Like the clouds that hang lower

I feel the weight of water.

Like the grass that reaches higher,

I feel the need for thirst.

Like the ants that cover the pavement,

I feel frantic for survival.

And like the heart...

...never mind.

Back To Death

Nails falling
hammers in the attic
pictures floating
speakers screaming static
sky filling orange
while the ocean spits green
clouds glowing sunlight
while Ice gives off steam.
When time ticks backwards
And the current pulls the moon
the ground will break liquid
while the sand glasses smooth.
And your heart will move your muscles
while your brain sits on your sleeve
over thinking over sinking
with a t-shirt to mislead.
Photos of frames
recipes for names
burning rain
And white water stains...
...cleanse.

Pushing

Did you see them fall off walls?
or off your crying eyes?
the things you thought so strong
smashing from the skies.
Like sun filling into blue
and a grey beast ahead.
battling with elements
and the words that once were said.
And the staring had ceased
and the days are all the same.
The smiles come on their own.
Without a reason, without a name.
And happiness is told by us
to us, that it's there.
Confirmed by steps down the hallway
and the ever-cold blank stare.
Resting chins on foreheads
not knowing where to go next
knowing that not knowing
is the key to pass the test.
Fingers in fingers and eyes ignoring eyes
we struggle to remember how to knot those tightened ties.
So with hands in hearts and hearts in frozen ice chests
we walk on to the place where we don't see whats next
Like a mirage at age 15.
We know we'll still be thirsty when we get there.

I See You

Turned around and facing away.
I see your hair and feel okay.
Until you turn and face me straight.
And I realize you're still in the grave.
Commonplace and strange alike.
I see your profile in the bright sunlight.
No mistake, I see you true.
Not like at night, when shadows lie to you.
But my eyes they do, and my heart lies too.
Wishing the illusion to be true.
No longer in dreams, to real to fake.
I wish you were still here,
Still here for my sake.

29

Everything I said I was,

turned into slow decay.

Myself on the table,

no more lies inside,

I thought it all would be okay.

No longer in power, pushed whichever way wished.

There is nothing in this life now, that I have missed.

I slowly started moving closer,

smiling more and more.

Until one day you stopped and questioned,

While my bags still lay next to the door.

My friends turned into open season,

Me for you and them for your miss reason.

My ears, they bleed, while I sit quietly.

Begging for the rainy season.

And so I don't fight back, I have nothing left to say.

Because everything I did, didn't matter anyway.

I have nothing left to lose, little left to gain.

"There's nothing left, but the rest of each day."

I've thought about writing, but to me that's speaking my mind.

I've promised not to do that, cause that's where trouble I find.

But this is not a cry, a plea for a need.

This is a just an annotation, for me, just once, to feed.

The hunger for sanity, I've come so close to lose.

Misplace, ignore, and maybe even abuse.

So fix your enemies, I'll keep my own.

I'm not mad, sad, or feeling alone.

Just quiet, complacent, and more or less,

Becoming well known.

Never Mind

Nothing's moving

nothings changing.

nothings losing.

nothings gaining.

stuck on the outside

waiting for the in.

freezing in the down slide.

refusing to begin.

missing nothing,

but energy for angst.

never mind,

Push

I remember thinking things with no end

I remember writing things not to send

things of temperature

good intentions, and frost.

things that even I would look at

and say "that's fucking boss"

but lately there's a block

a road with no cement

pushing backwards, pushing down.

shining like a car dent.

yesterday I threw away,

like a bag of empty cans.

seeping into liver

this proud day after is mans

worst intentions get thrown to the side

as forgotten inventions circulate with pride

the telephone, the news paper, the light bulb and the lock.

hang it up, throw it away, burn it out with a drop.

Of atmosphere from fire

and a breath filled with fear

as feeling creeps away

as you open your final beer.

Drink half, set it down.

you've had to much,

your ears hear every sound.

piercing like reminders

of times that finders

meant keepers.

Teaching History

Like an Ice cube.

Hard and cold.

Frozen, chosen.

Molded, not sold.

Used, abused.

Dropped on the floor.

Kicked to the side,

to melt by the door.

Solid to liquid.

rivers from streets.

There is no utility.

In melted concrete.

Taking lessons learned,

Secretly owning them.

Faking what's concerned.

Now I teach the museum.

Forward Is To...

Living through metaphors that conjure up the false hope of moving forward.

But nothing is not frozen.

Maybe

Maybe I could dig you out a mountain top.

Maybe I could spill you till your full.

Maybe I could burn your ditches into wealth.

Maybe I could steal beauty into your soul.

Maybe I could whisper you into rushing.

Maybe I could pray away a need.

Maybe I could erase our story in stone.

Maybe I could follow my own misle[e]d.

Maybe I could strike water into some matches.

Maybe I could settle the storm in the sea.

Maybe I could dry out your emptiness.

Maybe I could find what you can't see.

Maybe I could tell you a silent film.

Maybe I could show you a sound.

Maybe I could point out a blunt kiss.

Maybe I could turn your lost into my found.

Cold Hearts and Strong Minds

There's a man on his way to work,

In all accounts on time.

Leaving an hour early,

Regarding every traffic sign.

He's learned to walk on broken glass,

From the times he cut his feet,

Scratched his nails with his skin,

And learned the art of retreat.

Taking in the world all around,

As he drives behind a truck.

Feeling safe and insecure,

Knowing he disposed his own luck.

With the future straight ahead,

And the past increasingly behind,

He's taken steps to ensure.

To everybody he remains kind.

Although the world builds itself up,

Heavier and more intense.

He submits to it's control,

And builds a solid fence.

A cold heart is a strong mind,

And soon all will see.

That in this truth you will find,

A simple story of me.

Four Lines at a Time

What is there to say that hasn't already been said.

Lines from poems and poets run rampant in my head.

Past literary figures leave me breathless and dead.

Leaving me to sulk silently in my empty bed.

Grinding my teeth to the point of no return.

Getting through each day with each sad song I learn.

Knowing my pictures are what you wish to burn.

The truth is out and now it's your turn.

Driving empty streets wishing I had a direction.

A destination, anything to keep my eye off my reflection.

Knowing it takes all your strength to maintain your complexion.

I'm a scab, a slit, a wrist with an infection.

Day two and feeling mostly indifferent.

lack of flavor, life, insipid.

There are hints that point to the innocent.

Realizing slowly, this is it.

Cold nights and an empty stare.

Your wellbeing is beyond my care.

Nothing I do or say is fair.

Take everything, take it all, even my air.

Confirming Sureness

taking every scrap of time it takes

to burn this history and rewrite fate.

taking all actions into account

sealing the fall with this image i create

missing the pretense and how it never occurred

failing the innocence and chalking up the lines that blurred

knowing strength is what it takes

to remember that these November days are absurd.

waiting for the warm wind to die away

bring the cold breeze to stray away

all the heat that this life has created

and hoping this time the frost will stay.

triggering tears in an atmosphere of confusion.

all of this all of this, it has to be a disillusion.

something false, something not there.

something a few steps short of a solution.

wandering down street lit alleys

knowing someone less fortunate is around the corner rallying

oppositions to take whats mine

prepositions support this fallacy.

words rhyme yes

as they come less and less

stolen from another poem

until there is nothing in these fingers left.

recycled what was mine

to create another line

to lead me away

from what i thought was mine.

fearing the light, holding the darkness.

knowing i cant see anything in this emptiness.

knowing theres no steps ahead of me to fall upon

knowing theres nothing left to confess.

Waiting for summer to turn into fall.

Hoping for this archetype that I place above them all.

Waiting by my memory hoping it will call.

I know that I screwed up and I'm waiting for the fall

but know you know I love you, insecurities and all.

Patterns in speech draw pictures of your voice.

Fractured and unclean I staple them to choice.

Scratching away surgeries I sit and rejoice

Carbon Copy

The poetry is gone, it's too much like the rest.

writing carbon copies of loves and past deaths.

looking for a break through, knowing theres nothing left.

Theres nothing in this ink

save the monthly issues I think

the subscription to apathy

the premium I link,

to my life and my mind

knowing nothing ties in with time.

seeing the world pass by me

while slowing down in the middle lane, weaving lines.

when something new comes along it will connect itself to the past

the past is the only reasons these poems end to fast.

Through November.

Into December.

Freezing and faulting pain to remember.

no time to rhyme.

return to sender.

*Not Titled Yet*

Chalking up the cold air to

scrape it across my face,

I see the frost on my eyelids

I see the hurt that i can taste.

I feel the memory rip me back

I feel fractured pieces within

I hear the voices of the future

I hear the cries of the past come in.

Infiltrate this design

create the fine line

for me to cross

and you to see

all that is lost and

all that cant be.

remember the day when you say you want to leave

hold it in your mind,

watch it make you bleed.

Tomorrow.

Zero Rhythm Connection

There is no up and down to connect you to this verse.

so i sit and lay here and beg myself not to curse.

your slipping away in the cracks i made and now i see a herse

but from inside i see you watching me drive away with a smile in your purse.

Yes i have dreams and yes i have schemes

i have plans to break this down.

i have examples and samples and a license to break sound.

i have excuses and fuses to keep this spark found

i have everything i need to remember where i was

and everything i dont is just a reason to rise above.

No Brand New

I couldn't handle movies of my dreams.

If I had them I'd never leave the screen.

I'd stare into fiction as it shows me my addiction.

And then I'd fall asleep.

Unkind Intent

Frozen home and a lost heart.

Taking now the only place to start.

Finding shelter in pouring rain.

And finding warmth in an empty shopping cart

I don't know ideas that crawl in your head.

I only know what needs to be said.

Not that what I know makes a difference.

The difference is I'd rather see this feeling dead.

It creeps in the air through my ears and eyes.

Feeling around and finding fake lies.

That everyone believes and restates.

That everyone sees and tries.

There is no subject except the one in your mind.

There is no lantern to help you find.

The heat in the night, the cold in the light.

This idea is purposefully unkind.

File It

I write poems,

they calm me down.

When I'm not talking to anyone,

there is no reason to frown.

When there is a blank page,

for me to spill my mind,

I feel calm again.

I feel kind.