Forest Runner (roughy)

He ran, because he couldn't bear to walk. There was something within him that urged him forward at a pace he could not seem to match. Still, he tried. He ran. All urgency, pushing branches aside and breaking through others. At sporadic moments he would leap down the hillside and slide upon the leaves and soil, and then he would run some more. No destination in particular, just a void. It was raining, and before long he was coated in mud and bits of forest matter in the form of leaves and moss stuck to his skin and hair. He smelled the rich texture of the earth, and ever so slightly he tasted it on his tongue. He wanted to become a part of it, to absorb it through his pores until he'd rupture. He imagined unfurling in a fountain of fungal decay.

Antlered Elders

Its bones now branched beyond
Externally, out from its skull,
blanketed in a film of velvet
He thought how luxurious it would be
to lay upon them at their widest point
in that parabolic plane of ivory
And there he'd sleep, curled,
embryonic as intended, secure
To wake each new morning
from the steady rise and fall of it
upon sights before unseen
Sacred haunts, ancient, known only
to the antlered elders of the glade

Closer Still

We came to rest so near
to one another, at the end
On the floor of your room
Steeping in that scent of
lavender tea, calendula petals
I struggled not to smile, so
hesitant to reveal myself a fool,
because I began to feel
what I'd been hoping for,
and I thought, perhaps,
your rational defenses
were overwhelmed, awash,
dissolving away from you
And in that silent sea
we drifted even closer
Careful, I made no notice
as our shoulders touched
It was there, careening,
we painted our fingertips blue
We felt no inclination to speak
as our hands drew nearer,
and I was never so anxious
as when they finally met
I recall the feeling clearly,
but thus far can't articulate it
It was in that context
my mind held no focus,
as if it were overtaken
I acted on convolutions
of instinct and suppression
from then on out
And I still do

Little Valleys

The tree had fallen
long before he knew of it,
and in that unlikely rainforest
it lay decomposing;
enriching the soil
that once sustained it
He removed it's bark gently
Peeling it back piece by piece
and hoping to catch a glimpse
of what it might harbor
The flesh of the tree was now
waterlogged and rotting
but still somehow elegant
He'd plunge his hands in,
and the fine dust of it
came at once to occupy
the microscopic valleys
of his fingertips

Those Days

The other day Rachel asked him
if he ever was sure of Mom
He said it was her fault
and she'd admit it one day

I don't remember much of those days
Christmas one year, though pretty fuzzy,
ecstatic over articulated action figures
Sneaking to the balcony with Rachel
just to watch them watching television
Always caught and sent back to our beds
But we'd do it again, and we waited for it
Waking up to the sound of metal on metal
and the smell of sawdust from the cages
He worked in his shop always,
and I didn't know what to make of him
Winter colds with the cough gator
It somehow made the syrup sweeter
The cats, all three of them, individuals
Helmet was always my favorite
He had a BB in his leg, from a neighbor
Always a warrior, at least I thought he was
Of course, Patches, the family dog,
and we neglected her as most do
My birthday one year in the cubby,
jungle sounds, legos, and a toy gorilla
Most of all I remember coming home
fresh from school to a lonely house,
with the blinds closed and air cold
I can see him weeping on the couch
That's something that remains clear
Or sitting alone in first grade crying,
unable to understand their decision
I don't remember her, though
Can't picture her from those days
I can't even hear her voice

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Orchid and Moth

He contemplated the discovery
The petals would draw one's eye
a soft white against the darkness
Phantasmal, trembling gently
upon the air's invisible currents
The orchid encapsulated
the kind of vanity
that his species idolized
And for that she was sought after
and burdened to the threshold
Her beauty only surpassed
by her vulnerability
For her very existence,
apart from their influence,
was also dependent
on the slightest insect, owl-like,
with mica-dusted wings
And the moth,
with a clandestine signature,
had matched her investment
Equally useless without her
It was something that
gave him hope, cause, inspiration
A reminder that nothing is wasted
but in the man-made realm,
and that independent lives
do sometimes intersect
to live for one another

Unbending (made-up, preoccupied)

I won't bother lying about it
I get frustrated at times,
how I can't tell if
you can't make up your mind
or if you're just waiting
to break it across my back
One night you'll be eyes to the sky,
all starlit and mystical,
and the next, submerged, clenched,
closed underwater
That's a shame too,
I've let it dig too deep before,
because I never waver
certainly, not about you
Even now, frustrated, afar,
I remain unbending

The little ones...

"I can't trust you with the big things, until I can trust you with the little ones."

10/18/10

He walked out along the creek for a while. Something in him cold and humble and complete at the sight of it - the water so clear; its tiny currents converging and diverging to create scars upon its trembling surface. He placed each step carefully, not to disturb the water and cloud it, and he walked along it for a while until he found a suitably secluded place to rest. A tree had fallen there, and it's bark had sloughed off in great heaps now growing moss. Just below, the creek came over a boulder and passed through the air a few feet before crashing back upon itself, and forming a small pool where larval salamanders crept along the silt with their feathery gills bellowing. A log from the felled tree rested diagonally there, one end rooted in the pool and the other against the boulder preceding it. He lay down on it, cupping his hands against the falling water, washing his face and drinking, then just resting. He had no intentions of leaving. Even considered what might happen if he were to stay forever.

A Lack of Convenience

It read that "a lack of convenience" could tell him a lot of about the love. It might suggest the profundity of it. The truth of it. It read that when the circumstances are convenient, it's easy to be deceived, and when it's inconvenient, it usually dwindles and fades before being snuffed out altogether. As if it's not worth it. It's not worth the effort inconvenience implies. And that drew the subtlest of smiles upon his face.

Needed Sleep

This morning he remarked
that he needed a lot of sleep
It's true he worked hard,
as he had a family to provide for
and he held them first
Really, truly, he was weary
by the end of each day,
but it was not his body
that begged for slumber
He did not exert himself,
he'd likely sleep less if he did
It was something else,
something numbed,
drenched in vodka,
and it was tired and weary
so it needed to sleep
I think, perhaps,
those are his finest hours
When he lays down to sleep
and lets it all go away
I wonder how he dreams,
if he sees exotic places there,
or just serenity here
I wonder if he remembers
when he wakes up

Everything You're Not

I occasionally contemplate
if I'd recognize you now
and how I might react
I suppose I'd do nothing
and that doesn't bother me,
because I'd never grant you
the effort of revenge
It's hard to say how much
your actions there affected me
Some days I think
they barely changed me at all
On others I wonder
if they laid the foundation
for all I've become
All of my strengths,
and the insecurities too
Everything you're not

Got it Right

Yesterday, I saw a couple
and it was so clear they had it wrong
It reminded me of when you said
you hear lovers talking
and they're always so tense and upset,
but how we never feel that
We're only overjoyed,
smiling as fools do, and so content
just to know it hasn't changed
Truly your voice is all it takes
to make my stomach an echo chamber
And to see you, its almost too much,
so these days I have to breathe deeply
just to feign a degree of composure
I was worried that might fade,
but in the absence it's only intensified
So cast down your disquieted looks,
because you're all experts
and you know I'm simply blinded
If I am, then I guess I beg to be, because
I can't help but know we've got it right

Damn

Damn, I wish I knew
just how to make it happen
It's really all I've thought about
since I saw your face last night,
when you shed one for us
Really can't fight it,
because I'm honest, and
I just want to feel it all the time
It's so pure it must be true
Don't you feel it too?
Yeah, it's crazy
I know that's the case,
but I'm so inspired,
and even so, I have no list
No regrets to haunt me,
and if I let this go,
that'll be a lie
So now I'm thinking so silly
as I tend to do,
mostly because I miss you
and I know you miss me too

Examples Not to Follow

Sometimes I hear your voice
and always it's guiding
Emphasizing alternatives
Warning not to fall
into the groove they carved
I hear it too
Really, I promise, I do
We're always so worried
we'll end up like them
and I think we both know
some aspects are inevitable
But truly we're different
At least, I'd like to believe it
We've seen more
than they cared to look for
I just tell myself
that they're examples
not to follow
and that hasn't led me astray
I'm still intent on making it
in ways they never did
So don't worry
I won't let you down
I just can't

Advantages

Ever since I realized them
for what they are
I've hated advantages
Been caught maiming more than once
just because I knew I had one
Never felt good about that
And I knew you had one over me
right from the start
but I was already headlong,
even before the beginning,
and the momentum was too great

Truth be told
I think about you now
Probably more than I'd like to admit,
but I do like thoughts of you
and for that,
I've concluded I'm not ashamed
because I'm not like the rest
I won't be rendered pathetic
Will not grant the advantage,
and given time,
I'll surprise

Something Said

Knowing the destination's ugly
and setting forth regardless
There's something to be said for that
Despite our cynicism,
we're a species so optimistic,
almost universally, in that regard
We're so enamored with the notion
that a love lost, is better than none,
and I'm not sure about you,
but I wouldn't count myself excepted
Although I might conclude
nothing's ever really lost
The truth of it is blatant
We saw the end of this path at the outset
and we knew it meant a dead end for me,
but let it be known, I wouldn't trade it
Even now, there's a smile upon my face
Yeah, this was predictable,
just as the rising moon
I'd say no less beautiful
And babe, if you see this,
don't mistake it for farewell,
because the sun also rises
There's something to be said for that

Stripping the Screw

When it came to those subjects
you never crafted a need
for reading in between the lines
I guess you just decided
that subtlety is only worse,
and I'll be the first to agree
It's better to suppress it
than to let it mature
and become a foe, right?
I'll let the wise man
answer that question,
because we both know too well,
we're not quite there yet
In the meantime,
a suggestion, though,
I hope you can make use of it
A little eloquence
could do to drive it home
without stripping the screw

Bull-Headed

His attempts at optimism
always in the guise of cliches,
and therefore, never very useful
It was just too effortless
to mistake emotions and pain,
for the reality of the world
It was just too obvious
to dismiss his created world
as out of his control
Still, in an underlying current
he knew the reigns were his
He'd always remember that
if he gave it much thought
But it didn't sway him
Always stubborn, to absurdity
He liked the euphemism: faithful,
but truly it was bull-headed
Tragically self-destructive
Once his jaws were clamped
you'd have to kill him,
and worse still, he knew it
Wouldn't change, either,
because it had been his salvation
It was that same resolve
that pulled him through the eye
and back around, over and over
It was his own invincibility
and he wondered sometimes
if he could break at all
He knew it to be true,
the first time he saw her

Residual

This morning I recalled your face
in a setting I'd taken for granted
You, peering through the glass at me,
hands overwhelmed with coffee and pastries
Your gifts in the morning
Then how I'd look over to see you
waiting patiently for me
with the warmest smile I'd ever known
It was enough to make me forget
how much that place burdened me,
because with you I was empowered
And even now,
though sometimes I worry
the distance leaves me powerless,
the residual remains ensure
I can't be swayed

8/30/2010

This was different
for I kept no company
but it did not deter me
Alone with my sentiments,
the blatant preoccupations,
and trying to meet them
on neutral ground
Hopeful with the notion
it'd lend some perspective

I'd labored for hours,
my mind racing, yet
reaching no end-lines,
when I stopped to rest
at a familiar viewpoint
Expecting clarity
and realizing none,
I labored some more
until I'd scaled it all
and could go no higher
I sat there for a while
wearing a vulnerable grin
and considered what next

Nothing moved,
no comparisons to be made,
so time did not exist
There was only to offer
my most honest exclamation
and I cast it out
as heartily as I could,
just hoping you'd hear it,
but all that returned
was my echo

Ultimatum

All's familiar
now that I'm awake
Smelled the same
a few months back,
just before the dream
It was then,
I granted the ultimatum
I'd make it happen
or I'd leave
And I fell asleep
Dreamed of lavender,
fields and flavors
Silence and laughter
But now that I'm awake,
I guess there's this
I'll do the latter

Moving

I'd never seen eyes so honest,
bordered by sun-flecked cheeks
and a brow so delicately arched
I was welling up with it then,
felt the gap between growing
So I drew in and held you closer,
pressed my cheek against yours,
couldn't tell if it was real
until I felt a single tear
run down your nose, and onto mine
gently streaming across my face
I wanted so badly to be closer
but there was no space to fill
Even now, I feel it intensely
the ebb and flow of blood,
the swelling in my chest
whenever I see your face
Yet now the miles are so many,
separating, and make no mistake,
I know you needed to move on
in more ways than one

An Oak

Never had his knees weakened,
or buckled under pressure
His stomach never hollow with anxiety,
and he never lost his appetite
Told himself he was an oak,
never to be uprooted,
and he came to believe it

I don't feel cold...

Goddamn these goosebumps
I don't feel cold
And why these chills?
I swear, I'm not cold

Arizona

In an unexpected way
it came back to me
and I was there
The desert sun at my back
subtly, slowly searing
Perspiration every pore
and the fine, pale dirt,
conjured each footstep anew,
clinging to the liquid beads
One could see it,
the heat rising from stone
creating liquid trails
in the sun-bleached air
I came to the fence
bordered by creosote shade,
collapsed there willingly
with my water used up
I couldn't say how long,
but I must have slept
Quietly contemplating death
and deciding I was too weak
to fend him off
But something changed in me,
though I know not what,
for in an instant I rose
and rejected that space

Parabola's Peaked

I wish I knew
what I look like to you
But it's hard to tell
where I stand,
because my feet
aren't on the ground
These recent days
I've been floating
steadily skyward,
and I'll tell you,
it's as nice as they say
So don't remind me,
I already know
the parabola's peaked
I see the ground approaching
and there's no use
bracing for this impact
I'll just close my eyes
and when I wake up
it'll be a dream

Upcoming

To contemplate it
won't mean acceptance
Today, tomorrow, never
It doesn't offer comfort
but I find myself there
often in it's embrace
A day, another, closer
The metallic taste
You'd know it from exertion
but that's not why it's here
It's impending, upcoming
and that's enough
to make the body cold

Opportunity

I can't feel bad anymore
It just doesn't follow
Blaming circumstance
for your lack of vision
Opportunity is ubiquitous
It's there for you
as it's there for me
You just can't see it
'cause your eyes are closed

The Baptisms

Initially, it was proposed
to take place in the river
Remember that vividly,
how beautiful it would be
But instead it happened
in a suburban backyard
A round, flimsy plastic pool
The water unnaturally blue
and searing the nostrils
with the scent of chlorine
No glamour to be found there,
so I don't remember my own
Just exiting the water,
precariously by plastic ladder
Dad had to be removed though,
paralyzed by it, and rendered
unconscionable and confused
How violently he shook,
he appeared to be freezing
The towels did not warm him
Holy water dripped from his pores,
diluting with his sweat,
and poured as tiny streams
through the coarse hair of his head
Those eyes were sealed,
trying to escape the images
I don't know how long we waited
beneath his knee, praying
for his safe return to us
Later, he remarked that night
the demons left their dwellings,
fleeing every one of his pores
I couldn't grasp it then
and now I only wonder
if they've returned

The Brook

Outstretched on the boulder
in the dappled sunlight
The water lapping softly
at my worn-smooth boot heel
An ancient brook
whispering earned wisdoms
I saw you in that setting
and it's etched in my skull
So since then I've been
contemplating what might be
An attempt, perhaps,
to justify these sentiments,
but I know they're bound
by delicate ties
You've all the solvents
to disintegrate them
Still, I can't promise
I'll keep quiet here,
even cautious not to catalyze,
because this time I'm certain
it's not a lie

Today

He told me not to fall in love, because I couldn't afford to lose much weight.

Culmination

The night was not cold
They were invulnerable
except to each other
Acknowledged comfort
Traversing the center line
on the moonlit blacktop
Eucalyptus silhouettes
against the blue-specked night
Every step he'd taken
had led to this convergence
He could say at any moment
that this was the culmination
And he remembered the old saying
For things at a common destination
there is a common path
So, smiling, he hoped,
as they walked side by side,
that the inverse
might be true as well

An Old Timer

An old timer, through and through. His shirt was tucked in, with the fancy yokes and pearl buttons, and one front pocket tobacco-filled and bulging so that it would not snap shut. He was wearing faded old blue jeans, and a work-softened leather belt with a sterling buckle - a Zuni piece with coral, turquoise, and two bear claws. The hat was the first thing one might notice. It was well-worn wool, a wide-brimmed black novelty with a sterling band adorned by what he considered the finest turquoise in the county. He also had a Victorian turquoise tie-tack above the center segment of the hat band, something one might not notice, but probably the most important relic he wore.
We talked for a while, mostly because he was the rambling type and I felt I might gain a bit from something he might say. Told me about how his brother was arrested once not too long ago in Calistoga, and beaten to the threshold of death's door by three officers. Billy clubs flailing carelessly, hot from the friction, until the varnish had worn off of them and embedded in the man's clothes and flesh. He sued and won. Also about how when he was eight or nine he'd ride his bicycle from Calistoga to Saint Helena, steal oranges from the Catholic church and fill his spokes with them, riding back and eating the citrus all the way, a trail of peels behind him. Said it was a shame times had changed the way they had; that he'd rather live back the way he used to, even though it didn't make much sense anymore.

Feather-light

After she said it, he thought, to his own amusement, about how they say that the hardest thing in the world to do, is to find somebody who believes in you. Then he was falling, and before long he felt the ground creep back beneath his feet and then he knew he was fallen - still looking up and half-heartedly hoping to be sent back into the freckled sky. He thought the ground would come to him faster than it did, with a hollow thud and a twisting pain curling along his spine, the breath forced from his lungs, but it was feather-light and profoundly soft, as if he were pneumatically depressed. A part in him hoped he would avoid the updraft as it was easier for a feather to lay on the ground for someone to inevitably find and carry off, and that person would be the one to truly cherish it, anyhow.

Bricks

They were out there
beyond recollection or attention
Two bodies cold, one shivering,
under a moonless blanket
of pin-holed blackness
One painstakingly laying bricks
Evidently hesitant, but composed
The other, tireless,
determinedly separating
hardened clay from grit and mortar
Casting the blocks aside
and raising his field of view
at a rate proportional
to the rising pile of rubble

Innate

A luminescent quality
Must have been
something innate,
for he'd never known
acquisitions to be honest
and this was true

An Eagle

I was seated quietly,
my feet resting a ledge below
but my knees still high
against my chest
My lengthy arms across them
burning mildly in the sun
Just observing contentedly
and trying to absorb
the beauty presented
by that unique vantage
Two feet ahead of me,
a drop of seventy feet,
and I thought for a moment
of what might happen
if the earth gave way suddenly
as a result of moving plates,
before being distracted
by the elegant control
and effortless adjustment
of the eagle before me
It started off high
The tips of its wings
quaking gently across the sky
before spiraling down
to within mere inches
of the perilous treetops
I flinched once,
expecting it to plunge
too far and collide
but with the slightest shift
a draft cast it upward
with a power and grace
only a raptor could afford
And then, in that single frame,
its shadow passed over me,
cradling my body in shade
and I'd never felt so small
as in that second

Before or after...

He was sitting,
legs crossed awkwardly
and leaning back
with all eyes to the sky,
trying to deconstruct
the invention of time
using only his thoughts
Serene contemplation,
sincere consideration,
and all eyes to the sky,
unable to decide
if acknowledgement
ever occurred
before dismissal
or always after

Morning Sun

The sun rose,
thawing the atmosphere
through fog and blood
Its quiet light
filtering in
through the window
and, elegantly,
it crawled along the bed
A benevolent wraith
across our bodies
As we tried to continue
dreaming hidden visions
projected on our eyelids
The morning sun,
and a shift
from black to red
And when we opened
our tired eyes
we looked not past
one another

Writhing

For a moment, I thought
I'd forgotten
what it was like
But I've just decided
not even a second ago
and now I'm certain
that this is something alien
Something alien, displaced,
writhing in my stomach,
and my body doesn't know
what to do with it
Doesn't recognize
this foreign medium,
but it can't reject it,
and my squinting eyes
don't recall this face
They're straining to focus,
and my conscience says not,
but they won't cease
They're hungry,
in cahoots with the writher
and they pay no mind
to the heart's content

The Last Time

I never broke in front of you
Never made me flinch
I just smiled while you yelled
Eyes out of focus,
underwater without a blink
A stupid, spoiled smile
Letting your abuse
flow through my skull
without taking notice
of the individual parts

I looked you in the eye once
in the midst of your tantrum
and your hand connected
across my child's cheek
But I didn't waver then
Your eyes wide and mouth open
My gaze dropping your guard
No retaliation needed
That would be the last time

Angry, angry, angry...

Saw myself in your visage
Your jaw tightened
and breathing irregular
Fire and brimstone
seeping from your pores
That steady drip
Eating away the air
like some gaseous acid
Had you stopped
even for a moment or two
you would have seen
that it was all for not
But I know all too well
that's not a valid option
Sometimes, all is red,
when vision blurs
and blood boils
scalding the veins
Can't stop either,
'cause you're lost in it
Eyeballs deep
in a bath of rage

The Taste

I knew it happened,
even across the world
Down to the day
when it traveled
over the Atlantic
and I breathed it in
Coating my tongue
with some residue
that weakened my knees
I wasted that day
trying to wash down
that awful taste
But it didn't go away
and I blamed you
for putting it there
And it took a while,
it took me too long,
to recognize
I was the one
that held onto it
While you
never knew
it was there

Portrait

He pictured himself in a setting he'd never encountered. On hands and knees, climbing an oak-strewn hillside - the first to do so in known history. Ducking under red-skinned manzanitas, with the bone and claw necklaces of leather thread dangling down from his neck, perpendicular to his chest. Drinking from patches of moss nestled in the stone, or with cupped hands from a hidden stream. His body scarred to match the landscape, painted with clay, and his skin tan and freckled. Adorned with found objects of curious origin. Carrying weapons made from antler, obsidian, and hardwood. And a crown of madrone and thistles atop his head. That was the existence he hoped for.

The Cavity

He had a cavity in him
A vacuum of sorts,
and he imagined
that each day it grew
by a steady increment
Of course,
all cavities long
to be filled
So he always searched
for what might seal it
Then one overcast day
his eyes fell upon her,
all in a hurry,
followed by his heart
And he was certain then,
she could close the gap,
just as molten solder
fills the void and binds
It was wrong too,
to think such thoughts,
and he was aware
'Ought to look inside
for the answer, ol' friend'
But he'd tried that
and decided it was lost
or moving all the time
through his veins
Elusive or rare
No, today it was her
and it would remain

Hemingway

He worried about her,
for she would not break,
and he knew somehow
that the world had a way
of claiming her kind
She was too good,
too gentle, too wonderful
Just couldn't last
So each small visit
he made significant
in whatever way he could
And then he'd leave
knowing he might
never see her again
The hollow would grow
and in his chest,
his heart labored and waned
And he'd whisper
comforts he ignored, and
lies disguised as assurances,
hoping selfishly that
she might break
and live forever

Thanks for reminding me, Ernest.

"The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. This is the writer's radar and all great writers have had it."

Forty-eight

Today, he turns forty-eight,
and I've known him nineteen
That's a lot of ups
and a lot more downs
I think that's the only way
for a father and his son
It's the only way I've seen
Considering it, I guess
we've never fully understood
the dynamic we've made
I just know it goes back
long before I was a thought,
when he was still a boy
Maybe even further still,
but I know nothing of then
The simple thing of it is
disappointments are there
on both sides of it
and they won't go away
We're too bull-headed
to let them fade out
And, though, sometimes
I feel I've never
given him real pride,
I've come to terms
with the knowledge that
he doesn't understand
anymore than his father did
or anymore than I do
I can't ask for more
My only concern these days
is that I'll perpetuate it
I'd like to believe
I'm stronger than him,
that I can break the curse,
but these things are prone
to repeat themselves
That's a cruel thing,
but it's real,
and I won't ignore it
to find myself making
the same damned strides

Chewing

I've chewed this
for far too long
and it's flavor
is all but gone
Ought to spit it out
I think I'll leave,
the same way they
thought I couldn't
Force the realization
Yeah, that's it,
do something unexpected
Toss in a wrench
to watch the machine
labor, bellow, and burn
Like they never
thought I could
That might do the trick

Thought

Nothing is lost.

Hands

I always liked my hands the best
because they were the indicators
As a boy, they were always clean
Small and soft, and Mom might say,
'You've such beautiful hands, son'
I don't know the day that changed
Maybe it started with the fighting,
when I was confused and angry
Fresh back from the worst days
My knuckles bore the brunt of that,
always cracking apart and bloody
Opening, and re-opening after,
until only scar tissue was left
They were still a boy's hands,
no doubt about that, to be honest
At the time I didn't think so
Then one day my dad mentioned,
'Every man ought to have calluses,'
and I always wanted them after that,
but I didn't care to earn them
until a year or so past
Lord only knows, now,
how much they mean to me
I can't give 'em up

Won't you?

Won't you come here
for a moment or two?
I'd like to know
if you can see it in me
The same I see in you
And, I know, lovely,
my facade doesn't always
beg for second glances,
but some voice says
I might just surprise you
Might be the devil,
but still,
I'd like to know
if I really could
So won't you come here,
for a moment or two?

Inhibitions

I've come to expect it,
because they always ask
the same damn questions
By now, it seems I ought
to have some answers
But I think I don't
None that come easy
That's probably because
they're all hard-earned
and I won't sell 'em short
But I'll do my best here
to spew out some bullshit
and make it smell pretty,
so you still like me
I guess, I believe,
to put it quietly,
there's a chance for
nobility in every moment
Usually it's hard to see
and inhibitions only
help to make them hide
And, hell, anyway
that's what I live for
Isn't that what
we all live for?
Finding some meaning
in an inherently
meaningless setting
Picking out the details
the idiosyncrasies,
the concealed notions
that make up beauty
So why bother?
Inhibitions only help
to make it harder
At least, that's
the way it is for me

Evaporate

There was a time for me,
and it wasn't long ago,
when all I feared
was that I'd be forgotten
But a lot's happened since
and again, I've changed
with all those things
Times come and go now
when I'd like nothing
more than to evaporate
Might make this simpler
That's all right too
I can take comfort
in that small certainty
'cause I know one day
not too far off
it'll be the case

Too Little, Too Late

Foolish child
He thinks that no one knows
what thoughts consume him
on a daily basis
The pain that he tries to ignore
but he can't seem to deny
He wonders how many truly know
that merciless feeling
Slipping, sliding into the black,
unaware of the cavern's depth
Fearing the interminable darkness,
and desperately reaching
for something to brace the fall
Knowing that nothing
can ease the descent,
save the love he thought
he'd never received,
but in reality,
just didn't recognize
Too little, too late

Tricks

I wonder what happens
in the recesses of her mind
If there's anything there
Or if she's boarded up, nailed,
and blocked all the doors
Afraid of whatever might wait
behind those old, worn planks
The past won't leave her
She can't gain from it,
because she never learned how,
and can't be taught new tricks
Those that can't learn,
should be the last to teach
But she'd say she raised me,
just because I lived under
the many roofs she offered,
and she fooled me early
into thinking I needed her
That couldn't last forever
Now, the tricks are obvious
And I think about it sometimes,
but it's difficult to believe
that a part of her is in me
I pretend the similarities end
with the birthmark on my arm,
or the eyes that remind me
every time I look in a mirror
The Johnson blues, right?
Yeah, but they're not all
Just the surface residue,
and the real blemishes
are concealed within me
Gnawing at my structure,
and burrowing deeper ever day
I'm still searching
for the means to lure them out
so I can bury them in light
But I never learned how,
and I can't be taught new tricks

Finch and Hawk

I saw a hawk the other day
Regal, confident, and beautiful
That certain look of a predator
It was searching for movement
from a vantage on the wire
When a little flinch flew over
Boldly landed not five feet away
The hawk broke its focused gaze
and looked over at the guest
Perhaps in quiet disbelief
of the finch's intrusion,
or maybe, it was just
a silent acknowledgement
Then he looked back
to continue his search
Now, I know this applies
It's significant; a metaphor
People don't see such things
without a reason or a cause
But, what bothers me is:
I can't decide whether I'm
the finch or the hawk

The Three Closest

The three closest were reunited
in that familiar, nostalgic setting
Each one had changed individually
Different stages in the life of a man
One of them still didn't drink,
the second had given it up,
and the third was in the midst
The third looked the first in the eyes
and said with a chuckle,
'I wasn't thinking of you,'
when he broke their old similarity
It was a worn out conviction,
and the first, a realist, knew that,
but he still clung onto it
The words made their mark,
as they might have been intended
Defeated by five benign words
The first, once their leader,
had always blatantly asserted
he was a good friend to the others
But with that sentence
his fall from grace and power
was thrown into the foreground
He realized that for all his sway,
for all his unflinching loyalty,
he'd never been the friend
either had needed him to be
And again, he was humbled

Mirage

My car approached
the same demanded stop
This time different, though
Suddenly, she was there
in a vision or thought
Directly to my left
on the streetcorner
She was very cold
Alone, weary, vulnerable
I couldn't stand for it
"Can I lend a ride?"
She might remember me
for that small gesture
When no one else offered
I looked over for her
Took it for a mirage
Then, I turned left
Drove on home

No Legacy

Following the conversation
On my way home for the night
My thoughts moving so fast,
effortlessly matching the speed
of the mechanized chariot carrying me
I pondered the inevitable
What legacy might I leave
Some repeated simple thoughts
rendered in a book as scribbles
or on an illuminated screen
No, I thought, not those
Perhaps, the thoughts themselves,
swirling in the cosmos
like some starry night
But in the end,
deprived of my senses,
time would speed up
too fast for thoughts
and no legacy would be left

Predatory Moth

It ventured out at dusk
Moving seamlessly
from view to vantage
One might catch a glimpse
Likely to dismiss it
for a trick of light
A blur of pastel, ethereal,
illuminated by the headlights
Like some giant predatory moth,
all enshrouded in subtlety,
dancing in the lantern's light
This night it met its end
Struck by a curved pane of glass
The hollow sound
of the last, terminal collision
The offender was moving faster,
than nature meant for it to avoid
Then two might find it
by the yellow-lined wayside
Take its weightless, mighty wings,
and a velvet, taloned foot
Try to make some thing from it
Stimulate a recollection
of the ghostly beauty,
which only its movement
could ever inspire

Well said.

"This earth, she’s a snake. She’s being pierced with arrows, curled into a ball, biting her own tail from the pain, and now rising up in anguish, her back rippling and knocking askew settlements nestled into her corded muscles. Her coils buck up, and she’s thrashing, drooling and panting, tears and blood streaming out in great gouts and overflowing the banks. How long until she shakes us off for good?" - Anjeliska

Just remembered this...

We were in the car, just approaching the house - about to part ways for who knows how long. He looked over at me, and said, "Roy, whatever you decide to do, become an expert at it and you're bound to succeed." I've never forgotten that. I don't know why it left such an impression; seems pretty obvious. But it's stuck with me, and not much else he's said has done the same.

Craftsman

The son liked to look over,
and observe the movements
of his father
Behind every one,
so effortless, a purpose
Calloused hands gliding
from tool to worn tool,
torch to file to mandrel,
without so much as a glance
Occasionally muttering
to himself or no one
Possibly unaware,
but his lips moved,
and sometimes he whistled
along with the tunes
He had built his life
as a precisionist,
a master craftsman
The son hoped
that someday far off
he could do anything
with such skill

Saviors

Animals rarely recognize their saviors. They'd just as soon maim them, as thank them. He thought about that for a while, and concluded people were no different.

Trespassing

Often, he walked out
on his breaks from work
Towards those iron tracks
long dormant now
He'd step over each one
slowly, calculated
Then lightly duck under
the torn chain-link fence
After that, trespassing,
gravel would grind
against the concrete
beneath his feet
He knew that sound
Anticipated it every time
Friction, footsteps
The meadow was next
No more than weeds, really
Thistles, licorice, dandelions,
all leaning with the grass
Always one hand down
at his side, fingers outstretched,
grazing against the meadow
The thistles stinging
but not enough to deter
There was some concrete too,
piled at a pleasant angle
A broken foundation
He liked to sit there,
the sun at his back,
and bask as the lizards do
Something about that warmth
thawed the day's anxiety
The depot wasn't far
now crumbling and wholly ignored,
but still handsome
with those old, worn bricks
Sometimes, that routine
was the highest point
of his weekday
He was rather content
with that notion

Alone

I drove out alone
First time I'd done that
New thoughts the whole way
I saw something
on the gravel shoulder
Glistening golden scales
So, naturally,
I veered over
left my car on the side
and went back on foot
for a closer look
Too late, though,
The serpent laid lifeless
I should've taken that
for an omen
Turned right around
and gone home then
But I didn't know
to pay attention

When I got there,
I wandered by myself
in search of acquaintances
pretending to have purpose
Seeing many, but none
too approachable
So I roamed
from place to place
Full room to full room
and finding no one
that cared to greet me
And my once high spirits
had dampened, saturated,
and sunk into my stomach
Three hours and nothing
I couldn't stay anymore
Had to leave it all behind
and drove home alone
before the show was over
The same way I came

It's so funny too
I always had the notion
that being alone is
when you're someplace
and you don't know anybody
or there's nobody there
But, no, that's not it
Being alone is when
you're in a full house
of familiar faces
and no one says a word

Bearer of Humility

The feeling, unmistakable
I have her in my grasp,
and adrenaline courses through me
An avalanche of nerves, quivering,
but my thoughts are lucid as day
My vision does not waver
Her eyes lidless,
marbles of cracked granite
bisected with windows, pupils
Invitations, to the last abyss
Her mouth agape, but only slightly
The needles barely visible
concealed in sheaths of flesh
Their existence, violence incarnate
But the intention for it
is not there, not for me, not now
My energy is subdued
I am holding death,
between my thumb and forefinger
wrapped 'round my forearm
But she means no harm,
lest I move too quickly
She might become a writhing mass
Muscle, sinuous, hellbent,
desperately aiming to embed
a single fang, or both,
in the soft flesh of her captor
Should it happen,
the fault would be mine
I ignored her first defense
Her warning, the rattle,
the triangular head and keels
I needed to be closer,
to touch the bearer of humility
confident that she would know
my ultimate intention
And for now, she seems humbled too
Gently restrained by a curious giant,
but then released
I stand near her
shaking from the experience
and she watches me cautiously
as she yields and coils back
My eyes burn from not blinking,
but I am humbled
so is she

Transitions

'People grow and change,
and not always together,'
she remarked quietly
as if recalling
something consequential
I remember that moment
Made the associations
to myself, in my life
Haven't forgotten it
I've always embraced
the transitions
Never made sense
to wear myself out
trying to stay
because that changes you
just as much
That's tough on us
as a species,
as individuals
and on relationships
Especially when
we are so young
It's difficult to bear
watching one you love
become something else
and it happens so often
I suppose it's been so
twice for me, and I
wouldn't return
I change as always
because I'm insatiable
I see a void in me
and aim to fill it
My curse is to embrace,
to improve, to adapt
and I don't think
I'll ever quit

Purpose

Well, you see,
even the smallest
The unnoticed kingdoms
The bacteria,
the protists,
the fungi,
they keep it clean
and produce
With purpose
to begin with
The plants do their part
Photosynthesize
and provide
While the animals
complete the coil
Nature's perfect cycle
Except, of course,
for that one animal
That peculiar species
The bulge in the line
The link weakens
and with a push
it ruptures
The circle is undone
by a single species
Relative newcomers
with new thoughts, and
destructive tendencies
No real purpose,
like the others,
but to break the coil
And some say
they will be the death
of a planet
But I don't believe
Not for a moment
It will persist
after extinguishing them
by its inherent patience
and quiet persistence

Last night...

...this stood out to me in a movie I was watchin':

"Point is, what's so wonderful is that every one of these flowers has a specific relationship with the insect that pollinates it. There's a certain orchid look exactly like a certain insect so the insect is drawn to this flower, its double, its soul mate, and wants nothing more than to make love to it. And after the insect flies off, spots another soul-mate flower and makes love to it, thus pollinating it. And neither the flower nor the insect will ever understand the significance of their lovemaking. I mean, how could they know that because of their little dance the world lives? But it does. By simply doing what they're designed to do, something large and magnificent happens. In this sense they show us how to live - how the only barometer you have is your heart. How, when you spot your flower, you can't let anything get in your way."

Souls

I've always had this idea
Can never seem to dismiss
Maybe your soul
is the same as mine
Every soul is worth the same,
whether it belong
to a mouse, or a man
Makes no difference
how your brain functions
Souls are the same
That's how
it's always been

Can't Stop Thinking

She didn't know
what she wanted
He knew that,
but something about her,
that subtle luminosity
Something in her skin
No one could place it
but they all knew
it was there
He couldn't be swayed
to save himself
She held an advantage
woven into the fabric
of her skin
She knew that,
and he tempted her
just enough
to let her hurt him
again and again
Not knowing
what she wanted
I tried to tell him
He'd always lose
and he couldn't
hope to hurt her back
And that never worked
Not for anyone
He didn't care
Couldn't help himself
She was all he thought
and he couldn't stop

This morning...

"I'm sorry about the confusion," I muttered. "Oh, no, it's okay. I just couldn't hear you. You're quiet." I didn't know how to respond to that. I thought for a bit, searching for my voice, but nothing came to my lips and I withdrew without a word - only a nervous nod. Later, our eyes met, despite our attempts to avoid that contact, and she cast an uneasy smile at me. For a moment I wondered if I intimidated her as much as she intimidated me. If I thought that were the case, I'd take some small comfort in knowing we shared the same ground, but I concluded that wasn't it. I knew it would be hard to look at her after that.

Calloused

He'd often contemplate
the greater good
and his contributions
His hands were calloused
and his back suffered
but later, he thought
I will be remembered
My sacrifice now
might mean greatness
in the end
And he'd stop there
think no further
That was all he needed
to maintain his faith
The cogs kept turning
the machine produced
His children
would not be hungry
But the end crept in
subtly at the start,
and then all at once
As a marble
headed for the edge
So he lay there
thinking of a life
of pained productivity
and he told himself
it was for the greater good
and he would be remembered
and it was all he needed

Inconsequential

You'll always be smaller,
than the distance
from the Earth to the Sun
And for my life and yours,
that's all that
really matters, anyway

Smellin'

Yesterday, someone strolled in
and when I approached
to offer the mandatory greeting
I was overwhelmed by it
That familiar scent
And for a moment
my legs stopped working
and I hesitated
took a moment to make sure
you weren't there
It's strange too
because thoughts of you
no longer illicit a response
like they used to
There's no more bitterness
I've sifted out the pearls
and disposed of the shell
But certain scents,
place you elsewhere
Where you don't want to be
And there's no resisting

Born to party...

Somehow,
he found himself there again
Perhaps, just thinking maybe
someone new would stand out
Disappointed again
They were all the same
The usual suspects
just wearing new masks
Scantily clad as usual
Saying, ready, willing, able
So many of them too
So many people
and he thought it strange
that he could be
so coldy alone
in such a full house
He tried to shake that
and lingered for a while
Hoping the stale air
would give way to spring
But he found his end
not long later,
said his goodbyes, and
drove home by his lonesome
The windows down
and the music soft, steady,
as he liked it with
the cool air of the night
He let the thoughts
creep back again,
just as before,
and they ate a little more
He considered each time
the mouthfuls grew larger

Nietzche

She liked that look in his eyes
That one which said
he'd seen something dark
An abyss,
and it had seen into him
She wanted to own it
To have that edge
But she wasn't familiar
with earning
So, she told her pa
she didn't like his terms
And she left
Crashed on some couches
Burned some bridges
Her phone stopped working
Started second guessing
The edge was sharper
than she thought
And then one evening
he saw her and asked,
if it felt as beautiful
as it looked
But, she offered nothing
Had seen no abyss
just the inside of her eyelids
Ignorant, as always,
and now embarrassed

Hey!

Hey, you
Yeah, you're the one
I've been looking for you
Such a sweet disposition
and the face to match

Listen if you can
this won't take long
I'll be honest with you
not just 'cause I can't lie

I don't feel the need
to tiptoe 'round the tulips
and I hate wasting breath
I think I'll take a chance

So, here goes
I'd like to date you
Yeah, I'd like that
To take you on a date

It could end there
if you'd prefer that
I just want to take a chance
to leave an impression, perhaps

I swear I'm not weird
it's just that
I don't see the point
in wasting time
and I don't want to pretend
that I'm not interested
Never saw the good in that

So, what do you say?

Crying

Is it true you never cry?
That's what she asked
out of the blue
and I laughed
No, I cry sometimes
I don't do it often,
but I've cried
Not for the same reasons
as you've weeped, though
I thought more of it later
I cried when
someone made a mistake
and killed my Queen
Fifteen years
she was with me
My only friend at times
We went through so much
He tortured her,
like he tortured me,
but we both persisted
She wouldn't leave me scared
I cried when she escaped
only for her to slither out
and right over to me
She had such a delicate face
And I was looking forward
to fifteen more,
but she let me know it was time
when she went
I had to fend for myself
And before that,
when I found Aztec
motionless and cold
No light left in those eyes
I picked up the phone
so frantic and crying
Mom came home right away,
even Dad showed up for a while,
and Aaron too comforted me
But they didn't understand
I wouldn't expect them to
Come to think of it
I don't even know
Perhaps, it's just that
they made me feel loved
because I loved them
and I made them comfortable
and they knew me best
I guess that's the thing

Poignant

Harry W. Greene has always been a hero of mine. This is an excerpt from an essay taken out of his book, Snakes: The Evolution of Mystery in Nature, in which he attempts to explain why he chose to study snakes for his profession. It's one of my favorite passages:
"At that time I had hoped to write about working as an army medic among the guys who had made it back from Vietnam, chance assignments having spared me, and about how their shattered limbs and faces still sadden me. I wanted to articulate vivid memories of automobile accidents and fatal house fires; of shooting and stabbing victims in dark, smoky bars; and especially of the faintly sour milk smell of an unconscious child, of gently puffing air into her mouth and pushing on her little chest, and finally collapsing in tears against a tile wall when the emergency room physician said she was gone. I imagined that my prose might honor a first lover and an influential teacher who each had been murdered, and that I would summom hope and gratitude for the squalling, healthy babies I had delivered. How obvious now that venomous serpents have been personal icons of danger, of life and death - as if in that crystalline moment when the fangs pierce another creature, I might finally understand my own fears and losses."

4-22-2010

Today, everything is so beautiful. The sun is at the right angle right now, and the shadows cast by the maples across the street are very lovely. And the customers have all been pleasant - even the seedy ones. I think it's because no one can resist happiness when sunlight hits the skin and warms it just so. I always loved that feeling. I think I'll make more days like this one.

Breadcrumbs

I think about her,
and try to grasp it,
or see from those eyes
that she passed down to me
Define the transitions
Calculate the curvature of the line
that led her to this point
A childhood marked by years of abuse,
and later, somewhere along that line,
she perpetuated it
Governed by irrational fear
But she found purpose,
in her independent daughter
and initially delicate son
While her men tried to repair her,
never knowing the great extent
of her past injuries
which only she could stitch
It was no one's fault
They couldn't fill the void,
and each of them crumbled
while she wilted like always
and fell back on her children
But today,
with her fledglings flown
She can't find her reason
or her way
Forgot to leave
the breadcrumbs
And, after all,
she looks in the mirror
every single day
and sees a victim
of circumstance

Like Twins

I brought him
to where we went
Those views in the palisades,
the same that enlightened us,
did not find him moved
He offered only complaints
Just inconvenient labors
and stones to stumble over
And don't find me wrong,
like the others do,
I wish only the best for him
But how is it, little brother,
that I thought him closer?
As if telling myself
that time spent
makes up for compatibility
But with you,
when it was all right,
thoughts of two would blur
and our minds would sync
together as one,
like twins separated
by clandestine schemes

Santa Rosa

This town
Pleasant little place
Every day rolls on by
looking like the last
Seems fair enough
But that pretender
named routine
it'll swallow you whole
It doesn't discriminate
Possesses no mercy
Never kills you clean
It'll wear you down
until your bones are meal
and your dreams
come only at night
Then not at all

Same Blood

That human condition,
well, for you
it just won't do
And each day,
as a magician,
you transcend
That's right
They made sure with you
Groomed for greatness
straight from the womb
I slipped underneath
Always fossorial
Never made them notice
Because potential is nothing,
but that
Well, hell, that's no pearl,
everyone's got it
I always knew that
And for me, you see,
it's there
The human element
Embittered mediocrity
Utterly impotent
That's why I always looked up,
even through the clouds
Past all the tricks
I saw, and,
you inspired me
Still do
And someday,
I'll reject it all
I promise
I'll find the animus
to inspire you too

Terpsichorean Tree

"That oak, she's a dancing lady," he said. And I could see her too; her gnarled limbs sprawling somehow gracefully out across the dewed meadow. Elegant, serene, calculated. It was past midnight, and the meadow was enveloped in fog and mysticism. The city lights were as orbs of dully glowing magma. It all aided in rendering us vulnerable to her. But upon closer inspection, resting in her arms, she was but a skeleton. Her foliage, once full and soft, had drifted away from her, not to return. Instead, her frame supported parasitic past lovers disguised as a yuletide novelty. She invited them once, and still carries them with her. Even in eternity - perpetually enamored.

Lion's Heart

Every day I consider
what you declared that night
when you found your courage
The blankets were ruffled
You sat upright
at my knee
While I lay down carelessly,
preparing to forget
the day's trials,
the night's tomfoolery
Embarrassed
Your feelings had not changed,
you said
And I said I knew
Oh, why must you love me?
Don't you know?
The same flaws that attract,
would also consume you
Just the same
as the forbidden nectar
traps the fly
And you,
you're most worthy
I know it
But something is lacking
in my heart
and I say I've nothing to offer
and I don't measure up
Bitter, uninspired
You've a lion's heart,
I could never fill it
Even though,
sometimes,
I look in your eyes
and can't help but smile
You do too
Even so,
I can't let it be
And no,
I can't explain,
because I don't understand

Fossorial

I consider her too often,
the pheasant girl,
as if she's the only one
Of course, she's not
There are the others
Those that actually recognize,
perhaps even love
And that's what I want, right?
But not them,
not now at least
It would be so lovely
for her to see me
But for all I know,
she does not
And not because I'm not right
I think I could be
and I'm not often wrong
Though, she doesn't know
How could she?
I'm invisible
I blend into everything
My outline is broken
against the background
She sees right past
All the worth,
the potential is nothing
if I do not make her see
But how?
How do I become visible?
Fossorial,
to one that looks
always to the sky.

Inclinations

These days I'm inclined to break away from civilization and sharpen sticks into spears; to leave behind my clothes and tan my hide in un-filtered sunlight; to quench my thirst in the streams bisecting fern-covered hillsides.
I'd like to nap in the dappled sunlight on a mossy oak limb, and forget about the preoccupations. I need to survey Earth's beauty from the mouth of a chasm or the crumbling edge of a cliffside; to feel the dirt in the ridges of my fingers and face; to hear the birds, and watch the lizards scurry from rock to rock, and see the trees dance to the tune of the wind.
I envision brushing the hair back from her face so that I may kiss her freckled cheeks and nose. We can lay in the mustard peppered fields among the mighty oaks and talk about the beautiful things, or not talk at all. Just sleep, humbled - her cheek upon my chest.