i could see their faces and hear my voice
but i know i wasn't there
time became a water colors
and they finally started to bleed together
my knees shook me to the ground
and i woke up vomiting
that was when i knew my father wasn't here
though here became an unclear term.
inside the kaleidoscope
weary of the turns that shift
comfortable with the regrettable
why am i bleeding
how long have i been crying
but it was a phantom fleeting thought
the next time ill be prepared
but the colors form new colors
disregarding the present location
no compass will tell me
and no stars will guide me
to an ever changing place
or constant reminder
that this isn't the home it should be
somethings misplaced, i just dont know what

The shadows sparkled through the night
within painted constellations
there were dates on calenders
but the sequences were wrong
and in an attempt to right the wrongs
we only created bigger puzzles
with answers to mumbled questions.
we asked god to take our hearts with different meanings
in returned letters between lovers
after she made revisions
saying there will be no rainbows.
with matted sheets of paper
knowing everything is flammable
you became a cabin in the woods
and i was the pinata waiting for the stick

Crocheted in the dark
with a can of silly string
the greasy thread shimmered
so much for stars
these planes are slightly better
its a moving constellation
while spinning in ellipses
and drinking from the big dipper.
So many eyes peeping freely
the lies are warm
in the midst of volcanoes
and we've not sacrificed enough,
not a pound of flesh
or broken heart
will change the blinking satellites.

this is actually a song i wrote

Its all too slippery if you know what i mean
but the rocks left a dust more effective for holding on
but the breathe in your lungs feels like a blue flame
and all the other colors drain from your face
its stil not safe to get back into the water but they're not afraid
its all the pitch black conversations that scare us
we're not accustomed to using our mouths as fingers
but our fingers have always been better at talking
we have all the time in the world
to start this communication
to start this communique
we ended it all within the proper period
the whispers surrounded by the gasoline bacteria
who knew that organs were flammable, they're flammable
we're flammable despite all our hearts and guts inside
and its all too slippery if you know what i mean
so don't be mistaken, no don't be mistaken
my fingers prefer to do the talkin your lips say
baby don't you go to sleep
we dont have all the time in the world

There are days I look at my hands
and wonder if its what my grandpa saw.
Theres an old saying I read
with your eyes they shall see.
Even in the summer
the cold turned him red
and we all thought our fears were real.
There were a lot of beeps and hums
that I will hear again and again
there will always be time later,
even in the face of dying,
so we make dreams unattainable
goals unassailable
and venture out to get whats ours.
We are young,
and in seeing our youth
they are terrified.
So we scream and throw our fists.
I see the color forming
and think "this isn't the way its supposed to be."

its been slow

its getting cold out. shivering cold. here are 2 more that are sort of new.  they will probably get revised at some point. too many veggies.

When we scream the birds fly

because they feel the bass

and its terrifying.

Our hair stands up

which makes our legs stands up

and our arms react to the momentum.

They said we were loud

but they didn't mind

as long as we paid the check.

We drove fast

to taste the wind

in a city still awake at dawn.

We never knew

because they never told us.

They were all so inviting

encouraging

but we didn't care

because boys just want to have fun

and a battlefield is no place for love.

That was when we used our bottles

and we felt lighter

because we were young and impetuous

and learned foreign languages.

Who would have cared

if we magnified the world

till we all burned like ants.

They said carrots were the answer

that they answered all our questions

and so we indulged their recommendation.

All we wanted was to see

and jump farther

but all we got was orange skin

and the blood of rabbits.

We are non believers,

knowing full well we'll fall off the sides

and waiting for moment we do.

To grow old is a liars dream

Peter knew it, and James lived it,

thats when the ticking drove us mad

and we x'ed out the letters

to make a better alphabet

but I can't remember how to speak

only how our fingers work

and how everything else responds.

They say it's all the vitamins

but we've learned not to trust

the lies we heard in the dark.

A belief in signs

means capital letters.

In cramped spaces

where we found pocket lint

I made a new years resolution

based entirely on feeling.

Scour local taverns

for a place to proclaim

lift my hands in the air

with a grin on my face

I bring good news from Rah our god

but circles within circles within circles made me dizzy.

Someone whispered "breathe" 

and the feeling was mutual.

I no longer drape myself in cloaks

and the truth was restricting

so I'm shackled in fears

like I was tossed out of Eden

lips still dripping with the sins I'm committed to.

2 more? yes, its a personal best.

Flashing lights made the children happy

but the screaming made them shiver

there was no dance in the air,

our hands wreaked of fire

and the skin of her teeth fell

like a leprosy of plastic lining.

When the mime turned to howling

like a battered shell-less turtle

no ribbons could mask the tapping

of a ravens depraved rapping

or the soulless rhythm that rang slowly

but surely

all the while reminding

that destiny is a concept never completed

and infatuation breeds decrepit men. 

There was a loud crack

that shook their skin loose.

They aged in a day but it wasn't stress

it was the seismic waves

and when the earth finally quaked

there was nothing left

but the big blue.

It wasn't till the greens sparked some life

that the strings started singing

and you could hear the thunder

of the splashing pools,

but the frogs all migrated leaving lilly pads unleapt

and there jaws agape on the floor.

i edited this a lot.....can't get it to how i want it. so i gave up. FINISHED!

There must be something in the water
it made us grin with taciturn quips.
Deliver us from Stockholm!
running off trains means I can breathe
"Everything's alright in Vegas"
but the clouds fell out of the sky
and I failed to coalesce with nothing.
If we were up all night
then I was the only one up
and I swear this used to mean something.
There's no happiness in mornings
or your grinning water sipping lips.

New stuff

I've been writing a lot.  i mean, i think it's all been pretty alright so far.  right now im just trying to get back into the swing of things, it still feels like im out of touch.  keep writing about the same topic, though maybe im just really dumb and it seems unfocused.  anyway, none of the new 17 poems have titles.  im not really all that great at trying to think of titles and probably won't until im forced to. anyway, here is a new poem.

She said "don't focus on the details"

so instead I closed my eyes.

Prayers don't reach us

when we're buried under ground.

and the sky has too many airplanes.

I won't focus on the details

but that's all I do

every line is important

every dot has a purpose

I get a runners high,

Monchu Pichu lays before me

I am an Egyptian god!

Tell the world we were allergic

not afraid.

The blank spaces imply

only what the noiseless can

there is nothing for you to see

like a felines hiss

I wince but don't turn

my eyes are liars,

my smile a bigger liar.

Don't let an ounce escape

or seep through

the ever increasing wrinkles.

I understand what love it

at least a little bit.

fireworks

The breaks and pains like a fireworks light,

I try not to think of self beyond my fingertips.

The lapping consciousness of a circus

and the peanuts creak under the weight.

We learn without believing

and those learned are unbelieving,

for when we know it all

we know nothing.

The fireworks light is still a circus

like the weight of my fingertips

as the pains of a life worth living

leave me floating out at sea.

The breath of sharks and eyes of tides

I’ve never liked the salty water

but the thought of coral made my knees shake.

I anticipate the mighty sea as a seed,

it started small but gained momentous roots

that overtook the body.

The breaks and pains of crashing waves

that believing is part weight and circus.

The lapping consciousness of a coral

and the creaking peanuts under the sky,

my footsteps are always quiet now,

but it’s the arthritis in my limbs that makes life worth living.

365 days ago

There was a small cry in defense once,

Now all that makes me a man is silent.

At least we know when we’ve lived

That we’ve lived long enough to die.

I prayed my lungs would blacken

So the coughing seemed justified

But the winter months kept coming

As my craving and smoking subsided.

There was a tremble in my fingers once,

The sliding wire against my skin

That made my fingers harden.

I believed in making music once

Now I just believe in trying.

A new story, from the brilliant mind that brought you, 3 More Stories

Weightless

My grandpa always used to tell me that you won’t know what love is until you’ve found it. Now he’s dead, and I’m starting to wonder if that was a riddle. He sometimes told us riddles, at least we thought they were riddles until the doctors told us his mind was going. Things started to melt together, the way he would describe something, something he was looking at right in front of him. It was usually incredibly poetic, but they turned out to be the thoughts of a dying and senile man. His hands were big, His palm itself seemed like it could cover my face, and so I felt safe around him, no matter how bad his mind got his body always seemed in perfect shape. My sister married young, I always thought too young and so in one of his better days, one of his more lucid less convoluted days we went out to dinner.

We never sat at a booth, ever, it was a golden rule or something. He loved to lean forward and to rock his chair back on two legs, I think he loved that small amount of freedom more than he loved my grandma, well, the memory of my grandma. We sat at the table and he waved a hand to the waitress, she brought us some water and we talked about his doctors visit; everything’s fine. He took a big gulp of water, sucking in an ice cube. He held it between his teeth, letting the squeak of slowly compacting ice reverberate through his jaw and down to his hands. They shook, and as I looked he said, You know, you won’t know what love is until you’ve found it. I told him I knew, and the ice cracked loud. He let his mouth stay closed for a moment and he just repeated himself. I know I told him, but this time there was no pause, he simply said, you don’t but someday I hope you will find out.

He never talked about his parents, and he never talked about my grandmother. When I was younger I asked him about his father, and he picked me up and put me in his lap. He breathed in and said he was the kind of man who would never take a child out for ice cream before dinner, and then he tickled me and we went to get ice cream. My mom said that he didn’t want to think about anything that had hurt him, but that his father was a brave man. Eventually I found out that he was a fireman who died in a building. It was a long time ago, when my mom was just a little girl, my grandfather a young man, and a building collapsed.

My grandfather never mentioned my father either, he would only say in passing that the man never knew love, only how to lose it. I’ve seen him a couple times, my mom would set up meetings saying that he was excited to see us but when me and my sister would see him he would always want to end things quick, he would take us to the zoo or something, ask us some questions about things we liked and disliked and then he would be gone. He always sent us presents, and when we got older money, but after the 4^th visit he started just calling. I used to wonder if he had to call because he was so far away, but he lived within the same state, and so all that was left was disappointment. I don’t know what he is to me, but it isn’t a father and I know I don’t love him. That is why I never talk about my father, and it is the same and the opposite reason my grandpa never talked about his parents and his wife.

I didn’t say anything, and he let it all hang in the air. He took another sip of water and the waitress came back. Without looking at the menu he ordered and I had to make a hasty decision on what to eat. When she left he asked about my sister, I said she was fine and he asked about her husband and I told him I didn’t know. He leaned back and looked at the table, I don’t know if he was thinking about the next question or wondering where he was. He asked why I didn’t like him, his name was Christopher, why I didn’t like Christopher. I shrugged, because it was getting uncomfortable, but he didn’t care because he wanted to help and so he waited till I would give a more satisfying answer. They hardly know each other, or themselves, I just don’t think he’s right for her.

In truth they were and are perfect for each other. For three years in a row they bought each other the same present for Christmas, so they started a tradition of buying one gift together. He leaned forward, shifting weight onto his elbows. My grandpa was a big man, every part was proportionate to each other, but in near giant stature, and sitting there across the table I still felt like a small child in a booster seat. How have you been lately? I’d like to say my grandpa had eyes that became soft when he was being endearing, but instead of becoming soft they gained an intensity. He had the ability to use those eyes to protect and show dominance, they were lion’s eyes and they had a helluva roar.

I knew better, but you can’t lie to him, he won’t confront you, he will simply correct your lie in the next question. I’m fine, work is a little stressful and I’m really ready for a vacation. The problem with complaining to older people about work is that they’ve worked harder and longer than you, and they may say they understand but what they really mean, and what you know they mean is, That’s life. My grandpa was not the type of person to coddle, he wouldn’t try to comfort you in your delusions and so when his time came we wouldn’t comfort him in his. He didn’t want to know about work, he was old fashioned and when I took a desk job he saw it as a betrayal, but he wanted a better life for me and his aching body knew that his objections were irrational.

I think, I think its time for you to find a woman. He held up a hand, a signal that any objection would have to wait. You’re a good man, and there’s a lot you don’t want to say to another man and I understand that. When, when I first started dating your grandmother. He stopped and moved his elbows a couple of inches back toward his belly. Those were different times. When a man had something on his mind, he told his girl. Everyone had one back then, it wasn’t like today. We married young, we married in love, and we stayed that way. That was the last time I heard him talk about my grandma, but right before he stopped talking my mother saw him playing a game of checkers with her. By the time he wanted to continue the conversation our food had been brought out and was half eaten.

We started talking about my sister again, how she was too young, and he didn’t mind that. She was eighteen, almost nineteen and he was twenty. I never tried to talk her out of it, I always tried to seem happy for her, but she was too young. My grandpa told me he was always proud of us and that he wished I could be happy. We finished up eating and I drove him home. He always said that you wouldn’t know love until you found it, but I had found it, it just made things complicated. It felt like swimming in a great void, being completely weightless without any indication of direction. There was no way to know what to do, and I didn’t have a woman to talk about it with. While I may have found love, love had yet to find her,

We pulled into his driveway and I walked him inside. He’d kept the furniture in the same order, my grandmother had been the one who always wanted things moved around, I don’t think he minded as long as she was there with him and so when she died everything stayed its place. I sat down on the couch and he went to start making coffee for himself and boiling some water for me. He came back and sat in his usual chair, fabric warn from years of abrasion. We started telling stories, me about work and him about growing up on the farm. His life was so simple, he woke up, worked, went to bed. He never had to think about what he was doing, his body simply remembered what to do and did.

His voice created a slow drone in my ears, a pleasant tone that caused my mind to drift. When he was admitted into the hospital I remembered that he wasn’t speaking to me any longer, he wasn’t speaking to anyone, but he always stared at the window like he was waiting for something to break through it. I came in every Thursday after work and sat in the chair by the window as he looked right past me. Sometimes I read a book, sometimes I just stared back at him. Finally the doctors said he didn’t have much longer and so my cousins flew into town, my aunts and uncles met with my mother to start planning a funeral and on the last night they all went out to dinner and left me with him alone for the last time.

I pulled my chair right up next to his bed but at this point his eyes were closed. I told him thanks for everything, I told him that he was the best father I could have ever had, even though he was my grandfather. I wanted to tell him that’d I’d found love and that I was happy, but he hadn’t prepare me for the kind of love that makes you unhappy, that was something my father tried to teach me, so I didn’t tell him anything for awhile. When my mom and cousins and aunts and uncles came back they all hugged me and asked questions like “are you ok?” and “do you need to talk?”. The more they talked the farther I fell into the void, the less direction I had and the more I needed to know where to go. The farther and deeper I got the more I realized that love was a lot like drowning. Before my grandpa died I told him that I had found love, and I lied and told him that I was happy, that we were happy together and then his heart stopped a shrill constant tone rang and he knew that I was lying, but I loved him, so I lied.

Newest Poem

Georgia
It was black coal
made the blues good.
But for the time being
Even the trees were green.
They took the lot
But the rotting peaches
didn’t taste sweet.
All the bruises sank
into the pit
of their stomachs.
Horses pulled
tracts in the soil
as seed falls
but they wont come
till the blue drops rain.

First Completed Poem Since Returning From Kenya (i tend to not write poems on my accord. honda accord)

Who are we
is what the wolves cried in the dark.
whats the desert like to the blind,
the vultures fly and beat their wings
theres no water but im thirsty,
my voice gets tired
and the wolves ask who are we,
i dont think theres an answer
neither do the others
but we try harder,
they say we're in this together
but they always grow apart,
and so we yell louder
asking who are we?

At The Compound

The sun comes out in the afternoon. The streetlights were on and I yawned a lot. They say my brains bad, the consistency of a bruised banana, or flan (without the caramel). Maybe that’s why I like giraffes so much, they are mechanized, and I am not. I don’t know what exists anymore, I heard she died, but there she is, what time is it? I lift my tongue and swallow, everything stops, am I breathing? My chest hurts, when did I start bleeding? I swallow again and everything is moving again, am I breathing? Everything is yellow with black spots and I can’t control what I say, it all comes out, the whole enchilada, and then I am served nachos. Thanks ugly woman. I can’t go on dates because I speak my mind with tenacity, and it comes out very loud. Don’t let me stop breathing. When the sun came out the clouds stuck around, someone needed to flush twice, how long has it been now? You lose count from all the sedation, I used to drive, I used to go outside, I want to sing but I can never find my voice when the desire comes.
They say my brains bad but how do they know what’s good, they spend all that time looking at Hitler’s brain and imagining Morgan Freeman’s. I dream of becoming a centaur with a giraffes body, I join a herd and when their long necks swoop toward me I can’t resist the urge, but the suns out and it’s afternoon so everyone can see. They all laugh and I can’t get my tongue to move, its become whipped cream and I can’t control it, it can’t form any words because it’s too busy sloshing, I should have left it in the can. Tony Danza punched me in the throat in spit at me while I laid down recovering, he showed me who was the boss, but his regional manager came and now he is on the streets again, also, Angela is dead and has requested to be buried on the moon (can I make such a request). I have no money, I have no gears, all I have is nachos but they have become cold I don’t want to eat them anymore.
I can hear but my eyes are closed, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a condition, but there is yelling, that might have something to do with it. They say there was an accident and my lungs are burning through me. I hope amputation isn’t an option though if it is I would a kitten leg. I am Lemmy, and I will become a Megazord at last! The voices carry and I go to cover my eyes but they are closed and I still hear them. I want to close them tighter but they are as closed as possible. Is this what love feels like? My brother never told me and now it’s too late, I’m in love and I don’t even know it, am I breathing? I thought I told you to make sure I kept breathing.
Tell my landlord the walls were supposed to look that way, I am sure will keep asking anyway. Sometimes I press really hard on my eyes and see tiny little dots, like static on TV, my eyes are TV but the reception is horrible and no one will spring for cable, instead they autumn and winter with rabbit ears. I want to yell without making a scene so I hold my breath and count, 10 seconds, a new personal best. Tell me what you think of the savannah, I think it’s nice this time of the year, I think it’s a little dry. Drum roll, laughter, thank you, thank you. Your too kind! And then it all comes back to me.
Lemmy? You in there?
Yessum. My back hurts, I’m laying on the ground, on a rock, its imbedded in my back and now my back hurts. I look around and fight the urge to ask why everyone is dressed the same. The world is back to normal but my lungs hurt, I cough, and then my nose is filled with fire ants. They tell me to sit up and I stand, their hands are all around me and I feel like synchronized swimming.
Everything’s going to be alright. It took a couple minutes for her to spit it all out, of course everything is going to be alright, no one would tell someone that everything was going to be awful, well not here, probably back in New York they would. I look and her eyes are all black, she is tanned a nice golden yellow and her black dots are alluring, I’d never noticed before. She leans her long neck in and I can’t resist the urge and it is the afternoon so everyone can see. No one laughs, but I don’t think I’m in the herd anymore. I really need to learn to bat.

The world has ended, the world has ended and I am Macy’s. What do people buy for their funeral? Should I be buried or should I become lost at sea, I could be found either way. I don’t want a tuxedo, I don’t think I should dress nicer in death than in my short life. I should have known, I should have realized that I too could be affected. No one is immune to death. When I was a child I wanted to be a firefighter, like most boys my age, and then my father read me an article about three firefighters who died in a fire. It’s impossible, no one dies fighting, do they?
The one exception was Apollo Creed of course, he died so that Rocky could finally do what needed to be done. Tear down the iron curtain. There is a nice blue suit, but I think I will be die in khaki, or maybe a denim suit. One time I wore a blazer over a black turtle neck with jeans. The car, what would happen to the car, I was just put on rotation. Should I tell anyone, should i do something, I am not a man of action, I am Lemmy, I am Honey I Shrunk the Kids, I am an accident.
I envy women, when they get bad news they can eat a whole tub of ice cream, when a man gets bad news they drink, and I can’t drink anymore. I can’t drink anymore because it makes me think there are fire ants in my throat, it gets them under my skin, digging through the muscles. I hate insects, almost as much the Chad’s of the world. My dogs eat spiders, so there is no problem. I found a big beastie one in my shower before they moved in, I could see every eye, it was black. I left my apartment and stayed at a Best Western. That was when the pyramid was thriving, I had to rake my money into my wallet, I drank whole milk back then, now I’ve been reduced to skim. Off brand skim.
I should never have taken the bus, I always hear about people being mugged on the bus, I never should have taken the bus. It’s like when your mother tells you not to touch the stove because it’s hot, but you touch it anyway, and now your tongue is black. I’m a limp noodle trying on packages, and at best, I’m thinking a box is more appropriate than the plastic wrap. It’s less noisy, more comfy, maybe with one of those ceiling windows and a corduroy interior. I will have lines on my skin forever, and then I will become an ant farm, but the queen will live in a kidney, and reserve the other as a guest house. Long live the monarchy.
I am dying, the world is ending, and I never should have taken the bus. My hands are sweaty and my stomach hurts, I pull the pink bottle from my jacket pocket, take a quick sip and put it back in. My cheeks are wet, I’m crying, this time I know why.

the rest is a little bit of dialogue that doesnt really make sense without the part before this.