Sunday, October 25, 2015

Everloving green

I am building a little house
            in a vast and lovely forest.

Each day I gather wood
                        and add to it.

The fire inside
is always warm.

Beside that fire
is a little cage,
                        and I keep my heart there.

I made this house to keep my heart safe,
                        and it has never been happier.

I explore these woods like a hungry wolf.

The birds sing in a way
I’ve never before heard before,
and sometimes it’s sad enough to make me cry.

The clouds cast thousand-mile shadows
over rivers and skies,  
crisp as two perfect blue eyes.

The trees breathe life into me.

The moon kisses me as I sleep.

I built a little house
            in this vast and lovely forest.

Each day I gather wood
                        and add to it,

because I am the little house

                        and you are the forest.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Eyes closed

The shadow of a nightmare looms over me.

wherever I go,
I am too much in the sun.

With even
an attentive stare,
I can’t seem to see.

These dreams
stop following me.

Words are little coffins,
I can burry them there.

The cemetery
is just
a little bit beyond despair.

The trance, I think,
has always been there.

But at least,

I can forget it all 
with a simple blink.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

I was in the fishbowl and you were looking at me

On a different day,
I felt like an untethered kite in wind.

As night fell,
I could not say,
if I were to freeze,
or melt,
in the thunderstorm.

I spent the daydreaming.
The sunset is too busy.
The full moon is a matter of time.

These memories,
I think,
are very fresh.
However, they will not last
in ink.

I feel the gentle wind of a fly’s wings.
 it is very cold.

And I can not get the taste of cobalt out of my mouth,
because I'm chasing the robot and the human mind,
flashing Polaroids of the soul,
whispering into webs,
so someone gets caught in the error
in words.

As we walk to the courtyard,
I point out the trees,
now, I hope you know,

because they will reduce their leaves.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015


The old rich man whispered into his grandson’s ear,
“I’ve had many friends
and even more enemies.
I’ve fought with my fists
fought with my words
and though I’ve lost many times
I've won when it mattered.

Now I have 4 houses
my own plane
my own golf course, a whole 18 holes,
12 cars, each more pricey than the last, and
enough money to feed a small country for years.

I’ve fucked golden women
on golden beaches
turned those beaches black with oil
and had 4 wives to boot

but you, little Jimmy,
you will inherit non of this.

You shall inherit the wasteland.”

Thursday, October 1, 2015

curl up very small.

I hear gunshot music.
I don’t want
to cage you up like a bird.

                        My wife is sleep,
                        My mistress is dreams.
                        (I haven’t seen you in years)
                        But I been cheatin on you, babe
                        with late nights
                        and alarm clocks.

I don’t want
to be your nightingale song

                        (sometimes I still dream of you)
            I know where you are
                        I swim in silk pillows                                   
                        (in the day I can hardly recall your face)
                        the end of
                        my falling sky

Poets write about birds because they want to fly far away

            if it makes you feel better,

            curl up small.