On forgetting ..

When I was 19
I realized that life
was one part roller-coaster
car and 2 parts indecision-decision.

Until then I suppose
I thought the price of
making my life appear
like a forced midnight hallucination
depended on the track
that was constructed without
my approval.

The frightening impact of
building my languished cabin alone
was like sitting at the apex,
glaring out across the theme park
strapped in and attempting to
manipulate the metal so as
not to fall off the ride.

It was only when I was forced
to save myself did I realize
that I was the conductor of the symphony
and head engineer of this ride.

When I'm bottled up and find
myself waiting for someone
to drop me so I can explode,
I appreciate the idea of
second grace; the reminder
that I have the choice to
move my track or to construct
it fast, either way,
I'm the one who ruins or fixes.

She's feeling giddy about Life

She motioned to the phone
and it manifested
in her motherly palm.



At 11:31 a.m. a sweet

sobering vibrancy swarmed

her pale skin, turning follicles

into dancing companions.



She lifted her thumb and

pushed down on numbers

that related to letters;

many letters to one

number.



This transmutation was

and was not

a simple mediation of emotional

exchange to a soldier on a symbiotic

longing journey.



She was feeling

(a cognizant display of emotional

recognition, originating

from the pre-frontal cortex)

a physical reverberation for life.



bA Bah ba bahH.. WHo Loves THE Sun?

NOt juST aNYone


What glistens from our reality

is not a picture in a frame

but moments of confident love,

that give assurance that the only

peaceful substance is derived

from an appreciation

in the present.

My poses are recorded like Greek portraits

Allegory has never been taken
seriously by science.

Although, my thoughts and actions
have coincided with my dreams
from nights years ago
but who will take
them seriously.

With open eyes divided,
I patiently assess and clean
and gently push my knees
upward so as to
keep moving

The fleeting desertion of my
memories is composed
from the ancient fire
that flickers like cinema tape
in flashes while driving
those blinking head lights
are like
the i-ching read
backwards-sdrawkcab

And so our eyes
are our mirrors to
our motives
and how we will envision
the landscape that escapes
into the future
that is now in a moment
of remorse, ecstasy, collaboration
and productivity
This highway is not
uprooted by desert prairie dogs
panting in the past,
shrinking the rear view

Cauterized, Sealed, Vaccumed and Open now for a Limited Time Only

why do anger
and depression
hold hands
like immersed lovers?

Even after a half-awake
disapproval of my
hormonal emotives,
you tell me
I seek reassurance
by expressing
my commited spirit.

I can admit
that I do wonder
what parts of me
you notice
or if I'm wasting
your time
better yet
mine

My soul is in retrograde
back to when 18
seemed like
peering off the
chert faced clifts
and the only leap
that I could make
was towards his
eyes.

Today the equinox
is a reminder
that 25 is swiftly
pickling my toes.

And like 18
I've come full circle
in reverse to
an open organ
that was once
cauterized,
sealed and vaccumed
before I met you

Like a flash
from a Roman candle,
I cracked open and lit up
in order to save myself
from growing stale,
and in return
exposed my underside
to you.

Without bed,
with foundation,
without slumber
without out damn spot
I sit down calmly
but fester about the
relationship
between
anger
and depression,
do you not remember
when you have sat
in this same seat?

Re-check the facts

[I know you're disappointed,
I feel it in my bones.]

I had to think a spell
and I haven't forgotten about
your generosity nor how
your heartstrings and soul linen
is washed in the same load
as mine.
I hope now you see me as human
as your mistakes make you.

You are strong but even in your strength
I know you still find pictures that
you've tried to forget.
At times we both have regret
and the collision with empowerment
sets us on a course of bitterness.

When you're cut from the same cloth
you don't have to say much
for me to understand
what you're trying to say.

The life cycle of a Locust

As the locust spins its wings and arms
I attempt to move carefully with daddy
longlegged precision.
I have this ache that moves
in between
stones and boulders,
it flows over the houses where I've slept
and escaped from like maggots
that inhabit the dead
locust it's used as its' egg sack.

I've watched my choices secrete
this ache like my uterus
that sheds its' anxious lining
monthly; I am now everywhere
within my ecosystem.

In the reflective eddy's
I realize that as my ideals
have become my drive,
they're inconsistent with
the facts.
I'm held in place
by my own thumb tacks,
I'm a transferable skill
in a grassland of filled
occupancies.

My love that I give is not seen
as an asset to the one who
receives it but doesn't see it.
So I question all of my seething
and hopeful motives
because pressure to hold
on to the good is like a rubber resistor
to the million and a half volts
that I conduct with patience
through it.

All that I share though will not
be lost in my lifetime
but like Oscar Wilde or Pablo Picasso,
I must endure through
the suffering to which I admit,
is my life,
is my doing/undoing,
my sacrifices
but not my martyrdom.

The Earth which carries
the burden of its cycles
and never complains
and only continues to
regenerate; I am just a
b l i n k

I cannot help my transparent eyes
that swell like Sicilian
grapes left to ripen
in the Mediterranean climate.
I am a part of this system
of inconclusion,
this post-modern sequence of
repetitive conjunctions
and it matters not
that the moon is waxing
towards her opaque boundaries.

I am suffering through this
tidal filtration,
I am spinning my locust wings
before the death of fall
turns me back into soil.

The train is a Parade in Passing

with plans that required deadlines to move
we took brown bags to our faces
and inhaled ammunition

on the lines on our Achilles
where true or false blend into scabs

we used naive looks
to insist we weren't bleeding

how have we not noticed
the lives of soldiers creaking the floorboards?
or the dried iron we left
the last time we were drunk?

but with lavish instruments of design
we've fashioned our framework
so as not to include the fleshy baggage
on every elevator shaft

in what direction will judgment pass?
even in this brown bag
i'm still feeling dizzy
like a Carolina wren whose
intuition for lead lines is sending her
north for the winter

You Forgot Your Photosensative Resin

when you feel it slipping like quick bar soap
you're butterflying in egg whites
and you'd rather sleep through the slime
than stand up bow-legged

when your stomach aches in hand signs
that spell out K- A- R- M- A
you're drinking down a processed tonic
and you're hoping you can still howl
along to Elliot into the wind

when you're hanging upside down
with your wrists tied in satin
and you're feeling slightly paralyzed
in fleshy memory and fleeting decisions

were your dreams just fantasies
or were you just ears open to your stories in the waking

and now you're there
in spaces where ghosts used to sit
and you took down their message with metallic tones
you recorded your future

through 8/16th jimbay notes to yourself
stuffed in corrugated rectangles
you posted reminders of what chances
would reveal moldy gardens
puncture holes in your palm
and circles bent to fit excuses