a paint bucket on a stool, middle of the room
thaws
tips
s p i l l s
(what was the floor)
with the release of emotion shattering
splatters sadly spread
32 colors grow toward the walls
and slowly engulf them,
until everything becomes a liquid mess
smooth in two dimensions
running
up,
up,
up
each drip a rising sun
lines pulling infinity in, in in in in in inin
(condenses)
becomes a black ceiling spot
begins to drip a spool of silk
which widens into diamond downpours
forever filling

serpents as smiles strangled cries

her sullen visage drained the room

i wouldn't listen to her message,

laugher i would prefer,

as i was so unsure.

mourning eyes stared straight forward

we did not cry, but very soon

though you and I shot subtle glances,

the pain we would defer,

we both were still unsure.

all departed separate ways

into the bright but frigid air

bittersweet taste on every tongue

the growing pain overwhelming laughter

as every heart will remain unsure.

i've fallen in love with
(archetypes, and flowers.
lipstick, skirts and shoes.
memories of past love,
those shooting-star feelings.
eyes, lips, high cheekbones.
holding hands
and walking
and sitting
and everything
but) you.

gulping chug-of-engine
jerks my body down the street.
defeated, i woke up late
to pawn it off (your diamond ring.)
he's got my head unless i cash in...
tonight was the night.

"sorry."
i've got a new love, baby.
it's in my brain-
right now, and i'm rolling, rolling again.
powdered gasoline powers me down the highway,
and i think i'm free
for these seconds-

smashed glass.
which way is up?
tonight was the night,
or so i thought
i was free.

messy hair, smiley face
a shirt i like (very much)
my favorite flower in your hair,
unrefined, witty.


you. you scared me tonight.
"what would i do"-i thought.
i don't want to answer that.
when will you see who you are?

where, when, how,
now, wish now.
not why, because
"hello?"
all i have are five senses
and i'll use them all on you.

brushes wide, brushes thin
paint with blood describe each face,
the language of our world is not modernity, but pain.
eyes cry tears, eyes smile joy
blink with lashes to adorn each face,
but every eye is hidden in the end.
oh- to whitewash each canvas,
and dig up jewels out of sleep!
maybe this dream ends awake...

When we ask ourselves who we are, we demand a point of reference to measure our existence. Yet this point of reference itself is defined by who we are. If no anchor is readily available to steady our point of reference, we are not free to define ourselves. Instead, definition becomes undefined. All becomes a swirling mess.

At the cusp of an avalanche. Watch. It will come. 

is love just a song of mind
contrived in meter, melody
rhyme to please the ear
and rythym to our heart?

or is it just a harmony
notes falling in a line
to accompany a mood
or satisfy ideals?

or is love just a single note,
ringing forever in our ears
so sublime to touch
but defined to taste?

i'd be content to float on stars
billowing seas of calm around me.
i'd love to sleep in her hair,
dark silk shadows, warm.
the flow constrained to cars
sailing in the dark
belonging to my soul, calm.
i'd long no more for stinging answers,
truth so sharp, it cuts into me.
i'd reach in bedrock never more,
without a weight, sound.
the singing of nebulae
and eyes shining
as they sail in the dark,
alone.

thoughts

have you ever seen someone and thought they were a work of art?
i mean... i guess we're all works of art.
but i like some pieces of art better than others.

torn apart, an iron heart violently yields to magnetic forces.
two poles of two worlds tug at the specimen's innards.
yearning for something not found in voices...
truth is the sun that eludes the center.

too many tongues salivate cesspools of chemicals,
these gasolines pump pistons in our brains.
tanks in a row trudge towards sacred Petra,
but the bedrock is no hiding place for the sane.

tired sunsets reward the dusty pilgrim with a darkness,
and no moon rises to redeem the fallen day.
machines and men alike make rythyms to move forward.
the way is paved with bones bleached white and rusted plates.

If only you knew how much I hate you sometimes.

summertime, when existence is taxing,
over-complication overcomes us
not unlike a heat wave.
is there something in the air?
did the spring snow melt
and turn to wine?
or maybe we're waking late,
drowsy from a hibernational state.
the summer, unforgiving epoch:
why did it come this time,
and not another cycle?
maybe noon is a sign
of our overheated little brains.

two brown eyes
saw a painted world
your beautiful smile
sealed pain.
pure infatuation
never really left,
-to see you again
i just remember


it's all i have-
a warn-out film
transcending time,
refusing truth:
you said she'd be lucky,
(with sly smile)
how i wished to treasure you,
lips against mine.


and the reel flickers,
a longing wick;
are you still blind,
or did i never see?
maybe it's true
that big brown eyes
remember me
in reflected screens;


now i sing:
where did you go?
the song is still your name.
the refrain echoes in my head
the thought-
to see you again.

an arrow or two (with no bow)
pointing any/all directions,
the answer eats its tail in ecstasy,
all eternal ceremonies re-exist
and never arrive, always on time
cyclical singularity hatches
our mother, fate, found in mirrors
graced by invert eye
so she kisses and blesses
both lost and found,
time spews forward from
her heart, pierced by

We write our lives
Our hands control letter threads,
weaving them into destiny.
Swallow the ink,
Inhale its fumes
Find comfort in the path,
Find dreams. Record what you see.

Every blink is a photograph
film streams behind my eyes
As I remember what I wrote
When I controlled my destiny.

a sword named truth
sits in smoke and mirrors
i'd like to wield it,
will i get a chance?

predestination vs. post-destination
vs. predetonation vs. intonation
vs. this nation

the state
the human mind
(an enigma reading enigmas)

time is ticking,
in the next 30 minutes i have to read a thousand volumes
in the next 12 years i have to swallow seven seas
it's impossible to make a decision
... given the constraints, how am i expected...
excuses?

so she stands in front of me
holding an apple out to my mouth
"do you want the simple life?"
i wish i knew.

it's too late...
i'm drowning in the pages,
inhaling smoke,
searching,
falling towards an answer
(which is like approaching zero)