Whatsherface

Her face is hidden from me

She is miles away

Hidden in tall grass and in a valley behind the hills

But still I can feel her smile warm my heart

Her youth draining the age from me

Until she and I are hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder

Playing like children once again

Pushing out to the future

The inchworm crawls along. The ground is slippery, shiny. He can see his eyes staring back at himself. He looks up. He can see where he will be in a few minutes. In a few hours. He can see his future bride standing far off in the distance. He can see the towering tree he will one day conquer. He can see the branches where his children will wake to the world. He can vaguely make out the spot where his legs will give out. Where he will finally die. His future stands before him, as visible as his reflection below him. It will just be some time until he gets there.

Life on Rails

I once thought my life was static

A train set onto its track from infancy

Destined to follow its path from birth to death

And no matter how much the rain pours

Or wind blows

Or snow falls

Or even if the track rusts

This train had been set to speed, 

And would never stop for anything

But then you came along. 

You raced along beside me on your horse

You hopped aboard, like a bandit in the night

You moved up the train to come find me

Pushing through the swathes of red tape and heavy bodies

You came to me

You unmasked me, and didn't even know it

And you showed me the way off this train

Just in time for it to plunge off

Into the bottomless abyss

Behind God's back

We draw close under covers, 

Taking cover from fire and thunder. 

He is pounding on the window and rooftop. 

He wants us to show our faces. 

Your right hand snakes down to find mine. 

It squeezes it once

"I'm right here"

It's too dark to see, but I can feel your eyes staring into mine

Your left hand apparates inches from my face

Brushing a black mote of dusk from my face you obviously can't see

It lingers slightly

I turn my face, my cheek rubbing against your hand

I feel pressure pushed onto my chest

You snuggle your head in, as if trying to collect my warmth

I can feel the wet spots your eyes are leaving on my shirt

I run a hand through your hair, untangling the mess within

The cacophony outside grows louder

He must sense our closeness

He screams to be heard, to be acknowledged

But we simply hold each other even closer

"It will be over soon"
"But it never really ends,

Even when the rain and thunder don't pour from the heavens

I can still feel and hear it inside of me"

Eggs cannot be uncracked

There are moments in life so perfectly constructed, that they etch themselves in our memories. What we never realize is not only do we each have these, but everyone around us does too. The things we do unthinkingly or find completely ordinary and mundane, may shatter someone else's existence, leaving them changed.

You may be etched in someone's memories and not even know it. it is comforting to know that each of us can become that integral to a person's experience of life unknowingly.

Klaxons

Sometimes we focus so much on moving ahead, moving faster, that we don't realize we're running in circles, slowly getting smaller, towards the drain.

Learning to Live Alone

When we fight,
We think of what's wrong with each other.
When we don't,
We think of what's wrong with ourselves.

Future sparks

That's not a smile on his face. That's the scar she left behind.

Fiberglass

When we kiss

My lips feel numb

Like pink fiberglass

Spin with a grin

You are my private whipping boy
To be scolded and beaten when I feel down
For my friends to join in on
So we all feel like we belong

You are my door mat
To cleanse myself before I must present myself to others
For my insecurities to prey on
So that I can sleep a little better

You are the skeleton in my basement
Hidden away from the world
For my secrets to hide with
So I can face the world without sin

You are my lightning rod
To dump the excess rage as I pour down upon you
For my soul to feel dry
So I can go on to feel innocent

You keep my physical torment inside
You keep my psychological warfare
My sadness and my anger
And some day, I will accept it all back
With a spin and a grin

Ocean of Fingers

An ocean of fingers tears at my skin
Rending flesh from bone
A wardrobe floats by
Cracked by weather and neglect
It's bottom drawer locked,
The key resting inside of it
Trains charge along on tracks
Unsure of their cargo or destination
Compasses spinning wildly leap from their cases
Pointing straight up and rocketing away from the earth

My old bones are brown with age
Burnt by a sun with no cover of atmosphere
Dams break open
Spilling water thick and black
Trees moan and flowers shriek
Transparent birds swoop from noxious clouds

My eyes are black hollows
My jaw hangs in an obscene smile
Skin can no longer hide my true feelings
I laugh as the world reveals itself with me

I am tranquility unto myself

Play well

For some, our planet is the water and trees,
The buildings and people and animals,
The creation, the destruction, and our remains.
For others, it is the place inside of us,
A place full of hope and wonder,
Just waiting to burst forth every time we put pen to paper,
Brush to canvas,
Or part our lips to speak.

Unkle Tchuck

I feel childish standing next to you.
My words come out simple and single syllabic.
My tongue is a blowfish in my mouth.
I fear to ever meet you,
Lest the throne you sit on shatters.

Politique

Political views are predicated by assumptions of the human condition.

Camp Scene at Night

I wake with a start. I have just landed in this bed after a dream of falling. My eyes are still closed, slightly sticky. I will myself to sleep again, but it has ebbed away from me. I open an eye and look for my alarm clock. I am presented with a foreign wall and sleeping bodies. This isn't my room. I look around, trying to understand where it is I have woken up. The muscles in my eyes feel like pistons slathered with molasses. The room stutters just a little. A dam breaks, and memories flow back to me of the night before. A headache kicks in, the exclamation mark to my epiphany.

I stare at the ceiling. a landscape of snowy white peaks of stucco. The ridges and valleys all random, yet unfamiliar. You would think you wouldn't remember the pattern of your own ceiling, and yet here I am, expecting a dip here, a point there, and they are all missing.

The first rays of sunlight creep in from behind the fabric curtains. Still a navy blue, as the sun has not yet decided to wake completely either. The clock on the TV across from me reads 6:42. It is still too dark to make out other objects in the room. Soft breathing and the lumpen shapes beside me are the only indications that other things are living in here.

I watch the covers slowly undulating. The sheets are a deep blue: I imagine it is the waves of the ocean. I am watching from a boat on a calm early morning. The waves lap against the side of the hull, not crashing but whimpering, exhaling as they retreat from the ship again.

A seagull breaks the silence. I look up to see it's shadow on the curtain. It rustles rudely there, trying to find a more comfortable position. It's disturbance has awoken me to the world that is waking up outside. I can hear the cars passing below. The leaves shaking a maraca beat as joggers beat against the pavement. Birds call to each other in the distance, letting each other know the morning has arrived.

Finally, I am awake.

Long way home

And there's so many things I have seen that I want to tell you about.
And so many people and places I want you to know about.
But I stare into your eyes,
and know that all I want to know about, is you.

Pandora's Box

Even in despair, a faint ray of beauty can break through.

Gossamer Oak

She walks on blades of grass, emerald green and crisp. Slippers of spun spider silk cling tightly to her feet, her toes wiggling from inside. Her skin tanned and supple, peeking from beneath ruby red skirt and cloak. Her hood casts her face in a warm ebony, pert nose popping in and out, eyes of sapphire, a placid ocean flecked with diamonds sparkle deep within.

Trunks of topaz oak sways in the wind, almost as if shifting to the beat of a private tree song. Flowers sprout from her every step, blooming fronds of gold and bronze.

She parts her lip, running a tongue slowly over them. Saliva glistens, painting her lips a faint pearl. Her hood falls back, hair of tigers eye cascading in gentle waves down her back. She curves her lips, cheeks puffing up ever so slightly. She begins to blow. What should be the whistle of a lovely melody is instead an iridescent tapestry of oil paint. The wind takes hold of the many colors, and whisks them deeper into the thrush, catching and splitting and tearing on the many crystalline branches, like ribbon made of sheer cashmere.

She opens her mouth more, singing of rainbows and sunsets and vistas unheard of. She chases the colors through the forest, the ribbon taking shape as she passes. Fantastical animals form to follow in her wake: giraffes of purple and gold spots, eagles of blue and silver, chipmunks of red and foxes of a deep green.

She disappears deeper into the forest, as the sun begins to set, and an amber mist rises from the onyx shadows under the leaves above the glade.

Yuèqíu

Catches of color tether me to this plane
How I long to chase after you.
The belle of the ball waltzing amongst the stars
Stopping for a chat but never too long.
We talk of higher things
And dreams of grandeur.
But the color drags me from the sky
Into the flash and mess that is.
Same time, tomorrow night?

Subsistence

We sit in silence,
Watching the paint dry.
The little cracks widen in the sunlight.
The layer of veneer starts to run.
I am showing through just a little.
Because I lost you once
And don't know how to find you again.

Summers of Forgiveness

The air is thick with moisture, the green canopy far above tints everything around us. Blocking the sun but somehow trapping it's summer heat. Branches crack underfoot as we follow the trodden path deeper into the forest. A lone bird warbles a deep melody. It must be for us; not a single bird responds to him. I whistle back to him but my bird calls aren't up to snuff: he immediately bursts from the branches above and flees.

You are walking three steps ahead of me. Your feet are the same brown as your eyes. Your shoes have been abandoned several miles back, along with your smile. Calf muscles flex with each step, and your blue denim shorts don't leave much to the imagination, and they ride up a little more with each step. Now I wish they covered a bit more. I wish you were wearing an opaque and lumpy canvas sack, but instead you're wearing a white t shirt that molds to your physique. Your hair is let down, resting partly on your shoulders.

I walk a little faster, to try and catch up with you, but you hear me coming. You match me, staying a few steps ahead. The umbrella in your hand stabs angrily at the ground, the only indication betraying your true mood.

"Please, can we just talk?"

You stop abruptly, so fast I nearly collide into you.

You turn slowly to face me. Your cheeks are red. Flushed, but not like those other times. Your eyelids, puffy, and chin slightly wet: you had been crying, but have long since stopped. Your eyes...

I turn away, unable to meet your gaze. All the words I had prepared, the things I had meant to say, they abandon me and scuttle off under the surrounding bushes. I look up again, my expression blank.

You begin to talk. It sounds rehearsed, you were ready for this weren't you? Are those tears real? Is this all just a part of your speech or did you really lose something with me today. Your lips move, slowly curving more and more into a frown as you continue. Your voice picks up in volume, picking up undercurrents of anger and despair. Of frustration.

You pause. You want me to say something. I look up at all the leaves above us. I am searching for the right thing to say. So many trees around us, they must have witnessed hundreds of people have thousands of conversations of all kinds. Proposals and break ups, propositions and let downs. One of them must know the words for this game. The correct next move. If they know, they must not want to tell me.

"...that's what I thought" you shriek. The green tint of the forest seems to bend just a little red in the aura surrounding you.

You rush back the way we came, leaving me alone in the small clearing. My words slowly peek from the thicket surrounding. One by one they come back, joining me as I watch you running through the forest. You make little sound, but your shuddering shoulders betrays you once again.

My words look at me from my feet. All the things I should have said come rushing to me, all just a little too late.

See you dark and early

Like a baby, the very earth will rock you to sleep.

Archana Zavier

When I was 12, I went to Stratford with my mother to see Shakespeare. We saw it in Stratford, we had taken the bus to get there. The play was 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. Fittingly, it was the middle of summer as well, a record high of a day. I had never been to a play before, or ever heard anything by Shakespeare. I just knew it was a chance to see a new place.

It was there my mother ran into an old friend of hers. We had been walking in the gardens outside the theatre when she had spotted him. He was a tall man, he looked friendly I guess, but I was shy nonetheless. He had brought his own son to see Shakespeare as well. The boy was my age as well, his father said his name was Archana. He was dressed in grey dress pants with matching grey vest, a light blue shirt, and a little navy blue bow tie. I realize now it was probably his mother who had dressed him up to go see some Shakespeare, but at the time I thought it was sharp and cute. I was a little smitten, a feeling I didn't quite understand at that age, as I had never really felt that way before.

I was shy to talk to him, and he didn't seem to want to talk to me neither. But of course our parents left us alone to play while they walked away to talk about whatever it was grown ups talked about at the time. Archana seemed a little unsure what to do, but soon asked if I wanted to play hide and go seek. I said sure, and he immediately started counting.

I took off towards the theatre: the gardens were all small bushes and shrubs, nothing to really hide under. The theatre was the only building around, and other than it, the only other good hiding places were behind cars in the parking lot.

As I stepped into the theatre, the chill of the AC left me shivering slightly. I was suddenly unsure about whether I should have been in there. A lot of old men and women were walking around in funny costumes, and giving me evil looks.

I was suddenly shoved from behind. "Found you!" Before I could push him back, several of the actors ushered us back outside "Go through the front entrance with your parents."

We did as we were told.

Me and my mom managed to get seats near Archana and his dad. As soon as the lights dimmed and the actors spoke there first words, we seemed to realize in unison this was not going to be fun. The words coming from the actor's lips were all english. They all sounded kind of familiar. But the order they used them, the way they said them, their funny accents, all made it impossible to know what was going on. We turned to each other and laughed at the actors instead. Making dumb jokes and pointing out the flaws in the actors 'He's not really handcuffed! he's just holding his hands together!". We laughed a little too loud, and were sent out of the theatre, with our parents left behind.

Archana's dad had driven to the theatre, and offered us a ride back to our home. Me and him sat in the back seat. I pulled out a piece of gum, and offered him one as well. I started to blow bubbles, when I noticed his eyes were on me, wide in wonder.

"How did you do that?"
"Do what? Blow a bubble?"
"Yea! I can't do that!"
"It's easy! Just kind of smush the gum flat, then push it to your lips, and poke kind of a hole in the middle with your tongue, and then blow!"

It took several attempts, but eventually he got a feeble bubble blown and popped. He giggled uncontrollably, obviously proud of his newest skill. We spent the entire car ride back home blowing bubbles, each bigger than the other's.

I never saw him again after that day. I thought I was in love. I thought love was sharing dumb jokes whispered at theatres, and blowing bubblegum in the backseat of a car on a hot summer's day.

I grew older, a little wiser, and thought I had been childish to think that.

Nowadays I think, why isn't that all love should be?

Wendy

Her hair looked as if she had just been in a wind tunnel.
Swept back, but frizzled and raw.
Her face seemed clear, but closer inspection showed the tiny scars acne had left behind.
She was bone skinny, and yet wore clothes that were too many sizes too big.
Perhaps to make her seem fuller somehow.
She looked, not like she was wearing clothes, but almost as if living inside them.
Her blouse was a subdued red, as if she had wanted to take the world by storm, but quietly.
Her pants flared to the size of dresses.
She walked with long loping strides,
As if she was the new sheriff in town, a cavalier gait that screamed of imagined confidence.
Her speech was quiet, and yet somehow commanded the room's attention.
Her eyes twinkled, but never focused on anyone.
She was never looking at any of us, or anything in the room.
A gaze that was transfixed on things we couldn't see, couldn't even begin to imagine.
A world that only she understood, and could come and go as she pleased.
"I will wear a ring, but it will not be for marriage.
I need no man, for no man has need of me"

Soothsayer

Not all advise can come from the lyrics of songs,
Or the words of great men and women.
Not all wise things have yet been written.

Blulips

I pass through your field of vision.
Unnoticed.
I upset nothing, leave no traces.
But as I leave, you feel a twinge.
A shiver, starting from your tailbone,
And agonizingly slowly moves up your back,
Sometimes splintering slightly to chill the muscles there,
And finally crawling up and inside you skull.
The presence is clear: something was just here.
Something isnt the same. It's not right.
It will be years before you finally realize what it was,
But I will be long gone.

The earth is a cold dead place

It is foggy this morning.
It's so thick that I have to use my headlights to make sure others can make me out.
It seems almost like a ghostly carnival.
Shadowy colossi hulk to the sides, the lights of mysterious rides flash on and off, coming and going.
The reds, whites, yellows, and greens.
It didn't surprise me this morning.
I feel clear, like that first morning of being completely well after a long flu spell.
The sinuses of my mind are clear,
My lungs filled with menthol.
Through the night, the haze that has followed my waking existence seeped out my ears, through the cracks of my window, and into the night air.
I wonder if the lights on my car are apparitions in someone else's imagination.
I wonder if weathermen can track the origin of weather systems.
If they have instruments that can tell if they came from the Pacific,
Or leaked from my subconcious.
A moment never seems so fitting when the earth seems to mirror the emotions you are feeling.
Better still is when she keeps those thoughts and feelings you no longer care for, and shares them with the world instead.
While you are left to rise above them.

Spines

I paid you little attention, but still you grew. Your flowers bloomed
and angrily I cut them away. You grew tall but I hacked at your limbs.
I stunted your growth. I didn't know better.

You grew thorns to shield you from the world. You learned to bloom at
night and wither in the day. You didn't grow tall, but strong
nonetheless.

And now I wonder, like a fool, who your heart is for, for it is not mine.

Turn up the stars

What deep things dwell within, you know
What places and things I want to see, you've been
Things I want to know, both in passing and with passion, you teach
The advise needed to make it through this existence, you have
The fire to fight for what's right, you radiate
The company we want on a cold and lonely night, you keep
The surprises of character, of shared interest, you make
The soul of torture that makes my heart weep, you hold
Words of a world traveler, of love unknown and foreign lands, you write
The love I want when the world has brought me down, you give
A close friend, you are

i was searching for the things that never change

What am I searching for? Your steady hands, thumbs brushing over collarbones, fingertips tucking in a stray hair. All of us lying down on the carpet in my room, shoulders against each other, windows open. A gentle nudge in the morning, get up it's noon already do you want lunch? The radio blaring when he forgets to close the garage door. The faint light in the basement and noises the sewing machine makes when she steps on the peddle, when she makes that last stitch. That look on your face - you know what I'm thinking about, but you'll wait until I'm ready. I guess there are a few things.


~turn up the stars


What am I searching for? I trudge through virgin wood, snow silently
absorbs my presense. You point off to the side to a lone deer,
nibbling on an exposed bush. What is it doing there? It's ears perk
up. We stop, unsure why we are enraptured with such beasts. It bolts
off into the distance, the silence broken by the crackle of ice and
slush. You look at me, and I at you. I draw you close, making our
lonely world even smaller. A look of slight confusion, of worry, of
some apprehension and much promise passes through your eyes. Is this
it? I cradle your head with my hand, and I pull in for that first
kiss.

A feeling of... Incompleteness. Of misunderstanding. This moment had
brought so many things to a close, and yet left so much unanswered. I

guess there are a few things

Tomorrow Never Lies

We live in an age where journalists provide the entertainment, and comedians make you think critically of your world.

This is White

I do my dance, just for you.
Yes, you, reading this in your head.
The voice you hear is sultry, and just a little sweet.
I twirl this scarf slowly,
Floating in the dead air.
I do it just for you.
Skin stretches taut over tensed muscles.
Curves and bends at just the right spots.
Rock hard I stand, but melting into you like mercury.
I don't know who you are
And I don't really care.
Right now, this show is all for you
But it is my time to shine.

This is Black

There are things in society that we take for granted, and things we accept without realizing.
We accept that all styles of music will eventually be out of style.
We accept that today's fashion will be tomorrow's faux pas.
We take for granted that music, art, all of culture exists at all.

What if a year from now, there were no new genres of music, no new great works of art.
Would we even know?
Perhaps all the great minds and artists are already dead.
Perhaps these are the dark ages once more.

Pavlov

There are some people for whom we come to expect a certain mood or tone, or certain levels of insight and understanding. We, without thinking, learn to respond in kind. We color everything they say with a tinge of expectation.

So it is a shame when someone says something truly profound, and it is lost on our ears because we weren't expecting it.

violence of rain on the dashboard

We left the house maybe thirty minutes ago. The sun had been peeking through gaps in the clouds, it had seemed okay. It definitely hadn't seemed like rain was on the way. Although if we had checked far enough west, we would've seen the black clouds heavy with rain. If we had opened a window of the car, felt the gusting wind bringing it closer.

I bring out the last of the hamburger buns from my trunk out to the gazebo, the barbeque already started and starting to smoulder. Children are off in the distance, playing in the park.

I feel a drop of water hit my arm. I whip around angrily, eyes rolling, looking for the brat who had spat at me. Another drop lands in my hair. Instantly chilling me. I shudder once. Looking up, I see that the sun has left. Dark clouds cover the sky for miles in all directions.

Couples on blankets, just moments ago basking in the sun, frantically pack their things and run for the gazebo. The children shriek even louder: the rain for them is simply another game.

I hear you laughing. I turn to look at you, and see that you are barreling towards me.

'Come on! The gazebo stinks like wet dog,' whilst taking me by the arm and running. We head for my car, slamming the doors shut just as the heavens open up, and let a torrent out onto the park and people around us.

The rain falls heavily. So heavily that the area around us looks not like air, but like rapidly moving, dirty water at the bottom of a lake. Slowly people in the distance are blotted out by rain as it falls heavier and heavier.

The noise of it buffeting the thin roof of my car is deafening. I turn to look at you, only to realize you had been talking all this time. I mime a look of absolute disinterest, eyes unfocused, mouth slightly ajar, strand of drool hanging from my lip. You playfully slap me on the arm. I see you laugh, but the sound doesn't reach my ears. I feel robbed.

We both turn to face out the front of the car. There is nothing to watch but falling water. There is nothing to hear but the roar of the sky's imitation of an ocean. The faint smell of mint and evergreen hung in the air of my car: my air freshener was about to expire. Even my thoughts seemed to rattle around in my brain, unable to find a foothold, as if my brain too was slicked by rain.

I feel your hand brush mine. I look away, sure it was an accident. I try to push it from my mind - but no, there it is again. Your fingers search for my palm, snake between my fingers, and entwine themselves into mine. My heart beats just a little faster, but I still look away.

The rain has picked up in volume. The gods in the sky must be especially angry. But through the rain, the sky seems to brighten just a bit. First at only a corner of the field, then slowly the entire sky brightens just a bit. A searchlight through the rain, searching for someone. Searching for me?

The roar on the ceiling has let up slightly. People in the distance come back into focus. The rain is slowing down.

I can hear a voice. I cannot make out the words just yet, but the voice I can hear. I turn to you, and realize you had still been speaking all this time. Your eyes seem to glisten just a little more. Had you been crying? Are you about to cry?

The rain finally turns to a light drizzle.

"I... that was hard for me to get out. I've never told anyone that before. I'm glad we had this chance, I'm glad you were the one to hear it." You closes your eyes, a single tear rolling down your cheek. You draw closer, and rest your head on my shoulder.

I squeeze your hand a little tighter. I am unsure if I should say anything.

'Your secret is still yours, it is between you and the rain'

Touch of Senility

I had a feeling once, we could tell each other everything
In fact, I told you all I could bear to unload
Without feeling like I was burdening you
We would shout greetings with a look
Have whole conversations with the brush of an arm


Engines hum as cars pass by on the roads behind your house
Your voice rises and breaks
The crickets chirp from their hiding places
You start to taper off, sleep beginning to take hold
So I start to whisper
Talking about nothing, but my inflection pouring as much love as I can over you as you try to nap
Wanting you to sleep, but also to stay here with me
Birds slowly wake, start to call out
'Sun! It is time to come out and play!'


Just as the sun breaks through your window sill
You slip to sleep
And I am left alone with my thoughts

...

Your voice sounds so fragile when you wake
Like a kitten's first whispered cry
Our footsteps are muffled as we try to tiptoe around the house
Even though there is no one else to wake
Maybe it's because the sun has not yet risen
We don't want to disturb it's sleep
The running water even seems more reserved
Turning to hot without any fuss or wait

The roads are empty
Only a lone van slowly patrols the streets
Dropping off bundles of newspapers on certain doorsteps
A jogger crosses us at a red light

We whisper quietly
It is the wee hours of the morning after all
Voices hoarse from too much coffee and not enough sleep
We tell stories, reveal secrets
The quiet of the morning seems to demand it

We laugh in silence
The radio is turned off
My hand, on the gearshift
So quiet.
So peaceful.
So perfect.

Save for the voice, whispering insistently in my head
I want to hold your hand

Buckhorn

The cold takes a deep punch to your gut
Your lungs seem to forget how to breath
You whip your arms and thrash your legs
Trying to get anywhere but here
Then, for a split second
If you pay attention
Before you find up from down again
If you can steady your heart and still your mind
You will understand what it is to be weightless

Do you even know how to make it?

"Would you like to come up for some coffee?"

PBK 111

March break great for everyone.
Kids get the week off.
Adults are greeted with less traffic in the morning.
The sun even seems just a little brighter.
But the trucks still screw it up for everyone.

Koel

Sometimes we forget,
Even the experts don't know what they are talking about.
We all just make it up as we go.

Devolution

We reach higher and farther than our fingertips allow
We leap from ground to tree
Single storey to sky scraper
The moon to Jupiter
Killing ourselves so that our children can burn out that much faster
And the monkeys cackle from their trees as they play in the setting sun

Athena

There is no space for ritual in my heart

I cannot treat you as if you are one of them

I won't reduce you to a few words or false totems

I won't pretend like I know where you are now

I know only the gaps in my life you used to fill

The crumbling foundation of my existence you used to maintain

Please... don't stare at me with those eyes

Don't look away

Food Poisoning

I still have conversations with you
You laugh at my cheesy jokes, and I finish your sentences
I make the coffee in the morning just how you like it (I still hate coffee)

We still watch movies, and cry for the sappy breakups
We stay up till long hours in the night, worrying about the kids
But every morning
I wake up and realize with a jolt, all over again
That a lifetime of companionship is finally over

Coming and going

Sometimes you are such a mess
I just want to grab you by the shoulders and hold you still
You vibrate so fast you'll probably collapse this house
Trying to move in a thousand directions at once
Just sit still and let life pass you by once in awhile

Let's go sunning

There are moments in life where it feels like the haze has lifted

The future is a clear path ahead of you, 

A black streak that cuts a perfect line into the desert in front of you

Leading to a great crystalline citadel years into the future

And you try to grasp at that moment

Memorize the features and details of that city standing ahead of you

Before it all begins to fade out of view once again

Enervate

I live in that place,
between drunken blackout
and painful hangover.

Amateur night

I was sitting at a crowded table

Trying to have a conversation over the sounds of bass arpeggio and walking pianos

It was very difficult

I could only see the movements of her mouth

It was almost like the sounds of the trombone were warbling right out of her

A boy took the stage

Horn rimmed glasses and t-shirt with an ironic slogan i can no longer recall

A houndstooth scarf and pleather sandals

True wicker park androgynous hipster

He picked up his trumpet and belted out a heartfelt, if lackluster, solo

Even some of the more respectable clientele turned to their respective companions

Trying to pick out a conversation to drown out the bleating of his trumpet

The two men beside me went to great lengths to critique the player

I can't remember one, but the other

Eyebrows like Groucho Marx, but as gray and dirty as the sidewalk leading to the bar

Brown leather pork pie hat and matching brown Hawaiian shirt

And a small leather case hanging from his neck

His breath reeked of a thick Boston accent 

He turned to us and asked if we would like to join them on stage

We laughed nervously and politely declined ('I haven't brought my saxophone, she, her trumpet')

They took to the stage, the other one pulling out a trumpet that was more tarnish than brass

Groucho Marx took a swig from the glass of beer he had brought up with him

My ears, ringing from the earlier solo, didn't catch his introduction

He wet his lips, and drew from the case hanging from his neck, a harmonica

The mood of the room instantly shifted, as the band began to play

We were transported to a place further south

The bayou fog crept in as the drums hit a solid beat, 

You could almost hear a washboard creeping in on the night air

And the man with the harmonica began to scat into the microphone

Intermingled with the buzz of harmonica solos

A man with pride and ego that was instantly well deserved

Peacekeeper

When you need something to destroy
To break it and hurt it
To stomp all over it
I'll be there

Born Twenty Nine

Cracked egg shells gather at your feet.
You dance as if no one is watching.
You laugh with those who laugh at you.
Still frightened by the dark, but stare death in the eye.
Believing fairy tales and the words of elders.
Jumping for joy as the ice cream man comes around,
And truly sad as Christmas comes to an end.
Still treats each love as a happily ever after.

Poppies of Morpheus

3:33 am

I am fast asleep, I must get up early

You slip quietly into the room, raise a corner of the sheets

Slinking beneath my arm, you snuggle close

Even in deep sleep, I can feel your presence

My dreams begin to take shape

Bits of cobweb and fog coalesce into images

The inside of my eyelids are the screen

You are there, walking beside me in fields of purple and gold

Wearing a jacket and dress of roses and strawberries

Your laugh sounds like the clinking of glass at a wedding

I reach out for you, but you fall through the flowers and I chase after

Buildings loom overhead

Stark grey stands contrast to the bright yellow sky

Heat waves emanate from the concrete

You, in green fatigues and matching black vest, run around a corner

I am confused, but that is quickly shattered by chattering gunfire

I chase after you

In black night, we skate on ice as spirits swim below

Now a white evening gown covers you

An ethereal glow surrounds it, or perhaps it is simply you

I can feel the biting cold banished as I draw closer to you

You smile and blush as I take your hand

I draw you closer, and we waltz across the endless ice

I can feel your breath on my neck

I cannot hear your voice, but I know you are whispering

'Time to get up'

I wake, look over, and smile

Through waking day and blissful night, you are always by my side

Greater Pastures

Green fields whisk by

The speakers gently serenade me

The road seems to stretch on forever

Up one hill, down a valley, up another

Ad infinitum

As I drive up one hill I can see places far off

It is raining over there

There is a parish over here

A few cars pass me by

Every once in awhile I pass through a town

Like a drifter, I don't stay long, I don't make eye contact

I pick my way through the roads and head on my way

Fields turn to forests

Forests turn to snow covered pine

A low fence separates my car from certain destruction

A fog descends onto the road

Between white road and white sky, I can't see more than a couple feet ahead

I continue on at a snail's pace

Thankful for this excuse to live here

A snowglobe, lost in the world, cut off from everything

The snoring in the backseat brings me back to the present

And I look past the snow and fog

Over there, a dim light shines in a small house in the night in the distance

I know you are there

Earnestly waiting for our arrival

If only you were here with me

With us

If only we had no destination

We could live here forever

In the silence and music

Keep bending away from civilization

And see where these roads come to an end

Dongdaemun

Lights dot the canal, lovers walk hand in hand moving like frogs, lilypad to lilypad of lamplight

Retreating finally to darkness

We know there is something here, an unexplainable feeling

A feeling we don't want to lose, we don't understand it right now, but forever want to keep it

We walk down boulevards, buildings that never sleep with signs that light up the sky like broad daylight

A man spots us from his storefront, he holds up two cans and an eyebrow

I look to you, you glare back at me, and i throw my bead back and laugh

I clasp your hand tighter into mine and run to him to buy a can or two

To think, such a place has been here

Has been built, people have come and gone, has changed and grown

And I missed it all, only because my courage was held in the clasp of your hand

Grace Christian Reformed Church

Today's sermon is Genesis. 
In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

According to King James. 

Saving Simple Simon Says

He sits on an upended picnic table
Ears ringing
He swabs the blood away
He cries softly "Simon didn't say"

Less is More, More or Less

Angkor Wat

Men on stilts
Draped in robes
Should avoid heavy lifting
In rainout conditions

Miguel de Cervantes

There are some emotions, that cannot be expressed in words
My library has never named them
Some strings of words that can describe a situation that hints to them
But that too is only understood by the experienced
There are some feelings no one may ever understand
A mood that lives only in you
Which is the sadder plight?
To live an experience you know no one else will ever undergo,
Or to be left wondering if everyone does, we just don't know how to
tell one another

X-Ray Specs

I will be my own woman
Is that alright with you?
I can topple any regime on my own
With you as my audience.
I am peace incarnate
With your blinders on my eyes.
I am judge, jury, and executioner
And you are Saint Peter.

Why would you go
I cannot stand without your legs.
Why would you ignore me
I cannot speak without your ears.
Why would you stay silent
I cannot live without your words.
Why would you keep your heart
Mine cannot find the beat on it's own.

Nystagmus

Reading the future on the horizon

Keeping ahead of the sunrise

Leaving behind false trails and strange words

Praise draws near, like moth to the flames

Unaware of the mortal danger

We do not understand your song of tongues

We cannot fathom your dance of knives

We fear it

It is in our best interest to run and hide

We are cowards. 

We do not see with our eyes, or hear with our ears. 

We observe with our brains, and not with our feelings as we should. 

You had no innuendo, no motive. 

You gave us the truth, virgin and bare. 

We clothed it back up, put it on a pedestal, and finally set it ablaze. 

We tarnished your heart of gold. 

So you locked it up, threw it to the sea, and left us all for dead. 

But I am still here. 

You can still save me. 

Virginia

The air stings my face slightly.
The wind is biting.
The sun shines, but its warmth cannot keep up with us.
You stand off in the distance.
Wreathed in a glow that seems to emanate from deep inside you.
Blond locks whip around, in disarray and yet every movement, another
act of sheer brilliance.
I want to come close to you.
To whisper in your ear,
"This is who I was before I met you."

Gömböc

The world through newborn eyes
Too violent for me
Bloodshed, jealousy, and confusion cast long shadows on landscapes
filled with hateful eyes and empty vases

You turn to one side

I push such thoughts from my mind
I reject them. They have no place here
They are on distant lands and I am on an island.
They crash upon the shore but I am on a snowy peak.
They scale the mountainside but I am soaring far above.

You turn another side.

I am far above it all.
I am the master of my domain.
I am the master of THIS domain.
They cannot harm me.

You turn another side

I descend upon them.
They will die for this.
They will suffer
I will be victorious and stand on their corpses.
And I will weep.

You turn another side.

I have created this world.
I am another set of angry eyes.
I am another empty vase.
When did I become the bad guy?

You turn another side.

I will sit on the bleachers.
I will take the backseat.
I will do as I'm told and wait my turn.
Something will come of this.

You turn. Slowly. Rocking back and forth. Easing, slowly, to a stop.

We collide together. But you are unfaltering. The bedrock to my ocean
of remorse. You are the time and place I have been searching for.

Ready for breakfast

I pad through the tiled area of my apartment. "Kitchen" they call it:
a small fridge hidden under a stack of old pizza boxes; a small, plug
in stove element lives amongst piles of empty spaghetti boxes and used
canned meat tins: sink filled with putrid smelling dishes and the
remains of a chicken from last thursday; a garbage can that is
surprisingly empty. My eyes strain to open, they are crusty with
mucus, and film clouds my vision.

I look to the top shelf, the box of cereal perched up there. Why do I
put you up there everyday? Every morning I ache and stretch to reach
you, and vow to keep you down here with me, and every morning when I'm
done with you, I put you back in your proper place. Perhaps the beast
I am that wakes and comes for you is a different man that leaves you.

I search for an empty bowl. I finally find one with the remains of my
last cheese twist binge. I sniff it. The stink of mold hasn't yet
touched it, so I empty it out and fill it again with corn flakes.

I open the fridge, and am greeted by the bright cold light. A
margarine tub and nearly empty bottle of johnny walkers. I contemplate
pouring the liquor in my bowl, but I know what that will lead to. I
fill it with tap water instead.

I find a spoon lying on the counter and notice the grime on my hands.
I am absolutely disgusting right now, aren't I? I laugh aloud with no
one in particular, and rinse my hand of what I can. I know it is still
dirty, but it at least placates that feeling of uncleanliness
whispering from the back of my brain.

I take my meal to the dining room: the couch opposite the sink, on the
carpeted area of the apartment. Sunlight tries to peak in at me
through the small gaps in the blinds. I draw them tighter shut; the
lines of light on the floor disappear.

The cereal crunches deafeningly under my spoon. It awakens my ears to
that which surrounds me. The fridge hums deeply, a gentle tenor with
the slightest warble in it's note. The drip of the sink, and the horns
of cars passing below play a slow but erratic beat. Muffled and
silent, I can still hear my companions from last night. They alternate
between high pitched conversation and shrieking. Ecstasy of the
soprano echoing from my laptop speakers, cracking just a bit as their
volume reaches unearthly heights.

I slowly chew on the corn flakes. The water is an unsettling touch.
The brain knows what to expects, screams to get it. 'Where is the
milk' it seems to ask. It believes is so strongly that if i close my
eyes, and focus on the women in my room, I can almost taste the slight
sugar and fat that is in the milk that isn't in my bowl. The mind
wants what it wants, and is easier to trick when overwhelmed I guess.

I look at the clock on the VCR under my tv. 1:14. I guess this was
actually lunch. I place the bowl on the coffee table, already covered
by piles of papers, wrappers, and empty glasses. I return to my room:
I'll just get some more sleep, try to start again later today.

Cheri

My eyes burn holes on all I gaze upon. I wear my anger as a cloak.
Fear is instilled in the footprints I leave behind. My fingers can
barely keep still, I need to clasp my hands tightly together. I force
these emotions to stay in focus. My constitution must not waver. It
cannot. I blot out the sun with images of mangled corpses, drown out
the crowd with the cries of screaming babies that no longer will see
their mothers.

Then I hear one child. She is not yet gone. She is still here. What
does she know of the world and all that is wrong with it? What does
she know of hate or love, race or class or creed. She knows only the
eyes of her mother. She knows the sounds of her home, her toys that
entertain her so. She too will soon cry of pain, endlessly. For what?

Why will happen to my child? Of my husband? Is this the right thing?
Is this... No. No thinking of that.

I will destroy them. I will destroy them all. And it will make the
world a better place. My hate, and my loyalty, will cleanse the world
just a little more into the place I want it to be.

Ozikawa

I wonder when last we spoke. We used to speak all the time. We laughed
and stayed up late. We kept each other company. It hasn't grown less.
It's definitely not gone. It's just... It used to be the main event.
Now it is simply the backdrop.

Smiles are wearying. They crack our faces. Embraces pull and tug at
unused muscles. I still love you, and I know you, me. It is okay. The
rain doesn't stop just because we are in love. It wont rain any harder
when our love finally burns away.

God has better things to do

Cicadas

There are some things people repress. Abuse as a child, some horrific
ordeal. Things your brain knows it can't handle. It keeps it hidden
for you so you can go on living. You cnb feel it crawling, like a
dirty wall painted over but starting to peel.

I don't have that problem. I have thoughts I can't get rid of. My
brain decided these things I can't handle, so it springs it on me when
I least suspect it. I want to block it out but I can't. And the worst
part is when I think to get rid of them, my mind fills with a million
voices talking. Like that sound in the summer you hear, in the fields
as the sun is about to set. I can't even hear myself think. And then
my mind wanders to something else. I forget what I was thinking about,
or that I even wanted to forget. Until the next time I'm surprised.

Tendon

That deep feeling you get, a pain you feel, not in your heart or soul, you feel it in your body. A hurt no bullet or knife could ever get at, no sunlight can warm, no drug can heal. You do what you can to numb it, but it just comes back when you least suspect it. The kind of pain you see people talk about, but you know they don't feel it. If they did, they wouldn't talk about it. You hide it, and bury it with smiles and drinking and fucking. But sometimes it just gotta come out. And that's what my guitar is for. The blues ain't for letting out the pain. It ain't to make you understand. It's so that I can make you feel a little bit, the shit that lives in my heart everyday. 

Blues

...there ain't but one kind of blues, and that consists of between male and female that's in love. Two people supposed to be in love. And one or the other deceives the other who they love. Sometimes that kind of blues will make you even kill one another or do anything, that kind of love. It goes here, this side (puts his hand on heart) that's where the blues started...


~Son House

Over there

Penelope

In a shimmer of tassels and fanfare she seemed to descend
His own personal guardian goddess, sent to watch over him
Hair of saffron and faint cinnamon whenever she drifted close enough
He was stricken
This was the one he would be with
'No, trials you must suffer, for my heart is too terrible and wonderful for you'
And so he agreed, leaving her on a quiet spring morning
She wept the following night, and every night after
He was not strong enough for her love, but he had been perfect nonetheless
She was left only with his parting words
"My love, I may never return. My heart is in pieces at the thought of
never gazing upon your face again, to never feel your soft touch warm
my cold soul. But fear not. Up there, every night, us the moon. She is
my gift to you. Know that every night, no matter where I am, I will be
with you and the moon. We may be separated, by land and sea, forest
and fire, even by life and death. But know, for each night the moon
rises, my love for you will grow fonder, my resolve to return to you
deeper. Someday I will return victorious, as the man deserving of your
love"

Ambience

I am the gentle thrum of the engine
I am the starlight at daybreak
I am the ants that burrow far below the surface
I am the hair on the back of your knuckle
I am the whites between black letters
I am locked away but always here
I am pushed but always found
I am exhaled but never far
I am in the ether