Sunday, May 23, 2010

Modern Bible

My cell phone, a gateway
To a land full of other
Cell phones/
People to talk to.
But the doors are closing
As my screen stays dark.
I could get up,
Visit someone in the flesh,
But that calls for effort
Not in the fingers.
So sure, I'll let the gates
Slam shut and I'll stay here
In Hell, with my 2 inch by
4 inch portal to salvation
Under my heel on the floor.
The busy people outside
Will laugh, call me dramatic.
Don't they see?
This Hell has no curtains
And I am not an actor.
Oh but the worst part is:

I think this may also be Heaven.

A Nation's dry skin

Aquatic eyesores on
My fourth night on the ship.
If I could, I'd tear a block
Out of my fourth dimension.

Look at us, we are shell-
Shocked American servants.
Despite our rebel's skin
And rebel's heart, we are
Just a fleck of a Nation's
Dry skin, dandruff.

Score a goal for me,
Sick soccer slave,
So maybe I'll look at
You and call off the

There is no Hell,
No Heaven.
They are under construction.
The workers always
Whistle when our girlfriends
Walk by, even when they
Don't wear makeup.
May I man the crane?

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Thunder and Hands

With any luck,
The thunder will not be
Rocks raining from the sky,
Breaking through my roof,
My ceiling, coming to take
What is theirs:
My book, my poems, my pen


What is language?
And when,
Why, how, will it end?

When will it allow me
To say what must be said?
Where, if not to paper, do
These words and thoughts go?
And do please tell me
How do feelings, senses
Translate into shapes and lines?
Our teeth have sharpened themselves.
Now our word can cut itself
To be an easier feed.
We shall feast on the word.
I will stuff you with it,
You will shove spoonfuls into my mouth.

Blue and Young

The flowers in my front yard
looked like angry canker sores
(or maybe the opposite,
yes, the opposite)

And oh the sky
looked so blue
and so young, that
I too felt blue and young.

If competition is our nature,
why do I scribble and think,
while some lift weights, to grow
muscles to crush me to mixed-berry powder?

Once crushed, though, I can be
poured into water/
should you drink it, berry flavored,
maybe you'll scribble and think too.

And maybe you'll
look up at the blue, young sky,
"What was in that water?"

Then the flowers (so far from
canker sores) will grow in your
yard; you'll smile.


The stones are so petty,
but sometimes they're pretty.

The stones can be diamonds.
But they could just be slate
or granite.

The stones can be worth
the mining and searching,
but in the end,
gem or not,
a rock is a rock is a rock.

The Water from The Pond

Like a good, salty
Tear, the water from
The pond tasted.
And we drank and
Drank until our guts
Felt like ticks full
Of human blood.
There were whispers
From the shrubs
Behind us, but no
Mind was paid to
Their owners.
You and I,
We just drank ourselves
Into the pond and
Away, away,
Gone to the bottom:
"Be back in five".

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The War began with a sneeze

Lacking a plan
Of attack, I charged into
The fray. I couldn't wish for
The best - no, that was rather
Ignorant- but, I wished for
Acceptable results.
Luck wasn't on my side.
Nor was faith
Or logic.
All I had,
All that I needed,
Were clothes on my body,
A door to burst through,
And a horse with a heartbeat
To ride in on.
I think I did just fine, everyone.
The war began with a sneeze.
And the war ended,
It ended with a wheeze.

Sunday, May 9, 2010


There is a smell
In the air,
Like something is burning.
So I close my mouth,
Close my eyes,
Close the windows,
Door and laptop.
I believe in a god
For a moment and pray,
Pray that I am not
The burning mystery.


A sea is drained.
At the bottom, the
body of an old whale,
somehow preserved,
lies covered in seaweed.
The scientists say:
"It is very old."
"Let us cut it open."

So, they cut the old
whale open, look in
its guts.
Jesus Christ.
Sleeping cave-people.
Socrates (asking "why?").

a woman follows you
down a city's street.
She taunts you, and now
you follow her, to a castle.

Now, in the castle's
tallest tower, you have a
perfect view of the drained
sea. The whale is open.
The woman shoves you;
you almost topple out through
the window.
But, you overpower her,
she is hurled out the window.
[Not you].
Then, as she hits the
ground below and shatters,
you realize that you loved
her. A shame.

Back to the whale's scene.
You're there, don't worry.
"The sea!"
"It's back!"
Everyone is swept away
by waves and waves of
Salt Water.
There are surfers,
tanned and high,
happy to ride such a wave.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Unlikely Explanations.

Right, right!"
"Would you make up
Your mind already?"
But, neither had a
Say in which direction
They would ultimately go.
You see, there is a scale
Upon which our chances
Are measured (like stones).
And there is a magnet,
Both small and large/
Everywhere and nowhere/
It pulls them (they of
Opposite poles), like cargo,
To the destination.

A person stabbed
A piece of metal
Into the existence-area
Of another person.
What can explain this?
And for what reason
Did the stabber run?
Performing an action
That will later be denied
By the performer:
The essence of Soulessness/
The essence of humans today.

A sun is revealed.
The leaves,
The streets
Are illuminated.
Smells and sounds
Are brighter, too.

Does one maim oneself
When getting a haircut?

Afterlife (singular).
Perhaps the word
Afterlives (plural) is more
What living being
Could ever be happy with
One (1) life and one (1)
Afterlife? Life after life
Should tumble, like dominoes,
Into the well of Forever.

And I laughed like
A saint in heaven.
And you laughed like
A man with sad eyes.
And we have to laugh

People in cares
Passing my house
Look at me, as
I sit on my porch.
Am I so interesting?
I'm through now/


If the tides turn
Again, I will weep
For my short-lived
Days of freedom.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Holiday at the Lake

You're at the lake
With a few good friends,
Trying to catch frogs with
Butterfly nets.
In the trees, hidden by
The thick summer leaves,
Sits God and his snickering
Little brothers.

"I've got one!", says Ted,
But the frog is fat and
Arrogant, it gets away,
Scowling. Then
God hurls a stone at Ted,
And God don't miss, so
Ted is dead, and God with
His family laughs.

Stew and The Hunt

There will never be
Enough time for me
To say everything I
Must say.
My head is just a
Bowl of word stew,
And it is bottomless.
I scoop and I scoop,
But there is no ladle
Big enough to empty me.

I am an animal,
Foot caught in a trap,
Bleeding. Makes me sick.
I have to scribble on
Fallen leaves, using sticks
And twigs dipped in my
Own clotting, wild blood.
When the hunter comes
To reap his rewards
(and tonight's dinner), I
Will have written
A compelling argument on my
Leaves. Perhaps the man will
Have the heart to let me go.
He'll think "Lord, I have to find
Myself some game that isn't
So wordy".

A new-old-young Life Beginning

"When I was younger, I always needed an explanation. If there were ever a mystery that my parents or friends or family could not shed light on, I simply had to fabricate a reason for its existence. 'Why is the sky blue?', I once asked a playmate of mine (we were barely into elementary school). He did not know the answer. I was determined to find out. One way or another, I did not figure out the answer. So, I created one. The sky was blue because it was a 'big old mirror, reflecting the oceans'. And I believed this after a while.

"So it went, for years. I made up lie after lie, and I believed myself. It came to the point where I held my own fantastic reasoning above the ideas thrown at me by textbook and teacher, family and friend. I was an autonomous learning machine, completely self-contained. As I forced the puzzle pieces of reality into ill-fitting spaces, the entire world began to look new and exciting to me. This was that. Here was there. You were me.

"Of course, this didn't exactly create a mindset that would lead to success in the 'real world'. I dropped out of high school, left my parents' house, became homeless; all by eighteen years old. Free from the last of this reality's chains, I was able to blossom fully in my own prettier world. And believe me, it was beautiful. If only you could see it... You would understand (the term understand comes from its opposite, overstand. You always know more about something while under it, right? a-ha-ha-a-ha).

"There I was, waltzing 'round the streets of cities; they were my cities. It didn't matter that I got suspicious looks, or that I didn't shower for two years, or that I only ate every few days to keep myself alive, just so I could spend some time in my perfect, explained, understandable world. Everything was mine to study and dissect-- why do rocks never float in water? The water's bubble-hands hate rocks, and push them down! But they love wood and plastic bottles; they hold them up. Why do most people sleep in beds? Well, human backs just love soft fabric to kiss! Where exactly is Wyoming? No-where. It is a black hole, staring at us across America.

"You get the idea. From eighteen to twenty, things really picked up. I was out by myself, no remnants of true reality to tether me to the ground during my storm of creation. So, how am I talking to you here today? Well, it all happened very suddenly. The day was like any other in my reality: the Sun was shining because it was looking for the Moon, whom he missed very much. I sat on the curb of some poverty-stricken street, reciting some song's lyrics in a confused monotone. Suddenly, a bird relieved itself on my shoulder. I couldn't explain that one. So I got up, asked myself 'what the fuck am I doing?', got a job, went to college, bought a home, and here I stand. Does that cover everything you wanted to know? "

"Yeah... Yes, that explains it."

Within that Heaven

Within that Heaven,
In which you so firmly believe,
I hope that you come across
The answers to all of my questions.

If you do, please, be a doll
And send them my way.
I'm sure there exists some
sparkling, crystal Telephone Booth

In your heaven. So
Again, if you get the time,
You remember my number;
Give me a call. We'll reminisce.

But know this: I want the
Real Details. If you've got nothing
To say to me other than "how
Are you?", I'll hang up, I

Promise. I know you love
Me and all, but honey, I'm
A curious guy; if God won't
Tell me, I'll have you:

A spy in His Holy Kingdom.

A Misunderstanding

While I was showering,
My mother was in the adjacent
Room, watching a sales show.
Through the splash and splatter
Of water on porcelain, I could not
Make out what the saleswoman
Was saying. By the tone of her
Voice, I had thought something
Terrible had happened; that she
Was a newswoman instead, reporting
Some tragic occurrence.
Nay, she was selling jewelry.
"These bracelets will go
Quick, so you had better hurry!"