The Situation is Beyond Morality

2009-04-27T19:35:00.001-07:00

Can you see me?

Sound

2009-03-02T13:45:00.001-08:00

If now I'm dreaming
Standing still in time
Draped in a revolutionary coat
Static-cloved wishes
Swirling perfect squares
Around me like fireflies
Another hole in the coffee cards
Finding the incessant reminders
Deafening
Running
Cold dead wedding invites
Shifting
Violent beautiful
I'm drowning in a sea
Of rafts
Pushing
Behind me is the fire
Ahead of me is the clock
With hateful logic
Blossoming
Into perfect ornamental screams
I am a man/
Standing on the greenest of night
With a tree to my left
The north star falling
Burning
This vision of myself
Saving the world with a flower
While I am burning

Witness me
Witness me
Witness me
Burning

Xibalba

2009-02-23T10:00:00.000-08:00

Remember me, if you will,
Like an open window on an August drive west,
Or the inveterate boy stamping his feet,
Never wanting the afternoon nap.
Maybe as the 9 pm arrival to the 7 pm party,
As the empty gaze from the back of the room,
Or the arms on your shoulders under July fire,
With all of the intensity of the blue sky flowers above.
Carpet-faced, bored, trapped in front of screens,
Wild-eyed knave so pleased to meet you,
As the smell of the shirt as you draw it down,
Like your favorite looking book you never read.
The last cigarette lighter tucked in your pocket,
The invisible friend that only you believe in,
The pile of papers that never get filed,
The prayer you say out loud but don't mean.
The hanging map,
The night stand,
The second album,
The worst,
The best,
The so-so, but not that great.
Poet
Architect
Philosopher
Artist
King
Prince
Pauper
Strong
Scared
Scarred,
Full of hope
Full of shit
The jester
The judge
The beginning
The end.

Remember me, as you will,
With all of the brightness of your dreams.

Consumption

2009-02-19T22:18:00.000-08:00

What fleeting solace we have
With our arms draped peacefully
Across the never-was.

With half-drawn solitude
Peering paranoid black
Above the world outside.

There is a heart
Inside this tomb
There is a love
Inside this heart.

Whatever you want me to be.

2009-02-07T13:57:00.000-08:00

Rage against this life
Hate for what its done.
Rage against this world
Love across a knife

Give me one more goddamn day
To be alone with you.
Give me one more passing hour
To say what I can say.

The last apostle writes
Poems on softened wood.
The first prophet lies
Poems on hardened minds.

Borderline

2009-01-24T20:50:00.000-08:00

I'm right here
Awake and alive
Next to the tree
Eternally stunted
So if you ever wonder
Where I could be
I'm right here
Awake and alive
Always the same
Immature fuck.

Lying Sideways, Half Asleep, Typing

2009-01-20T02:07:00.000-08:00

Ithnk that itsa sin thef eereckles in or eyes are rpefrctly aligned and godhimself did makeusinto coresponding piecesait may seemlike stretchtroubledhead when your away mwne i am missing yout od odeath when your out therer ont eh road.everthnig looks perfedctfrom far way dcome down now thats frankly will not fly you will her thes hfirllest highas ansd lowest lows theyw illseus waving from suchg reat heights comedown ow theyll says say

Dusk

2009-01-09T01:47:00.000-08:00

There is a time, sudden and quick
Just before the sun falls asleep
And the moon breathes its first breath
When the world stops and wonders
What happens to us next.

There's a traveler that I know
Who carries a yellow soft lantern
That guides him over sun-burnt hills
And through the shadowed forest,
He knows each of us by name.

A blanket warms a newborn
A sheet covers a tired body
And the world takes no notice
Until the moment the sun falls asleep
And the moon breathes its first breath.

Heater Bees Hurt

2008-12-12T21:23:00.000-08:00

This grave December wind
Insults me like school-aged
Children calling me different names
For being overweight.

I remember once upon a time
When snow-filled pre-Christmas
Nights never worried me much
As I returned home to the warm.

"We all carry around this hurt"
My father used to say
Or maybe he didn't,
I just wanted a father who would.

There's not much in this life
To complain about as long as
You are alive, and able
To grow a little more.

But its just this sting
At the back of my throat
Like an ornery bee sticking hard
Every time I say your name.

Archive I

2008-12-10T11:31:00.000-08:00

I have been reviewing lately some of the poetry that went unpublished during the more difficult times of my life. I am not at all proud of the quality of these poems (I think they could very well be journal entries - the only thing that makes some of them poems is that the sentences are all on different lines), but I figured in the name of courage, of self-expression, I will start releasing some of them.

This poem, entitled, "Glass Painted Silver" was written by me in December of 2006.

Everyday I step out from the shower
Rub the mist off of the mirror
And take a look at myself.

I cannot help but find that something is gone.

I take an inventory:

Two arms.
Two legs.
One head.
One body.

I turn my gaze to the side,
Trying to get a better view.
What has gone away from me?
What has left my side?

I wish that I could say.
That a day goes by.
When I don't disappear
My being turns to mist.

Is it your voice or the wind creeping through the shades?

And now I stand shriveled by the lake
Looking to where the sky meets the water -
The gray overcast sky condemns my weakness.

My scarf blows gently behind me in the wind.
Pointing in the direction of where you are.

My face is cold but heart is warm
With the memory of your touch.

Something so special, so small.
Sometimes I thought I could fit you in my pocket.

And as I count on all fingers and toes
The ways that I could have done things better.

The ways that I could have held onto your love.
The ways that I could have built you a home with my hands.

I realize more and more everyday.

That it was not mine to have.
It was never mine to hold.
That I was a stranger in a strange land

And so I take off my scarf, red now.
And smell it once more.

And I let it flow into the lake.
Wrapping around my hand just once more as it escapes

Before it dances on the wind
Disappearing into the infinite horizon.

And then I scream out louder than ever before;

Goodbye!

Maybe one day I shall see her again.
Maybe one day she shall love me again.

And maybe one day too, the scarf will return
And wrap itself around my neck.

Guest Post

2008-12-09T23:13:00.000-08:00

Hello again everyone and welcome back to my boring old blog format. The sweet layout with the tree in the background and the sleek little white headings took a turn for the awful the other day when the server that was hosting the pictures decided that it needed me to upgrade to Photobucket Pro if I wanted to keep the background. Because I'm not even interested in upgrading to Photobucket Amateur, I declined the offer...So here we are, back to my old website, this time featuring a background that is the color of poop.

Nevertheless, content has always reigned supreme here, and pushing that content edge even further towards perfection, I have once again offered a friend the opportunity for a guest post. All the way from his studies in the United Kingdom, born and bred Stateside in the great city of Seattle, I present a piece of my friend Everett's poetry. He is mildly interested in becoming a regular poster, so please give him feedback if you like it, and perhaps we can see some more good ones from him in the future.

"Picking Daisies" by Everett Durham

The mood of tonight's electric
As I step cleanly on the scene
Preened self to perfection
With streetlights flashing green.

I'm Dirty Harry with a gun
I'm Vlad with blood-fanged bite
I'm advertised as fresh and fun
I am the dog and fight.

My movements are intentional
My anarchy, thousand proof
Anything but conventional
We'll take the corner booth.

Show me all your women
36
C
Five foot
3
Everyone but
me
Is wishing
they're for free

Eloquent deception
Tailor made hooks
Evangelized reception
I know all of the books
Immaculate conception
Sex is made of looks.

Religion

2008-12-07T23:31:00.000-08:00

The phoenix rises, panicked
Completely invested in this moment
With you held close to me
Arms tangled into my body
Like shackles
You're trying to stay with me
But your head tilts back
And your hair hangs in quantum perfection
As you stare at the steel blue halo
Encircling the shadowed room
And wonder what its like
To be any less alive than this
Your voice betrays you
As sounds of your submission
Erupt and before you know it
You have laid yourself before me
And served as witness
To my cosmic dominance
As you stare into the fire
Burning angry from my eyes
You begin to notice angels
Wings emerge from behind me
And you are just so relieved
That I am so powerful
Even though your deepest fear
Is that I was among those
Eternally cast down.

Faster Now

2008-11-24T19:41:00.001-08:00

If by followed you are swept away
And find God's armistice broken
Like dawn through harmless night
Or Lancelot's sword through bronze
Call out to me with your arms stretched
Like a child abducted at a summer's fair
And beg me to save you and your safety
As you tunnel away into the middles
And forget you ever knew me.

Thanatos

2008-11-17T00:06:00.000-08:00

Keys dangled from his hip
Filling up my sight, shrieking bloody murder
But,
Consequently,
Just out of my reach -
So -
Slinking back into my cell
Now eyeing the bread and water
(Poor bread and water)
Upon the blood drizzled floor
My beard is the circles in a tree stump
The valuable pieces of me locked away
Hidden treasures in my heart
Pushing involuntary cries to the surface -
Cries like madmen in asylum -
Keep me grinding my teeth at night
Weighing me down in cells.

Breathe.

Wistful thinking faintly remembers now
The sound of snow crunching beneath
As I followed dutifully my evaporating breath
My only guide

(italics) Pause.

As I purge my extroversion
Imagining that for once I can be happy on this walk
All by myself
Hands wedged deep in pea coat pockets
With shoulders hunched forward
Thoughts trailing behind
Never quite in the moment
Freedom is the apple
The bite is my memory
Rushing toward ecstasy,
New solar systems,
The afterlife.

queue - explosion.

Puzzles.

2008-11-15T14:07:00.000-08:00

I used to stare at her face
The way a toddler looked at words
Or how a mechanic looks at piano keys.
With the least bits of my understanding.

This summer love grows cold and dim
Cruel like wicked stepmothers
As it wastes away to evermore
With the last specks of childhood lost.

Adulthood is an unwanted invader
Into this paradise of youth
And my soldiers poor suited to defend
WIth the last pieces of my armor.

My Life is a Cell

2008-11-10T09:44:00.000-08:00

This wealth of solitude
A burning man on a pyre
Crying out in fury
To be put out of his misery.

The end of another season
Brings no hope for the next
Drifting away like leaves
Buried by January snow.

The great dream remembered
Of a hundred African suns
The orphanage in the rain
The quilt made out of passing.

Brilliant brilliance wasted
On a mind reduced to ashes
With thoughts of tortured victims
And phalaenopsis orchids.

To be a Man

2008-11-04T01:25:00.000-08:00

While all the females wax poetic
On the romanticism and grace,
The glory that is "being a woman,"
All that men have are beer commercials,
Tim Allen Home Improvement Grunts,
And Firebird pistons rioting in summer.

So pardon me while I grab this mic
And brush away the politics,
Political correctness, and pettiness
To let you in on the deep dark secret
Of what it is to be a man
During this unstoppable revolution of She.

A man is the tip of a cigarette
Smoldering in the rain
Simmering with fire down beneath
Burning away in ziggurat circles
While he gives pleasure away in breaths
As he is casually sucked away.

Or maybe he is the hook
On the end of an August fishing line
Waiting patiently at the bottom
For even the slightest pull or nibble
Dangling on a translucent string
Of weighted tensile strength.

Certainly man is the lawn sprinkler
Spitting out life in each direction
Fed from a hose hiding in the grass
And stored away for long winters' rest
Only to be replaced after two short years
By the one with a wider radius.

But really, man is the crease
On the opposite side of the elbow
That wraps around you tight
And waits for you to sleep
To be absolutely sure
That you drift off into dreams -

Completely safe from harm.

Present Progressive

2008-10-15T10:17:00.001-07:00

The ambience is sickening
The plot is thickening
My pulse is quickening
My blood is sickling
The tears are trickling
My moods are fickling
These words are crackling
The doubts are cackling
These fears are tackling
My abilities of thinking
Your love for me is shrinking
My heart is sinking

Coming to Terms with Calvin

2008-10-13T19:06:00.000-07:00

I've always found lakes
More compelling than the ocean
Where thick jagged rocks
Line the long stretch of places
Where beaches should be.

Because I have to believe
That at 3:14 each morning
When I press my hands in the mud
That its not too far in the distance
Where you're doing the same.

With the moon over head
Clouds twisted thin
The night is a force
That I happily submit to
I am a pilgrim in a new world.

I take a step over the edge
So distant from my homeland
And I keep running
Into the place eternal
Where the water meets the sky.

Where more words only hurt more
And less just means I don't care
If there is such a thing as trust
Then trust these words forever -
I know who I am.

The lake is not a lake
But a pool of fire
And I am Satan
Tucked away in the dark
Lording over my lonely kingdom.

I Laugh at Myself Because I Waste Away

2008-10-05T23:14:00.000-07:00

There is a place between apathy and devotion
Where the evening light is eclipsed every night
And revelers gather in droves to celebrate full moons.
Poets write with quills from the shoulders of peacocks
Brilliant poems of bereavement and resurrection
With air full of cinnamon chamomile and carnage
And humans chant from the mountains to impress the wolves.

What?

2008-10-02T00:44:00.000-07:00

Ticking clocks
Fallen prophets
Stolen identities
Broken guitars
Wandering eyes

The water in the street
Doesn't have any fish

The bottom of the bed
Doesn't have any monsters

Phil Collins
Jesse Jackson
Killers Whales
Colonel Sanders
Tom Selleck

Masochist (edited)

2008-09-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

I've seen the sun rise with fury
Over the great midwestern plains
And fall asleep gently
Across the desert quiet of Africa.

I've breathed the salty sea
Nestled comfortably in the gulf
And cleared leaves from my eyes
Passing to waters in Belize.

I've had joy, had pain,
and joy once again.
I've filtered my sadness
Through a million lives lived.

The tide greets my toes
Teasing them, playfully
For once I take the invitation
Beauty eternal.

Let it be known
For all time
For all people
That I just didn't know

How to change

Smoke, Jade, Wistfullness

2008-09-16T05:53:00.000-07:00

Screaming through the blueberry quiet
This night is filled on all sides
With Beverly Hills glamour
And Las Vegas destiny.

The morning is a distant cousin
This night is New York on New Years
A fire-breathing dragon
A lion with a saddle.

Smash Poetry

2008-08-31T19:03:00.000-07:00

Here comes another embarassing session of asking my readers to make a contribution in the comments section and risking the possibility of getting zero responses. But...I have another assignment for you. It's a new thing I am trying, inspired by the Pollack method of painting. I have been writing a few of my own recently, and will post one in the comments section. I call it "smash poetry." Here is how you do it - first pick out a song for yourself. I prefer one with high energy and very little meaning behind it - a la anything by MGMT. Then take a moment to listen to the song and clear your mind for a bit, maybe a minute or so. Then, when you are ready, suck a big breath in, blast your eyes open and just start typing along with the rhythm of the song in your head. Get out as much as you can before you let your breath go. Stop typing whenever you let your breath go, no matter how far along you are. You have just written a smash poem.

After you write your poem, under it put the name of the song you used as well (if you are brave enough to admit to it).

Commence!

Sunday Afternoon

2008-08-20T01:08:00.000-07:00

The controller sits idly on the living room floor
And seems oblivious, obstinate to my telekinesis
I stretch out my arm as far as it will go
As my fingers quiver from the tension in my forearm
I'm two full inches short and there is nothing in sight,
Nothing to grab it or slide it towards me with.

I take a deep breath and shake my head
Wondering how the damn thing got so far.
I scoot down on the couch just a bit more
And justify to myself why I should watch GAC.
Minutes later I peek back at the remote to see
If any seismic shifts may have moved it closer.

Nuthin'. God dammit.