peanut allergies

They grew free
in clusters
like crab grass
and we snapped
them up as
snacks.
Pulverized
and slathered on bread.

Now they are
dirty brown demons.
Expelled from schools
banished from baked goods.
A killer among us.
and on has to wonder
which frightens more:
the affliction, or the fear
of affliction.

Wolves

Throw me to
the wolves; I'm tired of
here. Let them surround
me and pounce. Watch me
flail about as they rip
flesh and feast on
my entrails while the pups
snap at my limbs. Leave
my carcass be-
hind for the birds to
pick clean. Admire these
ugly bones strewn across
the bloody
earth.

And listen to
the howls in
the distance;
for finally,
I'll be
heard.

condolences

We have
an endless
supply of
words.

And we
spend
our lives
talking and listening
to interminable
conversations
like
telephoning
teeneagers.

but when
tragedy hits
the words
leave us
like air
from the lungs

and we mutter
the first
blunt,
ill-fitting words
that come to us:
"I'm sorry"

Ambition

The sun is over
400 times larger than
our moon and even
more important. Yet
the moon is undeterred,
and a couple of times
a year cuts in
front of our star to
bask in the spot-
light.

This satellite's
stay is temporary,
like an under-
study's on a sick day,
but, for that moment,
ambition has talent
trumped
and too
many of us
under-
stand.

liquor store

Sadness
is a liquor store.
Shelves filled with
over-priced, dusty,
mid-grade booze.
taking up space.
losing potency.

The porn rack
does brisk business
filling wayward libidos
with dirty images.

The man out front
down on his luck,
always one quarter away
from salvation.

And we stop in
every now and again,
because it's a
part of life.

kids

Kids today
gather in the shopping
mall coffee shops
and talk of
revolution.

They dress in
uniforms of youth
ripped jeans,
faded t-shirts,
store-bought and new.

They clack down
rally cries
on their birthday
laptops.

They misplace their
ill-begotten rage,
just like we did
when we were kids.

Good byes

are
a cinematic con-
struct.

Rick and Ilsa,
Romeo and Juliet—
call them war-torn,
hail them star-crossed,
but don't expect
their good
byes.

A slammed door;
a flatlined heart;
a suicide note

—these
are the byes
we know.

micromanagement

theres a place
where the claustrophobia is
ignored where
the restriction of every
corner stays just
there

time imposes
its ultimate will here
and its as accepted
as closing
ones eyes to
sleep

and i realize
i dont like this
coffin burn
me instead

youth

Hope shines bright
in the drug store
sunglass glare
of morning,
and opportunity is
limitless when
the weight of obligation
doesn't exist.

Hegemony

Timeout.
The main attractions drip on
the sidelines. The on-court
action now involves cheer-
leaders, female
and male—loading air
cannons with today's give-
away—launching
free shirts into seasoned
hands.

The recipients attend
every game. They can
afford to. This new rag will
detail the Mercedes.

Above,
in the upper deck,
a young fan hangs over
the railing. His hands
screaming over
his head—
I'm open.
Please.
I'll wear it everyday.
Alas, the cannons
don't have the psi.

Welcome to America.

Responsibility

This world
was formed
over billions of years.
Heat,
pressure,
volcanoes,
cataclysms
turn to
oceans,
mountains,
valleys
created by
the celestial architect.

And in our boundless
selfishness
we claim
responsibility
for it all.

Process

Ask about
my process, and I'll tell
you this: my parents
learned that children
make a cost-efficient parcel
delivery service when business
associates live in
the same apartment
complex.

More
me, since I
was the oldest,
but every now
and then my sister
would want to tag
along to my unheard
protests.

And one night, I left
her behind halfway back
from our destination. I thought
she knew the way
home. She didn't.

I did not receive
my usual wage
that night. I went to bed
without dinner. My sister
enjoyed it.

And that's how
I write
a poem.

Comfort

There's days
where the pain is
missed like it had
nudged itself close,
heated you up,
and as comfort
nestled in, it left
with the blanket too.

The world is cold,

And the only
way to regain
the warmth is to let
the pain come close
again.

It never strays too far.

miracles

You fold your hands
asking for things
that will make
your
life fantastic.

And when your prayers
go unheeded
you weep and
curse God for
his
selfishness.

Faith

The first heart attack
warned him like a flair
bursting within. It didn't
burn bright enough. He
had God to thank.

Then, there was the second
attack. It happened
in the dark—his eyes closed,
his left arm and chest crushed
by pain—

And it stayed black. That light
at the end of the tunnel—
not there. Instead, a vast void
that remained
when his eyes reopened to
see the tubes connecting
him to machines
and life—
to praise
his doctors.

the truth

We busy ourselves
with little things.
the dishes always piling
in the sink.
The clothes need folding
(they always need folding)
and the truth hovers acrid
as the smell of last night's
burnt lasagna.

We float around
talking small
until the sadness overwhelms,
the anger whirls inside
and we hurtle blame
around the room.
It shatters against the walls
like dinner plates
and falls unheard.
God's not taking responsibility
for this one.

Tears

These spiteful
nuisances can't quench
my thirst
and it grows.

They fail to
make my garden
bloom
and it dies.

They evaporate
on the smallest
flames
and it burns.

They slide down
my cheek eroding
my youth
and I'm old.

relic

Time is a relic.
forged just after
God swung his hammer.
A marathon runner
whose finish line
lays far out of sight.
It just keeps running
slowly,
methodically,
existing,
because that's what
relics do.

my muse

left.
I found a short note,
"goodbye."
She finally ran out of words.
Stuffed creativity
in those old brown suitcases
and vanished into the city.

I wept
in echoes,
and when the tears dried
I marvelled
at all of my newfound
spare time.

Adjustment

According to
Hemingway, all American
literature is a footnote
to Huck Finn—
but Twain is dead—
and somewhere, down
south, the "nigger" Jim
is a "slave"
again.

Soon, Holden will
be happy; Lenny will
be smart. They'll fix
my enjambment and
that should tame
the art.

Depression

I find a penny on
the ground, and I
think that someone
could slip on it so I leave
it there. Ordinarily,
I'd pick it up but
not today. Sometimes,
life's too much
of a coin flip to
deal with the real
thing. And I know
that it will land
ass up.

blood

Every word
is a cut
slice
poke.
The blood pours
flows
trickles
until at last
I'm paper white
with nothing left
to give.

Despite

Everyday I'm fighting
my parents, and I
haven't seen them in
years. I slammed
the door on them some
time ago, yet I can still hear
them yelling at me in
the unanswered
ring of the phone.

I want to
pick up. I want to
scream back. They taught
me well; I learned
better.

So the door remains
locked, and if they barge in
this time, I will pick up
the phone and they won't like
who I am
calling.

2012

When the Mayan
calendar runs
out of pages to
be turned, I will
have already experienced
the outcome. The world
had ended before.

Fire
rained down
when we fought. Tsunamis
crashed as she cried. The earth
opened up after she left.

And I survived
—narrowly—
prepared for the next
armageddon to
inevitably come.

new year

The clock sang
its lullaby
and age,
the unwanted guest
making himself at home,
stretched
out all over
our faces.

The dark smoke has cleared
Finally confronted fears
Spilled blood and shed tears

Looking back at life
Both good and bad memories
Yearning sanity

Glance to the future
No more believing rumors
Become the ruler

My life has been good
Even when misunderstood
Done all that I could

flood

My words drip
and sometimes overflow
and the rushing torrent
goes unnoticed
as everyone
has long since
left for
higher ground.

Primer

Dub me a prick,
And I’m a minor annoyance.
Anoint me an asshole,
And all I produce is shit.
Label me a son of a bitch,
And my mother never passed up a bone.
Declare me a bastard,
And I’m pretty much a son of a bitch.
Swear me a motherfucker,
And I’ve fathered children
(but then you’re a liar).
Call me by name,
And I might not answer.

Life's Purpose

Pain…experienced by many, and truly understood by few
Mental paroxysm
Physical anguish
Torment tearing apart the very soul
Many would give anything to go back to the very start
But that is inconceivable
Many have tried to live life without regret, and told themselves many times that they do not have any
However they’ve done nothing but commit self deception
Ignored signs, and looked past many sins
Left with nothing but blood, sweat, and tears without even the simplest understanding
Looking at one’s life and who or what fills the voids
Never looking into the souls of those with influence
True pain? That is an experience I would never wish upon another
Lost loved ones, broken bones or hearts don’t compare
Comprehending life’s purpose is what true pain is
Being able to peer into dark souls
Look past good intentions
Understanding true colors
Life’s purpose is pain

teacher

Busy hands
forming words.
Heads shaping ideas
that will be
weighed
measured
loved
or maligned
by the genius
that is
me.

Virus

It hits you so hard
the snot’s knocked in-
to you, not out,
and all you want
to do is stagger to
your corner for some
relief, but no
one’s there.

Each punch lands. A shot
to the temple and lights
blind. A blow
to the nose and vision
blurs. An assault
to the chest and air
retreats. The legs
throw in the towel.

You’re on
the floor and the ten-
count lasts for
days.

When you finally
regain some sense
of balance, the bell will
ring again and that old
familiar foe charges in to
beat you
again.

family

I think of us.
All of us.
Counting thousands
of moons together.
Celebrating
and grieving.
Toiling
and enjoying.
Until we're plucked
away.
One-by-one.
Starting with me.
I shut my eyes tight
and hope this
vision holds.

Treatment

She asked me to treat
her like a poem and I
obliged. I laid her
out like a first
line that I loved
And I went to
work.

I kept her in free
verse, as meter infringed
upon her independent
nature. We didn't rhyme any-
way.

I added
enjambment
since we always tried to
get a word in edge-
wise, which brought me to
our crux: Who gets
the last
word?

If she's the poem, these words
are her; but I'm the poet, so
that makes them mine. No-
body wanted a fight, so
the poem
was thrown
away.

On the advice of old men

Old timers, some
wise, gasp and admit that
life goes by too fast. I tend to
believe them, so I thought
of a solution: I'll anticipate
the day
I die.

I remember when I was nine
and double digits seemed just
around the corner—only
it wasn't. Days
felt like weeks and weeks
dragged like months. Time
was on its own
watch.

So I stay up
late for death like a child
waiting for Santa
on Christmas Eve, knowing
that when my eyes finally close,
what creeps down the chimney
will have traded sack
for scythe and I won't be waking
up to presents
in the morning.

forgettable

I wish
that I was
forgettable.
Thin as paper.
A tree
in life's background.

Sadly,
I stand here
in a room full of eyes
and realize
that they're
all trained
on me.

Washed up

We washed ashore from our ship-
wreck at sea and, out
of breath, we glared into the
horizon at where it
all fell
apart.

The storm flashed in the
distance, yet we kept
our course and sailed in-
to its heart. Wave after wave
rocked us, each swing building
momentum, until we
tipped, cap-
sizing what we knew to
the cemetery of
the deep.

The tide shrugged its
shoulders at our plight and
we did what came natural—fighting
the currents; hanging
on the wreckage; resisting
the drowning.

We closed our eyes
and when we awoke,
the beach had our backs. Now,
the sand clings to
our clothing like the aftermath
of a fight, but we're still
alive—albeit
oceans
apart.

common bonds

Splayed out
and dying
on the worn slats
of the living room floor
my Creativity
looked up at me
and with it's last breath
said
"I hate you".
I smiled and turned away.
The feeling was mutual.

silver lining

The sky darkens
signaling doom
I brace myself
knowing that
the clouds will
soon part
and for all this
optimism
I just keep
getting rained on.

reflecting

An old man sat
and flipped through his
photo album.
He saw his loves
his glories
momentous occassions
squirreled away from
dust.

His eyes swelled with pride
his heart with nostalgia.
He turned to the last page,
a picture of his most
recent birthday.
His face carved by age,
red branches in his eyes
reaching towards his pupils.
and said,
"You had a good life old man".
To his surprise,
the picture answered back,
"Meh, it could have been better".

parenthood

You greet me
with a smile,
a nubby-handed wave
and my heart throbs
because I know
that at least once,
before I die,
you will hate me.

Generic

People don't come
in boxes. Assembly's
not required. Batteries
were included.

What
they show up as
was put together
over time. Some screws
may be loose. Some finish
may be tarnished, but
they arrive generally
the same—

Self-
built from instructions
that don't look
too different from
the pages used
to construct
me.

Trial and Error

It starts
when we don't know
any better, conducting
impromptu science
experiments by shoving blunt
objects into electrical
sockets. A jolt later and this
action stops for
the moment. Then, we take
the dog's bone away, swear
at the bite incurred, and there's
dad standing there—arms
akimbo, eyebrows furrowed. Another
lesson learned, searing
the brain like a hot
iron on skin.

We grow
as do the circumstances: lost
jobs, failed
relationships, fruitless
endeavors. Each trial ending
in error lessens
as we mature, understanding
that this cycle
eases, but never
ceases.

battery

We often fight
and you become violent.
Beating my sensibilities.
Your words
and their lack
purple my flesh.
I leave.
You're no good for me.
But after a few days
the words become
more plentiful.
I miss you.
I come back
to your waiting arms
both of us knowing
that the cycle
will repeat.

creativity

They say
that animals
can sense death.
I curl up next to you
like a cat
and wait for the inevitable.

Pain

I've seen her
sterilized by cleaning
products and numbed by
stiff drinks. She hides within
words, spoken or not,
and the zeroes of shopping
receipts. She burns in
the flames of shoebox
fires until she's snuffed by falling
tears. And when time renders
her forgotten, the mail
arrives with
her name
above
my address.

Medium

There are times
when I think I've outgrown you.
I squeeze myself
into your casing.
I look foolish.
Every embarrasing detail
on display.

Then there are times
when I think you are too big.
I'm lost in your bulk.
A child draped in fabric.
foolish again.
Either way
you just don't fit
me
the way you used to.

Loneliness

A cricket chirps.
I draw near.
It stops.

Hand-me-down

The chair's placed across my living
room close enough to the front
window that anybody who
enters rubs against it. They
could use a grandmother's
luck.

It was the chair before
her last—replaced by a deluxe
model with a built-in massage
system, so this chair was a
hand-
me-
down.

Not from a lack
of comfort, but I rarely sit
there, except on the few
occasions when guests
occupy my other
seats. Pull the right-
side lever and the foot-
rest elevates. Lean back to
recline.

It's my grandmother's
chair and it adorns my
home like an urn on the mantel
would.

Entrails

I dropped an egg on the kitchen floor
and finally, I understood the heart-
break. There it was—splattered
on the tile, like
an insect on a windshield, with
bits of shell floating in the lifeless
amoeba of white and yolk. The two
halves of the fragile
casing remained relatively
intact, guts dripping, adding to
the mess.

I tore a stretch of paper
towels to sop
the accident and felt the viscera
ooze through the thin
cloth, tainting my hands.

Undeterred, I gathered the tiny
bits and soaked up the spillage;
and after I had tossed
the waste and my hands
were clean, I stepped on that
spot and my soles struggled to
let go.

advancement

15 years ago
I searched my pocket
for change
and scanned the streets
for a payphone.
Home was always
a few cents away.

Now,
I search my pocket
for my cell phone
and when you don't answer
I assume you're avoiding me.

10 years ago,
I scoured my car
for a cd.
Beloved songs
slid under the passenger seat.

Now,
I scour my car
for an iPod,
The thousands of songs
that I never listen to.

8 years ago,
I hunted the record store
for rare musical treasures.
Each new find
a cause for delight.

Now,
I hunt the internet
for songs that I recognize,
stealing music
indiscriminantly.

On occasion
I think of those archaic days,
wonder how we survived,
and smile at the thought
of the advances
that tomorrow will bring.

stoners and babies

A show
becomes so much more.
Songs that teach tolerance:
a laugh.
A huggable monster:
a trip.
A lesson learned:
an afternoon soon forgotten.

And when we age
a little more,
and have our own,
we work hard,
and pray to whomever
will listen
that they don't
turn out
the way we did.

Insanity

"Dogs do not test roller coasters,"
I sputtered beneath a laugh.
Her boyfriend knew the story would.
She placated a smile.
It's hard to enjoy a joke
When you're the butt of it—
Constantly.

To no one's surprise,
They split once more.
Thick skin does not conceal bruises.
He said:
She's been kicked out.
She said:
A restraining order's been filed.

Yet every now and then,
He'd find her crying
In his bed.
He had changed the locks.
There was no forceable entry.
This blonde couldn't have outsmarted him
Again and again.

And then one night, home alone,
He heard a commotion from the laundry room.
She was there—
Squeezing through the doggy door.

He told us this marked the end.
According to Einstein,
It meant another beginning.
The genius was right.

lineage

Their voices
long silenced.
Mouths covered
by generations
of earth
are only heard
when their others
finally stop
to listen.

Voice

For too long,
This block of marble sat stagnant,
But now chisel has been put to stone.
Blind to a vision,
Each strike of the mallet
Chips away unrefined rock,
Building sediment on the floor.
The intent remains to sculpt
Until some form takes shape—
No matter how long it takes—
Even if the only admiring eyes
Are the tearful artist’s own.

Possession

These words are as much hers
As they are mine,
And if there was a custody battle,
She would probably win.
I could write:
Love
But she owned that more than me.

I'm left with a blank page instead
And inadequate words to fill it—
Like a bank account
With insufficient funds.
I'd fail to pay the alimony too.

My words flail about
And crash to the bottom
As gravity pulls down all things.
These fractured lines will heal
In time.

Emotional Capacity

There is a limit to my emotional capacity
Gravity gravitated me towards those that caused calamity
I blindly walked through life with fervent tenacity
Classically trained in thought that one day I’d meet my match romantically
Sadly I’ve changed into someone who looks at life cynically
At people, especially those, who go through life using deception and mimicry
Initially formed those same people into the epitome of angel imagery
I was blind until my mind had an abundance of epiphanies
Even through moments of unspeakable indignity
I still bear the scars, both mentally and physically
Badges of honor and pride, symbols of resiliency
Some people call me pessimistic, I call myself a realist
Instead of open hands I stand with clenched fists
Always ready to defend, fight, and persist
To protect my heart from, once again, sinking into the abyss
The place where minds and souls struggle to exist
Where death comes knocking, and opening the door is hard to resist
Wondering, “If I left this world, would I be missed?”
There is a limit to my emotional capacity
A part of me still hopes there’s someone out there who can change my mentality.

passion (less)

We used to embrace.
Staring at each other.
Lost in our love.

But our moods soured.
All things end,
and when the pen dried
I started sleeping
on the couch.

We'd pass in the hallway.
speaking, but not
saying much.
Sharing long, cold breakfasts
Silent.

You will leave.
And I will be alone.
And forever reminisce
about the days
when I wrapped myself
in the velvet comfort
of your words.

Punctuation

It starts with a subject and an object
Bound by an unconditional verb,
But heartbreak hides in the punctuation.

Introduce a comma,
The briefest of pauses,
And the two clauses separate,
Yet a conjunction
Keeps them coordinated.

It expands into a semicolon;
A greater breath is drawn;
The sentence remains complete.

A dash extends the silence—
Longer.

An ellipsis...
Even more.

A period means business.
Each clause stands alone.
The connection is gone.
It marks the end.

Burn Out

For a moment,
You hear the tires scream outside
And you stop working.
You know how they feel.

Slipping,
They try to grip the road,
But the tread refuses.
The motor asks for too much.
Heat builds from the friction
And the screech hits its crescendo,
Then they catch.
The remnants smoke in the street.
Not enough to blow them
Yet.

Now get back to work.

Frankenstein

I created you
haphazardly,
out of spare parts
wandering in my mind.
An alliterative phrase her
a pun there.

You grew.
Beguiling as a criminal
Scaring others
lurking their outskirts.

You think that you are stronger
than me.
You think that you have more influence
than me.
You think that you are smarter
than me.
I think that you may
be right.

Abdiel (revised)

Why were you there?
Attending Satan's
time share pitch.
He spoke of revolution,
and longing for the spotlight
you had to come along.

You planned to be
the great hero.
God's lap dog,
but how did you
expect God
not to know?

Outsmarted seraph.
One step behind both
Good and Evil.
Neither hero
nor villain
you rest as a footnote
in celestial history.

Contradictions

I have a friend who fixes
Elevators for a living.
He married a bank president.
He's the wisest man I know.
One friend rides the stock market
Up and down, everyday.
He's the most even keel.
Another friend wants to be a cop.
He sold prescription drugs
To pay for college.
There's this other friend
Who hit his $2 million sales goal.
He never pays for drinks.
The friend I've known the longest
Peddles used cars.
I trust him the most.
My closest friend,
A creative type—
She won't talk to me anymore.

Silence

It doesn't pay the bills
That slowly stack on the kitchen table.
The hot water runs cold
And the lights go out,
While the phone mimics the situation.
An eviction notice hangs on the front door
And the car's hooked up for a tow.
Its hue is fool's gold,
But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Sisyphus

Our worth is measured
in tasks.
Clipping the grass.
Picking the kids up
from daycare.
Everytime one thing is
crossed off.
Another appears.
An endless supply
of work.

And in our down time
when our backs are achy
and our eyes are heavy
we stand around together
whispering vulgarities
and comparing the sizes
of our "to do" lists.

Election

Many sit
and stare at the names
scrolling across their sets.
colors flash
red
blue
red
blue
long into the night
and as the sun rises
the only thing to really change
are the names.

Tea Party

Overboard—
That's where the tea went
Splashing in the harbor,
Treading like a fledgling nation,
Sinking the hopes of another.
The hand that reached across the sea
Would no longer drink at our table
Without a collective say.

After hours,
This party continues.
The tea is watered down
And, blurry-eyed, some drink,
Even though they think
The other patrons here are uninvited.
Had they checked the guest list,
They would've recognized our names
Etched in their handwriting.

Exposed

In a world where things went right—
Pictures hang from the nails in the wall.
The furniture settles in the carpet indentations.
Clothes dangle from hangars in the other closet.
Two pillows line the head of the bed.

Murphy's Law does not apply.

Books occupy more than half of the shelves.
Boxes remain unconstructed in the garage.
One less key resides in a kitchen drawer.
Words reciprocate one another.

Awakening

Today is the day
First of the rest of my life
Cannot fail this time.

anxiety

You burn my eyes.
flip my belly
like flapjacks
keep me awake
with the nightcrawlers
and I hate you,
but you've been here
for so long
I can't imagine life
without you.

Optimism

Today, I write something happy:
People shut their mouths
And listen for a change.

flash

The camera flashes
stop.
Burning afterimages
into our retinas.
Memories of excitement
strobing
when we close our eyes.
But that image fades
and we are left
with inaccuracy,
embellishments,
and no one to share them with.

sleepless

The days
are open wounds,
sore,
bleeding.
The blood puddles
and smears
making the holes
appear as one
gaping
disaster
and the only remedy,
the only thing
that can clot
the blood
just won't come.

Antipodes

When my step-dad was fed up,
He told me to play in traffic.
I could never muster the courage.
But now I sit in it everyday.
It's less thrilling and dangerous
Than I had previously thought.

I took hikes;
I flew kites
On his advice.
None proved too fulfilling.

Finally,
When I had brought him to his wit's end,
He handed me a shovel
And suggested I dig to China.
I checked.
Straight through the globe,
From our L.A. suburb,
Would put me off the coast of Madagascar.
It's probably a lovely place,
But I wasn't up for the swim.
So I started at Beijing instead,
And on the other side of the earth
I found my starting point.

Buenos Aires
Would make a wonderful vacation spot.
I realize that was the best advice he ever gave me.

Jacket

Everybody owns one.
The type that hangs in the back of the closet
Like a forgotten skeleton.
Simple attire
That denotes no special occasion—
Far from it.

It’s strange comfort
Howls for your attention
And you listen
This time.
It’s for your own good,
Yet you muffled the screams longer
Than normal.

You shake off the dust,
Ignore the wrinkles,
And strap it on.

It’s like you remembered—
The long sleeves,
The tough material,
The snug fit
Of a straitjacket made well.

Abdiel

Pious to a fault
brave Abdiel
attended the meeting,
Satan's timeshare pitch,
and ventured a shot
at heroism.

His love was rewarded
by knowing eyes
and he rests
as a footnote
in celestial history.

towers

It stands,
a wooden monument
to house
gluttony, lust, avarice.
Forgive all and forget none.

Erected by mortal men
for immortal purposes
its benevolence
rung true
in the clattering bells.

It knows your suffering,
your pain.
It clearcuts a path
straight to God.
A small version
of that tower
that he tore down
so long ago.

Paradigm

Like a coin,
It’s been flipped
And it landed on edge.

Now,
The kid returns home
And the parents ask him
For money—

When he’s supposed to climb
The pyramid schemes;
When he’s supposed to scrounge
The monthly rent;
When he’s supposed to repay
The substantial loans—
Not them.

They just wait
For the coin to drop
So they can pocket that too.

in the mouth

Gifts
aren't always wanted.
Sometimes they're
burdens dressed up.
Shackles tied with
a frilly bow.

Accept
them wisely.
Examine their faults.
Weigh your options.
Even if it is free
it may cost you
in the end.

Matrimony

All marriages end:
Half in divorce;
Half in death.
One cup is half-full;
The other half-empty.
Figuring out which cup
Belongs to whom
Is the lawyer's problem.

Metro

Traveling subterranean,
An empty coffee pint
Rolls on its plastic brim
Along the train’s floor,
Following the same arc
Back and forth—
Stop in, stop out.
A morning pick-me-up
That won’t have the favor returned
Until a graveyard sweep

And nobody pays attention.

They stare straight ahead
With longing eyes
Widened by longer faces.
The rail screams a lullaby
That only they understand.
Each stop closing in on home,
On the end of the line—
Day in, day out.

And when the last passenger exits,
The hollow train sighs.
They share too much in common.

glass half

When left
with half
in the glass
guzzle its contents
and refill
until it
overflows.

Stress

You feel it ram into your back
And you know it’s in the room.
This crippling blow tenses your muscles
And it begins to feed
On your hair, your fingernails,
Your thoughts.
Its claws sink in,
Scarring the skin.
It howls
And your heart quickens.
You won’t sleep—
It haunts your dreams too.
As you lay there exposed,
The infections will come
For you to sweat out
Once more—
And this monster will leave the room
As quietly as it came in.

all in one

I don't have
many eggs.
I stack them neatly,
encase them in bubblewrap,
toughen up their fragile outsides.
Preparing them for their journey.
If careful
one basket
will do just fine.
Presumed failure
is
failure.

puzzled

The placement of each piece
a cruel mystery.
I sit for hours
forcing them together.
Sky into ground.
Human into animal.
Bending them
creating unnatural wonders.

My creation:
misshapen,
defeated.
I look at the picture
on the box
and wonder where
I went wrong.

Principal

He’s the only one
Who carries a briefcase,
A mismatch with his sports jacket
And school spirit shirt.
Considering his back problems,
The contents must weigh a ton—
With the school plan,
The teacher reviews,
The district meeting agenda,
A book on the latest pedagogy,
And other confidential files—
Or so we thought.

Behind his office door,
We miss the big reveal:
An unused legal pad,
A book of Sudoku puzzles,
Yesterday’s sports page,
And lunch.

The Little Engine

We thought our cogs fit,
Forming the perfect gear
With optimal torque.
And as the larger one spun,
The smaller one would too—
A perpetual turning
Towards one another.
We believed this little engine
Would run forever.

An incline would appear
And we’d charge:
We think we can.
We think we can.
We think we can.
And we could.

Some teeth would grind,
But with the right amount of oil,
We would maintain our little engine
And take solace in the lessened effort
Of the impending descent.

A hill would arise
And we’d churn:
We think we can.
We think we can.
We think we can.
And we could.

The continual friction took its toll
And the gear in our little engine
Would slip on occasion.
We misjudged the backlash,
But we had momentum
And that would be enough.
That should have been enough.

A mountain would erupt
And we’d chug:
We think we can.
We think we can.
We think we can.
We couldn’t.

Reflection

In the dim light
she laughed
and I thought
of everything
that has brought me
to this point:
love,
fear,
hate,
mania,
bliss.
My life
a short film
about nothing special
with that dry little giggle
as the soundtrack,
and it's all worth it.
and it all makes sense
for once.

Tetsuo

We are all
a little like him:
unsure,
aloof,
yearning to be
on the inside,
to be in on the joke,
and possess the knowledge.

but this longing
may very well
be the thing
that kills us
in the end.

dreams

The dreams are stored
somewhere in the back.
Behind the stacks
of old memories,
picnics,
birthdays,
your first puppy.
You had to give him away
when you moved.
Tuck that one deep.

And the trick is,
to unpack all of
the shit
find your dream
hanging there
on the hook
where you left it,
and try it to see
if it fits.

Age

Children measure it in feet,
Breaking down every inch
Into halves, quarters;
Counting each line on the ruler
Until the edge is reached
And then they start over.

Adults read it on an odometer,
Anticipating that next oil change,
That next tune-up;
And these miles multiply fast
If they don’t pay close attention,
Which they seldom do.

Problems

Despite our escape attempts,
They reside neatly
In the corners
Of our tightly-packed suitcases.
Occasionally,
They receive several folds
To optimize space
For more,
Without us knowing it.
Some could stay at home,
But they’re almost essential,
Like luggage tags,
So everybody knows
Who they belong to.
They refuse to survive alone,
Even for those few days.
Miles later,
They surprise us.
They’re quickly unpacked
And shoved hastily
In hotel room drawers—
Out of sight, out of mind.
When vacation ends,
They’ll be wadded, repacked,
And brought home
To be spilled across the bedroom floor.

cooks

We all stand
our shoulders
pressed together
sucking in the same
fetid air
as we lean in close,
bark orders,
and wait
for someone else
to do the work.

secret

You didn't know
that I was there.
peaking through the blinds.
We were young then,
still a few years
from that awkward mountain: puberty.

We had wallowed in the dirt,
playing fanciful games.
I was the knight
you were my maiden.
but the day proved too hot
for fantasy.
and as you changed
into your swimsuit.
my eyes stole the scene.

Your dirtclad fingers
clutched the shirtbuttons.
Hurrying to loosen them.
I watched each button in slow motion.

One button.
My heart thrummed my throat.
Two buttons.
My eyes widened.
they were paper plates,
giant, white.
Three buttons.
My body was numbed.
Four buttons.
I felt nothing
Five buttons,
I felt everything.

Walls

It took the Achaeans ten years
To infiltrate one,
And the Germans an extra twenty
To topple another.
We respect walls
Because we can’t walk through them.
We trust in walls
Because they can’t talk.
What happens within them
Stays within them
At their depth’s volition.
They trap us;
They separate us;
And despite their strength,
One day they’ll fall
Like all things.

Prisoner

There was a long stretch of time in which I was imprisoned
A fate that was given within, but from the world still hidden.
Stricken with the lack of impulse control towards the forbidden
I envisioned a life of profit and sin
Waiting for the next big thing to begin.
I was a slave to material things and the almighty dollar,
Forgetting about both integrity and honor,
Stacking paper only made my goal seem farther.
I was a prisoner in a prison created by my own hand
Never realized that there was one thing I didn’t understand
That the life I was living was going to shorten my fucking lifespan.
It’s now time to plan my journey to the promised land
Escape this prison and take command
Demand more from life, and make my mind expand.
Don’t misunderstand, because I’m easily misunderstood.
I was just tired of sweating tears and crying blood,
And still ended up saying could, would and should.
I was a prisoner in a prison set up by my own mind…
But now I’ve been set free to leave my past behind.

Artistry

The strokes of the brush
Stand proud—
A blotch for a hat;
A sweep’s the wind.
Red climbs on the shoulders of blue
And purple rises atop.
Even the name,
Snug in the corner,
Sits up straight
Proud of its accomplishment.

The strokes of my pen
Lie mute.
Handwritten—
My words might tail off
while the letters within connect.
Maybe these tails cross my t’s
And my i’s are dotted by hollow circles.
Yet, you’ll never know
Because here they extend before you
In disguise.

broken things

Your chipped tooth;
one long night
smoke and drink
ended
with your face
jarred by concrete.
Enamel pulverized
into particulate.

A cassette case;
once your favorite.
You rode your bike
to buy it when it came out.
listened to it twelve times straight.
Now cracked and dusty
in the forgotten corner
of the garage.

Your G.I. Joe;
you begged mom to have it.
With his backpack of weapons
he turned colors in the sun,
a magic trick to the neighborhood kids.
He's in the old toy box,
hips displaced,
color faded.

What makes us
is an assemblage of
broken things,
not for what they are,
but for what they meant.
For what they mean.

In the Dark

Second day in a row where I’m sitting in the dark…
Giving time for my mind to pick my entire life apart
From the very start to imagining the time when my soul departs
Wonderin whether or not I’ll die of old age
Or in lots of pain from a high numbered cancer stage
Lookin at life deciding whether or not I made my mark or just a stain
Then I remind my mind to take caution
Because I’m probably going to die from heat exhaustion
No electricity definitely means there’s no AC
This heat and darkness are making me crazy
Comprehensive abilities getting hazy
Body getting tired and lazy…
Then I realize how much I take things for granted
That my view on life is more than slightly slanted
Luxuries as necessities…an idea implanted
Brutally branded into my cerebral
That I shouldn’t care about other people
In poverty or living through civil upheaval
Where death instead of life is the lesser of two evils
Their next meal may not be achievable
Makes me feel like my complaints are unbelievable
Look at the kind of ideas this emptiness sparks
When I’m sitting here…in the dark.

Party Lines

There—
The morning train alarms.
This is where the sun rises
And the cold air slaps
Like an elephant's trunk.
Shirts button to the neck.
Coat collars turn up.

So go forth—
Feel the Appalachians rolling massage;
Cleanse in the cool waters of the Mississippi;
Stretch across the Great Plains;
Smooth out the blemishes on the Rockies;
Bathe in the Mojave sun;
Sink into the soft sands of the Pacific.

Here—
Change is more
Than a subway fare.
Shorts fall below the knees.
Flip-flops hang on the feet.
This is where the sun sets
And the earth shakes.
This is us
And we defy you
Like a stubborn mule.

thicker

Congealed,
thick and soupy,
family sticks
to your
head,
heart,
wallet,
conscience.
And won't ease its grip.

Sometimes
there would be nothing nicer
than to turn on a cold tap
and wash the blood away
clean.