I've taken
some time and managed to remember
their name.

Sometimes the beautiful waitresses
I wasted a poem or two on.

Sometimes I manage to be in the company
of a friend who just so happens
to foot the bill
allowing me to get good and drunk
but even then I usually have to ask.

Where has the generosity
and compassion of man gone?

People can't read body language anymore.
They'll let you sit there until that last swallow
turns to bile
before they'll buy you another beer.

I can write about 3 poems
per glass of beer,
up to a point.

Perhaps I just hope for too much
but if the kindness of men can't fall
once in a while
into a simple glass of beer
then I know

the end is truly near.

parting words

2006-03-03T23:28:00.000-07:00

"Who will you make spaghetti for?"
"I won't be made to look like a fool."
"I'm a fool for loving you."
"How can you be such a fool?"
"Nobody will ever love you like I do."
"You never loved me, did you?"
"But you said you loved me!"
"I don't understand what the problem is and I think you're being unreasonable."
"YOU think I'M unreasonable?!"
"How could any woman want you?"
"Do you treat all your girlfriends like this?"
"12 voice messages in 6 hours is a little scary. You should get help."
"Leave me the fuck alone!"
"Psycho!"
"Stop calling me you stalker."
"What's wrong with you? Can't you take a hint?"
"I don't love you anymore."
"I love you but I'm not IN love with you."
"I don't know who you are, maybe I never did."
"I'll see you in a couple of hours."
"I'll call you in a couple of days."
"I need space."
"I think we should see other people."
"I never told you to fuck her!"
"Call me if you ever need somebody to talk to."
"I don't have any choice."
"Everything is a choice."
"I can't get involved with anybody right now."
"Actually, I'm seeing someone else right now."
"You're too needy."
"You aren't giving me what I need."
"You're a really sweet guy but you're just not what I'm looking for."
"I love the poem."
"you're really not that good you know."
"Why couldn't I have met you a year ago?"
"I wish I'd never met you."
"Why can't I meet a guy like you?" (?!)
"I have to go now."
"You have to go now."
"Please, just stay a little longer."
"I don't think we should be doing this."
"Do you want to do it one more time?"
"I never meant to fall in love with you, but I did."
"I could have fallen in love with you 5 years ago."
"I'm married."
"I'm a lesbian."
"You think you're going to fuck me after talking to me like that?"
"Can we still be friends?"
"Let's just be friends."
"You should meet my friend."
"I'm not ready to settle down."
"I'm sorry I asked you to marry me."
"You're too old."
"I thought you said you were only 32."
"This just doesn't feel right."
"You're cute."
"You're an asshole."
"You'll be alright."
"Don't worry. You'll meet the right woman, some day."
"I don't date guys who don't own their own car."
"Will you drive me home now?"
"well, to be honest, I just thought you were cute and wanted to get laid. I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it."
"Look, it was fun but that's all it was, right?"

Of course it was.

What else could it possibly have been?

small moments

2006-03-03T13:04:00.000-07:00

I must admit I was surprised to turn around
and find that not all the bridges
back to other things
have been burned to the ground.

It brought a smile
when I turned and saw
the little wooden planks

from a precious memory
still arched easily over the gap
between you and I

a fond night full of mosquitos and stars
and overwhelming dips to swim inside eyes
that saw too much of me
only to drown before I could escape

I sat on that bench
watching all the lovely shapes
and breasts walk by
on their way to or from
another temporary gratification
and seeking one myself all the same.

All your shapes and round lust
drifted by twice and for once
I managed to say mostly the right things.

Beer and bullshit for an hour or two
passing the smoke and spirit,
sitting on my lap,
looking at your art,
feeling your frustration,
watching your lips as they spilled nectar,
small moments full of you
was all it took for me to be doomed.

Now the images return
and as I reflect
I am pleased that in my self destruction
at least I didn't burn you.

I own nothing but my past
and so I must carry some of it
with me into this new
and frightening future.

When stars align I breathe in your breath
from a peak closer to god
and honor you
as I toast your name.

Remember the kiss
and the fondness of strange eyes
for once they looked at you in as much
awe as lust,
respect as passion
and were glad to see you again
last night
in a dream.

Small moments contain

all the happiness I've felt.