Thursday, May 28, 2015

A Natural Thief

Green blanket:
If I could lift you
these tufts of trees
could hide me from the sun,
and everything else that
seems to leave with plunderage.
These days have left me with nothing else to spare.

The pleasant skies,
and flights of birds
improvise
a bedroom of earthen
torment.
Windows of spider webbing...
Clover underpass..
I raced onto the bridges
of the moss hailed kingdom
sliding on the soft brushed fingertips
that bare my compunctious face.
If a greater demand was on the other side,
gesture a motion to bring me closer.
Then, you can't steal what is ready to be given up.
Inquest the fertile labyrinth.
It breathes on intoxication
blowing in cool winds of musical invitations.
I listened half-knowingly
to a second nature song
and wished it would have never ended.






Monday, May 25, 2015

Worn Shoes


I remember when she threw her shoes into the fire.
They burned as she watched while laughing.
It never made sense at the time, but now I see.
They had no value, and they could have gone in the garbage, but it was about the detachment.
She carried those worn soles through a series of life changing events.
She learned what was forced upon her and now wanted to forget the pain.
The next morning she asked me, "Now what the hell do I wear?".  We did find other shoes, but the ashes of those sad days stayed on the terrace in the back yard. We moved out of that house over a year ago. I bet a garden grows there now.


Strutting in worn leather
bound to aching feet.
It cracks..
hardly gives
in any way
as I try to change my stride.
Walking in confidence
blisters.
Running away from sorrow
hardens.
Crawl toward
if there's uncertainty in my trust.
These shoes are too tight.
I've grown out of this bad habit..
still hoarding a favorite look.
A sad day for oppression..
tightly wrapped inside
a buckle with threads,
then hardly stepping outside of my head..
You will find me barefoot
at the clarity
of new days.





The Speaker

Gold teeth and war letters.
Rats in ribbon.
This is a repetitive nation.
It's not a surprise that
we came back to look at
the antiquities of our lives again.

Rusted in a sandbox.
Clear away sanctions.
An agreement was made,
and the speaker has a metal diaphragm.
He wishes it was made of mahogany.

The release came strained
out of lace and casual conversation.
It's an exercised plight.
I wrote this speech in short paragraphs.
Tin cans and rope
drag away with this speaker.
A bit more tension gave extra pull.

Galvanized in deep rolling tunnels.
Amplify the vibration of energy
that once carried a strong argument.

They feel like ancient words
so we give them the
brown shoe polish treatment.

Place it on a tall building.
There's recollection worth seeing,
and once you hear the speaker
emanating through what is always timeless
age did not serve a purpose.
All is fair in love and war.
Clearing the static
words heard once more
resonant to give specifics.
Listen carefully.





Monday, May 18, 2015

Déjà vu

Again, a novelty lesson.

Repetition is sly.
The sun and moon.
Seasons.
The expected holidays
done before and again.
Once more they compile
greeting on a doorstep
as existential rhythmic quandary.
It's there in memory.
Or is it?

Where we were:
9 strings of gossomer
gestating a life of
scenes well played
and never learned from.
Look backward to see
the dawn of yesterday.
Eyes swallow with blinking.
Phenomena in hours.
Duplication of days.
What was said before
in espieglerie
is what we meant
in a deficit of intuition.
I walked up the crooked steps
to talk to father
like so many times before.
We both sang
in response to my déjà vu,
and perseverance in the times before.
Regression matches the parenting.
I am only going through the motions,
and seem tired of my own dreams.


Saturday, May 16, 2015

Aria

In all this background noise
I can pull you out of
the busy scenery
of noise pollution.

Some sounds clamor and wonder
causing disturbance.
I hear you among
issued meaningless chatter,
in the ever rumble of semblance,
and echoing unspoken trust.

In ends of a frequency
roll off the tongue as
a memoir of great musicians.
They have been singing our song.
Drown everything in self-effecing dalliance.
I picked one tune
to listen to this day.
In equality there is a personal silence.
With a chorus falling on deaf ears,
I found the aria.





Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Bottom of the Barrel

All that is left
is the bottom of the barrel.
Where unwanted sediments
gather together
as a reminder
of a genuine creation
that was once rare.
It was never appreciated slowly
or reflected upon how much emotional bruising
was caused by the weight.
Love bled dry.
It was taken for granted.
Now, my connoisseur looks at the empty glass
tinged in essence
wondering where it all went.
They have to take what they can get.
There might be a slight taste of what once was,
but you'll never be offered
this particular full body
again.

Monday, May 11, 2015

Nave

Love has gone astray.
Apostles stumbling down
a holy pathway.
Go towards the alter
which is a flower covered street.
It's been
fallen on
danced down
skipped down
kissed upon..
Made into a choir.
Swept...as we were brushed off.
We'll be okay.
I've been fasting.

All these petals
landed on a considered hike.
This is what you learn on a pilgrimage:
disciples get confused when it snows in May.
Maybe hell froze over,
but it still looks beautiful.

Sins and graces.
Prayers and memories.
All my favorite founderies
bellow echoes of times before.
Of course, all gems
lasted timeless
on angels,
and not on failed sainthood.
Trail behind them
towards heaven or hell.
We won't live forever.
Lean on the sign post
as they slip away.
Confessional forgiveness
is asked from all I held too high.
I can holler up towards the one
shut down and out
from the same precious lane,
but he's gone,
and I'm following a Buddhist friend.
I never claimed to be a
holy roller...
and that is why
we found ourselves
spouting out the damnation
in our lives...
Hug me tight,
for the next day
we will walk past again.
The bells ring
at the same scheduled time.

Ritualize a cathedral built with
church steeple hands
of guilt and triumph.
Here are the people.
Remember when we showed humanity?
We will be judged.
I've have been schooled
on a busy street
of tourists and trash,
and they turned me away
from the frequent scene
that stares you down.
It is not all sacred.
I lost my shoes
then all hope.
Bring out my robe.
Where there's a heartfelt guilt trip
I bury a slight liking
to those who came along
smiling and laughing
in belligerence and silliness.
Drunken monks.
The heart beats with every foot step.
Patron guide,
lost soul fellow,
thanks for seeing me homeward.
It's time to close the doors
to let us pray.



Thursday, May 7, 2015

Daydreams at Night

The daydreams
that plague the night.
When you toss and turn
on a notion-
since all these thoughts about devotion
are seldom lost during the day.
I didn't spare enough time to
think about it.
In between responsible constituencies
this lasting synopsis
shoves my face into the pillow.
I can't wonder in slumber
nearing a daydream
where one instance was perfect,
and a turn for the better
is not a fantasy in my head.

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Tangled Vine

Betrayal blood bound.
If it's thicker than water
there's no way I can float.
Bygones be bygones.....
careless sinners sail away.
Regiment a character
perfect and pure
to meet all of their expectations.
To implore my genealogy-
a twisting gnarled root
for family tree comfort
isn't something of second nature.
They can't see how hard it's been to survive.
Always among weeds,
and under a heavy foot.
Not all relations will constantly remain.
If very few saplings make it
the same species can be proud enough.
I'm the invasive tangled vine.
Bring out the machete.
Cut me down.
When the dead wood drifts...
only then will the garden seem pleasing again.

Mirrors at the Bar

"Eat. Drink. Be merry."
on a sign in front of me.
We're just drinking
wondering why there are so many mirrors in bars.
Maybe so we can see the apathy on our faces.
Maybe to see the ghosts behind you.
They are one in the same.
Fellowship in dimensions
boring and lethargic.
In another, I was not the one sitting lonely at the bar.
In another, you were a ghost I can depend on.
It doesn't take any energy to haunt.
Drunken curse.
I stare in the mirror
reflecting on the others...
Because these layers live on
among sprints and fizz
among self righteous,
and self loathing.
If I could just remove
a few of these hazy places,
and put my head around the corner of one...
The rivalry escapes
and the feasts and merriment begin.

Saturday, May 2, 2015

Epigraph Map


The pages and days
have seemingly passed
through epigraphs
and paradoxical
logics.
Maps upon maps
that confuse direction
will be creased,
and folded....
all in the wrong ways.
Spread it out.
Condense it again.
Light it on fire.
Spin the globe..
reach out your finger..
I am now logistically vacant.
Where I am going
is uncharitable.
Cipher the topographic moto.

The time I've been crossing
 was journaled
out of a true heart,
but it's all about a stubborn
foolish crowd
of half witted
geniuses that barely
can find themselves.
This is their demographic.
I have to draw new territories.
That place is gone.
There has to be
somewhere else to go.
Stick a flag in the claim....
a poem about atlas
can carry such weight upon his shoulders
so it seems the dreamworld is gone,
and now I wait for the next to come along.