sometimes i feel like i am you.
is this true?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
look
a young sailor lost in a sea of shallow smiles
takes a vow of silence, hoping the hands
dropping rocks making waves and capsizing
ships will become the arms outstretched to
guide him home.
takes a vow of silence, hoping the hands
dropping rocks making waves and capsizing
ships will become the arms outstretched to
guide him home.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
dear myles:
please make it public again.
remember transmit your data?
this is the new babylon.
what can our children do
with what we have left them?
remember transmit your data?
this is the new babylon.
what can our children do
with what we have left them?
Friday, June 22, 2007
untitled.
untamed emotion shrouded in steve mqueen cool.
how can anyone penetrate that...
more importantly why should anyone even try?
its too late to help me help you.
you say i should publish what i think. what i feel.
why put a price on the moment?
numbers and data just turn truth into shadows
cast on cracked pavement and tired eyes.
two nights ago i was a passenger through another friends purgatory.
what my friend didnt know was that their in between was my hell.
the monotones of prosperity.
the wide roads that come with it.
empty cacoons of consumerism,
sentient beings standing watch
with all seeing centers that so
arrogantly claim to connect us all.
tall walls thin halls protect
us from them.
rome is burning. and all i can do is
ask if you want cream and sugar with
your coffee.
how can anyone penetrate that...
more importantly why should anyone even try?
its too late to help me help you.
you say i should publish what i think. what i feel.
why put a price on the moment?
numbers and data just turn truth into shadows
cast on cracked pavement and tired eyes.
two nights ago i was a passenger through another friends purgatory.
what my friend didnt know was that their in between was my hell.
the monotones of prosperity.
the wide roads that come with it.
empty cacoons of consumerism,
sentient beings standing watch
with all seeing centers that so
arrogantly claim to connect us all.
tall walls thin halls protect
us from them.
rome is burning. and all i can do is
ask if you want cream and sugar with
your coffee.
Monday, June 18, 2007
the muse.
the well gives water to pump to faucet
content being and not knowing that it is the one
with the most important purpose: bringing the water
that is pumping to faucets that pour to vessels that hold the water
that has the power of creating and destroying life.
doing not needing. holding not hoarding. never envious
of where the water goes, just being, and in so creating
a circular union of beauty love and life.
content being and not knowing that it is the one
with the most important purpose: bringing the water
that is pumping to faucets that pour to vessels that hold the water
that has the power of creating and destroying life.
doing not needing. holding not hoarding. never envious
of where the water goes, just being, and in so creating
a circular union of beauty love and life.
the words i promised from fingers more nimble than animated upper lips.
i cant help but love you even
if i am sisyphus and you the boulder
doomed to push and pull
forever until we both sleep beneath
dirt and earth.
what is more romantic than an up
perfectly coupled with a downstroke?
one cannot be without the other
complete.
if i am sisyphus and you the boulder
doomed to push and pull
forever until we both sleep beneath
dirt and earth.
what is more romantic than an up
perfectly coupled with a downstroke?
one cannot be without the other
complete.
do you remember meeting me there?
look back on pages that read more like five stages than poetry. a beautiful reminder of a life worth living and
growing. i had a dream that we met under the most magical of circumstances. i was hiking down a trail covered in
bushes of blackberries on the columbia river, a place i often visited growing up. as the thickets cleared i could hear
the roar of summer run off and came to a flat rock that plunged down some sixty feet into a pool formed by three walls in front of a waterfall. i saw you, long hair swirling in the wind you looked up and giggled because my lips were stained with blackberries. i was speechless struck dumb seeing a saint, a sinner, a siren and a muse radiating from a body i wanted to know. time stood still as you beckoned with the smallest of gestures, stood up and lept. i heard the splash but couldnt follow, as my legs were weary from the journey that brought me to you and me.
what felt like moments later i too lept and felt the wind in my hair and my stomach in my chest. as i hit the water and sunk from the warm shallows to the deep beneath,i broke the surface in time to see you scrambling back up the rock to the ledge where we first met. you made it all look so easy. i made my way to the rocks and started the climb. i was tired and shivering and my fingers were slippery and i tried with blood starved limbs to catch you but you dissapeared over the top and from my perspective you were too far away. gone.
halfway up and hugging worn handholds my mind started questioning why i couldnt jump when you did...perhaps the timing was wrong or somwhere deep inside i was just scared. i felt the push of my legs and the pull of gravity and time forever grinding forward and timing laughing at me knowing it owed me one from the times before.
a three minute climb seemed to take three months and as i pulled myself over the crux back to the ledge where we had met you were still there...waiting in the sun, with beauty eminating from seagreenblue eyes. you had been there the whole time, i just couldnt see you from thirty below my face buried in stone. i sat down next to you and you giggled sending shivers through my wet, but sunwarmed body. no words were spoken but a thousand things were said as we sat together in the sun. whats next? we seemed to be saying in feelings neither of could muster up in words. will we be content drying off in the sun until i am strong enough to climb the path back to the life i knew before you? you just kept smiling as you grabbed my hand and inched closer and closer to the edge...
growing. i had a dream that we met under the most magical of circumstances. i was hiking down a trail covered in
bushes of blackberries on the columbia river, a place i often visited growing up. as the thickets cleared i could hear
the roar of summer run off and came to a flat rock that plunged down some sixty feet into a pool formed by three walls in front of a waterfall. i saw you, long hair swirling in the wind you looked up and giggled because my lips were stained with blackberries. i was speechless struck dumb seeing a saint, a sinner, a siren and a muse radiating from a body i wanted to know. time stood still as you beckoned with the smallest of gestures, stood up and lept. i heard the splash but couldnt follow, as my legs were weary from the journey that brought me to you and me.
what felt like moments later i too lept and felt the wind in my hair and my stomach in my chest. as i hit the water and sunk from the warm shallows to the deep beneath,i broke the surface in time to see you scrambling back up the rock to the ledge where we first met. you made it all look so easy. i made my way to the rocks and started the climb. i was tired and shivering and my fingers were slippery and i tried with blood starved limbs to catch you but you dissapeared over the top and from my perspective you were too far away. gone.
halfway up and hugging worn handholds my mind started questioning why i couldnt jump when you did...perhaps the timing was wrong or somwhere deep inside i was just scared. i felt the push of my legs and the pull of gravity and time forever grinding forward and timing laughing at me knowing it owed me one from the times before.
a three minute climb seemed to take three months and as i pulled myself over the crux back to the ledge where we had met you were still there...waiting in the sun, with beauty eminating from seagreenblue eyes. you had been there the whole time, i just couldnt see you from thirty below my face buried in stone. i sat down next to you and you giggled sending shivers through my wet, but sunwarmed body. no words were spoken but a thousand things were said as we sat together in the sun. whats next? we seemed to be saying in feelings neither of could muster up in words. will we be content drying off in the sun until i am strong enough to climb the path back to the life i knew before you? you just kept smiling as you grabbed my hand and inched closer and closer to the edge...
notebooks from may found in june #9
changing subjects like fixing broken shoes;
as easy as dropping them off at the shoemaker.
you in there behind screendoors and beneath
hand woven dreams.
you in a dark corner
of a small room you have painted yourself into.
us sleeping like stonefaced angels
blocks away but worlds apart.
as easy as dropping them off at the shoemaker.
you in there behind screendoors and beneath
hand woven dreams.
you in a dark corner
of a small room you have painted yourself into.
us sleeping like stonefaced angels
blocks away but worlds apart.
notebooks from may found in june #8
beets.
always three.
a self-destruct complex
leaves us(me) terrified of
even numbers.
oversaturated greens hang
themselves so carelessly in
overexposed yet underdeveloped
chiaroscuro nights.
even this scar will eventually
fade to black.
always three.
a self-destruct complex
leaves us(me) terrified of
even numbers.
oversaturated greens hang
themselves so carelessly in
overexposed yet underdeveloped
chiaroscuro nights.
even this scar will eventually
fade to black.
notebooks from may found in june #7
one two three me.
four five new you.
five six zero seven.
two seventeen am
and stil our pinata is.
if things would
just reverse
i could save us all (tm)
four five new you.
five six zero seven.
two seventeen am
and stil our pinata is.
if things would
just reverse
i could save us all (tm)
notebooks from may found in june #6
they know too!
skin softer and
fathers who loved
them
and masks
left
at doors between
self absorption
and self.
vagina penis union
confusion
because acceptance is
the new golden calf.
skin softer and
fathers who loved
them
and masks
left
at doors between
self absorption
and self.
vagina penis union
confusion
because acceptance is
the new golden calf.
notebooks from may found in june #5
drum rolls and machine gun shots;
rooftops.
gray skys spent lives, dive bars.
hydro-nic-affiene sativa nasal spray benders;
broken hands and healing hearts.
she is her mothers mother.
she is her fathers mother.
rooftops.
gray skys spent lives, dive bars.
hydro-nic-affiene sativa nasal spray benders;
broken hands and healing hearts.
she is her mothers mother.
she is her fathers mother.
notebooks from may found in june #4
this is the pedistal i put you on.
the score stands: three yous to
every one me.
hang while rain falls from ground
to sky.
the score stands: three yous to
every one me.
hang while rain falls from ground
to sky.
notebooks from may found in june #3
i look up.
if only you could (would)
we would see the
same crescent moon.
sun murders moon
murders sun and
we call it a day.
yet
with all this blood
on their hands the
light still brings
change and life.
death is life and life
brings death and the phoenix
rises from its ashes.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
pronouns.
summer feathers flaunt as words taunt
bent and broken a thousand different ways.
gemini moon rising over lion sky
is truth read between lines?
near a corner beneath a sign
where your street meets my street
lies a locked box
shorn of secrets, the fullfilment
of past promise and agreement.
it is for you so you will know
where to find it..
bent and broken a thousand different ways.
gemini moon rising over lion sky
is truth read between lines?
near a corner beneath a sign
where your street meets my street
lies a locked box
shorn of secrets, the fullfilment
of past promise and agreement.
it is for you so you will know
where to find it..
Friday, June 15, 2007
notebooks from may found in june #2
your history books are dead;
solely the expression and confessions
of bourgeois dynasty.
solely the expression and confessions
of bourgeois dynasty.
notebooks from may found in june #1
tick tock clock ticks
seconds then mintues then halves then hours.
ours.
i know. you know. we know.
we know.
this is an excuse to keep going there
seven letters at a time.
i wish that we could use other excuses as
the same ones become so transparent
when used over and over and over again.
over.
over again.
hot shots and bike rides. gold charms
because you are charming and dont
like silver.
tick tock clock ticks.
i wait and you dont even care.
or you do and are better at keeping
the mask on without the makeup ever
smearing when you sweat.
dont let your guard down.
old friends. old wounds.
the sutures becoming my
future and reopen
on my sleeve where i used to
wear my heart.
tick tock clock ticks and
i twist a green tea al green
mix tape as music helps
ease the mind and bring on
sleep where some find peace
and others perversions which
very well might be peace for those
who breathe deep and sensual in those
seconds before a slumber that lasts hours
but seems to last days.
perceive. grieve for dead relatives
when all is relative and our playoff
dreams are crushed with two silly
mistakes in the last minutes of
a well fought match.
matches with their sulfur smell
seduce my dulled senses and make
me want to feel what you feel.
tick tock clocks tick..
seconds then mintues then halves then hours.
ours.
i know. you know. we know.
we know.
this is an excuse to keep going there
seven letters at a time.
i wish that we could use other excuses as
the same ones become so transparent
when used over and over and over again.
over.
over again.
hot shots and bike rides. gold charms
because you are charming and dont
like silver.
tick tock clock ticks.
i wait and you dont even care.
or you do and are better at keeping
the mask on without the makeup ever
smearing when you sweat.
dont let your guard down.
old friends. old wounds.
the sutures becoming my
future and reopen
on my sleeve where i used to
wear my heart.
tick tock clock ticks and
i twist a green tea al green
mix tape as music helps
ease the mind and bring on
sleep where some find peace
and others perversions which
very well might be peace for those
who breathe deep and sensual in those
seconds before a slumber that lasts hours
but seems to last days.
perceive. grieve for dead relatives
when all is relative and our playoff
dreams are crushed with two silly
mistakes in the last minutes of
a well fought match.
matches with their sulfur smell
seduce my dulled senses and make
me want to feel what you feel.
tick tock clocks tick..
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
meanings with no words for meaning.
mouths bind us as
hearts speak truth
in silence.
its work now!
but it works now!
in gardens we grow.
sit in circles, straight lines through them.
rotations left divide and lessen.
lost boys grow minds of men in astroturf gardens.
as different as we see the color green
it is these moments i feel connected.
zen lunatics court hopeless romantics
and stoned imaculates
in matters of truth and perception
at the same time finding and surpassing
intimate connection.
in times of need an old friend brought this life
to my driveway with wine stained teeth and every moment
spent on this patio strengthens belief in waiting for the
good things to find you being you.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
come again...
sex is loves manifest.
making love is love.
or is it?
wendy sewed my
shadow to me
so i never lose it.
making love is love.
or is it?
wendy sewed my
shadow to me
so i never lose it.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
about a park and a rainy day but not a park on a rainy day.
wait in the same place. you are late.
there is something strangly comforting
about all of this. its like you said:
its like last summer only we know eachother
better. still waiting, breath like boones farm;
breathe.
surrounded by friends and family and lovers
but none are my own. still waiting,
does it feel like home?
a hundred hands and a hundred hearts
march to sunday evening. i sit.
i pick what i hear, what i see because
these eyes are my own.
grounded in reality,
scribbled words become overwrought
confessionals turning lives into the movies
real life could never be.
you see life as you choose,
as do i, and really is there
any room to be us?
sometimes right is right.
other times it just feels that way,
the same as night to day.
the half heart half drunk luck
of what was.
remember when what we didnt know but wondered
kept us together?
at some point what is and what was
met head on and slowly became now,
and i wouldnt have it any other way.
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