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