the cell

I'm having very

deep and meaningful

conversations with 

all of the furniture and

appliances in my home

they've each seen me

baring my body 

baring my emotions

baring all of my words

they laugh

         I hear them

the lock on the door

turns itself tighter

the mirror warps

the dresser is brown

and uninterested

I'm looking for the pattern

in the wood grain on the

floor

but it doesn't exist

I make my one phone call 

someone answers but says

nothing

I tell the silence everything

I hang up

I look at my empty hand

my phone is

on the charger

on the table

unmoved

the silence spreads

everywhere

I open a window

(Painting by Oliver Pavic on saatchiart.com)

ghostly visions

the bottle had already been broken,

smashed upon a beach post 

pieces scattered, chunks and

shards lost in the sand awaiting 

the innocence of unknowing feet

I held the crooked neck of it up and

admired the art of feeling shattered

until she walked up, out of the

blurs and ghostly visions she came

had I been sober I'd have thought

I was drunk, but I was drunk already

so she was as real as anything

she sat by my side, inquisitive and

leering, inviting me into the night

there was a pause of harm, a low

intensity bend of reason that came

had I continued I'd have severed

half of myself away from decency,

but luck took my hand and we ran

a flesh wound, a strange angel

saving me from my own horrible self

(Image from allpoetry.com)

on a jog

smell of wet

midnight street.

trust of movement

in isolation. fear of

barks in the distance

or just awareness of

their presence.

the stride. the breath 

in calm equations

continuously balanced.

I am.

moon from cloud. hazy

alabaster glow allows 

shadows dwelling in

pavement puddles. 

temporary lives of each

splash-shattered by foot.

endurance. repetition. 

nothing but time and

time and time. as

hollow cars pass. jaded

transients. swish and 

whispered gone. 

flickering neon occasionally

or abandoned abruptly. one

dangling streetlight. one 

flashing yellow hush.

one more mile. one

participant. no

spectators.

I am.

(Image from sportsister.com)

passing by

Autumn's whisper is 

telling

as the cold creeps in

lovers bring lovers 

a warm coat

and pull them in close

Nature adapts to change

swiftly

within silence, within violence

all things are called upon

to come and go,

to live while just passing by

(Image from michaelolson-photography.com)

broadcast

inception of a rally; 

quietly drape the arrival

the emergence

with contraceptive motives

its better this way;

sleeping eyes never awaken

never get exposed

to the finite truths

folly of dumb luck hearts;

tell the tall tale of love

to the weary

to the underachievers

smoke out the outspoken;

broadcast the lunatic's idea

from his asylum,

let the hungry be fed

(Top image from shutterstock, image below from michellesclutterbox.com)

bereft of a giddy up

tangled in the asinine balm

of frivolous words that drip

from my chin as if I were just

a babbling blathering infant

there's no salve solution for

wounds that keep opening,

for silly scrawls of suffering

and lopsided lethargic loving

a yawn into the wind wiping

watery eyes stinging rub-red

and I laugh a little at the fool

I've become through the years

how many lessons unlearned

learning to fail better, best

bereft of a giddy up in my step

stopping just shy of quitting

(Image from facebook)

between stars and self (my photos)

the world wrestles with

wires and connections

their hands have hands

wanting more and more

I seek isolation between

stars and self

and let whatever shall

enter me

enter me

places of sun

diamond-shine in the

early cut grass,

sparkles from the dew

sharp glare piercing

from the hood of my car,

a flash from the hubcap

rotting the apple's core,

heating the stink of carcass

along the side of the road

cozy on the turtle's shell,

sipped by the raven's beak

and thicker around the fish;

in between every shadow,

above and below

and around all sides

tan glow upon her chest,

softly to her cheek

and down to each leg

spying on your morning sex,

in a smile revealed before

the secret kiss goodbye

driving the beads of sweat,

exhaustion and anxiousness;

tragic in its own fortunate sky

(Settin Sun by Fran Rodriguez on inprnt.com)

a good mess

invisible, pretty

spinning sweetheart-blades

will shred you nice and fine

go ahead

stick your tongue out

stick your heart out

and tempt your fate

blood like a Pollock painting

all around the room

drop to your missing knees

as the carved points of

both femurs jab into the floor

laughter in flanging stereo...

  why dream when you can 

  stay awake and really suffer

Love dresses up as a mascot 

to cheer you on from the corner,

becomes the janitor after hours

and what a good mess you've 

made of yourself here

(Photo by kikujungboy on depositphotos.com)

journal-1

the guy in the condo above me is pissing again. he flushes and I stare at the ceiling... then at the wall... following the sound as it descends. its not quite the trickling stream in the peaceful woods effect, but its pretty in its own pvc pipe behind drywall sort of way

I'm eating a post-workout meal of peanut butter, a banana and a protein shake. a live version of "Bulls On Parade" by RATM is now blaring in my headphones. I get goosebumps when Zack screams "What's up Los Angeles!" and the crowd goes completely fucking nuts. that's some good goddam energy right there

it was a gray day today, overcast and warm. yesterday it poured while I was at the post office. I helped a lady get to her car with my umbrella (after yelling at myself for walking by her like an asshole without asking). she held my left arm with both hands and said  "thank you, god bless you." her husband in the van just nodded at me. my shirt got soaked on the right side but she stayed dry. my mail was all shit, pre-approved loan offers and bills

I need LASIK, every close word is a blur without glasses. I need hair dye, the grays are coming in. I need more masks. I need to get my car fixed. I need to write a poem tonight. I need to sleep better. does any poet or writer ever sleep well? I lie there trying to fall into the abyss but then some dumb-ass brilliant line comes into my head... and then what...? I'll tell you... the abyss disappears. a light is turned on. the bathroom light. I take a piss while sitting because I'm tired. I flush. I move to the couch and try to write. 

it usually turns out to be trash. sometimes its ok. 

(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

behind the slammed door

the night-heart shatters

a mind moves in recovery mode

rejoining the scattered pieces

some now have edges frayed,

they will not be the same again

the puzzle's never fully completed

but I'm wiser from the challenge

R naught

thrillsong filling

late-night air

as contagion, 

convergence

its R naught 

incalculable

exponential, raw

undisguised

turned on

turned over

turning the sweet song

into a wild engagement

flooding the room

noxious, infested

joining the choir as the 

chorus is repeating

(Image edited from theguardian.com)

invisible wishes

I have these

invisible wishes

in cupped hands

integral parts

of the whole 

that you can't see

a breath of doubt

steals one of the many

into the lungs

it diffuses into the 

blood and circulates 

like a knife

unable to break out

it reaches the heart

and adds to the killing

(Unknown source)

climbing walls

laughing at thoughts

and ridiculous scenarios,

pathetic a)muse(ment,

my own

I am turning down

the wrong avenue

in a millisecond mile

I was touching you

but then I wasn't as

my hand turned numb

he entered, I escaped

to the cliff, to the edge

where the night is freeflight

there is no below

only up, only away

how I beg for sanity, but

know I'll never recognize it

inside this tumbling box 

every surface is a wall to climb

(Gif from wattpad.com)

a moment for love (a collaboration with Angie)

soft caresses down your body

but not with hands, with words.

its how I've survived from this

aching distance, waiting for you

patiently, strolling this shoreline,

always so east of where you are

  me beside you, an endless dream

  I grasp precious time with every breath

  waiting each day for your words

  to reach my anxious eyes and ears

  acutely aware, my yearning desires

  so I send love letters, blow kisses your way

these cross country winds, how

they roll over the western mountains

and plow through the plains and

surge across the rivers, bringing you

here, into me. I inhale and fill myself

with absent but vital love and longing

  beneath the heavens of stardust,

  your eastern sunrise, my western sunset

  through miles of mountains and plains,

  a beautiful symphony emerges,

  lingering inside my head, your voice.

  I reach for it, preparing my approach

O love! kill this time and distance between

us. don't you hear me?  I am screaming... 

be here with me! embrace me wholeheartedly. 

I rise like the daily sun from the Atlantic

with warmth to greet you, forever eager.

reach and I will grasp, never letting you go

  you offer yourself, while I extend

  my love, longing for your sun and star,

  the need for closeness burning immensely.

  heart of shell, strung across beating chest,

  I carry east, replacing absence with

  chance - a moment for love to blossom

{My words in regular font, Hers in italics}

{Letters written by Angie}