Friday, December 2, 2011


Desiccating in the temple
Where we reap annealed flesh
the cyclical thoughts remain

underneath and within and somewhere
a song cannot be heard
where a bitter wind blows everything into perpetual memory  

horrifically beautiful virus of thought
dissolving into cheap honest theater
as waves crashing on the shores of the gross

water that can never be afforded
should not be shed here
give up nothing, and remember:

we are the nation of no flag
we have no demands
we will prevail.  

Thursday, November 17, 2011


the whispers I hear

sound exactly like a chain

writhing on concrete 

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Rang like a bell
The echoes reverberate, proliferate
Cacophony becomes him
Sound and fury
Thirst and hunger
Conflicting as the lines of patience and impertinence penetrate everything
And he regins down on black wings
Bringing void into every sip that life has to spill
“by the time you see where they are connected, it will be too late” she says
but it is always just a little too late
And resonates
back and forth through the temple of self
Absolving everything in the taste
The smell
That takes them back, centuries, millennia to a time when that vapor was fresh and new
When things did not ricochet in and out of their heart
Refracting everything into so many colors
Allowing Every fragile ripple to amplify.
in a world where every whisper
rings like a bell.

Monday, October 17, 2011


Broken earth becomes
The echo upon echo of what once was
As they knocked each one out
For fear that they would be crushed
Under their tremendous breadth

Unfortunate then, to stand among brothers
Among titans, fearing nothing
Save for a lifetime of isolation
Where soil screamed their names
and found them victims of human fear

challenges that no human could know
Because humanity is so, human.
stretching limbs
to a god that brings no refuge
still seeking it in objects and words

killed with technology
they fought virgin flesh against tempered iron
and lost, each severed limb shook the earth
as others sat without so much as an afterthought

but they left the mysorenesis
the gaunt young mother 
as though she would not carry within inverted breath
the whispers of what was to come.

Sunday, October 16, 2011


When you left,

there was nothing;

but the gentle zephyr blowing through the fragments

of my shattered heart.

Do you remember

the first time summer

became fall?

Saturday, October 1, 2011


Surreal in the way that things pan out
I called out, dreaming of more


On that balmy summer night where I picked you the flower from a tree
Not so different than my own 
with the honest exception
my tree doesn’t make flowers anymore.

The perfume spilled from every crevice
From every alcohol-laden word as we all slipped back to childhood
With Edan who laughed so much as we fell through the streets
On that star filled night
Leaving me intoxicated with the patterns of your dress
As it trounced through the streetlights
into the wheat-pasted halls
Still under construction,  to this day

I wake up sometimes, smelling the perfume of that gigantic white flower
Recall the texture of your hair
Running through my fingers as I palmed your head
On those summer nights that persist in my memory

As the petals of a flower that never withers

And I question the nature of my syconium
And the nature of what it means

to bloom.  

Friday, September 23, 2011


the Zephyranthes blow in the wind
remembering nothing
wanting to be more than they are
crowded between fifteen other species
where four out of five of their flowers
are devoured

imitating compositae, somewhere between liliaceae and hippeastrum
 invisible to the layman
I heard your secrets, so deep
Through the echoes  
they reverberated as the ripples in a pond
crossed over the threshold in time
don’t say,
don’t speak,
I can see you.

I can see you for what you are.

Through you, I see the future.            


I love to lie.
Plain and simple.

I don’t owe anyone anything.
facts of worthiness and deservation
When I go to one of your art shows to be humiliated


I spoke.
 With those
who quit.  
gave up the old life,
to pursue the essence of art.
Know that I have loved

belief that is out to where no one has ever been and nobody can relate

On the rooftops
I watch the police hunt
And paint from a sense of worthlessness
dreaming that I will be something more than this
lying to myself for another day      

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


The demise of such great kingdoms
Nobody ever truly wants to see
As the last log of the forest rolls out on a flatbed truck
Every last thing, remnant, and echo of what once was
Is obliterated, swept asunder in this contemporary dementia
The compulsive activities that were once adored
Become Little more than a tragic opera
That I’ve come to memorize
Word for word,
Line for line,
In the childishness of a rerunning cartoon where each syllable,
can be repeated emulating a faceless voice-actor
Because loving strays is as charitable.
Still obsessive in pursuit
that I often recall when thinking of how far I’ll be able to get
with one monetary unit, contemplating it’s significance
harboring the power to bring empires to their knees
one friendship at a time
one vanity manifested
one impossible dream pursued
friendships implode, love dies, dreams evaporate   
I wonder often
When the last tree falls, will we use it’s timber to build homes
Or make paper?
Or, will it be used as a battering-ram
to knock in the gates of our enemies?
will we all die alone with the illusion that there was someone there for us?
a simple lie that we deluded ourselves with
if only to find a fleeting comfort
in a world where nobody ever got what they wanted

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


cinders flitter
embers of a past life
that seep from the fractures
the bellows of your deep breath
i will always carry within myself

in transitional form,
sauntering between trees of subconcious
shadows of perspective slip
between the flames



echoes of pyres and soil
within all that is
our earth gives way
absolved in ignorant depths

ashes feed the emaciated
criminal occupation of vermillion
emergence, defined in ability
foreverness spoken as ultimacy
shedding sparks to let this place ablaze    

Saturday, September 3, 2011

fail and cave

Heavy handed in approach
I felt your artillery shell for shell
left barren and evacuated  and vacant
the bitter angles of discontention reigned at the spokes of some great chariot
careening out of control in the red lights, the balmy nights that slip-
in and out of this forgettable, self-obsessed, crush.

Tear this from sanctioned structure
gamble upon this with fidgeting questions
claw at yourself, like whispers of the love you will never know again-
concrete in it’s approach, yet never submitting, never surrendering
that would be too much. too much to bear
as a ricochet, reverberate, devastation.

poetic in nature, take consolation in the secondary effect
Submerge those feelings, recalling yourself as an afterthought
your voice called to them through time, retroactively
Because perception was less than what was expected
Though permeating in soft tissue where it hurt you most
You could never cry, that would be; emasculating 

Echoing prefectures though your mind
Spilling casings in dainty, violent little steps
Damages to the forgettable forgotten
hold nothing, you mean nothing to this place and slip away
Never knowing the pungent, greasy smoke
what cataract-laden visions came defended, desperately.

They told us of some place where we could retreat
Defending a flag of no color
children dominating the world with their fractured gray failure
Shattered in a way that nothing can reconcile
Blather me your words, spin me into the fabric of your story
Until the truth becomes a beautiful, mechanical, lie.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Of Titans

Unlocking and unlocking and unlocking
pieces scattered about haphazardly
Absorbed into the soil by their own weight
pull the threads of thought out of me
an afforded luxury that was never fully appreciated

the armor of this great terrestrial titan
never submitting to the brutal, hate-filled impacts
galvanized by the ire of revenge against this world
I opened those plates to let you in
Where that fluorescent, melliferous pink substance comprises all that I am

Opening as the valves of some great machine
Showing rather than telling
Your venom hit home so deeply the plates snapped back into place so suddenly
I could not even open myself to remove the infection
Understanding, perhaps more deeply than anything, the definition of ‘vandalized’

As that substance became congealed
Fortified in hurt as the latticework of past infringements
It cannot be unlocked by you in your current form
see me for what I am
remember the electricity of my flower

seek perfection in the process’ of development
there is another way to expose my color
as æther always finds its way to the earth
conflict does not become you
there is another way

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


Where urea dissolves into nitrates
They carry with them such high expectations
A title that separates them from others
Copied from a farm
Copied from an old life
Copied from their origins

Wrenched foreign animals from a place that carries no context
Thrive here
Love me now
You are my children, you are of me
Sterile fabricated copies of greatness

So many intersecting platforms
Create the object
The same as the year of my birth
The same as the monster within
The same soft thorns that reiterate
“I want nothing of your humankind”

we have traveled together
as brothers, as sisters
and opened the rift into something more
where I suggest your name in seduction

your loving grenades detonate
from my lips
in huge perfumed flowers

a magnitude that can only be shared with another
the subtlety of a dragon’s kiss   

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Girl in the Tower

Sauntering like a tank through the forest
The eyes of a melanistic jaguar

Upon the tower that she built herself into
Waiting for a magnificent hero
a riding prince  on a white horse, that assuredly gallops the paths of the forest
proud and beautiful and strong and compassionate and just and righteous and pure and glorious and virtuous and well-spoken and  handsome and tall and noble and wealthy and magnificent in every way.
Who rides into the depths of the jungle to save the princess
To rescue her from…

What exactly?

take her from her own tower,
carry her back to his castle, where she may reside without lifting a finger
bring her a sense of purpose in telling the maidens what to do
feel complete.
Within a sense of comfort and finished product
an understanding of words
words that symbolize finalization
words that mean more than they do

in a jungle teeming with variety and life and something so far away
from the alabaster tiles
that pave that castle
where the shimmering eyes of the forest swell
the river under the incessant rain rises
and the trees here remember how the buttress’ formed
the liana drink it like palm wine and orchids that vomit their vibrant sexuality

because nothing is quite like the original,

the hand-picked stones that comprise that tower
unearthed from some frost-bitten quarry
carried, by hand, one at a time
one heartfelt line of dialogue woven of yarn
used as mortar
galvanized in mistrust

and the tower grew, and grew
when the scaffolding fell away
the excess timber had been burned
and birds fled

a standing structure
from the shade of great trees
the forest creatures looked on in confusion
where previously unimaginable
stone and yarn built a monument
to the concepts of unobtainable

it’s eyes shutting softly,  masking the hurt
become  invisible in the crepuscular world
where a monument dwarfed everything with its ideals of man

a monument forgotten by its creator
an abandoned  object of vandalism
waiting for a prince to liberate the girl inside

while respirating forest said nothing of the fungi that dissolved his bones
said nothing of the sickness that he suffered from the bite

of a single


the melanistic jaguar watched his white armor become soiled
as convulsions took hold
brought on by the ensuing fever
and prince or not, ended his life tenderly with more than a kiss to the neck

looked upon the tower unable to tell its secular inhabitant what happened
follies are no place for great cats
where imitation is only as good as its core
and could not even travel the beaten paths of thick jungle
(…not that the prince was carrying a ladder or anything)

sorrow could not reincarnate
what human weaknesses became overlooked

within ambiguous desires
the jungle recovers slowly
where it was razed around the base of the tower

eventually the liana will engulf it
the ferns will take up residence within its decaying mortar
and it’s one nude resident

will leave.

The only way to truly have anything is to be a part of it;
not simply to reside within it
behind fortified walls

waiting for better.

In the reflection of the rising and falling river
The melanistic jaguar’s eyes fade…
from a color of innocence
To a shade of experience
Lapping up cool clear water with its large tongue

Forgetting the past
Crayfish saunter under the surface
As they eat the same algae
that thickly coats their shells

while everything waits for the liana to overrun the tower
a matter of time
becomes the currency
the Ficus scheme to place one of their own  upon the precipice
the monument will become internalized.
A standing futuristic tower coated in vegetation

there is only one law of the jungle:



Removing this shard

not that it hurts anymore.

The missing lens
To a spyglass that searches for land
Against backdrops of barren seas

Played cautious, coy, and close

How can I tell you are my species?
The perception of your depths I lost
I left them someplace,
someplace that fears
as the photo album that lives
in the back corner
of the floor
of the basement
in my mind.

how I wish they burn collaborative effects
as they team up one by one in my mind,
that I don’t ever bring up

subconscious puns  
where being haunted became comedy at some point
and the ghosts in me never hesitate
to spread wings and draw blood

I wish I could
left with only the running ink

words that nothing can relate, re-tell, or rephrase

when I met our end on some barren road
with nothing to chase but your smell

lowering our eyes and wanting nothing
one foot in front of the other, one day at a time

abdicated what was once soft tissue
 and became callous with infection

that we call
survival .

Thursday, July 21, 2011

simple torture

As we talked of rape
Of injustice, hate, power and dominance
While coming home from a class on the subject, where tears had been shed by different individuals for days in a  row
to find the flowers of one of my Stanhopea had been eaten by a snail.
And I climbed that tree
And traced the silver trail to where that little creature had been sleeping
And found the snail
And pulled its shell off
Threw a fistful of ammonium nitrate all over it’s fleshy naked body

To reap revenge for what it had done to my flowers
And all flowers, everywhere.

it had little effect beyond the torture of a simple organism
That did not realize it had trespassed upon anything

And I realized that my most prized flower was avenged, through torture
 As my mind was warped around torments of a different variety, and the drawn suffering of humans  

As the snail desiccated under caustic salts and the burning sun
The stanhopea bloomed, but never to its full glory

As we felt the hurt of all the women in the world, and our powerlessness to help any of them
 Pronounced as a powerlessness to control the wickedness that lived within ourselves

And the snail sat there dying in the sun, I felt the power that the attacker must have felt
Redirected upon the manifestation of my subconscious

And realized the twisted, convoluted, evil
Lurking within the depths of man

Realizing that I cannot do anything but react.
powerless that I could not heal the injured but could only punish

simple torture inverted as a snake eating it’s tail


With each passing second
become more and more withdrawn
drift to where your people grow wild
wherever that may be
stop talking
stop moving
just breathe.

And if we could eat up the sun, that would be fine
As connection and disconnection become juxtaposed
Whisper the name of lovers, fly the banner of others, let the wind do all the work

Forget with me
A sculpted echo that remembers nothing

we are ephemera.

Sunday, June 19, 2011


Without commercials, gimmicks, or words:

On this stretch through the

like an escape pod from some foreign
mother-ship that I once knew

after some previous unnamed carnival
after some previous unnamed reason

we cut, and dodge through with the melody
and run the high-hat in the fifth gear

where a little screen tells us
that the power is draining from the battery to the engine,
from the engine to the battery
and back again

from my terse excitement
to the unexpected red-light chorus  
across the bassline it creeps

like your beating heart and my skittering eyes,
and the fear that this could go horribly wrong
and the excitement that it might not,
filled with the absurd hope I will get to see all that cartoon shit that I envy so much

will I see a fish-eyed man with varicose veins that run out from his head whenever;

he looks to his left
..or his right

Wondering, to what entity does this hall way of steel and iron and concrete  

 the taste of the past and the future coalescing into one ever-present now

and i asked the trees: “what god?”

and they said nothing because
their leaves
had all been


But their roots ran deeper than the navigation-system
As they continued to Fold the concrete into toddler-origami

As the scale of the word washed the downtown skyline
As a sandcastle
consumed in the word:


Friday, June 10, 2011

The Loquat Walks

When the loquat perfumed the air
In the balmy, still nights
Where we slipped out
Holding hands in the dark

Drugs we had done
Dreams we had
Denizens we had known

Greedily picking tropical fruit
as bats that can never have their fill
devouring each one  so slowly
their preciousness never valued, until now

hopes that we shared
hurts that we hid
humans that we loved

fading lights of passing cars
thin threadbare clothing
arcs of orange spots that framed the statement:
“I having fun.”

Life as it gave us nothing
Luxuries that were irrelevant
Loquats, acquired like golden trophies

Two at a time, pocketing their perfectly slippery stones
Knowing I would never plant them
Because Wild-type fruit is so much sweeter
When stolen, with someone you love.

Monday, June 6, 2011


if i could let you know,
theres nowhere left to run
if only you would show
where ill find the sun

would i fight on every day?
would i give you my all
imagine what i would say
pretend that i would call

there is no going back
this threshold we have to cross
when it just fades to black
and theres nothing left but loss

there is no retreat
nothing left to give
never admit defeat
with so much life to live

it all unfolds the same
embers of the dream
worlds without shame
suture up the seam

the players come and go
the songs will always change
in a world that we don't know
where nothing is the same


Sunday, May 22, 2011

Holding you,

is enough.

enough for me to swoon over
enough for me to wake up three days later, still obsessed, still yearning

my home is where you are
if ony you could realize
its not a question,

...but an answer

as i have pulled all the harpoons i taught you how to make
folded them into paper cranes
that take flight

and sacrificed pieces
and pieces
and pieces

until all that is left
is the transitional form

that wants you.
a pillar of my connection
with humanity

my (one) want, in no uncertain terms

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


Named for a Mexican whore
That he fucked
While tweaking in Tijuana

Played her all day
Until pink skin peeled from the ensuing sunburn
Where he returned to work on the derricks

years fell behind him
as a myth with no evidence
beyond our realms of thought   

we shared her as a tag-team
where to regain my swagger
I used the little slut
to regain
my voice  

In the musty pawn shop
Where I saw her
Missing two strings, in a broken smile

Her sturdy build, beautiful sound
Swooning as I leave
To walk home alone
in the rain

with nobody, the secret
is the ultimate gift 
 in the way we shed our former selves
without words. 


Saturday, May 14, 2011


If I could cut you away
From that decoration you carry around
The same image copied and stenciled
standing like a Pomeranian
I’ve seen it before
 slip into the dark
I promise I’ll bite.
Imagining the sunrise
With you near

I remember the motorcycle
out of the realm, trying so hard
swooning over the physical material
collision of our two lives where he asphyxiated, it
as an incubus
he left you
as you left me
drawn off by the song
too afraid to dance

a beautiful slob
like yourself
like myself
Put a lance to my pink ribbons and lacerate
the connection
asunder in yearning words, that

the repeated reflection
photograph after photograph of, nothing
beyond the surface
i get it,
there is nowhere left to run
but inward.
what you have to show
eclipses anything
worth spitting venom

where the words and actions are made of paper
something as singular as in one dimension
such deftness for ideals
that were founded in the breast
of a little girl
when they were still real
recalling freewill
as a bad dream

know that home
Is where people share laughter
slipping into the valley
I always recall the place
remembering you for eons
in parallel I can love
anything so perpendicular

if only

they could

let go.   

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


peel apart everything.
With little diligent fingers
unravel everything into the way it should have gone, the way it took place in my head
and I, I was so wrong.  I thought that this place had more to offer
in the pit of our minds I hear your echoes clearly
a resonance that drives
more than you realize
trying to outrun the stretching shadows
in the ricochet of the starlight I become
Held into this trap
Institutionalized to a degree that I will never seem to escape.
And we hold it, and we bear it, and the luxuriant infection seeps in through the splinters

I Know, what it means to know that my best is not enough
 I am not enough. my infection is deep. The way is long.

But I am not a slob.

As I think of seeing you happy again. Excited. Exciting. Exhilarated for the coming day
bleed my infection into this gray place, and smile.

Friday, May 6, 2011

not for you.

Eating alone again,
I forgotten everything where you were my friend
With those words that never last
Where everything was already done in the past

And we’ve built up ripples in the pond
The places I’ve walked before never felt so long
And the holes inside never fill
In a life of just more time to kill

I dreamt of your face
Through this empty place
 And I called out your name
but nothing changed, and it was all the same

and I, I will fight, stay the course through the night
where all came out wrong
and we traded it all for a song
and you, you weren’t there, as if you even cared

as if I could sleep in the heat
searching for something I may never meet
a place that I could call home
it’s a place that I may never know

don’t you try to reclaim
everything torn down in flames
don’t you try to regain
the sphere of this place causes so much pain

and I, I will fight, stay the course through the night
where all came out wrong
and we traded it all for a song
and you, you weren’t there, as if you even cared

as we hold on to our spark
in a world of lasting dark
I will find a place I know
A place that I can call home