Wednesday, December 19, 2012

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      

Tuesday, December 11, 2012


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  

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


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

Friday, November 2, 2012

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 

Saturday, September 29, 2012


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. 

Thursday, September 27, 2012

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

Sunday, August 19, 2012

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
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 worthwhile 
the meaning of what a jihad really is they live it 
all while sitting in
air-conditioned classrooms
complaining about the cost of insurance
now that they don’t receive financial aid    

Saturday, August 4, 2012


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.   

Wednesday, June 27, 2012


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.


Tuesday, May 29, 2012

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
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
and yet, without this dirge
there would be nothing
beyond the retroactive
silhouette of that which
must come to pass 

Monday, April 16, 2012


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  

Friday, April 13, 2012


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. 

Friday, April 6, 2012

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

Sunday, March 25, 2012


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  

Saturday, March 24, 2012

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
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 

Monday, February 13, 2012


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

Monday, January 23, 2012


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.

Friday, January 13, 2012


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