Friday, August 20, 2010

simple and unopened (written in 2009)

I am only me
simple and unopened
two hands and wrists heavy from heart scarred sleeves
two left feet that keep stumbling into the wrong headspace of thought
rationally the words of space and time should fall upon a sympathetic ear
but the angry reds of swollen eyes are screaming at me to adhere to my own internal rules.

I am only me
simple and unopened
two eyes that dig deep and burrow into your secrets
two arms that hold too tightly to foolish promises of romantic notions
disposing of my jaded thoughts with sling shots of dismissed comments
but the fear that creeps besides me shadow boxes all attempts to rise above

I am only me
simple and unopened
two lips that tell too much and too quickly to remember
two ears that hear the negative like surround sound from the best seats of the house
idealistic and imperfect dreams and desires painted with oil slicks upon a blank canvas
but without vision the color bleeds to muddled brown to paint with shades of gray

after this you may need a cigarette... (originally written in 2006... warning family members, its more R rated than my other stuff)

with the twisting of the rhythm of the nighttime lighting
you can drop drippings of a candle if you dont leave marks.
well unless they are hidden,
for office politics require a bit of delicacy.
yet delicacies of flesh forgotten from months of indifference
back turning on someone well hidden in doorways electronic.
its easy to be anonymous when noone can see you lurking behind that two way mirror,
where we're watching things start entwining like limbs and lips and tongues.
do you think you could make me speak like that or
testify or maybe sing a halleluia
from the back of my throat that comes out too throaty for anything holy. perhaps if you held wrists twisting one handed turnaround with shoulder blade biting
you could make an assumption of the tone of my thought processes that are like cutting into a sort of sweet cake like softness perhaps.
voyeuristic tendencies makes me want to tripod this moment or
maybe we'll just exercise the boundaries of speech
more affective than touching but licking down that side of my shoulder may prove more conducive to the worries in your mind of what comes next.
second guessing if i'm flinching wont get you to any type of finish line, yet your hidden glimpses of such sensitivity sort of crawl down my back arched spine,
closed hand on the jugular makes you feel the pulse you should be feeding, speeding, leading into the backwards sighs of sweat drenched lines surrounding open minds drifting .

Pass the Gravy (originally written in 2006)

Leave me uninspired.
Pillowcase still damp from another emotional
While watching
Of bad sitcom television designed to
Play off my own abandonment issues
Like the issues of time gracing my
Glass top coffee table, stacking
Ready to tip into a precarious situation
If only the canyon cut between us
Could be filled with water
Or sand or a rope bridge could be built
To close the gap
And seal the problems that
Turned me into a jigsaw puzzle
Noone has been able to put back together
In 30 minute increments
Intervals of conflict – resolution
we all live happily ever after
Much better than
We all go tumbling down

You remind me too much of him

churns my stomach
Like old fashioned butter
I filled the pauses of your words
With my own ideals and
Inserted my own aspirations
Into the cold motel vacancies of your mouth
As you could never be so inspired
Creating you to be what
I painted by number
Careful to stay in the lines
Creating you to be my masterpiece
My Pygmalion

But the fun house pictures
They never represent
Any of the honest breaths escaping
My parted lips
But the distortions of body
They never represent
Any of the legitimate longings
Of my weighted crown
That tilts just off center
Making my shoulders sag invisibly
Making my neck tilt at that
Odd acute angle

The man on the stage sang
And the words traveled from his mouth
To hit me in the face
Leaving a red handprint
Handing me a playing card that says

Do not leave me
Let me love you

But I keep upacking his suitcase
Like I did that day in January
Looking out from adolescent eyes
Drowning in a pinstrip shirt that smells of starch
And your aftershave
Unsure of my hero worship
Obvious disillusionment of
Such clich├ęd patriarchal let downs
let downs masking put downs
That wont let me pick myself up for
Fear that I will realize

I never
Needed you at all.

That seems more tragic than the
Sad brown eyes you see from
Without ever really seeing me
You’ve created me from
Your opinions of what you do not have time for
On your grid of whats important
What is an asset
To your own existance
But I will drive to sit beside you
On your left,
but not your right
And I will pass the food and say the graces
In attempts to Saving our good graces
cease invisibility perhaps

I would like you to be thankful
For my need to see a psychiatrist

For driving an hour to sit on your left
For keeping your shirt hanging in my closet
Thinking you may claim it

Monday, August 16, 2010

broken record

the ground rises and wraps around black mary janes
swamp swell and sinking ankle deep in some sort of molasses type undertow of seeping feelings drawn on butcher paper with crayola crayons
my lines keep smearing and blurring on the paper
wonder why everyone can run by so fast
tip toes and two steps while holding hands and blowing kisses at me from their peripheral vision
direct eye contact can be uncomfortable sometimes
exposing broken bits and fractured phrases
gluing together pieces of my heart and
trying to sew back in the guts of it
like forgotten teddy bears with lost buttons eyes and torn stiching
little girls are supposed to know better
when it comes from taking candy from strangers
sometimes turning down that moment of sweet satisfaction
seems too difficult to muster the strength
now lost, again in deep wooded forests without a path
head slightly tilted to squint and spot where the moon and stars should be
all has burnt out like broken nightlights
blurring memories of how you remind me so much of when he left
brings me back to the thick of it
screaming betrayals and frozen feet that refuse to budge
the ground rises and wraps aroud black mary janes
deja vu dancing again and again, and again,
and again

Sunday, August 15, 2010


throwing emotional sucker punches
scattering my pages
spitting words out like broken teeth
bouncing off cold concrete
throwing silent body blows to the inside of my chest
knocking the wind from me
making tattered rhymes spill from me
collecting in pools of blood
mingling, mixing with
water and and oil and sweat and grease
painting grotesque rainbows out of memorized speech
my bruises are worn outward, out of anger
out of context i seem bitter
out of order i've done better
left to watch from a distracted audience
to scratch feverish rhymes
in defiance of time
writing your name on the back of my mind
i wrote for you a thousand lines
but you never wrote a song about me

Thursday, August 12, 2010

return of the nighthawk

the nighthawk is returning
to perch protectively upon my walled defenses
he will look down over that which i have placed my flag
my world, illustrated by the color by numbers of my perspective
surveys the landscape for roadblocks and hazards
waits to attack if needed
if necessary
the nighthawk is returning
to live presumptively upon my coat of arms
he will offer caution when i cannot see through the fog
keeping my eyes from the ground to the sky upwards to heavens
flying low
where i can see him.

Monday, August 9, 2010

to be awake

silent words stay swallowed
by propriety and
proprietary information is kept locked up in vaults
stonewalled tightly within a blank expression
fears take a firm grasp on my tongue
second guesses second guess themselves
twisting my thoughts into a bermuda triangle of expressing myself honestly
would want to say these lovely words to you that dance from brain to ear
to pen to paper
rather to pour you some expensive bourbon
and see how it goes
liquid courageous and monumental moments in my mind
when allowed to take shape fall flat against the reality of things
silent words stay swallowed
like some sick medicine
i dose myself with not good enoughs and
self inflicted insult tonics
to find solace in thinking i will fail
when what i'd rather do is a far more sinister delicacy
to wrap you up in my inappropriate thoughts for one evening
to persuade you to see my way
through my eyes and into my decadent dreams
where your lingered breath on the base of my neck
is a moment too long to be accidental

Thursday, August 5, 2010

future roads

This poem is about you
about the way I feel when your proximity cuts to within twelve inches
about waiting for your hand to move to mine
it is about wondering if you are wondering about me
at this moment
as well and alongside an empty chair
it is a question if you will take it upon yourself to call
it is a question if you will take it upon yourself to write
This poem is about you
about where you are right now while I am here at this computer screen
about how long it is going to take for our personal space to intermingle
about time passing
about a story of a boy who hasnt met a girl
at least not yet
a road to be travelled by matching well worn converse
towards each another
This poem is about you
it cannot describe the way you smell when your arms surround me
it cannot trap the sparkle in your eye when I have caught you laughing
but it can be a love letter to a concept
consider it an invitation to find your way across cities and roads to me
my intuition has given me warning
whoever you are
This poem is about you