valley

her pale skin stretched tight around her shoulder blades arching out
as she reached out her arms, raised them at her sides,
and gestured towards the sky

rain ran down her back.
trickled down the shallow crease of her spine like the soft finger-tip touches of a lover
idly tracing the contours of her form,

her body breathed,
and stood there looking.
watching
waiting
wanting
more.

the good green grass took in the welcome water,
the soft soil now saturated and wet
each emerald blade sipped its share of the sweet summer rain-drops
and let out a fragrant sigh
she touched her hair.

and tucked the sticky strands behind her ear
she smiled at the sounds of the falling moisture.
beads of cool passion tumbling
refreshing the air,
infusing it with life, and dynamic activity,
energy,
excitement,
motion,

she placed her bare foot upon the soaking earth
and stepped out into the center of the motion.
everywhere was the center of motion,
everywhere was the center of life.

the edges of her dark lashes
sprang up
with each droplet that fell upon them
and rolled down her face.

her upturned brow deflecting clean wet pearls
pounding gently against her pores.

and as she danced and swayed

the skin barrier of her lightly freckled breasts  
reflected nice cool rain-drops
that bounced off them
and rolled down her sides.

                  --------------------------

much like the jangly bell-voiced singing of tambourines,
the slender tapping of rain against the dark green leaves
that rustled with the warm wind
drove her wild.

clockwork

passing of time,
increase in entropy,
trade in order for memory,
increase in chaos, less empty moments,
waiting to be filled.

it is
a steady conversion.
the universe trends towards chaos,
converting the unborn instants into movement,
into actions,
into alive.

changing will to is,
losing is to was,
letting it all let go;
watching existence free-fall.
outer-space.
expanding into deepest gravity,
with no terminal velocity to slow it down.

the whole of every thing,
defined.

3:12 am, somewhere between 100.4 and 101 FM

i feel in need
of some heavy rain;
but i'll settle for a nice, thick blanket of snow.

#84 (a respectable sized speaker cab with the reverb turned up nice and high)

when not playing seriously.
i love to feel like i'm in a weird echo-ie dream.
or lost in some empty space.
where there is only the flatness of some smooth, terrestrial plane.
no sense of whats beyond.
no light, no forms,
no ceiling or walls.
no movement in the air.
only the reverberation.
and the footsteps falling.
calling out.
carrying back.
bouncing off invisible barriers that must not exist lest the echos be incomplete.
always clean.
clean
and full.
feels so surreal.
rounded edges on all the sounds.
glassy.
cold.
cool.
like water.
though not of the surface.
more like something trapped in ancient pockets hollowed out deep within the earth.
lost deposits of pure.
formed in the early days of history.
collected drip by drip.
filtered slowly through all time.

Short Story

and then she asked me,
"What color are your eyes?"
I replied, "Dark brown."
and paused,
"...no clever way to compare like bright blue sapphires or ocean's mist, nor grey/green river stones, no amber or hazel glowing nectar droplets. Brown. Dark brown, like mud."

she looked at me and said,
"You have eyes like a teddy bear."
I smiled.

Exit {insanity}

we came in.



and the wall burst forth with sound.

terrible.
powerful.
beautiful.
the wall trembled and shook.
the floor boomed at us and laughed.
laughed at us upon our entering.
laughed upon our echoed foot-falls and shoes tapping.
clapping.
against the hard surface on which we we walking.

the wall smiled cruelly.
and the floor laughed at us in our little room of dirty white.
the wall snickered and smiled.
and the floor just laughed at our dark little home of beautiful white.
I could see the wall grinning.
showing us its queer and jagged eyes.
I could see them.
staring.
laughing.
screaming.
yelling at me with words that shook the empty cold of the room.
but was it cold or were we just naked?
left bare and exposed to the still pause of stagnation.
synthetic dissonance ringing out.
neurasthenic aperture of the openness.
a modest nudity
like the smudgy lines of charcoal bearing down.
hastily drawn upon textured paper, torn and tearing.
the raised, woven grain catching the dark marks of the crumbling strokes.

and the open grinding of the tectonic plates moving.
churning.
cold cutlasses slicing.
into the mountains.
and into the oceans.
there are no more oceans.
there are no more mountains.
there is no more anything.

just the wall, and the floor, and the laughing game.
the smiling, laughing, wouldn't-put-it-past-you, little ridicule game.
and its always the same.
each time it starts.
always watching.
always judging.
with those jagged little eyes.
watching me with false surprise.
each time the same.

we came in.
and we never could get out.
no mater how hard we tried.

-I did not say what you were.
I only stated what you seemed.
the difference.
there is a difference.
I know it well.
or well enough to say.

we belong to the close-eyed madness.
the sweet bizarre breeze of brainwaves swelling.
we belong to the sad sand-castle window.
out of which we stare.
when the walls are not our friends.

tell me.
where you expecting someone else.
someone different.
or perhaps just another side of me.
I can do no better.
although I try.

we came in.
and we cannot get out.

color

i saw the world in black and white,
and all i got was pieces of grey.

pieces, grey and charred, scattered about the good, green grass,
grey flakes of ash floating down softly, from someplace in the air.
i saw the world in black and white,
and all i got was pieces of grey.

audible greyscale moments drip like silvertipped tongues.
talking,
tasting,
the cold breath of awakening.
greyscale footprints,
imprints,
images projected,
rejected,
rejoiced upon receiving,
destroyed upon deceiving,
forgotten.

destroy, relinquish,
develop, and relive.
pretty pictures
posed perfectly in the pristine prison of the frame,
pretty poisons
pushed passively through the perfect pathways of her veins.

audible greyscale moments,
sooth like soft notions,
deliver delicate emotion,
like slowed down symphonies playing,
these silly symphonies in grey.
trust me, don't disrupt me,
do not dismiss me,
don't send me away.

i am

only for you.

and for you
to view me,

each time, the same.

crash

there are no wounds
quite as complete
as those dealt to the delicate soul.

tattoo

thorns in twist,
knots,
to a rose,
to the heart,
my angel.

tangled together
everything.

Nostalgia

When you live,
you lose things.

When you lose things,

often it's the things you loved most.

boredom of the sloth

slip past the summer
waltz into winter
spend the whole day
i-don't-knowing away

As if

come and kiss me wild.
wild like jaguars perched in the stocky boughs of trees.
wild like the minutes that wash away.
free as time's possessions,
small pockets of instant passions,
wild like the moment-
I ran my fingers through your hair

for the very first time.

On failing college classes

everything i do gets me
                        somewhere,

                             it may not be
where i thought i was going,

but everything i do gets me
                                                       somewhere,

and that is good.

                                     that is very good.

Sonetto

I dream of nice soft air, that brings to me,

The sweet and tender sighs of the flowers,

Hinting at some far-off green gallery,

Alive, filled with little pastel towers,

Glorious sun-soaked petals do sway,

In the warm and lazy afternoon breeze,

I could bask in this golden light of day,

List’ning to the wind rust’ling through the trees,

Sapphires would bleed out into the clear sky,

And the clouds would be of abalone,

Iridescent, beautiful, and all mine,

Pillowy opals, floating around, free,

But the weary concrete is creeping in,

I awake, in a city built of sin.

The Spider

Did you give all your songs to Anansi,

Did he come, dressed as a dog, and steal all of your stories away?

Did you make a Wish,

And bury some Bones?

Did you find yourself,

A child overgrown?

The child by the roots of the great tree is wise,

(Oh, yes she is very wise)

The small child by the roots, and her young friend too, Wana,

(The children are wise, father)

The trickster climbed the tree of life, my son,

The calabash now tied behind his back,

He reached the top, and then looked down,

And let all the Wisdom go,

(Drums)

The golden leaves and lush pink petals,

Pink and gold are beautiful,

The flowerers that grow,

They are alive,

(They are one, Baba)

And did you fly?

Words

Silk,

Spoon,

Laughter at noon,

Pajamas.

Hence tolls the bell’s lament,

I. 

The Injury

The sounds bleed from the open wound,

Forced out from deep within the trembling body,

The bones,

Notched below the wound, and above,

Where the head and neck meet,

Joined together as one,

Tension between,

Six are pulled downwards,

Ebony posts line the bridge on which none dare to tread,

Six plunge beneath,

Hands,

In the left, solid,

Below the right, hollow,

Joined together as one,

Tension between,

Hewn from the corpses of ancient giants,

They died so that they might live forever,

Six move all together,

Then stop,

Muted for the restful beat,

Steel rips apart pre-torn flesh,

Doesn’t hurt anymore,

Sounds,

Clear and articulate,

Then muffled and hidden,

Many overtones buried within the harmonic wave,

Damn-    

 I just broke the high E string.

Domino

stars shoot forth like butterfly whips,
pristine golden strands of hair become entangled
in the polished grills of big-rig trucks,
stars float above silent vowels left unspoken upon
words
that stamp across pavement and cardboard,

they sting
like pools of clear running cyanoacrylate

dripping off the naked palms of your slender hands,
it hurts.

hard, brittle layers of harsh acrylic form around tender chemical burns,
your face is flooded with irreversible fumes,

it is impossible not to taste the poison of the plastic adhesive in your mouth,
to feel your nostrils fill with its acidic effect,
your eyes become cloudy with the invisible smoke,
fleshy lids turn heavy and swell,

trapping the harmful vapors beneath them as they shut,
leaving the evaporated solution to continue in its cruel intent.

the beast inhabits a portion of your brain,
it sends everything else

tumbling down.

a take on time

All moments are all at once
I cannot leave behind any of these

All of my moments are all at once
I cannot leave myself behind.

to live by

Everything is Significant,
If you make it
         so.