September Afternoon

March 30, 2011  :: 0 comments

A heart no longer
within this chest.

I left mine,
gently placed upon
an old yellow blanket
in the park,
on a sunny
September afternoon.

Along side
a guitar
a glass of Merlot
and a book from
the used book store.

I can see it clearly,
this image,
it is there!

The blanket
is not balled up
in the trunk of the car,
my true love has not died,
and I do not
drink Merlot


A Freud Kind Of Day

featured in the poetry forum March 30, 2011  :: 0 comments

I’m at the Jack In The Box next to the auto mechanic
drinking a vanilla milkshake while reading a book
that my drunk poet buddy threw me,
examining cultural history in the context of
a radical reinterpretation of Freudian Psychoanalysis.

It made me think of last night, coming out of
the Ozzy Rabbit Lodge, a local bar where they have
a mural of Ruby Shooting Oswald, on the wall.
I was vomiting in the parking lot, just below
the sign reading “smile you’re on camera.”

It could have been the $1.25 PBR beer special
or perhaps the phone call with a friend
who said; “Faith in anything is meaningless,
we are all just a bunch of goofy monkeys
who only evolved intellect because it was sexy.”

It made me think of my beloved, before she left.
We had gotten so close and familiar that
when we were drunk and she decided that
I needed to vomit, she would hold me down
and stick her finger down my throat until I did.
Which is a pretty odd thing to see, yourself
vomiting on the hand of the woman you love,
particularly an Anal Retentive Germophobe.

The third time she did this was by a swimming pool
drinking till 6am with my poet buddy.
The same night he threw me the book, as he
watched us, shaking his head, a little weirded out.

He later suggested some type of Oedipal Mother
archetype control dominance dynamic.
The other friend suggested a more straight up
sexual reverse penetration/ejaculation
play rape reenactment dynamic.
Either way, admittedly, I did get off on it
in some vague not quite explainable way.

As I’m finishing the milkshake, the thought
occurs to me, that when my mad love returns,
beyond simply seeing a therapist together,
it might behoove me to read up on and study,
hell, even become and expert on,
Freudian Psychoanalytical concepts.
I think we’ve really got something there.

Outside the Jack In The Box I vomited
about half the vanilla milkshake
onto the pavement while some Ginger kid
on a motorcycle, looked at me strangely.

Leaned over forward, clearing my throat,
spitting like that, made me cry just a little bit.
It reminded me of her.


editors note:

A radical reinterpretation of Freud through Shakespearean tragi-comic parking lot character confession and gastrointestinal divination. – mh

Foolish Fragile Thing

featured in the poetry forum December 27, 2010  :: 0 comments

How foolish and meaningless life is.

All the thousands upon thousands of hours
it took to create you
just as you were.

All your ideas of spiritual progression
and growth and
wanting something more than this.
Your laugh
Your smile
and the way you approached a problem
from different angles than most would
coming up with a unique point of view.

All this.
All this went into making up you,
then one day something foolish,
you breath in water
instead of air
asleep for a moment
a stupid fucking moment,
and where is all this!?
All this that made up you?
All this that the man who loved you
who adored you
who worshipped you
couldn’t seem to save!!!

in a moment,
a fucking moment!!

How fragile and frail
this thing we call life is!
How foolish.
How without purpose.

We sit and we talk
Hours upon hours
about our meanings
about our values
about how we are unique
and special and different
from everyone else,
and yet
still you are gone.
Gone in an instant
your face like that
the stuff of nightmares.

You were special and you were unique,
you were nearer to god than most
yet still you are gone.

Your eyes and toes and opinions.
Your words and mouth and promises
Your love for children
and music and me,
all are gone.

And this stupid thing
this man that loved you
is still hanging on,
hanging on for some reason
as if any of it means anything
as if it is not all as fragile
as an eggshell
or glass
or a foolish notion.

Where the hell are you?!?
All the things that made up you!?

All those hours
all those important ideas
and notions of the way things are.
What are you now that you are gone?
Just a memory in me?!?
Then, when I go
through some fragile
decision or another,
what are you then?
Where do you exist?!?!?

With all the time and effort
the universe put into creating
the one and only you that was you
why would it fucking let that go?!?

Are we all just foolish deluded bacteria
with some special illusion of grandeur
granted by evolution
in order to perpetuate our species
for whatever reason it exists?!?

Were we ever more than just
two foolish self-aware moments in space time
calling themselves artists
talking and talking late into the night?!?

Why then do I miss you so?!?
Why do I feel so incomplete without you?
If we are just tiny organisms in the scheme of things
perhaps we were symbiotic,
two creatures existing as one
perhaps I needed you
perhaps I needed you
perhaps I waited and waited and waited for you
like desert air waits for nightfall
like Spring waits for rain
like I waited for you
my entire foolish fragile life
only to kiss you
only to lose you
to lose you
to lose you
to lose you
in a moment.

It feels foolish and fragile
and meaningless
to be here
without you now.

My love,
my god…

Hanging Around

December 27, 2010  :: 0 comments

I feel Stupid.

I’m a poet,
A Troubadour,
I love her with all my guts
and soul.

Hanging around now,
is like rewriting Shakespeare.

Juliet dies,
and Romeo lives
to attend support groups
and talk about his feelings.
It’s rather ridiculous
I think.

There is a reason why
you knife yourself
when your true love
has gone.

It just makes sense,
after all,
who wants to walk around as
half a person?

Feels like a betrayal
of the whole story
doesn’t it?

I Am Your Home

December 27, 2010  :: 0 comments

Wherever you are,
alone or surrounded
in darkness or in light
mania or melancholia, when
detached and soul searching
your gypsy nature seeking ground.
I want you to know, want you to think,
close your eyes for a moment
breathe deeply and remember that
I am your home.

With open palms and arms spread wide
A full bowl of promise, sitting, waiting,
for you to return to my side,
I am your home.

In my car, you controlling the stereo
eyes closed lips in falsetto
passion bleeding from your soul,
I am your home.

Lawn sprinkler water beaded forehead
your beautiful sublime brown flesh exposed to
the orange blue light of sunrise,
I am your home.

Walking a Dallas sidewalk casually telling you
that you look stunning, in just the right tone of voice
that you finally get it, after thousands of words
and poems and pages, you finally get how I see you,
I am your home.

Drinking cans of beer on the patio until
the break of dawn, me in my boxers.
Breaking through my insecurities.
You, feeling familiar and comfortable,
finally telling me that
I am your home.

Scratching an ant bite on my hand, you
get that emotional look you get,
smiling, realizing that my daughter
has the same hands as me,
I am your home.
Ironically hugging a unicorn in bed
as I stay up all night long talking you
through anxiety because, hey,
I want every waking moment I can get anyway,
I am your home.

Your heart opened at last to
the potential perfection we could be,
treating me differently, treating me kindly
treating me respectfully,
I am your home.

A beer at a bar where you and I do
what we always do, which is get so into
our shared energy and personality that we
become an unforgettably brilliant comedy show,
I am your home.

In Dr.’s or therapist’s offices.
Hand in hand running through wet grass.
Quiet conversations over dinner.
Center stage at the House of Blues.
Sleeping side by side, on grass or
under a swing set or on a blanket.
Sleeping on a hard tile floor just to be near
the couch that you are on,
I am your home.

Painting pink butterflies on my daughters toenails.
A nap with the children and I on an air mattress.
A bookstore with you and my son after breakfast.
Kisses at the break of dawn.
You, motherly, organizing the children’s dinner
coercing my son to accept his Spaghettios.
Late night Youtube music video tears that devastate me,
arms open as you embrace me,
then push me away, then embrace me,
then push me away,
A real world metaphor revealing to me at last
the nature of exactly how you must be loved,
I am your home.

Early morning Merlot crying
please don’t abandon me.
( I never will silly!)
All the thousands of professions of love that
spill from my lips and finger tips regularly.
When I look at you like an animal craving pray and
you telling me that is perfectly ok.
hours staring at your face while sleeping
twisted up in my black tee-shirts,
The way my heart explodes and eyes cry at the
mere sound of your voice and sight of your face.
Singing your old songs together in front of a bar.
Simply walking beside you anywhere we go.
wherever we are,
I am your home.

The way my children react when they see you,
the joy and healing you presence brings them.
Long conversations over coffee, over dinner,
over beer, over blankets, over entire nights.
Opening up every possible fear and insecurity
to one another, breaking through barriers,
healing old wounds, knowing our depths like
no one else possibly could.
Don’t tease me! Why would you say that?
You say, as I tell you a part of your dripping flesh
and wet hair are beautiful, and
the look you get when realizing I wasn’t teasing,
I am your home.

Singing Hallelujah arm in arms with a homeless man.
Singing Hallelujah on the mic.
Singing Hallelujah with Fort Worth musicians.
Singing Hallelujah to Youtube Leonard Cohen and various covers
over and over, while you are in bed sleeping it off,
children play running all over the house laughing and waking you up
by throwing a naked baby in the bed.
it’s not a cry that you hear at night
it’s not somebody who has seen the light
it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah!
I am your home.

The old us made brand new.
Back together again no matter what we say or do.
All past hurts forgiven the way regular people
can’t even imagine being able to forgive.
I know he’s crazy, you tell your brother,
but I love him, I need him in my life,
I love him. I need him, we get each other
in ways that no one else ever could.
How could we have gone through all that and
come back to this?
ALmost together,not quite,
but almost, wanting it to be.
Praying for it to be,
we are perfect, we are perfect, and I love you.
The future is unclear but open to possibility
as you fly away from me,
Hopefully, just for a while,
I am your home.

Open your eyes now.
It doesn’t matter where you are
who you are with, where you have been,
where you go or where you will be,
I will accept you
I will embrace you
I will be here for you,
just be here for me and with me as much as you can
make me your lover, your best friend,
your spiritual partner,
your guru, your student, your poet, your man,
The very best way that we can.
We may struggle with details, but that’s ok,
what matters is the love we share along the way.
Let me be your center
your ground
The eye of your storm.
The hurricane to your tornado.
Your solid place to come home to,
The energy source that never ends
The children’s faces and arms and feet and smiles
that love you and need you and want you
to be an important impactful part of their growth
and character as only you can be Alexcie,
for us, as only you can be!!
They are your home.
We are your home.
Together is our home.
I am your home

Open up and let it be, embrace what is here before you
I have always been and always will be
but now after this last few weeks
August 2010
especially even more so than ever before.
I am your home.

The door is open,
leave your heart here with me
as you roam and learn and yearn and create and grow.
This place is here for you as no other could possibly be
open, accepting, familiar, comforting, exciting,
funny, sad, laughter, tears, all of it.
Every bit of it, this is it, reach out and take it
live in it, because it is yours and only yours,
this place, this home, belongs to you,
was created in this universe specifically for you,
It’s me, my heart, my soul, my life,
and I am yours if you want me
I am your home.
I am your home.
I am your home.

I Brought A Card

featured in the poetry forum April 26, 2010  :: 0 comments

Of all the thousand dreams I dreamt
of seeing her again
I never dreamed
it would be like this.

tape and tubes,
she looked an awful mess,
frail and defeated.

I said;
“I brought a card.”
She extended her small arms
around my neck.
It took everything I had
to choke down the depths
of accumulated emotion.
I shook and gasped, but didn’t
quite cry.

The others left us alone.
A small voice said sit, patting
the side of the bed contraption.
There was a silence.

I said;
“Well, you finally have me
at a loss for words.”
She struggled a slight smile.

She explained to me
her feelings
and what had led her there
pleading slightly “You understand?”
And I did.
I’d felt that way without her
back then,
what seems so long ago now.

But, I told her
“I haven’t felt that, haven’t
had that in me in a long while now.”
She wanted to know.
“A lot of suffering
A lot of self-honesty.
A lot of therapy
and a lot of time alone”
I said,
she gripped my hand
A little tighter.

I added;
“The answer lies inside.
It’s only when you can face the world
like a storm,
take anything it’s got
and say you won’t defeat me ever,
not looking for the answer in anything else,
that’s when you start to find it.”

She wasn’t sure she could do it.
I assured her that she could.
That I personally had always
had faith in her.

“Now everyone thinks I’m crazy”
She laughed a little.
I said.
“But you always thought that?”
She asked.
“Yes“, I exhaled
I just love you anyway.

I made sure not to stay long.
Kissing her cheek
and whispering “I love you”
into her ear, I
stared into her eyes for
a really long time
while a million memories
flashed through my mind.

She looked awful.
The worst I’ve ever seen her,
but I’ve never not loved her
not during my own worst times
and not now, during hers.

“You’re kind of a jerk.’
I said.
“Well you’ve been a jerk before too!”
She returned.
“Yeah, that’s true I sure have.”
I shook my head
and took my leave.

In the parking lot
I wiped the sweat from my neck
and thought about the other universe,
the one where she and I were
happy together.
We were at a picnic
under the sun
surrounded by children
and laughing.

I got in my car and drove away.
Because I had other
pressing battles to fight.
I was feeling very sad
but also, suddenly very strong,
and ready to fight them.

The Last Poem I Wrote For Her

featured in the poetry forum August 7, 2009  :: 0 comments

Loving her was like loving fire.
Hot, beautiful, primal,
a terrible burning in the heart.

Not like loving earth,
something solid,
a place to stand,
to plant the feet
and grow things.
A love to live upon.

Nor was it like loving air.
Something you can breathe in
and relax surrounded by.
A cool evening breeze
that blows on through
lending a certain comfort
along it’s way.

It wasn’t even like loving water
drank in
swallowed up
a love that satiates,
can be survived upon
that cools, revives,
is the essence of life.

loving her was like loving fire
and loving fire is a madness.
You want so badly to touch
it’s amazing incomprehensible
irresistible flame,
but it’s fire,
and even a lovely gentle fire
does but one thing;
consumes that which feeds it.
It only destroys.
Because, that’s what fire does.
No matter how exquisite
beautiful or enthralling,
It burns.

Loving her was like loving fire
and it consumed me
and scarred me
and burned away at my soul
until I was all burned up.
like a walking volcanic phantom,
sweltering ash in her wake.

May 30, 2009

come undone09-08-08

featured in the poetry forum January 14, 2009  :: 0 comments

Nothing ever happens
Nothing at all
Birds don’t sing
The sun don’t shine
Elephants forget
Cars don’t start
Bees are cut off at the knees
Eyelids that never blink
Flowers hang unbloomed
Cats don’t scratch and claw
Silent death never comes
Men don’t cry
Thunder doesn’t follow lightning
It’s always empty in the sky
All grass is brown and dead
Politics stays the same
White noise static on the television
The national anthem is never sung
No one eats pie or cake or pizza
Candle wax doesn’t melt
Babies aren’t born
Men in horned rimmed glasses never sneeze
Volcanoes lie dormant
Rabbits eat their own feet
Movie sets are empty, no one yells “action” on them
Race horses fall over
Time flows down a drain
Hairstyles never change
Policemen sit silently, not eating donuts,
not writing tickets or laughing at your expense
White lace dresses tatter
Bowling balls wobble
Gum is spit out
Unsmoked cigars sit smoking
Girls don’t flirt
Whoops don’t holler
Grasshoppers won’t hop
The far off sounds are coming from nowhere
No one wins a medal, or first prize or second prize
or no prize
Writers tap there pens relentlessly then
fall Christ-like backwards in work chairs
Clowns don’t cry
Fools are suffered lightly
Glass eyes don’t see
Blues songs aren’t sad
Everything yellow disappears
No one gets on that airplane
There are no regrets
Martyrs can find no martyrdom
Monsters aren’t frightening
Childhood is like a walk in the park
Wheels won’t turn
Hummingbirds kill themselves old school Japanese style
Fortune cookies are empty inside
Cheaters prosper a little
Hats blow off heads
Turtles stack upon turtles in a pyramid
Fish cannot breathe
Monkeys stop fornicating
Limestone doesn’t taste like lime
The whole dark world stands still mid jack off
Ticket takers won’t take tickets
Flies on the wall don’t even give a shit about what’s being said
Liars lose their inertia
Honey tastes like piss
Guns misfire
Eggs crack open of their own volition
Carousels won’t spin
Angry people sit down with head in hands
Moths surround the ankles
The ketchup won’t pour out
Entropy sings like Christmas carols on small children’s lips
Nothing ever happens
Anything at all
And you don’t love me
And you don’t love me
And you don’t fuck me
You don’t fucking fuck me
But you fucking fuck other people
But not fucking me
Bugles blow mournful
Every living tiger screams
Fire burns the head of a match
And you won’t stop leaving
One way or the other
With your body
With your face
With your words
With your pussy
Your pussy won’t fucking stop leaving
Your heart
Your love
Your connection to all things great and small
It just won’t stop leaving
over and over and over
Like trains at a train station
Particles of light
Turning pages in a book
I can’t see your fucking smile
Somebody is fucking you now
Ripples in a pond
Butterflies in spider webs disintegrate
Icicles fall stabbing baby lizards in the eye
The universe is flaccid
No one even bothers to masturbate anymore
Pancake syrup down the side of your face
The waitress at the diner offs herself
Phones don’t ring
Prodigal sons never return
Pedophiles sip cocktails and smile
at new years eve celebrations
Planted seeds grow Karma like rotting fruit
Demons go unfought
Prophets predict the worst scenarios
Sleep is now a wicked enemy
Poems fall apart
Every single fucking poem falls apart
Inkless pens
Shit from the ass
Stupid languages
Words don’t mean shit when twisted around like
quantum folly bullshit bluster
And you don’t love me
And you won’t love me
You won’t love me
only fools to which you are nothing.
You won’t fuck me
only fools to which we are nothing.
Everyone goes back to full time jobs.
We all give up the ghost, or the dream, or the secret
secrets, secrets, secrets,
motherfucking secrets!
Perverts, liars, fucking cunts
every last one of you
Return to the same as before
Except for me, I’m disabled now
Everything back to what it was
You back in your place
Everyone back to their place
Someone yells action
Frozen time resumes
Nothing happened
Nothing happens
Nothing ever happens anywhere
No time
No one
Nothing at all
Nothing at all
Nothing at all

Melancholy Symphony07-08-08

October 15, 2008  :: 0 comments

My guts; all opened up.
Now, I am here before you
praying, that you alter my views,
or better yet that I can alter yours.
I mean just a little, just enough
to move you,
to catch me here, while I fall.

Hold me forever and ever and ever.
Putting things inside you.
Allowing me the luxury of

Scrawled sentences that
will never see the light,
of screen or mic.
Here they are;
noodles and truth,
small round table,
every possible fear and insecurity
and all my endless love,
laid out in surrender.

All the dark non-breaths without you
are killing me.
They are truly doing me in.

Silly crashing moments keep me going.
every moment you
laugh and speak in tongues.
Nod and listen in that certain way.
Allow with grace these torso hands
to guide you up a stairway.
Hands upon shoulder, broken heel.
The way we
shuck and jive one another.
You’ve got to know that
you’re the only one for me
and I for you.

I’m dying here. Truly dying.

Still crying
late in the car with my buddy.
Had to play our poem one more time.
Gasping for air through Shiner Bach tears.
All these prayers on paper like this.
I had to avert my eyes.
The palms of your hands upon my shoulder blades.
I still can’t look into your eyes
those times,
when your fingers briefly lock with mine.
I think you get it now,
my madness and sincerity,
that they are intertwined.
Regardless of what others have said of me
in the past,
that you would have ever paid them heed
with innate inabilities to understand me
the way that only you do
and only I do you.

The world is full of critiques.
Critiques of you, critiques of me
critiques of you and I together.
Coming from all directions all of a sudden.
but I don’t care, and you don’t care
because we have our own problems
and only we
know what we are like in
me and you against the world moments.

Can he really not hear my pain?
Can anyone really not hear our pain?
Like a melancholy symphony, together.

I’m falling here
I’m falling, falling, falling,
and I want to see my children grow up.
I want to see what their faces look like
in five years in ten years
and I want you to be there with us.

Catch me now
and I promise I will hold you up forever.
Softly whispering,
that you were all I needed.

Grande Soul Mate Drip

October 7, 2008  :: 0 comments

You are like
a Starbucks Grande coffee,
in my soul.

You fill me up with this
dark hot
kick it in the ass coffee.
There is no room for anything
or anyone else in this cup.

I can’t drink anyone or anything else.
And no one or nothing else can drink me.
Our souls are married and bonded
and everyone and everything else
drops away
when we are together,
causing ripples of
friction, jealousy, resentment
and all manner of stupid madness
in all kinds of people everywhere near
for some pretty much inexplicable reason.

I don’t really care I suppose
only problem being,
when you fill the Grande Starbucks cup
of my soul
with your burning goodness
you leave room
for cream and sugar.
and you’ve never added the cream and sugar
and I won’t drink it without
because it’s too strong
and frankly a little bitter.

You keep handing me the filled up cup
over and over
saying c’mon drink it.
But I won’t.
And you get pissy saying
I keep pouring you this awesome
goddam coffee
into your Grande Soul,
just shut up and drink it
and I keep saying
No, I drink my coffee with cream and sugar,
you leave enough room for it
there in the cup
just enough
and it’s not like
as long as you keep filling my
Grande cup up
over and over
I could actually get any
anywhere else
the way I need it.

So there I am,
best god dam coffee in town
in my life,
hands down
a bottomless cup
you keep refilling
dark, bitter, and
and although I love the shit
out of some coffee
It’s something
I can’t drink
so I have
no coffee at all.

Or maybe being up
all night with you
just makes me think up
some ridiculous shit
in the morning
before leaving the house
to get a cup.