Thursday, June 24, 2010

moving to San Francisco

Making what we can out of options
lingering from feral stars like
the scented rear view mirror charms, blowing
wildly, with rhythms not understood.
We move, and change, and leave current life
to want. Peeling stickered attachments of life
off our skin and suitcases-fill them with
memories and sun spots. And introduce:
our head to new pillows, our nose to new
salted air and feet to new stones yet picked
from vagrant toes.

I'm finally moving to San Francisco!!

Monday, June 21, 2010

We glided past the desert air

We glided past the desert air,
splitting cotton clouds and
diet cokes, that the Stewardess

pored into cups. Looking out the
window, I asked the twin peeked
eyes so gray with age,

for change. I heard they traded goad
for plans if the snow caped threads

that tied them quiet melted
in the summer.

The Window Shades where optimistic,

but views gained by climbing jets,
bathed my eyes clean of thought;
until the only thing left

was breath. My thoughts and fingers
still, I sat alone, in the middle

of strangers, where birds don't dare to fly.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

iced plans and wine

I awoke to blinking lights and sounds that my clouded mind
gulped down; like the blacked out drunk, I saw, on 10th as he passed
the Red Door a few nights ago.

My ice cold plans patiently awaited the days heat, in the ice box of my
dreaming mind. Turning off the alarm, I walked to the kitchen and blended
them with yogurt and wine.

Blending iced plans and wine, makes sounds like the 747's I watched at the
airport. Choking past the clouds, they split the stars, showing their ass to the
city and leaving me behind.

I smoked and waited for a ride; as the wrinkles of life-torn Cats in red
crew T's took turns, loading luggage,
trading stories and teaching me the meanings of night.

When my ride came, I tore off half of the mornings disappointment and
bookmarked Pilkington's poetry with it. Driving back I thought I should
have added more wine. It probably would have made not leaving funnier.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

a painting

There is a painting in the house I grew up in, that sends chills down my back. It's square framed, blissfully displaced and pink. Growing old with it's like minded inhabitants. It stands perpetually cocked, and sloped toward the window; like a pot of leafs in the warm light of day. The meaning or purpose escapes me, even still, for like it's color scheme; the painting bleeds sadness.

A newly wedded couple stands just in front of a lot of sad, leafless trees; darkened even still by the pale gray sky above them. In the midst of the, Poe figured trees, stands your typical church building with many windows-dusty and cold. Painted black, the windows are the darkest parts of the piece. Giving any onlookers, with any thoughts beyond the glass that encloses It, the impression that the Church is empty-locked. No way in. No way out.

The newly wedded couple stands underfed and impassive. Holding her breath, the bride seems cold with her arms crossed. Vale falling down her back with a corner tucked between the folds of her narrow, limited arms. The Groom stands behind her aghast, it seems, as if this is the first time they've touched. He, carrying his bible, with both hands most of the time; doesn't know how to hold a woman. The heat from her heart feels queer in his hand. She feels it too, so she holds her breath. Longing strange enough for her books, and the solitude of dreams. And how they made her feel safe.

Planted neatly in the foreground, with hints of spring and lightness, grows pink bushes in action as the cooling wind engages them. The winded pink bushes seem to ignore the sad that is behind them, they laugh and cheer and bread. Painted so, I believe, that they are unable to look back; to see the discomfort, the darkness, the gray. The blessed few, thus being in the appropriate foreground, play out their purpose with ardor. The delighted specks of pink and brown, sing their songs of joy and grace. Sending pleasant tones to the eyes of a passersby.

And, he or she who takes the look is glad they did. Instantly becoming cheerful-their step lighter then before. Conversation bested only by smiles, and warm touches. The night is made with such things. Not remembered, it seems, the plight and shadows, that's drawn neatly in the background.

There is a painting in the house I grew up in; growing old with it's like minded inhabitants.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Leave the change or change and leave?

Leave the change or change and leave?
What do I sacrifice, in order to
change? In keeping

with the norm, it seems, right
to leave

the Good. With it's
sober and civil, cobwebbed corners;

laces tied and clean. But

tied together. And when I walked
I trip to the ground, choking

on the breath of laughing faces.

Or leave the Bad instead,
and laugh no more. Only with simple

shoulder swings, arms crossed and frowning,
can I let a tiny smirk across,

face. Like my father did. Leave jokes,

and take the pokes. Leave the dotted
skin of life and breath-and the colored

brown eyes, that closed when we danced.

Leave the unknown plans of dreams,
and schemes. For static comforts and Suburban

gifts of sugar coated comity, and the
prodigal tastes it breads.

Leave the change or change and leave?

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

behind the twins,

in a ranch of gray, behind the twins,
i think of you.

you are the stars, behind the clouds,
untouched, out of view.

a Play of yore, comes to trend,
beside your bed.

and a seed of mine, covered still,
inside your head.

will fade to bland, untouched,
starved, and unfed.

if i leave you, with my heart,
unlaunched, and bled.

i've heard of fate, in a story,
told to me.

between the sheets, i believed,
its fantasy.

but the doing, isn't done,
when we can pass.

this life off, with a remote,
made of glass.

and view charms, in the shade,
on our ass.

carving dreams, not from gold,
but of brass.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Just in case the words didn't

Just in case the words didn't
fall in the

right order for you, I'll say them

again. And in the darkness-when
you willingly turned out the

lights-my hands where ignored
by your selfish defensive

to protect your heart from good,
bad, and

the life we lead-that leads us.

I said it twice. But you couldn't listen
to me due to the darkness,

and fear. Because of the others,
I guess, you didn't listen-

to keep it fare for us all.

I want to move there, for
the sake of L@V%.

You couldn't-didn't-find the,
time to abide my words,

hands. So I left.