Tuesday, November 30, 2010


There was a time in my memory
That holds no weight
Battles were waged with purpose
Claymores rose and fell into crimson rivers of carnage
Those days have died
And we have fallen grey
In the incessant evening
It was a memory that I was never a part of

Cars rolling along aimlessly
Some of them with their lights illuminating the road
…Many more without
ambiguity remains dissolved in constant smog
Exhaust seeps into the cracks of every fortress ever constructed
And they stand as ominous figures upon castles of paper
Claiming each was a paradise scribbled in ink

Carrion-eaters refuse to gyre in the sky
Preferring to indistinctly saunter in our circles
Waiting for the mistake to fall like freezing rain
The excuse that they cower behind
in black-on-white automobiles that illuminate the already lit world
in the haze of flashing blue
willingly, they all lack headlights
outward exerting a blatant exhibition for the inner, vacant core

waxen molds whose hands gesture wildly
if only anything could grasp the matte in their frozen eyes
they could not understand the voltage
that can be expressed in the moist caves that man inhabits
as they wander incessantly
for a place called “home”

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Hope in low-doses

In front of the spraypaint counter
someone from my old life
called by my vandalicious
As I buy fuchsia in low-pressure cans
barter about the difference between German and Spanish
because I have no idea 
Remembering my clock that hangs with pride
the keepers of my pieces held in high esteem
musing  about  faces plastered all over paper
the arts college falls under bureaucracy’s dissection 
the cats that fought so hard
can never be euthanized  

“you have no idea the impact you had.” He said.
“I did my best.”  

Friday, November 26, 2010


The pomegranates split open
Anticipating the coming rain
your soft eyes smooth razors into river stones

the words overexerted, as juveniles of masterful predators   
molting zealous carapaces, carried for far too long 
still fragile, cautiously inflating their wings

the morning’s lustful bite
taking away the fangs we were born with
treasured, if only for an instant

an iron core eroding in fragments of confetti
scattered in the wind over jagged terrain
where we will soar in time

as the molten begins to shed
condensing into an alloy of sorts
that knows of no limitations

Thursday, November 18, 2010


She learned to play piano
through two sad creeks that bled mascara
bought a djembe with drug money
& tapped at it with her fingers
emulating the strokes
she once hated.
Evacuated the anger of her forgotten dreams
Into the spotted skin of a zebu
where every circle took flight with ire
landing gently in a meadow of bass.
another piece of mismatched furniture
in the same garden
where her artwork
died under the Brugmansia
eaten by a fungus that never fruits.
in a warehouse she dances as a phantom
elegantly weaving the invisible
through lights & noise
electronic drums removing all human error
contemplating the imperfections
of her own helix.
a clock that is kept as a reminder
the disease inherited from man. 

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


Treating the world like it could burst into flames
at any conceivable occasion
I was there, to watch, to stand
As your ambassador and liaison
you arsonist and child of treachery
fought as a warrior without a banner
I became that serpentine flag
And grew within you as a cancer
rotted out your flesh and bones
brought you to a knee
they have all forgotten your face
it is my eyes that they see
though you were torn
it was nothing like the shredding you have done
in the battlefield of naked corpses
what was it that you won?
You rode the horse of pestilence
Dark into the dream
Where similar creatures awaited  
to open your inner seam
you pushed them down deftly
under a mighty claw
and ignited them in the flames
from a well-trained jaw
but between your scales
there was an ache
a frost was seeping in
something there for me to wake
so that we may live again
the torment you have suffered, the ire you’ve released
could never be equal to myself
though I can be appeased
and you set fire to your realm
dependent on my love
that simple force you could not overwhelm
plainly how to make you undone.

So what then, when all your glory fades
Upon the return to your forest
Where none speak of sharp blades
Their songs enchant your carapace
They ignite the passion of your mind
And fill you with a reason to be
Something that you return in kind
Because they need you to see
And they need something akin
To last for many more years
To forget what you have suffered
And devour all their fears
where the trees will still call to you
and speak your given name
where you are needed most
in this world you must reclaim
old friend I am here for you
and have grown thick inside your mind
we will be forever changed
to remain still undefined.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


The falcon-faced woman
Digs tiger pits
To trap the unsuspecting
Winning them over and pulling them under
With Jammed sentences
As though-
The two people inside her
Are trying to speak simultaneously
Always interrupting one another
…and everyone else
She whips her feathers
All over the room
Stirring up little vortices
To bear her beak out at the gray world
Screeching about hidden powers
Secret colors,
And other powerful birds of prey
Flapping her mighty wings
Into the frenzied storm
Against the grain of consumer culture
As lightning cracks
Through their hearts
Raptors turn hard wings to the cold
As the doors open they take flight

C/1995 O1

The comet ignites
Into a fantastical blue
In the presence of 
the release of
pure energy
Then vanishes
to who-knows-where
in the frozen dark
becoming forgotten

its power is such that
People are willing to
End their existence
Seeking to be
A part of it

Wednesday, November 10, 2010


Sad creatures


out of her


empty dreams

weights that trail behind

fraying out

the organized life-

my friend

since when do you

listen to the voices

in the heads of others

since when did


become all that you knew

since when did your


become so quiet.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Ode of patience

I suppose I should say thank you
Something gracious, something huge
Fantastical, beautiful, glorious and new

But you did nothing that was not already there
Enjambment of my words as we spoke manically
we are both of the kind that likes to share

perhaps I was not thinking, or had nothing there to say
to someone so vastly superior
that, randomly, gave me the time of day

and look what we have become, and I wouldn’t call us friends
perhaps something more, or less?..
ill figure it out in the end

but on this day, the adrenaline courses where I stand
patiently you have taught me a great many things
and for it I am a better man

Orchids and Oysters

Crushing clams under the tremendous bite
Because they are each so distinct
And for whatever reason,
seems to remember them individually
Unlike the days
pissed away in drugs and excess
hedonism dancing thorough life
leaving a tracer of chemicals
that glistens as the ribbon
on the gift of something cheap and disposable
the life of an orchid
made friends with a cactus
leeched life from everything for decades
surviving on nothing
and vapid expectations
manipulating the ants
guarding its flowers
the only worthwhile thing
as we all synch up
and I shout at you in all of my dreams
because I want to wake up where you are
fuck you like you deserve
as there is only one thing that orchids can do really well.
Aside from holding on
Pick out the pearls
taste the ocean
And carelessly flick their shells like coins
Because what I value,
already became a part of me
as somewhere in a dense jungle awaits
the colors of a flower
I have never been able to fully recognize
that shirks me as a disease
with an allergy to shellfish    


Grinding in the rusted old gears
When they snap into release
machine lurching forward
Igniting the innermost  caprice
To extinguish all those forgotten tears

As we appropriate the meshing inner accord
Surely it can Fuse into something
More or less what’s calling
Though it’s not what I was hunting
 With this deficient prize I can easily afford

The lights fled outwardly sprawling
For the decadent dance
of the phantom
in their absent trance
their dreams remained falling

although their hands traversed the chasm
their human form spelled ire
in the tide of exhaust
the gargoyles upon the pyre  
vapid voyeur s enraptured in tantrum

where the currency of the day is the accost
the rabid mind will have to rely
hoping  that more appears
behind the fantastical wandering eye
the fourth dimension of where our lives crossed

Sunday, November 7, 2010

the frost

The footing  traversed
Deep within those frosted canyons
I carried each stone; one-at-a-time
Where I built as a castle
And lost in the blowing snow
infinite self-reliance
may be impervious to the cold
But not to the depravation of poor decisions
The echoes of a wolf’s teeth
Will never sting as much
lingering ache of the frozen iron
the harpoons I taught you how to make

Thursday, November 4, 2010


Nothing seems to get loud enough
In the filth of this sphere
The songs of more adjusted people
Whine away their air time
as quickly as they can
failure seeps into the fractures of my glass heart
-Because the arson of you actions turned everything to ash
Drowning out all the creativity
That was tediously set up like the countless dominoes
Loving each ounce of energy that dissolves in that repetitive sound
"Why yes, we’re friends."
friends in the way that a clear-cut forest regrows.
We are friends.
-in the way that we heal but never forget
As the treble of your distraught voice
screaming out against the rising desert sun
that instills the schism 
where my diligence burned the sky
scorches the earth
bringing the darkness asunder in coils of hate
-to the effect that, I followed the trail of feathers
to where that ethereal creature carried our bird
After some kind of forced seduction-
And found nothing but death
-the truth is; I hated it
 with pride and shame
from behind the mutual mask we have shared
in the dark rooms where the phantoms dance without restraint
where perceived evil is the masquerade
hiding an utterly malevolent psyche
-because I want someone that has burned inside as I have
Who knows the power of their own hands
And is not afraid of exercising the might of their heart
-because I thirst for it more than anything
But cannot make the first step in any direction
As she has fallen barren and is not sustainable without
Fame. and wealth. and power. 
Clawing at herself telling everyone to let her out
-what I mean is that the apathy is suffocating
a void that cannot sustain or collapse
And reverts into the lithopedion that it began as
Nothing can be the same
people put an end to the charade
                -to the effect that I am sick of being surrounded by disease
As they play up their self-worth believing that they have anything like what you and I had
                -what I mean, is that I miss aspects of everything but would never want any of them back 
taking solace in the ability to more through the dark the future gets brighter and brighter in the setting sun 

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

One-thousand Words (or Less)

There is not enough room on this page
For any institution, anywhere
To judge me in 1000 words or less.
One thousand words is simply not enough
Wouldn’t you like a photograph instead?
Would you like me to preform fellatio?
Perhaps you would like burlap sacks with dollar signs on them?
I could be eviscerated in front of you
In white lab coats and hard hats
judge me like a piece of meat
Mark me up like the hanging carcasses in a slaughterhouse
As we ponder which cuts are ‘prime’
Should I tell you about poverty?
Should I tell you about fame?
I can tell you about injustice, and how I have overcome it
How someone crawled out of Chino California
Picked up a pen
And rewrote their own future.  
Honestly, I’m terrible on a horse
But excellent on a tractor.
I can tell you all about the macabre Los Angeles Streets
How the ‘lowbrow’ artists scratch together their lives
For that moment that culminates
After hundreds upon hundreds of hours of work
So that strangers can stand, awkwardly, before their struggle and announce:
“I don’t get it.”
I could tell you all about Raymond Burr’s orchids
The amazing international musicians I have met
The Incredible Street artists who willingly sacrifice everything
to make their world marginally less gray.
I could tell you about friendship
And what it is like to know mediocre is not good enough
In the eyes of people that love you   
unequivocally I return their sentiments
Who have lent a strong hand
to pull me out of the depths of myself
more times than I care to admit.
Perhaps you are interested in philosophy,
we could share a Jungian discourse like a sundae.  
Or get really chummy over a glass of scotch
 And talk about ‘other things’ in ‘other times’
as though I care about the prestige more
than I care about the adventure.
Let’s talk of æther
The substance between us the ancients called ‘upper sky’
And why my self-reliance permeates everything and
everyone I come into contact with
I could tell you all about that fluorescent pink substance
That I have learned to weave as the fabric of everything and everyone
That my life comes into contact with
And how you’ll see it flow all over the place, 
if, I were standing in front of you.
I don’t like talking to people if I cannot see their eyes
Because I live to see character within people’s eyes
Perhaps more than anything
give me a fucking chance
And you’ll see what I mean.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010


Billowing smoke peels
from the place you called home
Running mascara plays out
the predictable storyline

Each empty promise, a landmine
that you stupidly plodded over

 to hear from some imperial parchment
Imagining what your bloodline
means to a virus

The rolling hills burn
in the reflection
of your tear-laden eye
Under the waves where
your gods cannot swim
Within the divine wind
that blows glitter in your face
always pronounced
in the secondary language 
through the embers
the tendrils of influence
bloom like the hand-grenades
that devastated your pitiful artistic license

…and those who swore to protect
fell like flittering prayers
carried off by the vacant breath
tell me of your black diamonds
the excavation of your known depths
in which I learned to saunter
like the dark megatropolis   
because the black kites of your originality
were copied, thoughtlessly

I shattered your mask
with the same wrecking ball
cowards pushed you out for
and you know to tighten your abs
because it will never be
as vulnerable as your sloppy candy

tell me of bushido, of the way
how honor trumps brutality
it cannot stop the assassins
that linger in my mind


Monday, November 1, 2010


I saw you still as the tide came rising
Waved your hand at it like it was not there
As if the sprawl could keep us hiding
Looking into the maelstrom with a fearless stare

 the urban coral thrives in the concrete wake 
Under the stale gaze that statues recall
the beautiful things we’ve struggled to make
against this canvas that has made us so small  

as you plant the polyps one-by-one
anchoring transformations that all undergo
how the reef struggles to bloom in the sun
and the effort it takes to let the barrier grow

the supremacy of your wry leer
propels the waves against the shore
your colors and light feast on that fear
in tropical nights where we reign this war