Before I Go...

Insomniac-state

Not quite complicated, not yet illustrated
but simple, less intricate stasis.
Beings without faces, bones, skin, dirty faces.
Races, car fundamentalists.

Not sure where this is headed
never positive, always malignant.
Tumor: a ton weighed out in time--
infinite, finite, infinity.

Suffrage, suffering,
collapsing breath impeding speech;
Speeches lost, wrought, rotting.
Still seeing things, beings, ghosts
haunting sleep and sleepless, insomnia-bruising
summer weather looming ellipsis.

Every metal beast driving down dusty highways
traffic, faltering lenses, crashes, crashing:
Flashes, flashing...lights, no camera, unseen action.
This is not patriotism--more or less hospitalization.

Years used up to write.
Words unwritten, words not spoken,
speech not designed for letters, for writing.
Waiting, withering, waters cold-
Ice and cold and snow.
Combination's breaking undertow
feet sunk deep in gravity-heavy sand of seaweed.
Shores still rotting red algae.

Crisp cut farm living. Grass stains, staining jeans
cheeks pink from boysenberries.
Or maybe blackberries. Black on black on white
and back to the finish line once again,
starting back I mean, forward in time.
Soul searching serves the purpose for practice.
Practicing to perfect a single being.
No being is perfect, lasting, or significant.

Time killed, wasted, drifting.
Gutters spilling, overflowing
heaven rain lose, leaking salt-- sorry,
sodium solvents sinking ships.
Not sailors, but blood-pumped lovers;
Plumbers weighing pros, cons, conveniences.
Nothing satiating, satisfying, lasting.
Still longing, not finding. Less than suffering, living, loving.
Finding discoveries, discovered. Uncovered secrets,
pacts, obsessions.
Romance in a single band; a bond that lasts.
Listening? Nothing lasts.

Tough guy?
Not tough, desperate. Desperation.
Like longing?
Not longing, rather, surviving under circumstances.
Such as?
Such as nothing, it's all in the penmanship.

Another Poem About Some Ocean

From whence they came
so too a terrible drought --
a terrible drought that swept them out
across the land in one big wave
but they, those two, should not save
another breath beneath the wave.
Instead, it might be best
to whine and cry and pray
to God -- maybe even pound their chest
to wake the sea from peaceful rest
and plea to it to let them go,
let them go back home;
'No," said he -- the wave that is.
"Never shall I leave two kids,
alone ad so far away from home."
Kind, he seemed, but more they knew
of this strange wave and
thought more of it as they flew
together to more dry land.

A A B A

A city set upon a mountainside
As silent as the winter wind, abide
all laws and rules of farming hands
but with sand and not with countryside.

As sure as people there do seek
a spring to raise their crops to peak,
so do wolves and mice lay wait
for bread and wine to wet their beak

One man found a way to break
the famine, for the city's sake.
A sacrifice to end their drought
and food to make their belly quake.

After trial came the night,
a single night to bring a fight
between man and his sacred land
and the wolves and birds in spite.

From wind came word of many more --
men that is -- to start the war.
But the wolves, they layed in wait
in the dark upon the shore

The wolves saw fit to make it known,
their teeth could break through flesh and bone.
And win, they did, the best defeat --
watching men as they ran home.

An Age Away Sestina

One night you sat across from me, a year ago
today. Your eyes as dark as demon eyes, not
close or far away. Sunk deep into your skull before
running wild down your cheek. From afar
I could see two men, standing tall there by
the creek; A river made of salt from the sea.

These men, they drift along its edge, you see
still as tall as towers with a long way to go
until they reach us sitting here, you right by
me - me next to you. But still we sit, not
together as some seem to think; you are always far
from my seat. Now these men, once two, become four.

You hear them now as you have before;
They step in front of you until you see
their ugly faces snarl, closer now instead of far
away, as you would like them to be. They never go,
they stick like salt to the ocean floor. One naught
more for speed, or three to fly on by.

Ships never sail through, not until you buy
a motor for the boat. A sailor fit for
sailing can't be you, though, not
with the demon eyes thick with night so you can not see
the current. The water takes you where to go.
Never close, the waves almost always take you far.

I will watch you then, as I have your demons, from afar
of course. I will never be close enough, not by
one of those. So instead I'll take my leave and go
to where the river is safe to sail on, for
I am not one to consider such a death, you see,
even as these demonic beings twist around me like a knot.

If you could still use your eyes then you'd know it's not
them who haunt you in your sleep, but that city so far
from where we were, the one burning by the sea.
So when you get the chance to return there, go by
the home we sat in for so long, a hell made for
you and me, me and you so very long ago.

It's not near me you should be waiting, but by
the gates of gold far from danger, for
once just see that one late night as it was so long ago.

1,000 posts

I’ve decided that what I am in love with, truly
is all around me-it’s within me.
That has to be it.
This kind of love was never in one person at all
but in billions of people.
It can not be consumed by the romanticized heart
thus the heart can not be broken.
For that is illogical and I am speaking logically here
or rather, to the best of my abilities.
But don’t you see that? Does it make sense?
The broken heart acts as a scapegoat for those minds devoid of common sense;
It could be that this is where you, as when you are jaded, come in.
Hm, that’s a bit more twisted up into webbed mind-tricks.
Anyways, I love you, whoever you are
and you…and you and you.

The end.

On Speaking To Mystics:

Bring me dreams that will take me to the ends of the universe;
To a place beyond stars.
To a place where burning can not reach.
Make me see something beautiful that has never before
been captured by any number or color of eyes.
I want to hear the pitter-patter feet make
on linoleum floor when it rains.
Introduce me to the sun’s lover.
Teach me the moon’s dance.
I want to know that you’ll stay by me.
I want to learn all that I can.
I want to experience everything

Finale

1. I’ve been dead a long time;
   these thoughts almost subside
   the taste, but not quite.
   It should take years to get here
   yet here I am, imagining
   I’m somewhere else instead.

   It’s so consistent
   that it’s distant.
   Can you taste it?
   Let’s face it-
   there’s no end.

Ocean

Silent symphony on the wings,
ashes in the breeze
singing water of the seas

Now Just Mine

Oh he saw something,
oh he saw something he wasn't supposed to see
and that hot bite
at last bit deep.
There was a freshness to it,
a familiar taste
that ruined the evening.

Indian Forehead

I had Cherokee dreams filled with black feet
and feathers and colors.
Red colors with a turquoise twist,
wolf teeth, dehydration leaking
into my blood stream.

Last night's sky was bigger than it ever was
it was more beautiful than I'd ever seen it
and I didn't feel anything.