Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Pitch


Don’t make me sit alone,
dull and languid, by myself
with nothing but a mental image
of the person that  sharpens me

Tantalizing advertisement
Promiscuous temptation
Quick pitch from Billy Mays
and a piano crashes onstage

a smack to the face,
blunt force
cheeks red
proverbial dream

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Breath

I called your name through
frost-bitten lips - my face so close
to the glass that it fogged up and
I knew you ignored me and
I really should have wrote my message in
the window that day but I didn't because
I thought you wouldn't see me

Monday, July 14, 2014

Monday, July 7, 2014

Earplugs

See the zombified walk of kids casting downcast eyes to tempting gadgets,
out on the sidewalk avoiding talk of heat-seeking missiles,
whose parents struggle to find money for crucial combustion,
whose teachers are sued for evil or tempting eyes,
a generation that is an infirm and soothing promise to the generation before,
who cannot do anything without computers,
who sees benefits from grass picked and fostered
by hippie mystics frequently accused of wiTcHCraft,
whose main gimmick consists of here and now
but remains distracted by menacing debt,
who shuns ideas with blind eyes and
use tips of fingers as earplugs
against words waving through air,
whose nation is built on airborne steel balls
and diplomatic dick measuring,
who munch on pills for every perceived ailment,
who go through discomfort for the greater good.

Saturday, July 5, 2014

Summer

Summer is here

I can tell from mom's
olive-skinned arms as
she reaches for life
in the backyard garden.

Her sun hat droops
as she bends and 
her gloves are black
from dirt.

Summer is here

I can tell from
shiny classic cars
driving down the highway -
breathing again.

Everything seems to breathe

Summer is here

I can tell from the
drunken shouting of
the couple next door
late at night.

They yell and yell,
and within an hour
it gets quiet except for
dreamy sighs of slumber.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Looking

Concrete grains indent my skin with
constellations as I sit
on the dock overlooking the lake

The westward sky is a glowing peach

Waves crack against cinder blocks,
shooting mist into the wind

I can see the flapping sails of
boats as the wind takes them

To the east, clouds form
in the darkening sky

I close my eyes and smell the sea;
I cannot smell the rain



Saturday, May 24, 2014

Tripping

I don’t know why my emotions waver like waves tumbling, tripping over themselves. How come the things that bring us suffering are often things that bring the most happiness? Through gods birthed in heads and naked people in gardens we see human existence as a turning point in the history of the universe. The urge arose that forced us think of stories more intangible than our naturalistic theories so we could have a plausible genesis for our existential confusion. We are so astounded by ourselves but we don’t always choose to believe; it’s an unspoken thing sometimes. Have you forgotten what you are?