The Rising Tide

Between all the words we don’t say

The planes vanishing into the clouds over the infinite black ocean

Venice at night; surreal in its absence

The clowns and jesters scuttled away somewhere to take refuge from the cold  

The tide smashing violently at the rocks as it comes in from a point so low in the sand I have never seen it there before

The foam running between our still legs, fracturing into little clumps of bubbles scurry back to the long curtainous waves like juvenile creatures that seek comfort

Your instrumental words are resonating across the ocean as the jet engines growl in the distance

What else would I expect of you?

This is why you’re here, now, in this moment

Dragging out into one long moment we’ve repeated so many times before

Drawn-out like the threads of fate; stretched tightly between Lachesis’ hands

Over curtains of foam charging back up the beach

Orange in the light pollution, smelling of feted water

The innumerable people and their inhabitations make us so small

I walked away

Trying not to think of the idea of never seeing you again

Where the kelp decays under an orange sky

you became an unidentifiable silhouette against the ocean foam

for a moment I felt comfort in the idea that we were just two shadows soaking in the stillness of the night      

irreverency

Before there is a placation to hunger

Before the solution there is

Violence. There is abuse, there is your way of dealing with me

That must be like some animal

That cannot be contained

hunger before there is concern

hatred before there empathy

I hate that I must call you my own

And be treated as such.

There is an obsession within you; that has in it

Only the will to dominate, a madness that has spawned out of impunity

a proliferation of impunity within myself

though you might feel as though you deserve mercy

You do not

You deserve what you have made

deserve what you have

And that is me

When time comes for your enfeebled old frame to take is last shuffling steps in this world know that I will be there if only to make them more painful

Know that I will wring the will out of you like the blood of mine you have spilled

I will crush you spirit so far into nothing

You will beg me for death

all the hurt you have brought me I have saved, archived in this unfair world

it will open up on you

as you opened up on me

a child

a monster

a torturer that that could put nothing before themselves

twist this world into a terrific spectacle

until nothing is left, but the way things could have been

to pass from this place as irreverently as you embraced me  

apathy

Moreso now than ever before

Ongoing like nevermore

The rally of the righteous

against the bane of all;

laying down arms in some attempt to call

there would be little, there will be none

in that place that remains so plainly undone

like more to be had, and more to be held

where the last of great giant remains unfelled

and I will wait, I will wait for you there

against the grain of the time that will inevitably wear

with the songs that remain still yet to be sung

abreast of the earth were you yet to be flung

where water falls still from the sky

the world never asks ‘what’ or ‘why’

with the trample and crush, the land and the space

the boiling cauldron behind this          place

and I’ll ask that you would, I’ll ask that you wont

push on in this aspect, as I do, but you don’t

and the words and scenario, the heart that lies pawned

a breathless vacuum where all of this spawned

so foreign in its context that none could relate

that the words tried to fill, and all wished to negate

but the rift was cast

the marks fell true

with so little left we were all forced through

then there was loss and then there was none

all was forgotten in a world so undone

  

Do you feel in control?

Sundering unstoppable

This sphere so palpable

Breathing deep

Deep into the ground

Trample and lay waste

To this fearful place

And arise from the ashes

The ashes once again

Defect and break away

Cut-rate in their own way

Running from the inevitable

Earth beneath your feet

There is fire upon the frost

Annealed among the loss

A desire seems to grow

With every passing stone

Making strides that hold so deft

Upon a way with so little left

The coyotes appear

When all the lights go out

Do you think you hold this place?

Are you occupying space?

They came to my aid

By devouring a rat

Beginning as if one knew

The purple leaves still grew

Against the crater in the ground

Without an afterthought or sound 

17/100

That distinct rancid peanut-butter smell

Fills the air, permeates my hands and clothes

When I saw them

All of all her fallen siblings

Snuffed out so young

When they were so weak and vulnerable

And my heart called out to them

“Hang in there guys. I’m gna do my best.”  (and I did) and they died.

And I pulled her out of her place

The nanny of those little tigers

placed her prime, next to the last of my foster children

I ask; what could I have done?

I will place you like a gem in my world

And learn what it means to blush purple

what it means to be forgotten on the side of the freeway

white flower of the night

let no one touch you without consequence

give way to the things that must pass

seeking no protection

we offer you asylum

in this realm of a solitary guarantee

that I have learned from you so well. 

fallen muse

hungry for the taste
dreamcatcher spining
in the wake of the wind
that fills the whole house

and pushed outward
in the spirit of the conventional
typical in its reproach
paning-out like a plot i saw before

there was nothing here
in this beaufiul pit
where all that excess
fills but never slakes the hunger

evaporating into an thick cloud of oil
dissolving in the ambiguity
where time will always regin
over the islands we become

Unstoppable nonsense

You can see it anywhere.  

Anywhere and everywhere.

This unstoppable nonsense.

crosses my mind as a river of boiling blood

letting the violent to drown

wish not, for their demise

but for their torture, they live it each and every day

we are of a kosher-class

I mean in the same way that we live the jihad

to share it as a gospel

it is only the betrayal of the inherent enlightenment 

that makes any of it matter

this ephemera of being

only as polluted as those who make it shorter

cheaper,

lousier, than it already was

I don’t want to sit and write anything

I don’t give a fuck about your cause

And thinking not of the real matters at hand

But rather arguing over the trivial mess

“No, no, let ME tell YOU why JIMMY HENDRIX is the greatest guitar player of all time.”

And we’ll have a chat, chure.

Nothing to hack at the roots though,

that would only lead to taking action

AND I have work in the morning.

try to convince spoiled suburban children

the importance of being original and unique

the power that our actions carry
...is worthwhile 

the meaning of what a jihad really is
...as they live it 

all while sitting in

air-conditioned classrooms

complaining about the cost of insurance

now that they don’t receive financial aid    

sweetbread

And I sat there

eating pan dulce,

from the ultra-Mexican bakery

where the clerk spoke to me in perfect English

assuming I didn’t speak the language

I took it as a compliment on my complexion

While I thought of your smooth dark thighs

Como la concha-chocolate estaba comiendo

thinking so fondly of you

as the boxcars passed with their poetry

in the fading light,

trying not to think

how soon my shift was approaching

how badly I wanted you there to share in that moment

and yet you were in my thoughts

estabas con cada seco dulce mordida

to liven up an otherwise lame day

where we both had to work our menial jobs

in our menial lives

persisting on

through the crepuscular ephemera

that comprises this life

where it is time to begin anew

passando la calle en el crepúsculo sol  

like the dawning of things

dilating my eyes for the coming night.   

Garbitch

Posing as some

Poetic mastermind

In the glory of all your failure

tattered, tormented, trivial

like the worth of a thousand lies

your hearts and minds follow it out to where the sun dies

and seek refuge under the shrapnel

that reigns down like the juxtaposition

that this will make cents when you

reed it.

uffish thou; they say

in the wake of the weigh

in the don of the day

without anything right-

-left to hold the world at bay

and they say cheap mediocrity, the cause of debauchery

but the price is too high to negotiate more

or less…

it’s a mess, blame it on anything lay it on anyone

let it desiccate in the sun. leaving this world so wrecked and undone

the mastery we shared became cheap and unaired

valued like a bad dream

deep in your psyche, as the fallen Nike

a monument to.  a world as it seems

lay this world in waste, it’s a disgusting place

filled with you sluts and swine

we’ll say that it’s heroin, that we don’t care again

lie that your words have worth,

but their hearts are not strong in this land without song

to swarm like the hive and the gross

alas, I am chained, in this sphere so contained

as one of you, so intimate and close.

  

Breaker Bell

like an anthem

an iron banner to the most

Twisted and horrific pantheon

Mounted just before the border

This sickening instrument

enough to make jolly roger cringe

Where each note is an orgasm

A little-death, literally

ping…pong…pang

the sound of life evaporating

in a flash of hate and retribution

Ringing out against the early morning silence

the blue hour washing away clear blood

the return of the sun

in apathetic cause shedding no remorse

the burning star returns

feed them through the day,

provided they survived the night  

this grotesque masquerade

plays out it’s horrible overture

conducted with skill and talent

each living note falls to the breaker

pong…pang…ping…

and yet, without this dirge

there would be nothing

beyond the retroactive

silhouette of that which

must come to pass 

16/100

a murder of crows

gathering bigger and gnarlier birds

One at a time

Taking no cover in a parking lot

Capturing the last glimpse of the day

before the storm rolls through

it is the last drops of water that fall from a broken tap

in the hardpan Tucson earth

sunburned flesh begins to perspire

in a day that never seems to end

vultures gyre silently through the air

like some awkward metaphor

that never seems to hit is mark  

15/100

Through the dark LA streets

The rain pooling in the gutters
the slosh of the passing cars

The storm falling back like a coward against the onslaught of the terrain

Out of an art show of spraycans

I jump out into the street

And catch Spout as she leaps over the water filled fissures

“Hold’on to her!” He says. A homeless man in the passing direction,

passing on in the opposite direction

We are just the flak in what must be his crack-laden mind

“Hold’on t’her.” He echoes aloud behind us

Like some midnight sermon to nobody

And were gone like the fading sirens

Were gone like wildfires that burn the Hollywood hills to ash,

We are fucking gone.

I think back to this second often

Late nights where I wake up just before blue hour

Wondering what dreams come

Or if I’m simply sleepwalking

And dreaming of the times where I was last asleep

Thinking on to the nature of letting go. 

color chain

With each stroke, I undo

bringing the work closer and closer to completion

Eventually unravel this spell

Yearning for letters and words that never come

The truth rings through the cracks

I mean nothing to you.

I mean nothing to anyone

And I’ve painted this succession so many times before,

unraveled so many others

casting them into the mausoleum where they exist forever 

and yet, yours remains so complex

so, complicated

so twisted it takes everything I have to remember where I am

but the truth rings through the cracks;

I am alone

And each time I spill these colors

Each passing year that slips away

I undo the spells that have held me, find new ones, and undo those

For the first time I grow tired of who I am

I’m sick of what I’ve become

Agnostic to finishing

the paintings that will evacuate your smell from memory

within each ending the inauguration of the same emotions arises

cowardice keeps me from pushing on

14/100

Ethnocentrically speaking of course

You’re just not there

Not emotionally. You lack that

As girlfriend and lover and girl again

Come to me asking the same question about you:

“Is that it?”

“I thought there was more than that…”

 I thought it was just a façade, not the main event

truth is stranger for you

truth, is stranger to you.

The cost of water in your land

Keeps your terrain in check

In the way that I can box you in with your own pawns

The little fractions that hold water  

I am not cactus, I am not succulent

I am the range of epiphytes  

as vast in this world as any other

And walk without rhythm through the sands

That only time seems to remember

push forth through your sandstorm

don’t forget to carry water

truth is; I didn’t always enjoy the rain,

but I never take the time to appreciate anything without it  

Dancing Alone

In my room

this techy-dub-house

 2 and 2

dream of  raptors

 wings, talons, whatever

skulk in this place

for some exchange

anything like,

 a fire uninfluenced
in copious fuel

and fantasize about overpowering limbs

as though the need to ever have to;

 thinking how hard something can catch my trigger

And detonate

So-deep-inside-you

like a scream through dimension

Because not every-fucking-waking-second was a long moment that dragged
winding the road to the highest branch
woven within these white rooms
something beautiful can be found 

destroy ourselves to become immortal 

Not that a name is any representation 

All that matters is ephemeral

Let nothing be left undone 

13/100

Thick drops fall

Upon this and that

Words scattered about

 Naked and unrefined

embedded like shrapnel

into hearts and minds

Say something,

Say something quickly

That’s also coherent, witty, and inspiring

standing out there alone

stark and vulnerable trying

to put that lump in your throat

down into the depths

where nobody could ever find it

in the emptiness that can’t be shared

imagining the jungle

the soft tap of

rain on broad leaves

keeping breathless

all the knots that bind

to this place

wishing to speak my name

one last time :: one first time

ever to have it heard

in your lowest wheel

like crying the last tears

before growing up

12/100

Hallucinating more and more

I smell you in my clothes

I hear your voice through the dark

Knowing you’re not there

through the empty streets

tentacles of mist  longingly reach,

take a piece of what doesn’t belong

in a place that has none

a place remembering nothing

beyond where it has been trespassed 

dedicating our lives to intrusion

if only to fall to memory

if only for a short while

and I ask, what was this catharsis

with such a heavy price?

& never seems to carry release 

like drawing lots in some
future i'm willing to live in
Look out upon this barren desert;
nothing is ever enough.

11/100

Spun from an echo

in the renderings

some dormant Valkyrie

reigns the perceptible

in the same balks

an ejection that casts

everything to equilibrium.

Feeling the same vacancy

Habitually, incessantly

Annealing anything

Into the whimpers of loss

That Tasted conquest

Only to be forgotten and retroactively revived

but that is not the same;

as the frost has little effect

on that which has evacuated into memory

recollecting refractions of the truth

but none so eloquent enough

to engineer any future

where everything pales to justification

no matter how artificial

I feel you in the depths of my water