Angels and the Ocean

I met an angel just last year,
he told me that things just
can’t stay the same and I nodded
as we walked between red trees.

He always held a marble in his
right hand and told me not to forget
the little things, but I knew better
when the little things forgot him.

I have been drenched by life’s
rogue waves and pulled beneath the surf
more times than I can count, but the
times I’m on top are worth the fight.

We all run circles on a giant sun dial
chasing the evanescent hours of daylight.
Then when night time comes
we chase our dormant dreams.

Angels are just like us, because they
once walked here. Never sure of anything,
but the hands of father guide us all
into spectacular and terrifying lucidity.

Forgot

As I spoke to her, the hands,
the ones that used to pat my head,
moved around of their own accord
primping disheveled wedding white hair.

Zoe never complains, and fancies herself
a queen in that hollow nursing home.
She stills has nails of deep red and
wears night gowns with flowers galore.

But Zoe reads the first page over and over,
because her decaying mind can’t remember.
Flowers, books, stuffed animals, ornaments,
cards, and me surround her crisp full sized bed.

I wonder if she’ll remember my visit, but
she called me by name so I know that in those
old brown eyes recognition has yet to ghost.
She’ll surely tell the old hens about her beloved nephew.

I ache for Zoe, I guess because she feels no pain.
Nestled in her lap are her weathered hands,
and as she stares out the window I muse about
if her days of glory come gently streaming back.

One Road

One road ahead in an autumn wood,
And five hands behind with fingers “should”.

But these shoes are mine that walk this path,
and what I do is on my behalf.

If love is my light then what is my need
for power, or money, or lust , or greed?

I chose now to start my path anew,
and part these brambles that grow askew.

With a burning warmth within my soft eyes
I’ll make a way here of my own device.

Swiftly carve this, my trail, clean and true,
because living for them I can’t do.

Now I walk my own self-deliverance,
and THAT has made all the difference.

Take Me

Take me somewhere with
endless waves of green grasses.
I want the fingers of the
breeze to stroke my naive face.

Let the sky be an azure mirror
upon which birds lazily drift.
Now, put me to rest between two mountains
in a valley fit for one.


When I awake from my rest may
the sun cause shadows to dance
all around my bed of lavish moss in
shapes of beings wild and free.

Take me to solitude unlike any other.
Give me rest in the heart of the wild,
where water is free to lope and trees are
old enough to remember the first rising moon.

The glaze of humanity won’t taint this place
and the colors here will blush before me.
Flowers will make a carpet of riches and
even the mushrooms will drip with vibrancy.

I close my flickering eyes and
a silent hand lifts me gently aloft.

Agreement

She keeps a ring,
a soft glowing halo
that surrounds her always.
She says “You can’t hurt me.”

When the parking lot was a field;
when her feet fell like cold hammers
and she ran away.
He didn’t even chase her.

She lay sprawled out in the cold air.
She willed heaven to take her,
and heaven took her.
Hell on earth was gone forever.

She made an agreement.

She stands in flames and poison,
but she feels no pain; impregnable.
Choice was saturated with simplicity.
Imprison the judge, and burn his book.

Copper

This time of year
the trees turn into copper
as if they beckoned the lightning
to burst forth from their fingers.

A blanket of molten
that spreads across the
pocked and scarred mountain
valley beneath my dangling feet.

I can see the cloud ahead of me,
but I fail to realize it’s all around me.
Despite sitting within, I feel exposed.
This sensation is much like love.

Each little person is a flicker in time
but what significance that flicker can
affect; I wonder if my time is mine
or am I a tree in a forest?

I want the lightning no matter how briefly
it burns; the leaves quake and die in the breeze.
I am small.

Hypnos Release

I have been asleep inside,
and my furnaces are candles now.
The people who love me crease their brows.
Sideways crescents break the calm flesh.

Signals come at me from everywhere.
I awake to a thousand misty eyes and
unsatisfied frowns. My friends all
want to know where I’ve been.

I AM RIGHT HERE. I AM STILL HERE.
DON’T LOSE FAITH IN ME.
I am the sun today and the
ashes tomorrow; slack jaw.

I’m not dying I’m just sleeping,
and I’ve been weary for so long.
How inconvenient the last fight would come
when I stop to embrace slumber.


But…


Fear not for beneath the cypress
the roots still clutch the bowels
of everything that has supported
the wooden giant all along.

These digits still know the grip and
when it is time the kinesthesia will return
and my joints will unwind like spindles
to take up the task once again, again, again…

(The sigh that births the gale)

Get Up

I’m tired of touching myself
where your hands are missing.
I am pushing my weakness out
the window and letting the air in.

I need to breathe, and I need to see.
I need to let the world wrap its arms
around my tired body, because it’s
time I realized you’re not the one.

Kick the golden spindles down the stairs
and the threads sparkle, tumble, and
still I can’t work magic with them.
No coat of gold to rest in your closet.

When I would go driving the sides of the
road were canyon walls, but now when I look
again it seems I am flying high above the clouds.
Frankly, I don’t give a damn what happens to you.

As I suck in that sweet air, and
watch the clouds roll into the valley
I find inside myself that all this misery was
for nothing; I was always right below the surface.

I Am My Own Jailer

I am my own jailer.
I posses my keys.
And unlike any sailor,
I roam on no rough seas.

I hide in webs of hypocrisy;
the lonely spider soul.
My arms are false synecdoche
that gladly hide the whole.

Who else could weld these bars,
if not the one inside?
I tried to swallow stars,
but my gut has only sighed.

I want those hands to grasp me,
and pull me towards their need.
I want to want nobody,
and overlook my greed.

A queer and quaint pauper
begging problems to resolve.
I trap myself in others,
so I won’t feel so small.

Moving On (or at least somewhere)

I met you.
Then the only eyes I cared for
were those dull emeralds you hid.
Your happiness made me high.

And in the light of all honesty about
how our two hearts really beat
I realize that you were more or less
a fantasy and although you’re real…

You’re not the man I thought you were.

But, the blame is my own.
You are only a human; like myself.
And I am a romantic who clothes you in purple.
I am the one person, right now, who sees you as so much more,
placing glue and feathers across your shoulders.

Now, when tart reality bites my hand
and the cold truth settles on my chest
I feel so foolish for ever thinking that things
were some damn fairytale.

Really, I’m just delusional.
Things are… confusing.

Now with fresh lessons engraved
into the bark of my heart,
maybe, I can deserve love.

We don’t choose which thorns stick us…
But we choose which ones to remove.
And we can endure,
and face the pain of losing that familiar sting.
We can persevere through the hurt and taste soft freedom.

Remove my empty rattling dreams, and
let the new sun fill me with warmth
where the body that used to lay next to mine
left only a cold indention.

My Love, the Illusion

My heart is a horse behind the gates
just begging to run free with
the spirits of love that surround
every Romeo and Juliet.

I guess it can be promising
to think that this melancholy
will pass and that you will
materialize, but can I wait for it?

I’m a child on the porch who’s
feet gently drag across the wood
as I sit alone on the swing watching
the others who get to play.

When I retire at day’s end I feel
a frost creeping over my fingers
and I can’t feel any surfaces as
I drift into a solitary slumber.

When I wake the tape is rewound
and my motions are all too familiar,
so until this is real I’ll be stroking
a smooth empty pillow.

You Never Loved Me

Aligned across too much table
the day after, and you eclipse the
margarine, normally glowing with
morning rays at breakfast time.

You didn’t just hurt me, you lied
and saturated my deepest woes.
My eyes are dwarf stars and I struggle
to keep my chin parallel to the rug.

The embarrassment of the lack
of food might have been a priority, but
I barely feel the sting of shame which
is all but muted by your dead stare.

How could the landscape of flesh
possibly conceive such cold recesses?
The swan’s face is hidden beneath the
waters we once floated upon.

Now I look up as I am sinking and see
such a thing of beauty watching me slide
to the lowest my heart has ever resided.
What sting does the edge hold up to betrayal?

Your heart is free of my white fingers
and I can watch as a morning sun bears
you into a new day for us both.
So many teeth litter the curbs.

In my solitude I peer inwards at the frail
creature who’s bones protrude from flesh.
He’s all I can manifest of what I experience
from the shock of learning; you never loved me.

Mason of Wonders

I have been branded as strong
and to be as tall as my title I
built a wall that grazes the clouds.
I am untouchable when I sit atop it.

But high in the windy reaches I feel
so alone, and unlike I used to feel.
I frantically build my defenses higher
which makes it that much harder to fall.

I am afraid to come undone and
feel the need to need anyone but myself.
I am a dancing fox on the table
hoping my grace will save me from scrutiny.

Behind my door lies shadow fingers and bones.
Inside I feel so lost and I don’t know who I am.
I am sealed with a doorknob that must turn
both ways before releasing its hold.

So strong am I, and yet so frail and afraid.
I fear being less than what I am needed for.
I fear being the needy, for need seems so weak.
Somehow the mason must descend his miracle.

Receding Feelings

The clouds perked up
using the wet sand as
a mirror and I smiled
at every glimmer of hope.

The clouds and I go out
to count all the grains on
the beach and wonder if
our blessings could add up.

I considered spinning into a tornado
and twirling violently in the den
throwing every object my arms
could reach before you got home.

Luckily I’ve cooled down over the
years so all you’ll receive is a gentle
twinkle from my eyes and a letter
thanking you for all the butterflies.

Now I sweep away my past
and let the tears join the ocean, because
I can no longer skip time off the waves;
It’s time to find new stomping grounds.

Oh Momma

This old country home is
full of husks and dead notes
muted in the dusty air.
A shell with a silver bun is in the rocker.

No Sunday dresses draped from
the line between the house and
the tree; and empty baskets
turned down on the back porch.

You have no idea when to eat
cause that triangle ain’t ringing.
You have no idea how to fold
cause you had clouds to chase outdoors.

Now the linens are yellow
and the truck is bleeding black
and negligence sure as hell
won’t bring Momma back.

A chest full of dresses are
consignment bait , and the treasures
of youth no more than obsolete.
Oh Momma, where’d you go?

No more buttery hands to salt
the ham; the coils are just tepid.
Coffee beans untouched even though
you asked for them.

It’s too late for gratitude,
and it’s too late to wash the windows.
Momma’s no more, no more.
I’m sorry Momma; may God reward you like I should.

Sunlight Vow

It’s when I turned over
to let the rays warm my back
that I made a vow to
the sun.

I would be the rock in the
brook and no matter how the waters
whittled away my shell; I would always
remain inside who I wanted to be.

The fields stretch on into
eternity and we can run through
their grasses or we can lie
in their mud.

I will run and run until my legs
are in the earth
and until the sun blazes
off beyond the horizon.

The world spills over with music
and stars that reflect in every
moment of gratitude I have
for the very breaths I steal.

The course will be rough and
the slopes will be slick, but
from the deepest chambers of my
chest I can find the strength to climb.

The Violen's Whine

Sighing windblown clouds
slither across the steel skies
who’s face has aged into a
constant downturned lining.

Thoughts come like dusty
sunbeams through my blinded
garden of avoidance.
My eyelids can’t stop the light.

My Hollywood decision only
glittered on camera.
Opening the window and thinking
it a door is a foolish exploit .

I can always lift the corners
of my cracked lips, and force
the warmth of hope to enter
but even hope needs to breathe.

I trust the road and I have faith
that the wind will land me where
I can bloom, but doubt pervades
even the stalwart drifter.

I can’t say I have a plan,
and I certainly have no
step by step instructions.
I can’t pretend I don’t feel lost.

However I think if I put out my foot…
perhaps the golden bricks will line up.

Folding

All the elements fell on me
at once, but burning above all,
like an ember in my throat was
the thought of loving you.

I lost my aim and my every sense
of direction has evaporated.
I want to grasp my fate, but my body
is trapped in an automatic position.

My head rests on the edge of
a swell of the willow’s river.
She has wept her branches into
permanent drooping husks.

I met a badger by the fire
and his eye held two pupils.
One pupil was a spark and when
he blinked a star was born.

You were a star among a
wall of blackness that was cold
and you warmed me with no more
than your mere existence.

My love is small and unorganized.
This pretty little bird is dying to fly.
Even when the cat’s paws are near
I still have been the fool enough.

Now I retrieve what I so easily handed over,
and I can’t imagine feeling any more ashamed.
Am I wrong for feeling differently?
Another door comes to a close.

My Darling, the Cardinal

My darling was born at the
finest facility money could buy
to the finest people
who barely got by.

Her house’s hallway had a trail of
hairpins that stopped on her nest
of sunset delight, and her daddy
couldn’t have been prouder.

My darling danced and my darling
sang, those tunes that could get a
rocker rockin’ out on the rotting porch.
Even in a slip she out-blazed the cardinal.

Her feet tracked mud from
the garden out front and her
heart tracked sighs from the men
she gave her ruby soul to.

My darling was born from the blues
and she turned me to reds.
She dreams and I know I can soar.
Even the cardinal believes.

My darling and I know heaven
because we saw it shining from
behind the mountains as we
swung lazily from the cherry porch swing.

Welcome Home

Searching for a home and
how foolish of me to miss
the train; I’m already home.
Crossing the threshold is a warm hug.

Spring lingers on the wick
and gently hides in my sheets.
The windows are always open
and so is the door.

My home has my heart and the
residents are as transient as
the leaves riding the breeze,
and as sure as the beams I dwell beneath.

May the roof cover me and
may the walls bear my secrets.
My home is as joyous as the brook
and as sturdy as the pines.

Oh Lord if ever I am withered,
if ever I am cold,
if the sun is covered in clouds,
please reach down and replant me
in the garden my roots first left.
In that soil make me strong and
remind me of every angel who’s
hands have tilled those grounds.
Please Lord, breathe softly on my
head so I may bloom for you once more.
Amen.

Welcome home.

Seven Down

Beneath the serrated
angry bushes I prayed
to become adept enough
to place my foot out.

I realize.

If I spend my time
and refuse frugality
I feel as though I’ll have missed
the special way you make me feel.

The pails can remain empty,
for I am spurred on by the
need to feel something more
than solidarity in my chest.

If I wax or wane please
keep your eyes out.
I am strong, but hollow.
Fill me.

Like the flowers retreat
before the breast of Winter
so too does my heart bury itself
when I feel that familiar look.


It wasn’t the sport.
It wasn’t the forest.
It wasn’t the sun.
It wasn’t the fox.
It wasn’t the divine.
It wasn’t the hunter.
It wasn’t the smiling youth.

I know who he’s not,
and that has comforted me
as much as it has burned.
That’s seven down.

Will I?

Sometimes my trumpet scrapes
upon the sharp gravel and the
golden paint chips into little flecks
that stick to my ankles and toes.

I want to lift my head, but I
can’t seem to find the strength.

My desires and passions are
violet specters that pull at my chest.

From my sacral regions I feel fire
that brings waves of grief, because
all I want is to love and be loved.
What a shame reality can be.

Spiral staircases extending from me
and I cannot walk them all, and
I can see that some are worse than
death, but even still I want to climb.

There are choices; there are dividers.

The journey is the tale and the tale
is the reflection of feelings.
I am the greenest sequoia; the
whitest birch.

Somewhere in the unraveling threads
of the Lord’s mighty might I will
find the answers and possibly
the acceptance.

Able to Stand

Like a thread I am taut that
I cannot span the distance.
Reaching for the oaken chair
so we can face one another.

I want to talk, and I mean really
talk to you in a way you won’t forget.
I have been sinking for too long
into the water I thought I could stand on.

Every time we part, I stomp around
my cozy room like an elephant.
The words I contained are heavy
and weigh me down so much.

Recently I had a brilliant talk with my
reflection, and I told myself to let go.
Somehow, in the silence of the bathroom,
I found inside of me the courage.

We sit eye to eye and I am free.
I can smile and mean it like I
haven’t meant it ever before.
You know my heart through my throat.

I have my mother’s lips and her
generous spirit inside me as well.
I have never wanted to hurt you, and
that fear has clipped my wings.

From the yearning to speak
I found the stumps have regenerated
into the most beautiful plumes.
I can stand and leave now with no remorse.

The last touch I will leave with you
is this: I will gently cup your face in
my kind hands and lightly brush my
lips against your forehead, farewell.

Collision (Car Crash)

A collision that set the head askew.
In the backlash I saw a million lights,
each one pining with the prospect of
touching the flying wooden stakes.

Summer away in a spiral vial where
the negative spaces are filled.
A veil polished with the unforeseeable.
All these pins hold together the fabric.

Collision.

The pieces that surrounded you are of
no consequence when you’re laying
on a stretcher, a stretcher, a stretcher.
Oh my god, what will the door open to?

Now I am praying at your bedside.
The wells have overrun and the fields
are stained with a dampness that penetrates
even the deciduous nature of healing.

I mistook it all for an escape, and
now I am even less free than before.
I can’t lift my arms without moving
ten pounds of tubes that rush life into me.

The Only Love

The only love I’ve ever known
is the love I appreciate the least.

What a selfish fool I am
to disregard the touch
of my mother’s fingers
as they stroked my back.

Who’s arms would I slump
into if not those of my
dearest friends who
are the harbor in the storm?

I am a flier on the wind.
I am the wave against the rock.
I am the kisses on the moon.
I am the frog under a spell.
I am the oak carved with maps.
I am the ink and the stamp.
I am every open window and
I’ve been right here all along.

The echoes of my voice slide
into the ranks of the stars.
Even they know my heart,
and what more of a boon can I ask?

I will forget everything I know about love.
I will free my eyes from the red roses.

I’m sure when I stop gazing at the
willow tree’s boughs I’ll realize
that the person I desire the most
has been beneath the canopy all along.

This Morning

This morning drifted in
with incomparable grace.
I was awoken by the silent light
gently stroking my drowsy cheek.

When I arrived at my dew painted yard
I took off my shoes and breathed in deeply.
As if I’d been stiff for years, I awkwardly
walked out unto the slippery carpet.

My spirit began to warm up and with
a gleeful yelp I began to run.
Tall grass brushed my legs with diamonds
and the coolness made me buoyant.

My smile glowed like the sparkling
pearls of honey that stuck to my fingers.
In a bushel birds took air to dodge my
reunion with the hands that hold me.

This morning I yelled and spun in circles.
I pretended every story I had ever thought
up was possible while white figures dotted the skies.
The grass, sun, and sky revived my gratitude for living.

The Cat

The floor started creaking
when the cat peeked inside
the cradle with his butter eyes.
Pavement walls his house now.

He skirts from post to post along
the moonless highway to avoid
the eyes of the curious throng.
The cat can’t sleep motionless.

Grudges haunt the cold air
and the cat just wants a doorstep
to rest his weary coat upon.
The familiar red door now holds in wails.

If perhaps a snippet of hope
came to cross his winding path
then maybe the cat would still his tail.
Once more his butter eyes would glow.

Icelandic Sun

Shavings from glass I traced a
screwdriver across glittering in
the sill of a peeling windowsill.
Rainbows play on the paint.

A sheet of glass, covered in etches
and now rendered entirely useless
except to obscure visions on the other side.
The brittle curtain lies dormant on the floor.

Somehow I know the colors are
all that I needed from this seemingly
deranged project I made for myself.
If only the sun could remain forever.

I hear wind chimes, and I see golden waves
stretching into an endless horizon.
The wind whips my clothing around as if
I were covered with miniature flags.

I see panels hanging in the air ahead
and they are all opaque glass squares.
I add the ruined window to the collection
and it helps to obscure this panorama.

So many paths extend from my hairs.
My rusty colored top twists in the breeze.
This Icelandic sun paradise is fleeting.
The sun speeds to the Earth and night swallows me.

The bits of glass hurt if squeezed too tightly,
but I am not foolish enough to allow them
into my body; rainbows mingle not with viscera.
I decide to start recording my dreams.

Sally Swallowed the Sky

Sally swallowed the sky when
she wailed facing heaven.
An empty expanse watches me
from so high above, and I watch it.

Everywhere I go the trees have nosebleeds
and the squirrels are vibrating precariously.
The world is on edge, and at any second
I could find myself deep into the cosmos.

What ground I stand upon seems not
to move any longer, and the stills have taken
residence in every form of matter.
I can hear explosions and see static and everything is in a rushing spinning anxiety.

I am looking to hide in a place
where I can survive the tumult.
Doubt of my existence is pressing
upon my fluttering mind.

Slowly any hand reaches out and grasps the butterfly. The butterfly bats its wings and wriggles its body. Before any sort of victory can be had the world has caught on fire, and in these passions the hand and the butterfly are engulfed.

Tuck me into the roots of the trees.
I am afraid of everything else.
I need silence to engulf me.
I need to be far away from the empty heavens.

The Village

Secrets hide between the beams of
the houses and the trunks of the trees.
A village is a stagnant pool that leads
to decisions ungainly to a clean little world.

Society is a village; we swim in hushes.
Eyes darting to corners, and rolling around
like a stallion crazed from the storming skies.
Intentional whispers sliding through the cracks.

Ears are plastered to little holes where sound emits.
Mouths moving in time round the clockwork seasons.
We all sleep on a bed of lies, and only our dreams
can reflect the spilling over of our subconscious.

Young girl has secrets, but she buries them in her covers.
Her dolls turn away and her clock speeds up.

Peace and love jumble together in a mass of
ideals that spin reams of music from their bowels.

Daddy won’t unlock the cabinet because
there’s a shiny gun inside; who’s it for?

The reality hides beneath the waves of Windex
that marinate on every chrome surface in the village.

The village is so clean; the village is so pure.
We have flowers; ignore the broken teeth.

I can hear the wind whistling in the treetops.
She comes to blow seeds into the village.
She will react with surprise when her form fills
all of the crevices in our shadowy houses.

The Mannequin

Far beneath the green canopy
tangles of roots encase the wooden
mannequin who once played the violin.
He stares at the sky and wishes to be a cloud.

His words were honey that dripped
from his beautifully fashioned tongue.
Now all remains of his soothing speech
are crusty remnants, void of sweetness.

The animals crawl all along his lanky figure.
They whisper secrets in their passing, for
they know their words are safe in the mannequin.
All he can do is gaze into the sun wishing for fire.

If the world had wanted his songs
his fate may have been the dreams that
congregated in his hollow wooden skull.
Instead his mind is dimming like a candle.

In the shadows of his thoughts small beasts tread.
Entering through his ears and sleeping in the warmth
of his cognizance are the smallest children of the trees.
They still believe in his voice, and howl for him at night.

The mannequin has pretended to be human
for long enough; his fakeness is too apparent.
Sometimes the world recycles such individuals.
We are only real when we are serving purpose.

Subconsciously Bleak

Slowly dim the lights in the white
room where I spin like a toddler.
I cannot receive these sudden changes
and my mind becomes transient.

I can feel each nerve crackling like
fireworks exploding in a day lit sky.
When I sit still for too long I feel
my shadow moving without permission.

The door to the whites of your eyes
is creaking between my twitching fingers.
Such hinges are not meant to go both ways
but in aloneness I unleash fearful visions.

A rabbit calls me from a little green house.
I hear her breathing over the phone; panicky.
In a plane of wolves we are subject to these undertows.
Goodness seems almost like a fleeting thought.

Oh sweet kindness, please stop turning your cheek.
Consideration becomes rare, and we become friction.
Cycles stacked upon cycles like never slowing gears;
each one working to reproduce sensations selfishly.

The Weaver

I try to cross the differential crevice I despise
only to be entrapped in the middle of two worlds.
There, in helplessness, the tilt of reality threw me
and the magnificent Earth shifted five degrees.

Now I try to back step to my comfort zone
and find the architecture of my love
was faulty and seemingly untrue to the residents.
Where have the beams gone; the weeds are still.

Now I stare into the awning of the arcing wave
and my slackened limbs freeze me before the fall.
At nine point eight one meters per second squared
the honesty of the drinks comes upon me.

All that’s left of the wooden palace are ashes
that swirl in the chaotic wind of disparity.
I lay in a prism of faults: lies, miscalculations,
infatuations, and the laws of the universe.

Here is the haunting of an unfortunate partnership,
and as low as the breeze can touch the soil I find
the lonely spider who seems to share a similar fate.
Weaving excess webs for one life, and now they’re dispersed.

A Poet's Desire

I once rode horses that could canter
like a whirlwind, but I never wanted to.
The lackadaisical fluency of drifting
let me get lost in the story of the journey.

Sometimes in slowness I have time to see myself.
Halted ideas sit empty in a train yard where they
were never allowed to travel the tracks.
I let them die there, because some thoughts are too hard.

Missing the beginning when I get the ending;
I wish I could do it over a million more times.
Every book on my shelf looks like a dusty tombstone
for the story that has lived out its life in my heart.

I rush through the words, and lie still in the wake
of the reality I find myself in more often than not.
What a paradox to make haste in love, and to
prolong suffering whenever he sets in.

My idle fascination with all things fantastic
turns the regularities of the day into grayness.
My identity seems to change like the seasons
yet I find that my soul never wavers; I’m still me.

In a cavity somewhere I rest my weary hands.
I happen to feel good, but I also feel lost.
I reflect on my passenger seat mentality.
Every mountain range that’s ever existed has been forced.

To find love is to find the fuel of the stars.
It is to see the world as fantastic, and it is
to gently sway in the warm breeze with stretching fingers.
In the stories of others I dive with my heart.

Turn to the page where the ending never ends.
I left my dreams there, and I hope you find them.
Perhaps I will lay on a sundial forever, but
I hope to do more than tell of the time.

Still Before Truth

Yawning like the sunless sky
underneath the guise of dawn.
These nights flee into the grave
where all we can do is recall them.

Your fingertips are warm like wax
that gently slides down the burning candle.
Maybe we’re all figured out before conception,
but it’s hard to imagine the world that way.

Each day fades into a purple eve.
No matter where I decide to stand
I always see the face in the sky
which seems to watch me intently.

I’m no worse off than anyone else.
I can at least survive without vice.
You are what makes me higher than the stars.
I’ve got to get out of this place.

Knocking on the wispy door where the truth
keeps itself as a single solitary bullet.
When the door swings my mouth is agape.
Maybe we all see these things coming, and

we choose not to move.

Here or There

I cannot say I was ever here.
A heart set on experiencing every detail,
so if fate had a hand I was never real.
You’re a mediocre poison, and I need you.

If a sorry could mend these holes
then I’d carve into sky lengthy apologies.
These grinning masks are breaking
when the stoic reality arrives.

Race in the garden to be the first
to arrive at the willow tree.
Now choose between branches
that linger in such vast quantities.

At the sea I lost my virginity to the world,
and the shores held together by my roots
seemed to be fading into the foggy uncertainty.
A decision I can’t make is sinking into my heart.

A picture is host in personal reminiscence
graciously allowing the sensations of nostalgia.
A beetle climbs the tower and it remains
in a never ending cycle of motion.

If only my heart was lean then it could
slip between the arrows tied to tongues
and the swelling of knowledgeable intent
would disperse along with dreams of freedom.

Decisions vouch for the need to expand.
I am the camel and with effort I drudge on.
Within me is the a cocoon, and if I stay too long
then a husk will be all that remains.

Werewolf 1440

Where is the waning moon
off to on a night such as this?
As she cogitates her path I
am swathed in the darkness.

My eyes are red for her pale
face, so full of stark enchantment.
I stalk the shadows of her form.
The insects touch my hands in sympathy.

As if the verge weren’t enough
to tempt me; I now watch her
from the gates of Jealousy
where I am barred away from rationality.

I scribble notes on the walls
that I will see, hear, feel, and remember.
I am a wolf clothed in a distorted pelt.
My claws hide under the scrutiny of day.

Teeth and eyes that can’t be shut out,
and a tendency to lose control.
The fires of covet keep the steam rolling.
I want to be her, I want to be her.

Flesh is nothing more than a guise.
Supple lies covering a beast of control.
And now she turns and sees me.
Even with intent I am rendered inadequate.

I am the wolf, she is the snake,
you are the Hunter, you are the Hunter,
and who will fail to sheen in the moonlight?
What my deepest fears are; I am.

Sending

Solid steps towards solidarity;
the slack jawed sphinx stares.
Goliath of knowledge wordless
and lacking a riddle to stump me.

The freedom comes not from the owl.
The freedom is borne by the mule.
That is why the hog woman cannot
charm me with her mounds of gold.

The only belief I have is in things
that people refuse to hold inside.
Myself is a vessel to carry a fragile
soul that would diffuse into the air.

Despite the brokenness of flesh
and the dormant monster inside my
head; I manage to function with
certainty that transcends reality.

Ego is the ambrosia of giants
that step on the weeded Earth
and believe that they are worth more
than the mountains they hide behind.

I sleep in the chambers of ascension
where not a cricket stirs and colors fade.
I become the breather and the sleeper.
I lose my humanity and explode from my head.

As small as a bird I stand at the precipice,
and I look down at the plummet ahead.
I spread my wings to the stars, close my eyes,
and in a marvelous silent second I am gone.

Flicker, Flicker, Flicker.

I cannot begin to understand
how to kill the spirit you left
inside my heart; it festers and
spreads into every recess of my body.

The key to the fires lies beneath
the mattress we slept upon
and without you there I sweat
in the throes of nightmarish visions.

Racking pain sends tremors through
every nerve leaving me with the wish
that I would never feel another thing;
if only to release me from the sorrow.

My heart has become ensnared in your
house, and I have been locked out.
No matter how much I beat upon the wood
my protests are as hollow as this illusion.

Let me go, and let me be free.
I am a bird trapped within your grasp.
I will suffocate and die if I am not freed.
Booming bombs are going off in my chest.

Fade into the past and let the sepia
cover you in my mind, so you become
nothing more than an image of before.
I need to be allowed to control my heart.

If refusal is your only response then I will tear
myself free, losing pieces in the process.
Parts of me will be gone forever, but
I will regenerate what is needed to survive.

Soft thunder echoing in the chambers
of my sterile and gutted mind where
all thoughts of you once were allowed
to reside; the pain is breaking me.

God's Hand

Suddenly reality ripples and is disrupted
and everything seems unreal; welcome home.
The night sways around me softly and
the Moon becomes a giant over my shoulder.

Clouds so dense I can walk them
are passing by as I fly higher than space
being lead by the hand of God;
simultaneously youthful and archaic.

The spirit snakes through the canals
that run beneath my flesh and deposit
themselves into my glowing heart.
A bluish light fills me like covenant reborn.

I slip in and out of this realm of rigidity.
Somewhere in the pressure is a calming
pool of a thousand and one stars and
finding it is as sudden as waking to father’s voice.

I drift backwards, and memories flood me.
I was there, and at one point my feet touched marble.
Above my head ran rainbows and bells chimed.
Deep beneath the music the humming cello sings.

These are the moments where my spirit transcends
and for brief moments I can feel paradise
as if my hands could reach, like a child’s,
and be touched by the layer of magnificence.

Heartache

Envoy of thought getting wreaked
at the loading zone when I try
to speak the words I’ve let become toxic.
Only half the story has passed my lips.

On the way back I fall into the folds
of the gray cement rivers where the
ants pull apart every weary substance
that can become something sweet.

So small I have become in the crack
of the world I have stepped upon.
Here I am many times in the dead of night.
Now I feel the smallness, I can relate.

Leaving is as hard as getting here,
and not the here I have described
before, but rather the here I am
working to manifest to him.

Continue on pink dump truck.
I feel everything you spill upon me.
Like surges between beats I feel it.
How weighted my paradise has become.

Comets ram into the sorest darkness
illuminating the caverns with cold light
and showing you what I really am inside;
my heart is rotting and the smell is unbearable.

In the empty walls there is space enough
for a beautiful garden; who will garden this
untamed land so full of doubt and worry?
Eden hasn’t disappeared it’s just being guarded.

Moods lining the quivering muscles of my lips;
am I transparent like a pill bottle?
So stare down the hole with eyes made of light.
This cavity needs a hand to fill it, color the void.

Revealing the Source

Loud, as if the whole
world could hear it
did the truth come
as a mighty ringing.

And yet everyone
else seems unmoved
as if they have lost
all desire to hear.

Beneath the ocean waves I become a dream.
Slowly drifting in an endless freedom I am.

Perhaps escaping
is the best method
to avoid the everyday
monotony and truth.

Behind the sun hides
my every desire
but I hide them with
the blinding lights.

Slowly time canters by on twenty four hooves.
Day and night ride the mighty steed and I am dragged behind.

Counting backwards
to fall asleep at night;
because my mind can’t
find the stillness of eve.

I cannot be disappointed
and I cannot say I didn’t
see this cycle coming
to an abrupt end.

While the air stirs in the morning I am a simple stone.
If I could move to catch my draft I would hold fast.

Now all that remains
are lessons of what
I knew was fake
begin with; strained memories.

Capture the second
and make it your every
defense, your every
point and justification.

Heaven has called me to join the host of this planet.
His hands are kinder than any I’ve met before; in kindness I disperse.

Happiness in Simplicity

Thread less sun swimming
in my hair and letting me feel
like everything can go right
and loosening my bonds.

We are all prisoners.
Ignorance is our jailer
but I won’t be ensnared
for I am a bird of a different breed.

Say you’ll love me
and say that you’ve got it
but you don’t, and that’s okay.
I’m here for you anyways always.

Puddles can make the world
seem damp, so, pass them by.
There’s never an excuse to go
so far that smiles become flimsy arrows.

Sit next to me, I’m here.
We need one another so much
more than any sense to fool us.
Verbs are just unexecuted actions.

Rise to meet the clarity.
Let the sun inside your chest
where it can illuminate your soul
and give you perpetual warmth.

Cheer up, and my lamplight
won’t seem so blinding.
No matter how much you lose
I will give it all back with interest.

Find happiness in simplicity.

Blue as it Feels

Woe to the page
who takes the brunt
of my abuse
when I feel so frustrated…

And the ink has run
out; what am I to do?
I guess it may be time
to face the facts, damn.

This should only be read,
if a sensual blues is in the air
pulling at your heart
and making the air heavy…

Why cry anymore?
The soft warmth can only
keep me toasty for a second
and then it falls.

Love is wounded
and I know that so well
so when I can find the strength
I’ll fix her right up, promise.

House of Pianos

Old white house full of overlapping;
Where every room has keys,
and the songs never stop playing.
Why can’t I seem to find my room?

I march through walls of floral,
Between marble tabletops,
and under chipping white paint.
Each place I go seems to keep a part of me.

Sometimes I am so scared; what if
everything I do brings me back to
the beginning I keep trying to escape?
I just want to remember mother’s voice.

Scarlet dreams, cinnamon candles, warm
fireplaces, joyous singing, holding one another,
words of wisdom, colored glass, wintery gardens,
steamy breath, bundles of joy, and you and me.

God knows my heart, and I know his.
So even if the train takes me elsewhere
I will still rest easy, assured of my travels.
I only dream of when love finds me here.

Seconds of life are fading, where did I go?
This house of pianos has me so confused.
My song is playing somewhere, and
I just need to keep opening doors.

I can see it so clearly, as if a memory,
that has yet to happen but still lingers in my mind.
You’ll be there beneath the sunbeams,
and when I walk in it won’t matter where we’re from.

All that will matter is where we are,
and who we’re with, for the only thing that matters
is love, and I’m dusting myself off and getting back up.
I sincerely hope you’re on the other side of the next door.

December winds, flickering stars, cool
minty chocolates, soft white snow, hinting,
smiles and laughter, hallelujah, and
then of course you and me together.

Our songs will play together.
Inside the house of pianos we will find
that the other was simply before us
and the sweetest love anyone could write about.

And this is How He Treats Me

Beating on the salted black drums
outside my open glass wall I hide behind.
I can rise and swim in sky matter
deep into the confines of space.

I run away and run away from love.
I can’t find the meaning of toads.
Kingdom of heaven looking down,
and all I can do is look back up.

Every time the snow falls I hear chimes.
Some extraneous neural impulses,
firing like rockets in a clouded sky.
And here I am, simply as I am.

Couth and benign men in my dreams
that built the court they stand so elegant upon.
I am glass, just like my world, seeking sight,
for the eyes I stole only see so far.

Seedless nights, opaque mornings,
cool noontimes, buried afternoons,
sexual dusk, and convulsing new moons
find me as the wolf, the hunter hunted.

Concepts of romance are lost in the desert,
and here stay ghostly visages of the 18th century.
Bumblebee please teach me to sting,
because retaliation is an impossibility right now.

Sea rolls, see rolls, seething dragons behind the wall,
and my knight has turned on me at the last.
The doors are all wide open like caverns,
so I wait for the wailing wind to come and take me.

Need Need Slow

Cards fall sundering the brain,
Seventy revolutions per nanosecond,
Shattering the walls with fists whitened.
You know nothing, empty pail, pale emptiness.

I wanted impressions and fireworks,
You wanted sex sex sex.
White light, silhouettes, shake it up.
Bounce bounce with your frayed edges.

I’m not a major, just a life lesson.
So spin around when I hit you.
Listen and maybe I can teach you something.
Fight for feelings found fundamentally far fit for frivolous fickle festivals finished factually for fortunate fairies.

Sounds like a lackluster bounty.
No talent, just a super gargantuan ego.
Consult your id and take a message.
Really now boy, where’s your heart?

Keep imagining those vibrations, poor nations, sensations, reconciliations, carnations?
Look at me, I am so cool, I make art art art.
Message over fame, worth over wealth,
Posted plastered and whatever else you do with it.

Waking Ladybug

The lights pierce my skull,
Like streams and rivulets,
They bounce within my brain,
And leave me sleepless.

Each key strikes harder than stone,
Down into my soft dreams,
Waking me to find myself tangled,
And wishing to be free.

Out in the world is my place,
I have yet to stand upon it,
But I still search for where I belong,
Somewhere with fields and creeks.

Hopes turn to paper and fly away,
Only to be replaced by new hopes,
Fears dissolve as rationality seats himself,
Love comes and goes like a train.

I am a passenger on the express circuit,
Where I hope to reach myself sooner,
And find that the growth can come whenever,
To become the man I want to be.

I despise clenching cold conventions,
And I love all things frivolous,
In the sands beneath the grass,
I shall make my home and find my roots.

Break

Space is only an illusion,
At the party on the rocks,
Where work is withered,
And sleep is fleeting.

Yet the world cannot be monotone,
And so here I pack my bags,
And I say farewell to you and you.
As I descend the jagged steps.

This place has held me free.
Obligations melted into soup.
The ceiling fan never stopped flicking.
In circles above my head, I was dazed.

And like the shell of a blanket,
This protection is not real,
I realize the end when the stars haul in the sun.
It’s sad, but it’s not the end, I promise.

Now, I must travel away from here.
My life continues elsewhere.
But I have learned a valuable lesson.
It’s not where you are.

It’s who you’re with.

Colossal Miss Understanding

All that remains is to sit and wait.
A loss so grievous I cannot stand.
Calculations gone horribly wrong.
And now I drink myself away to dust.

Girl, smile, brunette, love, daisies, laughter, green dress, years, drink, yell, pain, gone…

When will the world be right again?
June, sun, grass, picnic, together, love, flicker, flicker, flicker, reset…

And the violin hasn’t forgotten its voice.
It still sings alone in the night as always.
The song has changed, the chords are a mess.
The sound no longer reflects the joy.

Pain, for what reason?, lost, love, love, love…
If she is your life,
Then if you lose her,
Do you lose your life too?

How sad Earth has become when sympathy,
Is running late,
And you need understanding,
And you get explosions.

They drift apart; cut, next, loneliness…
Girl, alone, apartment, unsure, scared, alone, red dress, city, thinking of him…

There are supposed to be two alone…

Belong to something, hold on to something,
Live for something, love for something,
Be anything, know anything, know her…
Fake smiles, fake laughs, fake emotions; was it only real with him?

I am the wanderer, I am the watcher,
Snakes crawl amongst you,
Where have these beasts come from?
I leave for two millennium and this is what I find…

Bones, dirt, wood, tears, flesh, love manifests in them, but where was he? Where was she?

Give me the good stuff,
I don’t want to feel anything,
If I can’t feel it with her.
Same thing, he’s my heart.

Alright, but this may never be reversed.
I am sure.
I’m not…
Pain is worse though; please..do it.

Hear these things.
For her,
For him,

For me.

H.E.R.O.

Where am I supposed to turn?
Oh road tell me, for I am lost.
I can’t remember anything,
And I am trembling all over.

A chair in the corner I sat in.
An open window I would gaze out.
A country sun that glazed the yard,
Flickering moments I cannot hold onto.

I am trapped in the cage he made.
I try to be the strongest man on Earth.
Somehow I have people believing it.
If only I could believe it, I’d believe it.

There’s always another sun to replace today’s.
There’s always another story to be told.
As long as the adventure never ends,
I will keep having chances to prove I really am a hero.

I would lay my heart bare if not for fear.
I know my courage appears endless but it’s not so.
Inside this body is a frightened child, a broken doll.
Regardless, I charge the gates of hell as if I am boundless.

What I seem to forget is that hell is only an illusion.
I needed something to fight, because I can’t fight myself.
I need another chance and perhaps another after that,
Because despite how it may seem I still fear the dark.

At the bottom of a river I buried myself.
Beneath the cold water I gave myself to the current.
I was young, I was scared, and now I am trying to find myself.
Who knows how far away I was carried.

My hands hang beside me, and my head is low.
I keep on walking into the horizon, never staying long.
I will fly away as soon as the light bill comes.
Cowardice seems my true nature, oh God be with me.


Hunter’s

Errors

Ruin

Others

A Little Distance Between Us

The white bled across the sky,
Leaving no trace of the daytime,
And only leaving traces of innocence,
Innocence I cannot claim as my own.

One day we’ll see everything right,
When the brook floods the bridge,
When the mud is washed away,
When we can pass with no fear of drowning.

You are more important than you know,
Each breath you take is a small comfort to me,
As long as I know you’re still living I know I am,
Even with the collapsed road between us I’m here.

There are times I have these crazy ideas,
Where I wish I had a voice like a piano,
That could travel the distance to reach you,
And you could hear me singing miles away.

I want to make you miss me but I know something,
I know that despite what you say you miss me too,
Even if the flower wilted, died, we still planted it together.
Let your head down, release your pain, we needn’t hate.

The Bells

The order of events are always beginning with looking,
Who will find the bells as they ring from unseen perches?
The bridge broke and they all fell into the river,
As they fell they shouted “We are people too!”

Who would have thought of such an anomaly?
The lonely stone disguised himself as an animal,
Just to feel the warmth of attention,
Above the clouds is walking upon the tundra.

The bells hung from the trees dead as night,
The sunrise made them shine and they came to life,
As the wind began to blow the bells sang me a song,
The tree’s boughs rubbed like cellos.

Where I placed my own is a secret.
The little silver fellow is mine to keep forever.
Even as the witch screamed “Who bent my cards?”
I was safe with the sounds of the bells.

I am destined to awake to every morning a Sunday morning,
Where the bells ring to call me from my sheets,
I will go to my window and see them on the breeze,
There the world will begin, and all thought will harmonize.