I was so far from home,
where I gazed upon the same skies,
holding my own, holding my own.
Walking through the narrow streets at night,
where the hums of prayer echoed through my soul,
and I had nothing but the thought of you.
How it seemed so illogical, so make believe,
stumbling upon your knees to fetch
what always made me weak.
To fall in love with danger,
with the romance of consequence
that could make so many others perilous.
Kissing winds of ocean breeze of the Mediterranean, not kind to all, telling me secrets of a past life…
Am I the ink blot to your Rorschach test with rhymes?
Dying in the midst of a battered butterfly,
living in the midst of two lovers kissing,
staggering in the night cloud aiming for the light
only to be electrified
just like all of your emotions
all projecting into a starry dynamo.
So, live for you, or die for you.
I believe we will soon find out.
Ask me what I see then tell me what I think, and how I am like you always seem to do. Who would have thought of the pain? The kind that splits through…
This poem is for the ones I will never see again The ones who let down their walls and invited me in This poem is for the ones I will always call a friend The ones who wouldn’t let me fall and forgave my sins This one is for them The memories made and the ephemeral stories The joys that will live past material toys The moments of nettled sayings and bonding praises The strengths and weaknesses that build a home for a soul And the continuing phases This one is for them The ones I will never meet again…
When The lights changed in the bedroom,
you weren’t crying too.
From the window of my wounded spirit,
my white dove, blackened with gunpowder.
It all brought me back
to a dream that I had,
while I was in a place of love.
I had dreamt that you had hurt me in my own space.
Then there I was…outside my own window,
I might have prayed for some wishes,
and maybe a pair of flight gloves
and a plane to get me the hell out of there.
I’m still grounded and I’m with someone else now,
One more time at sunset, near the shore.
Take off your fancy glasses and your noir
jacket with velvet red interior,
and hold my hand on the pier.
Love me just a for few more moments
before the spell disappears.
We both knew it was going to come to this —
I’ve been deceived by the time on my wrist.
I thought for a second that I had forever,
but you blew away like ocean wind, lover.
We gaze upon the folding of the day. We kissed on the railings of the deck. We had loved for long, winding time…
All of my money is out the window and now I’m relying on the scraps and cheap-O’s to get me by. To sustain my health though all I have in my temporary cupboard are artificial ingredients: the top-ramen to preserve me, the dollar energy drinks to wake me, even get me a little stimulated. Oh, but my kidneys and the murderous stones, as the food coloring and manic caffeine infiltrate me, maneuvering around my defenses. Top-ramen, make me a mummy, dry me out of my natural juices that my parasites drink. Dollar energy, make my third eye see, which was…
We are in the light
like explosions in the sky,
to new horizons along the line,
and there is nothing but belief.
Believe in the new age of time’s twin sibling Believe in the dawn that flirts with the poet’s inkling Believe in the trees, and the rocks, and the push of wind Believe in the morning as it will turn on your bedside Believe in the night for it will ponder you as you sleep Believe in the lone eagle, gliding for miles to find a meal Believe in the footprints of yours and…
The world is a wild boar with wild roses all around her, wrapped around her head, cutting flesh, bleeding, flooding my home. Much too much of the good stuff. Drown, sink, swim, run. Sting, burn, infest, suck. It’s a sad world, isn’t it? (Just ask her as she runs around new suburban areas crying for a love she feels but can’t have) Beautiful, even? I’m running across the thresholds of the soul, the marsh fields of the heavens circled by hairs, so many hairs, the towers of my cities I claim on her. She mourns, scratching herself, trying to brush…
The water floods the winter house.
Wood and rain act like fools.
The waning moon, the silver blouse
Strips to truth. The interlude.
The broken fridge, the moldy food, the stuttering lights, the many fights, gives us a rise in our creative tool set, when we could have patched up the holes in the roof and owned up to our mischief of guzzling the place with bullets whenever we got mad at one another. Enough it was, enough we could. To stop the pain in our hearts, even if it means to fall out of love for each other, but…
I'm currently residing in Northern Utah, where I find immeasurable amounts of inspiration on the mountainside. My passion is writing.