Nightmare Before Christmas07-20-2008

October 7, 2008  :: 0 comments

It’s kind of funny,
her favorite all time movie, that is.
I think it must be
Tim Burton’s
Nightmare Before Christmas
One of the oddest things about her,
a trait we both share in a big way,
Is that we talk and talk and talk
most of the time,
unless we are mopey
in which case everybody knows it.
Sometimes, when you’re always going,
you forget what you’ve said before
and to who.
I think it’s like that when
she tells me about
Nightmare Before Christmas
She gets this excited gleam in her eyes
while recounting the plot.
What she thinks it means
An outsider coming from this one place
into another.
Yearning for something more.
About the characters, how they meet
where they come from, what they want.
She will smile and laugh when
explaining the funny parts,
“Santy Claws” she laughs.
Her voice getting higher and faster
Until launching into the final part
where she sings snippets of the songs
in this deliberate
cartoon voice, smiling,
Her eyes get large and round.
I have seen her do this entire bit
many times.
I’ve lost count.
But each and every time
I remain silent, do not interrupt
and give no indication that
I have heard it before.
In fact
I usually maintain facial expressions
that say it is interesting,
new, entertaining,
because it is.
I smile and I nod
listening to every single bit.
I laugh at the end and say
“That sounds awesome,
we need to watch that together sometime”
but we never have.
I’m not sure
what else to say about this.
I’m just telling a story
about her.
There are a hundred more.
They are small
and might seem meaningless
to you.
when someone
Really means the world to you,
all the tiny stories like this
are not meaningless,
they are everything.

Shadow of Ash07-22-08

October 7, 2008  :: 0 comments

Everything you do effects me.
You are the butterfly
to my causality.

Your eyelids open up

Your horizons are
my periphery.

Your voice , in synapse
a chorus of spheres.

The sub-atomic thought moments
that make you
feel alive.

Now inserted
and intertwined
in-between mine.

You are blindingly beautiful
as you explode in time.

I am a
shadow of ash
left behind.


September 29, 2008  :: 0 comments

In the building, up the elevator, at my desk.
I hit enter to start the computer.
The screen to log onto the network pops up.
It says “Password expires in 2 days,
do you wish to change it now?”

I choose yes.
I type “GOODBYE0728!”, and verify it.
There are only so many characters one can use,
or I might have typed in;

Or perhaps;
Or possibly;
Or maybe even;

Or go crazy with something like;
But no,
there are only so many characters one can use.
SO I settle for GOODBYE, with the date.
Then after a while, that will expire
and she will still be gone.
and I will want to type;
“STILL MISSING YOU” with that days date.
But that will likely be too long as well.
So I’ll settle for;
and that will be that.


September 29, 2008  :: 0 comments

The agony of love,
how terrible it is.

The pain of truly being alive.

Troubadour suffering,
denied sight of the beloved.

Empty silent nights.

Every aspect
pounds and rushes.

through the entire body.

Wildfire memory.

A sweet pain in
every terrible breath.


September 29, 2008  :: 0 comments

I was outside
on the patio doing bench press
surrounded by
flowers and bushes and trees.

I’d finished a set
then sat up to rest for a moment.

Directly in front of me was a
I could see it clearly.
It’s frantic wings
darting from place to place
flower to flower
taking what it needs to survive.

It seemed like time stopped
as I, and this beautiful thing
existed together
in a frozen moment.

It was beautiful.
The kind of beauty
that lingers

it was gone.

I went back to my bench,
but I was different
than before.

It reminded me
of you.

Tornado Girl

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

You came into my life so suddenly, unexpectedly
and, and, everything
was lifted up and twisted around and uprooted
like a tornado.
Like this spinning spinning storm that lifts and moves
and breaths and lives and feels and speaks
and changes up
my, my ,my
my heart, my eyes, my time, my hours, my
words, my ideas, my ideas, my days, my friends
my thoughts, my feelings, my views, my
altered views, my altered views and situations.
My work, my work , my art
my art, all of my words, and time and feelings and art all
lifted up all twisted around and changed all different all
It’s all different now, its all in different unrecognizable places
like this tornado that is you, touched down right here in the
middle of my life, my, my,
my heart, my words.
spinning and spinning and spinning everything all around and
when you are gone,
this eerie silence, everything scattered everywhere
this silence
when you are gone
like this big wrong awful emptiness when you are gone.
like everything is wrong somehow
like everything is undone somehow
out of place out of sorts out of whack out of synch out of time
like everything is sad and silent and falling apart somehow
my everything my everything all turned upside down.
your words and sentences and voice and ideas
and laughter and jokes and songs and tears and love
still lingering in each and every tiny space between
everything I am and think and create and see
I still hear you after everything I say,
I still feel you
I still can, can, can almost grasp you, respond to you
answer you, know what you would be saying in every moment
when you are not here with me.
How could you have become such a part of me
How could you have become such a part of me
How could you have become such a part of
everything I am in so short a time
such and impact, now a part of me forever, forever
in my. in my , in my
my heart, my mind, my soul.
twisting me all up like some tornado
twisting and twisting and twisting away
from me, from my world, left silent, left alone
left hoping, you
have carried something important away with you
something you’ll keep
something of me flying away with you
as well. I hope I hope, come,
come back someday.


September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

Fire eater, dancing poodles, head in the lions mouth
hi-wire tight rope walker
that’s me mother fucker.
A fucking circus act.
A really big show.
Repeat performance, uncanny skill, precision
crazy-clown showmanship, OH, How I dig it!
Whiskey a go-go. Go daddy go
do it all the time, yeah, yeah.

The act begins with me
somehow drawing these amazing women into my life.
Different sizes, different shapes, different ages, different colors
different styles, different beliefs.
The only common factor being a recognizably strong will and personality.

Part two.
Then through some strange mystic interaction
these fantastically fabulously bad-assed females
come to see me as this
talented, intelligent, insightful, entertaining
compassionate, honorable, worthy, respectable
gentleman, artist, friend, lover.
Someone worthy of time, energy, trust, emotion, attachment.

OH! It is truly grand indeed! It is, it is, it is.
However this is not the final act.
Not the finale, not the end of the show,
Because in ACT THREE comes the old switcheroo!
Couple weeks, couple months, bunch of years, something.
It starts with something like
“You know what your problem is?”
Then after a while, the female is raising her voice.
yelling a bit, pointing, telling me how it is.
Sometimes big, sometimes small
sometimes private, sometimes public,
but they seem to have always figured it all out.
Exactly what my character flaws are.
Exactly just how fucked up I am.
Exactly what I need to do differently to be somehow right.
To get my shit together, to fix it all up.
To not be whoever it is that I am not supposed to be.
Not doing whatever it is that I’m not supposed to be doing.

It’s a farce, a fucked up romantic comedy, a cautionary tail
Shakespearian tragedy, slip and slide serious group therapy
highly entertaining, dramatically enthralling
a really really big show!
Three ring circus, big top blow out, Chinese acrobatics
High wire tight rope walking jumping falling without a net.
Head in the lions mouth.
come one, come all, come one, come all,
come one, come all, come one, come all,
Watch now, as he begins to learn to laugh at himself.

Post Modern Orphic Hymn

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

French fry forearm tendons.
Contract. Release.
Tambourine plink ping breathing
diet soda can. Big gestures
when I lean back, clad black at
the stroke of midnight arms
falling palms down facing, plink
again. Neck roll concentric crackling
like footsteps on shattered glass.
All for the world.

All for the world I think,
as some wild June thunder busts it up.
See that puff
of smoke that rises there, as I exhale thusly?
Oh, it’s all full of French Canadian clown music
entangled in fine gravel dusk memories.
Where we stood inside the time stream.
Watch it float up and away taking lost spectacle
elsewhere. Shredded memories no good when
the tall grass has known death and resurrection
time and again
since the slipping away
of wishes, days, and clock tics.

A can song fades to black..
Elysian Mysteries thunder as embodiment
It’s different to be me.
Nothing anyone
would understand.

Machine of Almosting

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

Mad genius sloped back flicker in the sun,
ethereal agent sacred clean
caught up in Spiritus Mundi machine.

Echo flapping desert bird wings,
slouching beast, lost, sing, sing
crestfallen desire.
Giant aching acre wide heartache of legend.
Simple fruition of a female golden mean
nothing more,
minus modern moviehouse adaptations.

Pratfall whirlwind blink violin whacked,
depressed on the eve of great depression,
he was depressed, obsessed.
Formed from seraphic anti-matter Goatee
I must already be
an impious version
of singular quantum implosion
safeguarded by the apathy
of everyday notions.

Vacillating melt-down mushroom cloud
dream believer circumstance unspoken,
strictly speaking, fate,
lips against the glass eye road to nowhere,
deserving of so much more.

Just want to grab true real words,
once held solitary in silent temples.
The idea of permanent impermanence like
circumventing the torn rent veil of night,
circumspect in circumstance
always circular.

Abrupt impromptu jagged batwing fancies,
dash about no worse than
clown groupies.

I want to blow out your candles,
make you forget,
inside the confines of a moment, with me.
Tell me you want me,
unfolding as just what it is,
eyeballs, everything unexpected.
Templar treasure comfort just thinking of you.
Upon the heads of.
Upon the heads of kings.

Marching band crackle fizz bear claws
2 anonymous door frame red roses in
burnt toast wind.

Do I drink excessively.
Am I. Am I. Am I.
I am chasing sudden autonomy weeping
letters in the snowy blood of
ancestors already sleeping.

Even now as the moment dim light silences,
chicken wire around my heart and
brainpan self-speaking into
the next simple breath,
and the one after that,
and after that.

Evil Walks the Land

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

She blew through the glass door, black
tall boots and short cropped dark, gray peppered hair.
A stack of papers and notebooks approximately 7 inches thick.
She Belonged body and soul to Mary Kay,
A quasi-cult corporate Hydra.

It appeared terribly absurd, the way she
spoke to thin air, gesturing and smiling out of habit.
As if an empty chair held the actual form
behind the voice on the Cell phone ear piece
which facilitated obtrusively loud far off communication.

She advised the voice to pray,
that the hotel off of George Bush Toll way
would offer them a lower rate on the meeting room.
To pray that they would
include the buffet as a part of a pre-agreed upon price.
And that the buffet might attract more participants to the event.
at an attractive price of $2 per head.
She advised the voice on the other side,
the invisible cohort,
to continue praying in this direction.
That she was absolutely sure
that the lord had a plan for them,
that their business initiative would work out splendidly.

She was very loud, as I said
and something like a circus side show attraction
a bearded lady, a sword swallower.
She was a soulless female networking automaton.
A real flying saucer suicide, and she was loud.

I couldnt drink my coffee.
I couldnt read Ken Wilber and conceptualize emergent Holons.
I couldnt relax.
I couldnt breathe in normal ways.
Then suddenly 2 men walked in, shirts tucked under bellies,
with the same space age Cell phone ear devices.
Like 1950s Robots, Klatu Barrada Niktu
Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto.
They simultaneously ordered Chai Tea Lattes
Then began speaking in a rhythmic Latinish
Benedictine backbeat conjure chant.
One started a Boogaloo Shrimp Breakdance
twirling head spin routine, while the other tapped his foot.

It was time for me to get,
and to get fast, while the getting was good.
I farted a heady bouquet while sauntering past the woman.
Letting her have it real good.
And I could feel her praying in my direction
As I plummeted through the glass door.