Orienteering

a week of this

there is no time

break already

wash up on

someone’s shore

there’s sand

again

let us breathe

do not

insist on where

we sit or eat

sight-seeing

only sees so much

was this enough

for you alpha,

was this

an acute start

omega?

have we found

the fix

have we dug

up enough skulls

is there an

answer that I’m

still looking for

teacher preacher

mr doctor sir

I’m here aren’t I

let the learning

start, now

advice of the dating doctor

every day we smother

forced conversations

in absence

proximity was by far fonder

(a hmm surfaces)

close to home we fall

for others

(we can kiss)

we are quick we are cordial

close to home

an ordinary act of kindness

arises at an unexpected hour

where you’re on your own

where reunions are passionate

where someone else

is too there with us

Infatuation suffers.

and you begin to forget

how wonderful they are

(what was it that I fell for)

Out Of The Sky, Into Whatever

Mountain ridges etched

Into your cold ring of keys,

Each one slightly different.

The sky is one big lock,

Don’t you think so?

When you look so longingly

At snowball clouds,

Gathering steam as they roll along,

Aren’t you the least bit curious

About what’s inside?

The merry-go-round rain,

All the puddles of flames

That drip from the centre.

Or do you still distinguish

A difference between the door

That takes you in,

And the door that stings your eyes

As you leave your paradise?

Rehab

Word play impresses no one,

I miss you real bad.

The list of challenges

barricading my every door

flows like a constant stream,

am I drowning

and have you forgotten me?

I've forgotten how to make my bed.

My friends have no names,

meaning I've forgotten them.

Sometimes I catch a flutter

of words drifting by,

and I grab at them

like some moron at a 3-D film,

before realizing it was just a whisper

escaping your lips,

and that all the pretty colors I'm seeing

are just memories, real and here

with me now, teaching my life

to me one impulse at a time.

When There Are No Others

Ghosts dwell beneath hollow sidewalks,
The sound the ground makes
When everything ends with a scream
Rustles them like white leaves.
I’ve always wanted to crawl
Into a tomb and discover a new face.
Everywhere I go, headstones—
Splintered bones make great kindling
For those too-alone nights.
But for the vacant stretch of day,
The long tunnel that sweats and shines,
There isn’t much you can do about it,
Except continue walking over bricks,
March, traipse, tread and stomp,
And maybe one of those faces
Will someday wake up.

the tropical eye

low tide and everyone's saved

balloons get lost in the wind

children climb over bridges

which are actually trees

causing headlines for blocking

a very high profile intersection

a raindrop

spiders down from the mezzanine

tall-faced windows are cloudy

the grey sky is one huge mirror

with one huge eye in the center

watching, waiting, wandering inside us.

I Realized On The Silver Line Just How Much Was Really Happening

This is your life

streaking past you,

flashing all around,

flash, flash, flash,

your life, your life.

This is your life

when you trade sleep

for trick candles,

when you lean your head

backwards and forget

you're fast moving

on a still-life subway.

This is your life

struggling at this moment

in time, this is your life

which at the moment

is a statistical anomaly,

this life that you can't remember.

This is your life

on drugs, this is your life

on girls, this is your life

strapped to a train and moving

inbound, or outbound,

depends on the vantage point.

This is your life

peeling back the curtain,

melting the snow,

spinning flashing, nightmare

of your life, this is your life

learning to let go.

in the South Bay

in the South Bay with words

pouring down everywhere

i nearly had an aneurysm waiting

for a taxi, watching those cars

speed through each other, weaving

in and out of compact spots

there's ice on my breath

a whirlwind is on its way

i am not ready to see these streets

swallowed by water

or see these young, stick-like trees

get snapped and bullied

and dropped on the curb like a penny

in the South Bay with shopping bags

i just got here and i'm staying tomorrow

12-stories high where the rain is hard,

the bibles are well-stocked

and i've got nothing but a light and some letters

which you should be getting

sometime soon

The Sendoff

At dawn the boats skip shore.
Bring your family if you’d like.
Bring your friends if you’re sure
They want to see you off.
An entire ceremony has been choreographed
To ensure that they remember you.
When the maestro counts down from three,
Mangoes will explode
And all the trees will turn into tears.
It’s going to be quite a show.
It must seem like this is happening suddenly.
But we’ve known since you were born,
This is one more thing you cannot change.

I Spoil The Future

If all our fields should ungather
The seeds we so happily sowed,
And the long-awaited sunrise
Retreats into a backroom of clouds,
There would be nothing left to learn.
We would still be alone and gated,

No wind would ever have ever glided
Through our lungs,
No rough torrent would ever rock
The foundations of our hearts.

Roots that reach deep
Into the softness of dirt
Would never reach a hidden spring,
If such a place existed.

Fortunately we met, we do meet,
All we’ll do is meet and meet again.

Things I’ll say in Boston

Oh what pretty lights tonight
I have nothing to say about my hair
How often do you read
Honestly I’m not here for this

I greatly enjoyed his use of language
How often do you leave this place
One ticket’s fine

It's all about her hair, man, her hair
Everyone talks about how nice letters are but notice nobody writes them
What time could it be tonight
Will you be awake when I get back

A Reminder Written In Tired Urgency

Does anyone have a coaster,

It's an urgent request.

There's an urgency surrounding

Your late night emergency call,

Your midnight light for a lift,

Your thrashing in darker waters.

I'm thinking of you elsewhere,

Oh ripped wing fairy,

Frozen in a garden of statues.

Elsewhere I am moving toward you.

And from other points of view,

I am too much of a saint for you:

Well, and you are too much of an angel

For such a malice as this world.

The world that I waver on to and fro,

And that is here to protect you from itself.

Please Don't Cry

If you could look at me

You'd know that I'm torn.

Inside of me something stirs

That sinks the most massive of ships.

But it keeps me still,

Rooted in the smooth, black pavement,

Where I carry away your tears

However long ago that was, I guess.

I've kept them, you know.

My fingers emptying out their

Droplets of crystals,

Like silver venom out of a snake.

And if the holding tank runs dry,

Lift your head toward the sky,

And maybe it'll be raining in Boston.

no escape

woke up with my pants off

and that was okay

it felt right to nearly be naked

legs bare folding blankets

gathering glasses

cleaning up the mess I made

today was natural

i felt no shame

i played many video games

and forgot about goodbye

forgot about many things

but only until passing

the origin of their love

every path

leads to a hidden home

every river leads to the ocean

Public Announcement

Please excuse my disposition

for an undetermined amount of time,

you see I've recently had an accident,

I've lost someone, you see,

it was all over the papers, and the internet,

they asked me for a full length interview

and I declined, of course,

since nothing I could ever say will bring her back,

there's no point in that anymore.

So please, excuse my disposition,

excuse my scowl and excuse my speech,

it's temporary, it's a shallow cut

with a lot of blood, I'm still cleaning up.

A Handful Of Tears

I lasted until the end of the driveway
Before I felt everything coming down.
I knew those notes were going to haunt me,
That every time they reached my ear,
I would remember you perfectly as you were.

Everything up until then was roses,
Another page of fiction brought to life.
But sadness comes with a single turn,
And with you gone now,
No trains or bridges can comfort me.

I watched you walk through the door
That I cannot follow.
My own, I cannot see through the stars—
Those friends I have not lost,
Who I will not have to kiss goodbye.

Memory lane is nothing to walk alone.
Especially when it trails into darkness,
Winding through white waters,
Arriving to this infinite clearing,
Where every moment of the present

Becomes a living testament
To the lives we’ve led and hands we’ve held.
You are the all of my summer—
This was something worth caring about.
You are someone worth sharing.

I would ask if this was over yet,
But nothing’s over while it still stings.
The hair binder circling my wrist
Grows tighter, carrying proof
That I once laid next to you.

Stillwater lay my head to rest,
Your nights have sent me spinning
Since I can remember being happy.
How can you be only five minutes
Down the street and still be away?

How will this couch carry my body,
When I still carry such hopeless dreams?
You’ve gone silent again,
Except this time not to think about the future,
This time not to think of me.

I’ve run myself out of words to say.
This is my greatest sadness.
The only things surrounding me now
Are brilliant flashes of your face;
Whispers of a coming change.

Something To Hold On To

When you wake up the morning after

The night of your sad disaster,

You will wake up with a clearer nose,

Smelling all the colors of the rose.

The Meetup

The last words we said to each other
Were that we would do well to never meet.
Surely you remember,

We agreed also that we would do well to remember.
I think we remember you’ve got perfect memory.

I fear you’ve been taken hold of something
That for months has dragged me.
If you are who you’ve claimed to be,

And you’ve never admired the thought of love,
Then you have no business with me here.
Feel free to loosen the knot as you leave, you’re free.

The Infallible Condition of Heartbreak

There is a distinct discourse
Running through my veins.

One half feeds off each other’s misery,
Leaving my body in chains.

Who besides can tell what dwells
In the inner workings of the heart,

Which faces tend to illuminate space,
Which emotions bleed apart.

Girl From A Summer's Fair

If you’re traveling to the still water fair,
Where the grapes hang heavy on the vine,
Remember me to one who lives there,
For she once was a true love of mine.

If you go when the moon is veiled,
Where the rivers rage and summer ends,
Please see for me that her smile stays warm,
To always keep her beside her friends.

Please see for me that her hair hangs in curls,
A golden wave washed down her breast,
Please see for me that her hair hangs in curls,
For that’s the way I remember her best.

Many times I used to look to the stars,
I'd fold my hands and softly pray,
That she'd never forget my heart,
That we'd never walk our own separate ways.

So if you’re traveling to the still water fair,
Where the sun sinks slow on the valley line,
Remember me to one who lives there,
For she once was a true love of mine.

once a whole summer's ago

the beach after dark is an open place,

with dark ribbon waters weaving,

and ducks nestling in for the evening,

and the cloudy sky against your face.

have you seen where you have taken me,

through thick grasses and empty streets,

down to where the hands of the river meet

the smooth of your palm and shivering sand.

the cold is not too with us yet,

let the balmy air of autumn wash us,

pray the virtuous strings of reason guide us,

let us be awake and warm without regret.

could you welcome me into your wondrous home

as you first did so many stars ago

and when another summer passes we'll know

to be in love, or be alone.

open wide the window

morning from night is an eye's close away,

like a step across a pond,

like a stone straight into lake superior.

in August the trees make no noise

but the gentle noise of here and there

that comes with being a tree.

all of the cars on the street are parked.

all the grass is at your attention.

and you have nothing to fear now

no one is counting down the days

and if you should find someone who is

know that they only care too much.

Morning Streams

In the making of dreams,

There is a protocol

Which we unwillingly follow.

They take care of the bulk,

They prop the frame,

They bend and snap it

To its serpentine shape.

And after all the rivets,

Bolts and screws have been sewn,

They flow a river through it.

They are more bountiful

Than all the trees of the woods,

And their craft more beautiful

Than all the plied steel of this world.

But before the work is finished,

And their small, dim candles go out,

They wait for us to make it our own.

Whatever colors or striking senses

Will dye the river, they wait.

No time to build a ship, they wait—

For us to go wading through it.

A Worn-Out Observation

A shower could not wake me

Or make me clean.

Water was abundant, in glasses,

though some of it seems days old.

Funny how that doesn't matter much

when it comes to water.

Sort of like how it doesn't matter much

after seeing your face

that I haven't seen something warm

in too much time, blank as a chalkboard.

The Rest Of What I Was Meaning To Say Back At Home

I was always afraid to watch you leave.

I knew there would be a gesture,

Possibly grandiose, or bland,

In which you rest upon my cheek

Your delicate hand.

In no possible measure

Were our sighs and locks of hair

Ever put to rest. We froze

Apart, thinning into autumn's air,

Having only glanced the face

Of a violet rose. So from where

Did we choose to pursue

The roads of Indiana, the carts

Of a Boston avenue?

At what spark of a kiss,

Or from which vast, looking point

Did we choose to settle down there?

When out of fear,

We let apart our tender hold,

And let crack the dam of doubt,

And let uncertainties unfold

Into where you stand from me now.

Springs and valleys apart.

Where we smile, somehow.

Where we watch nights compress.

Where we see aging birds.

Where we see sunflowers mourning.

Where we watch a storm of words.

Where you feather like some white swan,

Where I stand on only one foot.

Sorry, I got carried away by a cloud.

I meant to say earlier

That it was painful to watch you leave.

There. I just gave myself away to you.

You're free to rip my heart,

Lay on my shoulder, just think of me.

Ju Ju Cocktail

You're an undeniable ocean.

The balboa tree is bleeding,

Bark peeling like clementines.

It's no clandestine torture

To wrap yourself in skin,

Where the madness swells

Like an overgrown wraith.

Your facepaint is dripping.

The trembling deep scathes

Even the most menacing fish.

Beware of their pretty lights.

Beware of good-hearted divers.

They'll beat the madness out of you,

And steal away your first child.

sorry for being late

i sit sip

wait for tock tick

to leave late

and drive straight through

an hour of exits and diners

unending cars weaving

under an unyielding sky

i would knock wait

but since i am always late

you are watching for me

out the enormous window

and i'm sorry that i happen to like it that way.

Welcome To Disneyland

We knew from the second

You walked through our gates.

We expected more scars.

Take a snooze under the sun.

As for that huge fire in the valley,

We created that.

No worries, it's just a trick of the light.

Nothing escapes from our reach.

Everything you see here,

Every teacup and every stone

And every crimson cheek,

Shuts down after midnight.

We need someone out there.

Grab a flashlight.

If you make love, make it quick.

If you see a ghost, give it our best.

to harm is human

to lie on stakes is a trial worth bearing,

to sing with no tongue is merely a test.

to manufacture scenery isn't caring,

though we're all artists and do our best.

one bleeds, needs, chokes and churns,

afraid even in dreams to pray goodbye.

to harm is human at every narrow turn,

though to heal requires two sets of eyes.

Deluge

Crows slowly gather outside of my house,

Anxious for gimlets, the proof of cleansing,

While I lie whole inside, waiting for water

To stroke my arm. If I meant any harm,

Then surely I would be able to breathe.

It is the month of leaving, I am weak.

There is nothing to argue with, no face

To blow smoke into. I will have to fight

With my fate at a less desperate time.

Or at least when my dreams are sweet.

Surely you must know some secret cure,

You've been holding out on me. What is it?

If it's loneliness then I no longer wish to know.

Perhaps a hollow promise, or a different pillow.

Regardless I have no more smiles for visitors.

I am snapping off addictions like limbs

From my little body. My bed like a table

Where everyone comes to operate on me.

They glue together my crushed-glass eyes.

They spread medicine on my wretched thighs.

Worst is you have not come back for me.

I wait with flowers in my dreams, but you are

In the wilderness, where you cannot watch.

Watch me slowly by the hour get better.

Watch me rock to sleep forever, forever.

Rotary Springs

You ought to spend some time away.

Find yourself, or some reflection

Of yourself that doesn't rattle.

It's like a battle in there.

Your heart is a high-security bank,

And if anyone took one look

Into it, they would duck and cover.

There aren't enough fallout shelters

To protect your horde of friends.

Everything carries on in you,

Like photosynthesis in reverse,

Like a windmill on a treadmill.