the sun comes up but it's not as hot.
the smoke goes in but it only feels like it's actually starting to kill me.
the sky holds blue & the grass stays greener but i don't see in color.
it's been 23 days & just as many hours & i'm elementary again.
running short on food.
i don't eat it anyway.
fingers are thin.
reeds drying out & howling in the wind.
heavy though.
oh so heavy.
like ten little anchors dropping fast to sandy floors.
i used to breath underwater.
i realize i'm just a man now.
the salt & sting is fast.
does it's best to be elegant & polite
but how sophisticated can you be when you're forcing your way in?
past lock & key.
through steel doors & prison bars.
passing vomit & evicted tenants on it's way
& never ever stopping to apologize or offer better solutions.
it's 8:47.
or 9:47.
or 10:47.
or 3:47.
wherever you are, it's 48 past the hour
& you are awake.
stealing & dealing the best you can.
7.30.2010
7.24.2010
tattoo.
What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.
Ted Kooser.
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.
Ted Kooser.
7.18.2010
the wanderer #325.
the wanderer #325
the sun pours into a single room cabin
through a waxed over, cracked window.
the dust & age of 10,000 cigarettes creates
a haze in the room you could cut with a chainsaw.
an old leather chair sits in a corner.
the only piece of furniture aside from a mattress & blanket nest
that huddles itself in the opposing corner.
two vastly different worlds that defeat time & logic
to survive in the same small quarters.
random literature lines every inch of every wall
stacked to his hip around the outline of the den.
the worn, water stained, wooden slats of the floor
are completely hidden away by 997 composition tablets.
conversations.
words he never speaks, hasn't spoken in decades
but rattle through this place like a train passing by
on the hour, every hour.
he's forgotten what he looks like.
what his audible voice sounds like.
even if he wanted to speak, his vocal chords
gave way to amnesia & deprivation years ago.
he knows the back of his ragged hands & tips of his
bony fingers like clockwork though,
the buzz & the whip that come with.
his only trusted companions in this world of silence & violence
& beauty & truth.
this morning, he sat, like he did every morning.
drinking metallic tasting water from a metallic tin can.
the givings up of the fresh spring that ran in the forest
behind the cabin.
his internal organs sinking into their hollowed out
frame as his muscle & flesh sank into the leather chair.
in his hands, he held the AM ritual.
a folded letter he touched only for physical example
for he didn't even open it anymore to re-read it.
he had scanned those lines a hundred thousand times.
the yellowed & brittle paper was far to fragile to risk
unfolding & re-folding everyday anyway.
read.
painful more than the day before & the day before that
but not as much as tomorrow.
when the sting had finally absorbed, he simply slipped the letter
into a book that he spun in his hands for a few moments
& then gently placed atop one of the hundreds of stacks
of otherwise meaningless jarble.
he went to the door.
as he looked out over the trees & commotion of the morning forest,
the sun cut through there as well & spilled it's luminescent guts
in patches on the brush covered floor.
his legs were much too shaky, knees weakened over the years.
he would have to take the walk in his mind alone.
he closed his eyes.
he saw the stones & split trunk tree.
the dried creek bed that ran parallel to the path they used to travel.
squirrels & song birds darted to & fro in front of him, entertaining his
slow & cloudy eyes even here in his imagination.
he felt the warmth of daylight
& a soft, lulling breeze blew through his long silver hair.
he stopped & picked a handful of the wild purple lavender that grew
halfway between here & there & held it to his face.
tears soaked his long beard as he imagined handfuls of her
that once shared that sweet sweet smell.
tears fell only here though.
his eyes had dried up long ago on the other side of closed.
stopping in the shadows of a youthful stride,
he knelt to the ground.
with his hand, he brushed away the blanket of leaves
so he could read the stone.
A VOICE TO CARRY.
A WORD TO CUT TRUE.
SHE MADE CLANGING CYMBALS
RESOUND THROUGH WINDOWS OF BLUE.
here she was.
he bent & kissed the earth.
laid his ever mourning body over that spot,
limbs out wide like a child making a snow angel.
he felt the chords rise up through the soil
& dig deep the wet earth,
tying themselves together somewhere between him & her once more.
he lay there for an hour, until she'd said all she needed to say.
he opened his eyes.
turning from the porch, he moved back inside.
having a sip of water & methodically picking out
one of the many writing tablets, he sat back in the chair.
he lit his cigarette with a match & shakily raised it to & from his lips.
for a second, with real eyes, he saw her sitting on the bed.
a young & foreign frame, facing away from him.
sometimes he saw her this way as well, but it was far from often.
she would appear young, as when he met her.
or grown, as when her children knew her.
or, as he remembered her most vividly, aged, as she was when she left to fly in fields of white.
it was only seconds & then she vanished.
he choked on the smoke & breath
he hadn't realized he was holding in & clambered at the tin can to calm himself.
he opened the notebook.
he ran his hard hands over a blank page & could feel the words begin to vibrate.
electric & hot, vowels & consonants stung at the inside of his bones.
the chords, loosing themselves from his finger tips,
begging with force to dirty this page forever.
the buzz & the whip that come with...
young & free.
wild & alive.
he wrote.
the sun pours into a single room cabin
through a waxed over, cracked window.
the dust & age of 10,000 cigarettes creates
a haze in the room you could cut with a chainsaw.
an old leather chair sits in a corner.
the only piece of furniture aside from a mattress & blanket nest
that huddles itself in the opposing corner.
two vastly different worlds that defeat time & logic
to survive in the same small quarters.
random literature lines every inch of every wall
stacked to his hip around the outline of the den.
the worn, water stained, wooden slats of the floor
are completely hidden away by 997 composition tablets.
conversations.
words he never speaks, hasn't spoken in decades
but rattle through this place like a train passing by
on the hour, every hour.
he's forgotten what he looks like.
what his audible voice sounds like.
even if he wanted to speak, his vocal chords
gave way to amnesia & deprivation years ago.
he knows the back of his ragged hands & tips of his
bony fingers like clockwork though,
the buzz & the whip that come with.
his only trusted companions in this world of silence & violence
& beauty & truth.
this morning, he sat, like he did every morning.
drinking metallic tasting water from a metallic tin can.
the givings up of the fresh spring that ran in the forest
behind the cabin.
his internal organs sinking into their hollowed out
frame as his muscle & flesh sank into the leather chair.
in his hands, he held the AM ritual.
a folded letter he touched only for physical example
for he didn't even open it anymore to re-read it.
he had scanned those lines a hundred thousand times.
the yellowed & brittle paper was far to fragile to risk
unfolding & re-folding everyday anyway.
read.
painful more than the day before & the day before that
but not as much as tomorrow.
when the sting had finally absorbed, he simply slipped the letter
into a book that he spun in his hands for a few moments
& then gently placed atop one of the hundreds of stacks
of otherwise meaningless jarble.
he went to the door.
as he looked out over the trees & commotion of the morning forest,
the sun cut through there as well & spilled it's luminescent guts
in patches on the brush covered floor.
his legs were much too shaky, knees weakened over the years.
he would have to take the walk in his mind alone.
he closed his eyes.
he saw the stones & split trunk tree.
the dried creek bed that ran parallel to the path they used to travel.
squirrels & song birds darted to & fro in front of him, entertaining his
slow & cloudy eyes even here in his imagination.
he felt the warmth of daylight
& a soft, lulling breeze blew through his long silver hair.
he stopped & picked a handful of the wild purple lavender that grew
halfway between here & there & held it to his face.
tears soaked his long beard as he imagined handfuls of her
that once shared that sweet sweet smell.
tears fell only here though.
his eyes had dried up long ago on the other side of closed.
stopping in the shadows of a youthful stride,
he knelt to the ground.
with his hand, he brushed away the blanket of leaves
so he could read the stone.
A VOICE TO CARRY.
A WORD TO CUT TRUE.
SHE MADE CLANGING CYMBALS
RESOUND THROUGH WINDOWS OF BLUE.
here she was.
he bent & kissed the earth.
laid his ever mourning body over that spot,
limbs out wide like a child making a snow angel.
he felt the chords rise up through the soil
& dig deep the wet earth,
tying themselves together somewhere between him & her once more.
he lay there for an hour, until she'd said all she needed to say.
he opened his eyes.
turning from the porch, he moved back inside.
having a sip of water & methodically picking out
one of the many writing tablets, he sat back in the chair.
he lit his cigarette with a match & shakily raised it to & from his lips.
for a second, with real eyes, he saw her sitting on the bed.
a young & foreign frame, facing away from him.
sometimes he saw her this way as well, but it was far from often.
she would appear young, as when he met her.
or grown, as when her children knew her.
or, as he remembered her most vividly, aged, as she was when she left to fly in fields of white.
it was only seconds & then she vanished.
he choked on the smoke & breath
he hadn't realized he was holding in & clambered at the tin can to calm himself.
he opened the notebook.
he ran his hard hands over a blank page & could feel the words begin to vibrate.
electric & hot, vowels & consonants stung at the inside of his bones.
the chords, loosing themselves from his finger tips,
begging with force to dirty this page forever.
the buzz & the whip that come with...
young & free.
wild & alive.
he wrote.
7.15.2010
awake.
the light poured into the slits in her eye lids
like 6000 watts at 2 feet of distance.
there was a strong smell of everything in the air
& her skin could feel the rain that wouldn't fall
for another 3 hours.
her ears rattled & hummed with every inaudible
sound wave that lulls the rest of us to sleep.
she filled her lungs with the fresh air,
felt the residue of foreign words on the tip of her foreign tongue.
she could remember her name but nothing else.
figures of her surroundings hung like shadows
just out of her reach but had no real feeling of presence.
as her eyes focused in the light of day,
she saw a tree & a horse with no rider.
a beach with the ocean retreating from it.
a burning cigarette lay at her side in the sand
next to the outline of a hand that did not quite fir her own.
but she was allone now.
her, the ocean, the tree, the horse.
a way out.
a way home.
a smoke for the ride.
a hand to look back on.
like 6000 watts at 2 feet of distance.
there was a strong smell of everything in the air
& her skin could feel the rain that wouldn't fall
for another 3 hours.
her ears rattled & hummed with every inaudible
sound wave that lulls the rest of us to sleep.
she filled her lungs with the fresh air,
felt the residue of foreign words on the tip of her foreign tongue.
she could remember her name but nothing else.
figures of her surroundings hung like shadows
just out of her reach but had no real feeling of presence.
as her eyes focused in the light of day,
she saw a tree & a horse with no rider.
a beach with the ocean retreating from it.
a burning cigarette lay at her side in the sand
next to the outline of a hand that did not quite fir her own.
but she was allone now.
her, the ocean, the tree, the horse.
a way out.
a way home.
a smoke for the ride.
a hand to look back on.
7.12.2010
my favorite tshirt.
a quiver & a shake.
twitch & rise.
i hate the way my blood itches
in my veins as it speeds through my arms & legs.
i am the cold steal that hangs at my side.
the bottles that stack up at the end of a dingy, stained
carnival folding table,
waiting for me to throw a thread barren
softball at them in hopes i might all topple over.
the mouse who baits the trap with his favorite cheese
because he knows he can't refuse it.
how do i walk myself out of this one
when i know i'm only leading towards the way i came?
paper
paper
paper hoop.
it burns up quick
dissolves to goop.
i threw myself to the tigers only to find out they were real.
twitch & rise.
i hate the way my blood itches
in my veins as it speeds through my arms & legs.
i am the cold steal that hangs at my side.
the bottles that stack up at the end of a dingy, stained
carnival folding table,
waiting for me to throw a thread barren
softball at them in hopes i might all topple over.
the mouse who baits the trap with his favorite cheese
because he knows he can't refuse it.
how do i walk myself out of this one
when i know i'm only leading towards the way i came?
paper
paper
paper hoop.
it burns up quick
dissolves to goop.
i threw myself to the tigers only to find out they were real.
6.30.2010
inminesomnia.
some nights i fight falling asleep
because i feel as though when the morning comes,
you might wake up & realize you're out of your mind.
look at yourself in the mirror & not recognize that
face anymore.
laugh at the lines & shake off the jangles.
coil yourself up into the ball you know
& force feed a quick retreat back home.
but then i jerk straight at the breaking light.
cold sweat & a song in my head.
take comfort in the thinnest of glass
& walk the day away, teetering on blades of grass.
because i feel as though when the morning comes,
you might wake up & realize you're out of your mind.
look at yourself in the mirror & not recognize that
face anymore.
laugh at the lines & shake off the jangles.
coil yourself up into the ball you know
& force feed a quick retreat back home.
but then i jerk straight at the breaking light.
cold sweat & a song in my head.
take comfort in the thinnest of glass
& walk the day away, teetering on blades of grass.
6.29.2010
under the boards.
we gather up the grease & wheels
& steal & spoke.
to the fire & to the water
like the smith's finest shank.
a solid, strong shadow
that swallows & wallows in
the loneliest of corners
where the spiders creep
& floor boards creek with each tiny trumble.
wither & spoon dig a stitch
in the flume & the smell is
all but bearable.
undressing the rot
& airing out sots
that stumble & mumble under the light & short order,
our husky, broken voices
sing of the holiest of murder.
-jack be nimble
jack be quick.
jack jumped, full of stone,
right off the bow of his ship.
& steal & spoke.
to the fire & to the water
like the smith's finest shank.
a solid, strong shadow
that swallows & wallows in
the loneliest of corners
where the spiders creep
& floor boards creek with each tiny trumble.
wither & spoon dig a stitch
in the flume & the smell is
all but bearable.
undressing the rot
& airing out sots
that stumble & mumble under the light & short order,
our husky, broken voices
sing of the holiest of murder.
-jack be nimble
jack be quick.
jack jumped, full of stone,
right off the bow of his ship.
6.21.2010
validity is overrated.
wrestling with the demons that won't stay dead
& the part of me that just can't believe.
i paint myself green
swinging high in the trees
like a Lisbon girl,
cut down by dutch elm disease.
there's a monster in this skin
& i'm jumping trains in the wind,
dressed for tonic & gin
while she puts on black to go out again.
i've got a rhythm that moves like a jigsaw.
& the part of me that just can't believe.
i paint myself green
swinging high in the trees
like a Lisbon girl,
cut down by dutch elm disease.
there's a monster in this skin
& i'm jumping trains in the wind,
dressed for tonic & gin
while she puts on black to go out again.
i've got a rhythm that moves like a jigsaw.
5.30.2010
from this great height.
i stand with my toes hanging 4 inches
out over the open air.
the small pebbles & stones that
vibrate forward from my trembling heels
spill over the craggy edge & i look down briefly
to only see them disappear in seconds.
my arms shake loosely at my side
& i can feel the bone & grit
stab & press from inside my back.
wings are a painful process.
below me i see the numerous
spots i've stood before.
one after another,
successively getting farther from this great height.
jump.
i've done it so many times in the past
but have always seen where i was landing.
up here, i can't see a damn thing.
i suppose that's the big difference between
jumping & flying.
it'll only be a matter of moments now.
i feel the sharpest bite between my shoulder blades
& the sky turns gray, fills with stars....
then black.
out over the open air.
the small pebbles & stones that
vibrate forward from my trembling heels
spill over the craggy edge & i look down briefly
to only see them disappear in seconds.
my arms shake loosely at my side
& i can feel the bone & grit
stab & press from inside my back.
wings are a painful process.
below me i see the numerous
spots i've stood before.
one after another,
successively getting farther from this great height.
jump.
i've done it so many times in the past
but have always seen where i was landing.
up here, i can't see a damn thing.
i suppose that's the big difference between
jumping & flying.
it'll only be a matter of moments now.
i feel the sharpest bite between my shoulder blades
& the sky turns gray, fills with stars....
then black.
5.23.2010
what these hands will do.
we carefully draw lines onto extremely porous paper
& drag a brush, with the perfect amount of paint
from point A to point B, then on to C.
smudge the shadows in
with black, crumbling charcoal
& rub pastels into the sky
like a bride carefully fixing her face.
the scratch of a pencil plants a tree
& builds a house, fills the windows
with light & the air with smoke.
then it rains...
& the colors & the lines & the shapes & the form
slip & distort from the easel to the ground.
& we curse ourselves for being artists that
stubbornly insist on working with the enemy of water.
but it will stop raining.
we will paint again.
under sun & moon, star & air;
our pictures will come back to life.
& drag a brush, with the perfect amount of paint
from point A to point B, then on to C.
smudge the shadows in
with black, crumbling charcoal
& rub pastels into the sky
like a bride carefully fixing her face.
the scratch of a pencil plants a tree
& builds a house, fills the windows
with light & the air with smoke.
then it rains...
& the colors & the lines & the shapes & the form
slip & distort from the easel to the ground.
& we curse ourselves for being artists that
stubbornly insist on working with the enemy of water.
but it will stop raining.
we will paint again.
under sun & moon, star & air;
our pictures will come back to life.
5.17.2010
shoot the hunter.
god, it reeks of kerosene in here
& my boots are dirty with the wet earth
& i burn cigarettes down,
dangerously close to my flammable lips.
my hands are callused & my insides
just as much.
punch me, square in the gut,
as hard as you can.
i'm not asking, i'm telling.
is that all you've got?
i have to sit down.
i have to put all your clothes on
& walk around this room until i find myself
downstairs.
then this dizzy head will finally know where i am.
& my boots are dirty with the wet earth
& i burn cigarettes down,
dangerously close to my flammable lips.
my hands are callused & my insides
just as much.
punch me, square in the gut,
as hard as you can.
i'm not asking, i'm telling.
is that all you've got?
i have to sit down.
i have to put all your clothes on
& walk around this room until i find myself
downstairs.
then this dizzy head will finally know where i am.
5.15.2010
paralysis.
we were just a bridge we could never quite cross.
it's always hard to put one foot in front of the other
when we convince ourselves we can't walk at all.
so we stand here.
next to each other.
with blank stares & muted mouths
& that bridge stares back with anticipation.
& we stand here.
it's always hard to put one foot in front of the other
when we convince ourselves we can't walk at all.
so we stand here.
next to each other.
with blank stares & muted mouths
& that bridge stares back with anticipation.
& we stand here.
5.01.2010
metal.
thin lipped & kicking at our regrets
we pick apart the dragons
like vultures in our sleep.
there are ashes on our foreheads
& the rider's fast approaching.
coming to take one of us
for all of the weaknesses we believed.
i'd wrap you up inside of me
but these arms are pinned to the wall.
these arms are never enough.
never something we could give up.
grit your teeth, baby,
it's gonna get cold.
we'll fall to a mighty ruin
beneath the things that we were told.
the things that we were told.
we pick apart the dragons
like vultures in our sleep.
there are ashes on our foreheads
& the rider's fast approaching.
coming to take one of us
for all of the weaknesses we believed.
i'd wrap you up inside of me
but these arms are pinned to the wall.
these arms are never enough.
never something we could give up.
grit your teeth, baby,
it's gonna get cold.
we'll fall to a mighty ruin
beneath the things that we were told.
the things that we were told.
4.28.2010
the realest thing i ever wrote:
i'm going to come get you.
i can't say when & i can't say how
& damnit, my dear, if i could
let you know i would.
but you have something of mine
& i don't want it back.
i just want to sit beside you &
watch it grow out of your mouth & stomach
& root itself in the soil beside us.
burst from the ground with the
life & fire of every star that breaks
it's neck above us, just to catch a glimpse
of all that this is.
i will find you.
i can't say when & i can't say how
& damnit, my dear, if i could
let you know i would.
but you have something of mine
& i don't want it back.
i just want to sit beside you &
watch it grow out of your mouth & stomach
& root itself in the soil beside us.
burst from the ground with the
life & fire of every star that breaks
it's neck above us, just to catch a glimpse
of all that this is.
i will find you.
under a warm blanket.
god, the energy is disgusting in here.
i stare at the moon, full & awake.
i stare at my face, hollow & awake.
i stare at my hands, shaking & awake.
it's dark & quiet & the world is sleeping
& you are sleeping & he is sleeping &
she is sleeping & babies are definitely sleeping.
a few birds are chirping.
surely just as confused as i am by the static
in our hair
& feathers.
god, daylight sleep like only the daylight can.
dead, expired, eliminated by darkness.
& in the morning, kick down my door.
scream at the top of your sharp, bright,
lovely throat.
& may i find a way to hold onto you
until we all sleep again.
i stare at the moon, full & awake.
i stare at my face, hollow & awake.
i stare at my hands, shaking & awake.
it's dark & quiet & the world is sleeping
& you are sleeping & he is sleeping &
she is sleeping & babies are definitely sleeping.
a few birds are chirping.
surely just as confused as i am by the static
in our hair
& feathers.
god, daylight sleep like only the daylight can.
dead, expired, eliminated by darkness.
& in the morning, kick down my door.
scream at the top of your sharp, bright,
lovely throat.
& may i find a way to hold onto you
until we all sleep again.
4.27.2010
be.
"it's a travesty to be a prisoner in your own life."
ctrl+alt +delete+end.
you stare at the cheap, over-sized stuffed animals
behind the toothy grinned, gypsy with short fingers
& because of the excitement of the game, forget
you hold the brass token in your hand.
ctrl+alt +delete+end.
you stare at the cheap, over-sized stuffed animals
behind the toothy grinned, gypsy with short fingers
& because of the excitement of the game, forget
you hold the brass token in your hand.
blue 37.
so i look at the cop & i say to him,
i say right to his stubbly, pretty cop face,
i say "you don't know me man, you don't know me."
& he shoves me a little, back against my car
& he mumbles some over practiced warning
about "controlling my temper" but all i can do is
laugh out loud at the overly zealous bulge in his
stupid brown polyester pants.
so he cracks my jaw with the end of his flashlight,
pretty sure that will "knock that silly smirk off your face!"
so i go soft.
he loads me in his car & then gets a frantic slur of chatter
over his radio as he climbs in the front.
after responding ever so heroically
to the chain of numbers & colors
with a voice he could only get from hours upon hours
of watching & practicing t.j. hooker lines,
he jumps up & lets me out.
un-keys my hands, spits on my shoes & tells me i'm free to go.
i get that same smirk on my face,
although it's slightly swollen this time, but before i could
even say a word he drives away.
i'm free to go.
ha, what a gold-bricker.
what a stupid gold-bricker.
i say right to his stubbly, pretty cop face,
i say "you don't know me man, you don't know me."
& he shoves me a little, back against my car
& he mumbles some over practiced warning
about "controlling my temper" but all i can do is
laugh out loud at the overly zealous bulge in his
stupid brown polyester pants.
so he cracks my jaw with the end of his flashlight,
pretty sure that will "knock that silly smirk off your face!"
so i go soft.
he loads me in his car & then gets a frantic slur of chatter
over his radio as he climbs in the front.
after responding ever so heroically
to the chain of numbers & colors
with a voice he could only get from hours upon hours
of watching & practicing t.j. hooker lines,
he jumps up & lets me out.
un-keys my hands, spits on my shoes & tells me i'm free to go.
i get that same smirk on my face,
although it's slightly swollen this time, but before i could
even say a word he drives away.
i'm free to go.
ha, what a gold-bricker.
what a stupid gold-bricker.
4.23.2010
& these chords run dry for a time
"it's ok, child, life can't go on stand by"
a man in a chair in an empty library
smokes his cigarette & reads from his favorite lines
the dust settles & the clock hums the hours
into his ears & brain & heart
he becomes time
something of a fading moment
an instant that was just an instant that becomes an instant
passing into another instant
he sits, time itself, knowing he will be better in the future
"it's ok, child, life can't go on stand by"
a man in a chair in an empty library
smokes his cigarette & reads from his favorite lines
the dust settles & the clock hums the hours
into his ears & brain & heart
he becomes time
something of a fading moment
an instant that was just an instant that becomes an instant
passing into another instant
he sits, time itself, knowing he will be better in the future
4.11.2010
this is destroying us.
you may fight so very hard & sometimes you must
fight before you can see through the blood & the smoke...
& when we do, the black & the white cut the light like
glass & the lines are clearer than the sun
no matter what was blurring them before.
a creation is built with a purpose
& imbedded with a specific dna.
find your way in the murky waters of this life
& know that no matter how hard or trite the days ahead may seem,
you are forging what will be the remains of who you are
long after you cease to be who you are.
fight before you can see through the blood & the smoke...
& when we do, the black & the white cut the light like
glass & the lines are clearer than the sun
no matter what was blurring them before.
a creation is built with a purpose
& imbedded with a specific dna.
find your way in the murky waters of this life
& know that no matter how hard or trite the days ahead may seem,
you are forging what will be the remains of who you are
long after you cease to be who you are.
4.05.2010
neverland is empty.
& we fill our veins with something else.
something cold & dark & different.
& we cross our fingers & hope the shadow isn't permanent.
who really recovers from this?
what are the odds of us knocking down those that are against us?
questions i asked when it mattered more.
questions i asked when we could see each other's faces in the dying light.
questions i will sleep on for...until we wake.
something cold & dark & different.
& we cross our fingers & hope the shadow isn't permanent.
who really recovers from this?
what are the odds of us knocking down those that are against us?
questions i asked when it mattered more.
questions i asked when we could see each other's faces in the dying light.
questions i will sleep on for...until we wake.
3.24.2010
an exercise in 6/8.
did you feel the floor boards tremble
& quake beneath my back
baby, we got something precious
& there's no gray before the black
our oxygen is golden
a miracle at best
if we were riding on the same train
then darling, we'd be dangerous
& quake beneath my back
baby, we got something precious
& there's no gray before the black
our oxygen is golden
a miracle at best
if we were riding on the same train
then darling, we'd be dangerous
3.23.2010
oh oh oh sweet girl,
mind your head & keep your knees about you.
this crashing ceiling will crush you if you don't
learn to stand out from underneath it's falling frame.
your heart is right & you know your head as well
but the voice from the speakers in the sky
is stealing the soul you're still figuring out.
run not to the darkness but find the bits of light
bouncing in the mirror.
see your face & say your name, sweet child.
let not the world you're submersed in say it for you.
we build our own chariots & sink our own ships
raise our own flags & bust our own lips.
mind your head & keep your knees about you.
this crashing ceiling will crush you if you don't
learn to stand out from underneath it's falling frame.
your heart is right & you know your head as well
but the voice from the speakers in the sky
is stealing the soul you're still figuring out.
run not to the darkness but find the bits of light
bouncing in the mirror.
see your face & say your name, sweet child.
let not the world you're submersed in say it for you.
we build our own chariots & sink our own ships
raise our own flags & bust our own lips.
3.17.2010
thoughts.
love is enough.
we are not tigers & sharks.
what dreams do you chase forever
& which ones do hand to the wind?
suspended animation has to end.
i need to run far far away.
lose it all & find something i've never known before.
anyone have an empty closet or corner of garage?
you'd never know i was there.
i'd cut the grass.
i fear all that i must lose.
you won't even recognize me in 5 years.
we are not tigers & sharks.
what dreams do you chase forever
& which ones do hand to the wind?
suspended animation has to end.
i need to run far far away.
lose it all & find something i've never known before.
anyone have an empty closet or corner of garage?
you'd never know i was there.
i'd cut the grass.
i fear all that i must lose.
you won't even recognize me in 5 years.
3.13.2010
i can't measure my faith with the breadth of my tongue.
every word comes from some beginning & is rooted in some fantastical origin,
but that only explains where words started. where they go & what they accomplish from there is up to us.
language is strong & beautiful & wild, like a beast.
context is the bit & bridle & our duty is to control, not rule.
dance, not demand.
"you want to see where a man really stands, investigate his heart. outside of this, you will always find
the chains to tie him down."
every word comes from some beginning & is rooted in some fantastical origin,
but that only explains where words started. where they go & what they accomplish from there is up to us.
language is strong & beautiful & wild, like a beast.
context is the bit & bridle & our duty is to control, not rule.
dance, not demand.
"you want to see where a man really stands, investigate his heart. outside of this, you will always find
the chains to tie him down."
2.18.2010
this is real.
i am out of my skin today.
i suppose this is the place we have all been waiting for
but still i stare at it not quite sure how to move.
these arms are legs & hands are feet.
i walk with my head between my elbows.
i am scared to breath but it is a must.
this is real.
the clay is drying out & i will not set in this shape.
i suppose this is the place we have all been waiting for
but still i stare at it not quite sure how to move.
these arms are legs & hands are feet.
i walk with my head between my elbows.
i am scared to breath but it is a must.
this is real.
the clay is drying out & i will not set in this shape.
2.15.2010
2.12.2010
perspective.
& the city will always look the same
from outside the walls
& we will peer over & in & throw
our spears against the stones
always breaking & never making a scratch
against those defenses
& we will wake every new day
with glassy eyes & ready our throwing arms
& the city will remain the same
there is a gate & it is open
& it will take us to the city
we can only see from
it's streets
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