Clearance.

Death chewed me up and spit me out at your feet
where the rain came pounding drowning in her tears
And you took my pants off as I winked and gave a broke-toothed grin
the broken earth won't laugh until she's collapsed under both our skins

and I'll go home wearing all your clothes
'cause you got yours and I got everything
and the hostile storm on swallowed clouds will scream
"Shut the door and run while you still have a chance."

and I'm blackened blood a mess upon the asphalt
I've worked small stones beneath my skin
and now a blinding force holds tight to everything you ever wanted
It's pretty, but a hurricane of quicksand

flashing passion trashed and passed
a twisted perfect body sex upon a fire pit
with ash slashed in cryptic prayers on parchment skin
on snaking steel-toed secrets begging

desperation down into your throat
I need a place- you need the nape of my
spine sliding down against your chest
with slick sweat demanding the curl of hands on my hips

and your tongue against my cracked heal and dilated vessels
I am here and yours on sheets twisted in the grabbing the kneading
the eyes rolled fingers unfurled and curled against my nails and your skin
I'm the piece of trash you nabbed and might just want to love

'Cause tonight you love the way I move
around the shadows in your room
and down the walls I arch and curve
against a fire made by friction

I turn your dreams to cinnamon
scorched lips as you dip your face in
with sugar beaded onto midnight ivory
and hyperventilation sucked between our lungs

I give you take every curve between our bodies
tracks of blood in hallucinations tasting sweet upon your back
you've ask me in to lip the nimble tip of this and that while
throw my moaning groaning song and watch me crack

my bits glitter all along your window sill
slide in to whisper out regret
a simple sign of undenied reminder
that she filled her hands with each piece she could get

I might be death's regurgitated mess on the sidewalk,
I might be pain on traced and wilted stalks,
I might be longing on a train of cash come sunrise,
but tonight, I am the junky dreamer in your bed.

W. G. Sebald

"indeed, at any given time- in the middle of a lesson, at break, or on one of our outings- he might stop or sit down somewhere, alone and apart from us all, as if he, who was always in good spirits and seemed so cheerful, was in fact desolation itself." - W. G. Sebald

A Midnight Movie Marathon

You know as well as I do
we are just sandalwood.
We drift in splintered shocks
split in millions by tender hands and
no one will carve us for good.

We are slivered icing
diamonds singing light on the sidewalk
the pavement freezing fast
holding us captive quick and
keeping us safe for the night
just the night

And we are snowflakes in mid-November
We are dreams on lashes black.
We are smoke at the edge of the park
and we are insanity
Didn't you know we were crazy?

Yet your nonsense is nothing compared
the scrape of slipped shoes on scorned pavement
of slipping screams and winter's creeping
and mortified moments of realization.
Dear God, what did I do?

Excuses made as the lobby turns-
filled with eyes and craning minds
reaching to peak a glimpse
at the guilty girl with greasy hands
Just look on, go on.
Just look.

And there is blood smeared across the screen.
And the whooping hollers cross the theater.
And heavy eyes are laden with more than just
what you wanted her to hear.

I saw you kissing in the street
I saw you kissing in the hall
And more than ever, more than ever
I saw in the dark rows with back-lit awe and

You can't deny that he's in love with you.
He's in love with you.
Girl you're in trouble 'cause
he's not the playing type.

Your yellow skirt and black lace dress
your breakfast jokes and cupcake mess
your promise to be and be and be
a challenge.

You're not giving anything up for free
though his sweetness is beginning to get to you
you trot on
in frozen rain that just might be

snowflakes in mid- November.

"Why didn't you stay?" "Because I had to leave."

It seems I have taken the role of a beast
bare feet on November ice; tracking blood that's not mine.
We were meant to break hearts together-
now you've settled down to chocolate mornings and pouting.

Pouting.

We were meant to break hearts together.
Now you tell me that you are all talk
and truly too soft.
But I believed you- I believed you.

And now I'm the beast with the blood of your friends
dripped from my teeth.
I didn't mean it- I swear I didn't mean it.
My blood is fire with conscious regret
'cause I never meant to hurt anyone.

And now you are angry with
a quiet rage of silver
and one heart is breaking while another one quivers
and this one is begging with his eyes calling
"Please." Quietly, "Please."
Only, "Please don't walk out that door tonight
because I love you."

But I can't stay here now,
I'm so sorry.
No I can't stay here tonight and view my carnage on lit eyes in the morning.
Don't love me.
I will walk away from you, too.

I will close the door on your desperate heart and let you paint my walls in your sorrow.
I will slip past the sleeping heartache and run from the judging eyes of what you are
and not what I thought you were.

You were supposed to be on my side.
You pushed for what you wanted
and didn't hear a word I said.
And now your eyes are piercing up at me
from my own linens and telling him,

"You are better off without her,
she doesn't know what she wants anyway."

And all I ever wanted was to love you.
I loved you and you settled for the man who makes you safe.
We were supposed to be wild together.
Now I've become the woman I thought you wanted me to be
and I find I'm here alone.

I can't have you look at me as a beast.
I can't have your eyes that way.
I will slip them from your skull and between my teeth
before they can bore that look into my mind- no
I need to get out of here.

I can't wake in the mess of all my slaughter.
I need a stronger heart, a larger hand
to let me just be weak for a while.

So I will slip away onto kitchen tiles
I will slip my hand in between his
and I will ask him just one small thing from my throat,
"Will you please take me away from here?"

Moon on the fullest of skin.

This evening tastes of candied apples
but I know the time is nothing of
a broken bit of flavored Snapple
and peppermint to fit the glove

I'd like to take you in my grapple
your hand in mine we'll ride the plains
with wayward hearts for us to tackle
let's not delay, we'll leave in days

I wait for hours at the station
where planes come in and leave the same
and break my clock of eager patience
to kiss your cheeks and say your name

We'll fly the dark bank of Seattle
and kiss the temples of our love
upon the broken leaves of battle
we'll thank the tear-fall from above

for gifting us our flavored favorites
with wine and stories fit to share
and melted fudge between our digits
a sense of magic in the air

before we head south to the forest
where more will wait in open hands
with mystery set out before us
we'll halt the hourglass and sand

make memories of wild dances
and secrets sworn behind the ears
of bodies warm with open chances
kept dormant after all these years

we'll be a night of wild resilience
on dancing feet and cherried brain
and legs to hold our severed brilliance
of memories sought out by name

A Letter to the West Bank

My shoes are all soggy, as I slip through the door
Oh, I got inside just as it started to pour
and I don't know if I can think anymore
about how I'll never see you again.

My good luck is over and it might as well be
that the rain clouds came hanging with their desolate glee
and I hope you're not lonely as you set across the sea,
'Cause your dreams are gonna break the world.

Now write me if you can
and send me every word.
Don't be afraid my friend
I'll be here upon your return.

I'll sit and wait
for your phone call each day
and I'll see you in my dreams along the way.
Yes, I'll see you in my dreams along the way.


And I called you twice just to hear your voice
but that ghostly recording won't give me a choice.
My ruminations are a delicate force
'cause your dreams are gonna break down the world

Oh darling, hold tight to your determined eye
keep an ear on your voice and don't silence your mind
take pictures of nightmares when you want to cry
and know that I'll see you again.
Yes, I know I'm gonna see you again.

Now write me if you can
and send me every word.
Don't be afraid my friend,
I'll be here upon your return.

And I'll sit and wait
for your phone call each day
and I'll see you in my dreams along the way.
Yes, I'll see you in my dreams along the way.


I promise again, if it comes to this turn,
your ashes I'll keep once your body is burned.
I'll scatter your soul on he deserts and yearn
for your spirit to take down the world.

Oh your spirit will take down the world.

I have the arms of an olive tree.

I kissed you 'til I had blistered lips
engorged with bruising, and aching hips
I want to see you tip again
dip me down to the floor,

fall asleep once more
-but when I slept
my lips cracked and split
'til I molted pale scales
onto my sheets

and this night was filled with novocain
a popsicle sun
no I am not a popsicle
I'm much more fun

I'm in your dreams
I've come undone
under sticky sweet heat
dropped like paint to the floor

with each droplet you find I'm the adore-
able Babel and burn
turned to pillar with turn.
So remember to only look back
once I'm gone.

For Liz on the Road.

You are lovely in all of your
wilting and waiting
the banjo wails tales
of your trail

pulling me fast to the tracks
of your steel-toned
and toeing these stones
like the boughs.

Sing sweetly the summer
a slumbering under
broke branches
and fixating sun

I've a tune in my hand
with your ink in my wailing
old river
to carry me down.

A cliché for 23 August

I've got roses behind me
and stars up above
got nightfall before me
and nothin' to love

but the ocean, the sky
not a thing on my mind
but the clear blue breeze
at my side

A Postcard

I fly through the lone star open evening
under the highest of skies
the widest of skies

My pale feathers dip quick, pulling lines thought a
heavy golden green ocean
A breath of honeysuckle sighs
into my open mouth
forcing sweetwater land
into my lungs
I can breathe
Oh Texas

Out here where the people dare not to go
the earth still shimmerin' with saccharine glow
I stretch the tips of my fingers
the tips of my tongue
and coax the sea
into my body
calling, "Please, please, please."
only, "Please, please, please."
Oh Texas

I catch on a vine and tumble 'til my shoulders rest
heavy with exhaustion
Petals in my hair, blades as my bed
chest rising and falling with the almost setting sun
Oh Texas
I scream, "Don't tempt me!"
"Oh don't tempt me!"
Oh Texas
Oh Texas

I grin to the sky as its clouds make pictures
reflected in my eyes
"Don't tempt me."

I laugh dragging my fingers
deeper in the soil
I want sugar in my veins
and nothing but the green green day
'til the horizon
Oh Texas

I want to walk these rolling waves
with the feet of Jesus
I want land in my lungs and a breeze
that has traveled for miles and miles
just to kiss my knees
and I will fall from my feet
crying, "Please, please, please."
"Won't you take me?"

I want an ancient earth to swallow me whole
rest me 'til I can breath on my own
I know, I know I can't do it on my own
I've always known
Oh Texas
Oh Texas

I don't want to be
don't make me be
another ball of fire
in your gilded sky
Oh Texas
Oh Texas
Oh Texas

081509

I don't want to wake up tomorrow.
Three dollars and sixty-nine cents.
'Cause my breath is too short,
a five piece churro;
oh man, I don't have any churros. No.

Mango smoothie please
are you makin' fun of me, please?
There is peach in my mango smoothie,
please?
Three dollars and sixty-nine cents
at window 7, please.

Rachel, it's a poem. Please.
I can see this guy making my smoothie.
I want to know what this guy's life
is like.

And hellfire is coming.

There is something a-sneaking
don't worry my lover
for here I lay hiding
one glove to another

behind the dark eyes of
the blackest of beasts
a begging for sunshine
you're waiting behind-

They tell me,
you're waiting.
Don't worry,
for we're all
just
waiting
for

a flashing eye
of porcelain thigh
and quiverin' escape
don't expect an exception

you're coming down
just the same
like all the rest
with tears of vain

blatant grips at salted rain
don't tame me now
my darling frau
You-
are-
my-
wife!

I can't loosen these leads
you've broken me down
to a breeding bank town
with cousins for kissing

and missing and missing
Can't get those boys out of my gut.
So baby,
break loose.

Tie my obligated bones
to barn doors painted
and set me ablaze
we'll paint the walls red

red,
red,
red,
red!
They thought they could hide us away!
But baby lean close, and I'll tell it this way,

Behind this dark flashing
of coal coating lashing
I lay here, awaiting
awaiting, I lay.

A honey violin playing at the trading post.

I'm going to abandon my heart
and leave it on the street.
Maybe I'll throw it off a bridge.

Because my heart is broken
and rattles each step that I take.
Because my heart can't function
all wrapped up in duct tape.

Instead it twists what's good for me
into steaming cauliflower
and coats trouble
with a taste vital for survival.

My heart is jerrybuilt
and it needs to be removed.
I will leave it on the street

for an animal to carry off
and feed piece for piece
to its bleating den

and then
I will strip bare the metal bars
that once directed my Raleigh bike
and fit them neat into my newest cavity

with this useful tool
in final trade for my bleeding romance
I will never cry for you again.

A storm before twilight.

I am beat on the surface of drowning
I am wet on the four A.M. street
I am water to breathe for the first time in months
I can live with the clouds on my skin

dancing free from the eaves and the trees
with my skin dripping sorrow and sweat
sweet lightning to clear out my cluttered yet charming
the child that spins underneath

I want raining to gather my eye wells
for mosquitoes to light in my pools
I want breeding commenced on my body
changed from feeding to egg-laying flesh

I am born in the mid-summer storming
I become but the pavement itself
with percussion alight on my breathing
I want ricocheted melodic breaths

and when heavens give what I'm wanting
I will fly through the streaks of the night
I will kiss to cielo my secrets
gasping heavy my air on the lawn

of your neighbors all sleeping quite silent
and breathe quick the earth twice again
you are wet with a soon-after thunder
you are hiding the shadows of homes

Fumer tue

She
likes the sound when her embers hit water.
Likes the smell of her nose against you.
Likes making a mess in your clean little world
and

ain't gonna smoke her last blonde
til she she needs it
gonna smoke her last blonde
in the port
gonna smoke her last blonde
over nonsense and blitz
gonna smoke her last blonde
over not looking back
black coffee
and salt on her face

ain't gonna smoke her last blonde
til she kisses you
one last time
and maybe
perhaps
it will be
one last time

ain't gonna smoke her last blonde
til she needs it.
With a little luck
she won't forget you

ever
ever
ever
til she meets you again

and she'll look in your eyes
over nonsense
in the airport
and once again

She will smoke her first blonde when she wants it
and can make a small mess in your world
and can suck in the smell of your skin through her nose
and listen as her embers hit water
in your clean little world
she will be
once again
once again.

053009

From the Spanish women I learned how to be feminine.

From the men I learned how to say, "No."

From the American boy I learned how a heart can break
and break again.

From the Colombian, I learned to trust again.

Through a loss of faith I learned how to stand on my own.

Through a silk rose I learned the mystery of romance.

On a desperate day I saw how love never really fails.

In that moment, I resolved that bitterness is insignificant.

Through loosing you I learned what it is to be alone.

And in my loneliness, I learned comfort in the sound of a voice.

I also learned the breakdown when that voice pulls my chest to release.

And in that moment, I once again learned who I really am.

070309

"It won't be long, now
before we can hear
the call to prayer."
was finally
you said to me.

I fell asleep
intertwined
my arms around
my fingers bound
between your skin
your breath on mine.

You bathed me twice
in sugar wine
the hallow sound
of one thousand
watermelons
ripe from the vine

and we danced
fever to fever
flesh to sand
castle to skin
we danced

music by the ocean
an African beat
our bodies a burning
ash pulled through the streets

and we danced
music slipped
a shadowed glance
lyric to lip
between strings of beading
between hidden shops

music in the mud
guitar in your hands
and chased down the alleys
our fiery dance

a melody meeting
in sand and then fleeting
encountered twice
under Moroccan lamps
under stone and stemming
under no pretense

You sang along
together our song
we became the bliss
most influenced
they came to catch on
they came to steal

we became music
we became beat
drumming the planet
roots through our feet
we became
and we danced

We danced the sofa
with hands to our hands
heartbeats rewritten
a rhythm enhanced
a flash of colored glass

We danced the doorway
a passing of heat
a pushing of friction
adorning addiction
and into the alley

We danced the way
light foot to the fray
a song for the mange
a wind that maintains
the city itself

we danced together
became one another
pulled deep in our lungs
the city our mother

and we became,
we became
what becomes
the breath of a lover
the night and no other
we become

She breathes with white water.

The sound of your voice trails whispers on a thick salty wind. I smell you drifting through the window on a breeze that has crossed the ocean. You come from the north, like the heat from the stars; and now I see you lighting in my eyes.

I am looking deeper and you become a soft brush against my arm in the crowd of the markets. You become the quiet chaos of the city around me. You creep into my ears and fill the dreams of those you've never met with your music.

You are here and I feel it. I find you in the sweetness of wild Moroccan honey and the bite of each spice the shopkeeper opens for my nose. I find you in the eyes of the street ravers and the curling smoke of the dark Moroccan hash.

Each night I meet the sea and dip my toes in under the moon. I feel you crashing in the waves and know that you will meet me in the current. And again, there is that breeze that travels from in from America; your scent is on that wind.

Just to hear your voice.

In the morning
I fell into the sobs of your voice
I fell into the cries of loneliness
and never

never have I missed you more

I heard you
on the call of repeat
in a mess of self-torture
because the pain

the pain brings you back to me

You are the one
who should be in my skin
who should hold to my head
when the breaking comes

comes in the morning with your diamonds

I
will never fear what comes
when I have you
with my skin on your skin
my heartbeat against yours

and yours
is the one I cry for

My 'him' no longer.

And I just realized
that none of my memories here
will be of you
ever again

you have abandoned life
to forever be
and always

and always
just a shadow
of what we could have become

You: Homesickness.

Baby,
in all of your glory
I am bestowed upon thee

Baby,
in everything you are
I can’t forget thee

Because you
you are everything
you are everything

You are the broken hinge in the door
You are the cold coffee
on a Sunday morning

You are strangers met on the sidewalk
and photos
never seen again

You
You are a coin of gold
shining the glint of pavement

you are pages unwritten
forgotten to finish

And now,
you are a morning pick-up
a case of
How do I get home?
Can I come home with you?

053009 8:46AM

And while he walked
he heard
a peculiar noise
it fell on his nose

a noise like
someone
brushing teeth

it echoed off the walls
it echoed from his mouth
he began to look around

around
shika-shika
shika-shika
the brushing

a dull but brilliant
a familiar tone of
nothing in particular

he looked up
and there she was
a girl
in the window

still awake
from the night before
out her window
she leaned

and down it came
shika-shika
shika-shika
the brushing

and all the while
an old man
from the door of his shop
watering the street

shika-shika
shika-shika
he wondered
her blonde hair
blonde eyes

who was she?
That girl
was me.
I brushed
in the morning

I brushed a
shika-shika
shika-shika
breaking morning
breaking stones

I brushed a
web of lovers
court of
amalgamated
associated
hands in hands
and constant mated

lovers of lovers
lovers of sons
lovers of broken
and lovers begun

I didn’t know
quite what to say
except:
shika-shika
shika-shika
shik-

he looked and I
looked away
in the morning sun
in the sun because

I was never
the girl on the beach
I was blue eyes
and broken teeth

shika-shika
skika-shika
shik-

I was never
the feminine
but now
now I am
the optimum

shika-shika
shika-shika
shik-

What is one to do
with a morning
full of morning
with a morning
like this?

An Ode for Poison Oak

I listened
I finally
finally listened

I listened to you
to your voice
to your song

and when I realized
I laid my head
down to the blanket
I laid my ear flush
up to the speakers

and sideways
I broke
fat tears
slid
over my nose
into my ear
and down my face

and as the line came
“
let the poets
cry themselves
to sleep
”
I knew
you were for me

and as you sang
I knew
I was for you

And I cried
without reason
except for
a broken heart

And then
when you ended
I turned over
and I played your voice again
and once again
I cried again.

Some things I will miss about Madrid:

1. Crazies on the metro

2. School-girl uniforms

3. The way your hair blows back
- like a supermodel-
when you leave the station at Chueca

4. How the city is designed around socialization,
around people

A Reminder

I will keep
but one scar
from you

allowing the others
to heal
completely

I will keep
one mark
in a place
I can hide

and only I,
or perhaps
a future lover,
will know
it's existence

This scar will fade
with age
almost disappear
completely
in the long dark
of winter

But
when the sun returns
I will bear my soul
for all

this one scar
will creep
along the curve
cautiously

and remind me
of what
I have loved

Urchin

You are in the sand
and written for decadence;
but you crave permanence.
You want to be carved in stone
and much stronger than gold.
You want to become petrified.

And I have the solution.

I have always had
exactly what you needed
but you are broken
in a way that makes you unfit

You crave something new on every turn
but your impressions are dug in sand
and though each stone you've crept upon
will stand the tides of time
you will wash away

You will drag clinging
biting with desperation
praying for an anchor
but those stones will wash clean
kissing you goodbye to the sea

and all that will remain
will be tiny tracks of blood
from the scratching
you left behind.

Oh boy.

Last night I was on fire,
but the morning
brings a sickness
in the smoldering.

Damn this smoke.
it always leaves me
reeking desolate.
Yes, desolate.

I need sunlight
and water.
I need purity.
Sanctuary.

I need a head so clear
I could sort you out
see you the way you are
and then box you up

for storage
and then
put you
away.

I’m so tired of you
laying around my floor.
I’m so tired of you
catching my feet dragging.

I’m so tired of this
pull on my heart
that upsets my eyes
when I feel you yank.

I don’t want you
to be miserable
but I don’t want
to be either.

I can’t keep stepping over you
I want you out of my room
off of my floor, out of my eyes
and free from my mind.

I want
to stop
needing
you.

You have been cruel
treated me poorly
but somehow
somehow

You’ve crept under my skin
slipped into my veins
and withdrawals are always
the hardest part.

When I wake alone
crashing the morning
I think of you
My bones begin to ache

It’s a yearning for
the trip-
not at the end where
the addiction was a sickness

Where I forced you
into my blood by
pulling small veins
severing nerves

from my wrists
from my neck
and this one
connects my heart

No, I am missing
in yearning desire
the summit-
the peak of the high

The time when
you touched me
and my skin
erupted

When just your eyes
could ground me
root me to the earth
and lift me higher than

I long for the world
the one we created
between our bodies
that made me question

everything.
Searching for a truth
in the world outside
our reality.

Polished Silver

Last night I danced
with the nine foot goddess
and her sister
who’d abandoned her shoes.

We danced on the lights
that freckled the floor
with one hundred eyes
locked on our grace.

Last night I danced
with giant angels
with big full lips
and nervous hands

They fiddled the locks
of their cascading wigs
with flashing eyes
wanting and dreading

Those eyes were darting
battered thick
with black midnight
and false lashes.

Last night I danced
I danced and I danced
and when the angels retired
I asked them to dance again.

El Madrileño

Then came the problem,
and you
became an asshole.

You
trying to play
all the games
all my lovers
have played before-

only,
they played them
better.

You are not good
in what you do
you lost your hand
in a fit
jealousy.

You called me a slut-
you had no right to.

You lost it
and managed
to offend me-
in a language
other than my own.

You have some
real
talent.

And I
am not
easily
offended.

I am not easily offended.

I / Will / Pay

There was sunlight
there was heat
in the cabin of
the corner of
the sunset
on the street

in the passing of
the straining of
their poise contained
their stride maintained
stilettos on cobbles
stilettos on stage

and brows without moisture
and necks without mist
in the cabin of
the corner of
the breaking of
the heat

while trails tapped
a pacing knack
for trampled on
for tramping-
a beautied wink
you stop to think

then nothing
then nothing
the corner comes
a heat in lungs
then nothing
then nothing

She smiles quick
a spreading lip
gloss to glint
her lash in squint
with sun on graffiti
with sun on her skin

And then
and then
you're dizzy with
you're dizzy with
and then
and then

A pocket coin tink
A pocket-eye link
and brinking on
a breaking on
desire for something
desire for heat

with sun on graffiti
with sun on her skin
in the cabin of
the corner of
the woman of
the street

We are connected by the trails of our veins.

The lines
on the inside
of your face

line the grooves
running the bark
of a tree

Those lines
trace your laughters
and long nights

Those lines
trace your blood

Those lines
lead your lineage
back through

mothers and sons
fathers and mothers
daughters and brothers

and then
the mothers
of those

With satin
in billows
to curtain

your face
and light
freckled tissue

With pale windows
which open and close
revealing the lines

and
the secrets
of the lines

Those lines
on the inside
of your face

have always been
my favorite place
for hiding

I asked him:

If you could run away to anywhere in the world, tonight, where would you go?

He told me:

I just came back from running away out of this planet. I can't run anymore.

So I asked him:

Where did you run to?

And he said:

I ran into an artificial illusion within myself of pure and beautiful feelings denying reality.
Then I woke up to face reality with respect and faith on me.

051409

This morning brings about
an odd fascination.
A morbid curiosity
that could kill me,
if I let it.

There is electricity.
What would it taste like?
On the end of a knife?
To draw the shape
of blood
on my tongue?

Would there be blood at all?
Or perhaps,
an instant cauterization
of wires;
severing nerves and
burning them apart,
all in one spark.

And what about pavement?
How would it feel
caressing my flesh
like a lover;
raging from the height
of a rooftop?

I want to fly.
Drop backwards
off the eaves of imagery
while imagining only
the color green.
I want to capture it
in my mind;
tamed by a certain
solitude.
Think only of green
and become it
in a million
falling
drops of paint.

Would I ricochet?

Or
would I exterminate my colors
in a staining of stones and
for all eternity
they would know
where green expired?

Would it leach from
the fresh leaves of roses
and morning glories?
Would it leave the earth's fauna
in a ghostly, dusty hue?
Would the color drip
down from every point of life
and travel the planet
slowly
to arrive where I left green
as an executioner
to shine obsessively vibrant
in reminiscence
for all eternity?

And when I walked
from my tinted massacre
would the only memory
of green
remain as just a hint?
A tiny glint of color
in the wink of my eyes?

Or what,
what if I needed refuge
from these nights
of wild dreams,
of oppression,
and I took to the street
to sleep with the whores,
and learned Spanish
as I told them my sins?

The confessions of an immortal
desperate to die;
of a heart that danced wild
in the heat with a flame;
the cries of a mother
unwanted, unwed.
The breaking of silence
on water.

This musing is dreams
dipped in mischief;
is skin
dripped in hard candy
cherry flavored;
is secrets
reveled by eyes pacing
beneath the sweet shell.

This dream is escape
is escape
is escape
is escape
and throwing your memories
through glass
to the ground.

This is a forgotten sensuality
the caress of a dull blade
running the curves of my skin.
After all,
this blade is nothing
but a piece of life
in my hands.

051209

I am sure you will miss me for a very long time.

But me? I will fly free from you as a mosquito;
Slipping saliva into the pores of the humans I love
and taking only blood as a souvenir when I go.

The Peninsula.

And now

I am wonderment

amazement

and decision.

Right now

I am finalized.

I am longing for

anywhere

but the city

I miss

what I've always known

as home

the beaches

made of stone

water

too frigid for swimming

and swimming

without reason

just the same.

I want

the peninsula 

the chill

of evergreens

with a slow drawl

and sun-baked

pine needles

in dust

feeding apples

to the misty morning

deer grazing the bluff

above the cliffs

above the sound

above the fire and

under the stars.

I want to be kissed

by a boy

who is simple and sweet

who dreams of music

and the road.

With sand-colored hair

and soft skin.

I want the dust

of the country

the U.S. west

where voices

mimic birds

and skies go on

forever.

I want my family

the arms of my mother

when I cross reckless

past borders and states

o'er rivers and peaks

through the frame of her door

and back

into her home.

050809

The sun sneaks up 

over the mountain

I wake 

to think only of you

with heavy eyes

laden with 

fleeting dreams

I bring them half-open

fill them with pink-and-green petals

with sunlit slats permitting 

just enough

from the places I've been

in the beat of my

rapid eyes and

sweet dream sweat

wet on neck

down the shoulders

unusual.

I am here with

the waking morning

almost silent but

here:

a quiet tick-tick

and there:

the city's first living:

a barking

a birding

a rooster saluting

broken only

by the pass of a distant

solitary engine

and then

another.

The countryside

marked by

the early hour

by simple living

by shepherds leading

low bells to echo

mountain to mountain

valley to valley

sky to the sea

and back

to the necks 

of the sheep.

what comes next.

"we bury them all in glass coffins at the bottoms of rivers and put foxfire in the tombs, so they glow at night and we can appreciate what comes next." -Richard Brautigan

Poppies

There are poppies that line the freeway leaving Madrid. They remind me of you. Of your lips and the way that you smile. 

I want to walk among them. Stick my feet with the hot dry earth. Feel my hair whip into tangles with the wind of passing cars. Kneel down and feel the kiss of wild petals on the crest of my cheekbones. I want to lay down among them and feel the mass of a sprawling sky. I want to feel them purify me, pulling toxins from my blood as they do from the soil.

And there, by the breath of wild poppies, by the rush of the passing motors, by hills growing calm and cradling, and under the pale blanket of the enormous sky, I will give my life up to destiny and my body to the earth. 

I will forget my name and my sins and become only red wildflowers that line the freeway leaving Madrid. The ones that remind me of you, and the way that you smile.

A night walk with insanity.

You are fireworks on Grand Via
and the squeal of a drunken pickpocket
while my tune rings the pavement
in an octave just above your reach.

You are bags of emptiness
caught in the wind
dancing circles around my feet.

I am am hair in a vertex
and jazz rising up from the subway.
You are caught in my eyes
with the flick of the breeze.

My legs find comfort
in the sound of an always-loved
nostalgia. Out of control.

043009

Hielo, beware when the road is just
pointing, to a broken and lazing
example, when nothing you've chosen
will fit you, and the tantrum
on the hard bathroom floor.

'Cause you're hiding
where the sun-trees remind me of
childhood, with the three months
we lived without rain
and a browning, of skin turning something quite
golden, white eyebrows and pigtails
alike.

But it's gone now
with the sinking of skin on my
forehead, to the pillow and forever
sleeping, and days sliding past without
grace. But a reason
to stare at the stones in your
eyelids, and wonder what plays in your ears.

'Cause it's boring
this pointing and tired
commuting, while the bus shakes a violent
unreason, can't tell you how much I miss
raining, while my life here won't let me
complete.

Tell me a different story.

You are long in your longing
I have nothing but worry
I send you

shattered dreams
to rattle and shake
shove torn through the cracks
your door of depression.

You had a fire
and now it's gone
where?

Where did you loose it?
"Just hibernating."
in a sigh.
Where did you loose it?

Can I find a switch?
Can I mend wires?
Bending metal to metal
Bringing current to current
Binding with black tape
electricity.

"No." with ashy eyes.

You want to be anywhere
but where you are
and I am exactly so.

I want to give you:
crystals of ice
drops of dew
banana leaves
and dreams.

(Remember dreams?)

I want to dream with you
burn my fingers on your heat
burn the planet with our tongues.

And I'm reaching,
I'm reaching,
for a flame that's gone cold.
Embers.
I hear it in your voice
and I know
you're loosing.

You're loosing.

You need a change,
you dream of unknown,
Images of snow and
thick humidity.

I'm coming for you.

You won't be there
when I arrive.

032409

Pass him by
but make sure you hold your breath.
Pass him by
be certain your eyes don’t catch.
Pass him by-
if you look, you must give up your coins.
Pass him by
if he doesn’t exist you are free from your guilt.
Pass him by
do not say, “Hola” or smile.
Pass him by
he is scum and annoys with his presence.
Pass him by
the streets are all plagued by his begging.
Pass him by
and your demons will stay in his song.

I forgot to call. I’m sorry.

Proximo tren llegara en:
02 min

While I wait
and I wait
and the sand jams
the end of my pen
I am pensive

and late
while I wait
and I wait
with the swift winding roar
down the tracks

of Chueca
down the tunnels
I’m boarding
and flying
quite late
towards Diego de León

I should see how late I am.

Oh Madrid

Oh Madrid
each time I leave
the stones of your skin
I fall deeper into you.

Oh Madrid
I am hopeless
I am helpless
I am in love.

Madrid
you are more beautiful
more flavorful
more everything
I could ever want.

I would paint a thousand faces
kiss a million lips
just to cool my toes
on your cobblestoned streets.

Madrid-
this love is obsession
infatuation
a desperation
and I need to
return to you
every time I leave.

Oh Madrid.

The Fallas is Burning.

It’s like gravity.
While the crowd grows
and I am embarrassment.
While whistles and laughter
soar through the crowd.

A BOOM!
and a CHEER!

We walked along the way.
The wicked forest.
The wicked forest.
Along a path we never knew.
What was before us?
That was before us.

And all the while
the light continued
to change.

RED
GREEN
YELLOW
RED

And when we touched
we saw fireworks.
And we knew
if our eyes
should close here

the floor would take
the sky to fall
BOOMING
across the land and
to the ground.

And water dripped
from the leaves
while the flames
soared burning
hot in the distance.

The Mediterranean.

The sand on the Valencia shores of the Mediterranean is like powdered sugar under your feet. When you strip off your shoes and run towards those waters you can taste the sweet sand under your feet. The sky spreads out before you and reaches down to whip waves of the deepest blue and spread them into a frothy icing in front of you. When you step breathless into the smooth water, you can feel the stars winking shyly to you as they peek down from a gradient night sky. Nothing can prepare you feet for the soft silk of that sand. Nothing can prepare our eyes for the penetrating horizon. And nothing, nothing, can prepare your soul for the heartbeat of the Mediterranean.

Horizon to Horizon.

I am drifting through time and space
half awake and not really sleeping
dreams past train windows
and landscapes
and landscapes.

Other dreamers, almost-dreamers,
and death upon them never dreamers
pass fervent by desert
a lash twitch,
fingers pulled in
passing dreams.

I am sitting across from you
and right next to you.
You tell me
my mother and I
share the same smile.
I smile.
“Yes,
she gave it to me
many years ago.”

And you are a silhouette
an arching nose
on balding hills
balding hills with balding shrubs
with sun on their faces
with barracks in the distance.

I wonder
at what altitude
do mountains begin to dream?

And I begin
an almost-dreaming
sipping dew from fresh blades
in the meadow
of a country farmer
hair damp to the morning earth.

My lungs become the sky
the sky becomes my lungs
and they stretch vast
in oppressive beauty.

This pale expanse
beats lavender into my blood
filtering pure morning air
to the furthest reaches of my limbs.

The lungs reach farther
farther than my eyes
horizon to horizon
and another horizon beyond those.

I am a giant.
I breathe in the waking hills
I pluck petals from a white spring blossom
with my teeth
with my lips
and they become
as I become
my teeth
my lips.

I taste every breath of life in the desert.

I exhale with the planet
and together we begin to hum
OM.
It fills hidden homes
in the rock as we sing
OM.
It graces trembling leaves
at the tips of ancient fingers
OM.
It slithers off rocky cliffs
and down into the canyons ringing
OM.
And caresses down over the hills
over the fields
over the blades of green
entering the earth
and into my skin we breathe
OM.

There are ancient stones
that keep watch
from the mountain.
Those ruins bake in the sun
and wink to the waking eye
of a morning
in a farmer’s land.

A night muse.

Where do you go? Where do you go with your eyes in your skull darling? Where do you go in the night? Where do you go when you lie to my fingers and where do go with my lips? I don’t know where the ages of falling falls onto the crashing waters of the mountain river.

And I want to know. I want to know. I want to know of the roaming valleys and plains filled with wildflowers. I want to know of the rabbits in the grasses nibbling the petals. I want to know of their wishes and share in their secrets. When will I know of the breaking on pavement and hallucinogenic rainfall? I want to see the waves of black nuns devoted in prayer as the tripping on puddles reveals the sins in the hems of their skirts.

I want to feel honey dripped down the rough folds of the trees and the hairs on the squirrel who clutches the sweet drizzled shelled pecans. I want the beat of the battle drum throbbed through my chest. I want the hot waves of the Pacific ocean surging through my toes. I want to crash in the surf of your breathing and suck through the rounds of your nose. I want to pulse through the air in your lunges filtered through the streams of your body. I want to stretch through the ends of your toes and slide through the taunt pulled muscles of your legs. Slide up your hips and move through the twists of your belly. Sail through your liver, the acid of your stomach, and past your vibrating voice box. And burst from your mouth with the heat of your air to hit the bedroom wall in a splat of a painters creation.

And if I could, you would suck inside yourself with the inner journey to questions only you can answer. You would slide behind eyelids and search through your soul. You would breathe in my presence and ask me the answers to life. I would push in your teeth and engrave them into your skull. I would strike into your spinal cord and tap into the core of your being. I would taste the threads of gold grasping into your mind. I would pound a rhythm of Morse and music. I would send message of a million questions and puzzle to which you would form the answers.

Then I would whisper secrets of desire in alphabetical order. Plant a lavender field of knowledge and of knowing. Open the gates to your understanding and bring before you options of decision. You would exhale and smile softly in inner peace. You would be cliffs in the deserts and standing among the stars of heaven. You would be a small boat under the weight of the waterlogged midnight sky.

I would and I will, then you will be without question or wonder. You will be all directions and the veins of everything. You will be North, South, West and East. You will be every note of laughter in between. You will be the tears of the forest and the voice of the Orca as it lullabies the sea. You will be roots of the ground and growing with the rotation of the planet. You will reach up through the clouds and send whirlwind to the nations. The galaxy will jewel pearls on the chains of your neck and slide lights into your eyes.

The Sugar Voyage- For Adi.

Strawberries shackling
hands on the ocean
we float in the sugars
of red seeded tides

and sing to the goddess
of Albatross seagulls
to kiss in the riptides
and pluck bare their hides

‘Cause we’re going away
we’ll leave here today.
So pack up your things
let’s find our dreams.

Whipped cream on window sills
spun through our fingers
and braided into
the gold strands of our hair.

With honey clad voices
and hard candy lashes
we’ll bare our fair bodies
and crush those who dare

‘Cause we’re going away
we’ll leave here today.
So pack up your things
let’s find our dreams.

Electricity

My Dear,

You are lightning
on the wind.
Electricity
rolling in the clouds
and I can smell you
in the air.

You are hanging
poised in the storm
charged and holding
breathless
in the calming
of waters
and hanging

before the poles collide
hot against the cold
and the winds begin
twisting on the ocean
to bring all your water
to the land.

And the poles collide
hot on the cold
and the winds begin
twisting again
to bring all your water
to the land.

A little honesty in the knots.

I cannot sleep again. My head is pounding with all the things I want. I am desperate for something yet I don't know the words to ask for it. I don't even know if I can find it here. Is there a word for this pain in a language of romance? I am cold on the street with a hand full of coins. I am moving my feet to find warmth in the pavement. How long will I feed this meter while miming all of my desires to a painted wall of stone?

Some days are harder to take. This was one of those days. Open with a breakdown. Still waiting for it to pass. But- my head is a turbine of questions. How long must I wait? I am holding my breath and running short on coins. I shake my pockets, searching for something to fill the meter- yet my currency is foreign and oddly shaped.

I will cry in the nighttime and no one will see my tears. The salt from my lonely whispers will work its way into their dreams and fill the night with oceans. I will be barefoot on the Mediterranean. I will be a phone call from Portugal. I will be a postcard lost in the mail. But more than anything- I will be a memory.

I will be the one who hides her tears in the darkness. I will patch up my ribs with scrap wood and odd nails. I will cover this place in me that aches. Until I reach the ocean, I will be salt of my own and alone in my crashing.

022809

Apple zucchini soup for breakfast,
Maoz falafel for lunch,
and all the made up dishes
in between.

We are angels of the ocean.
Anchored to the earth
by roots of the ancients
and strong enough
for typhoon and tidlewave.

We are the Giant Sea Kelp
gathered in a great forest
an under-ocean sanctuary.

We are clown fish
in the face of danger.

We are the Great Blue Whale
and points of life
consumed in our bellies.

We are light on the waves
and reaching down
through black water.

We are new life
in an old world
of destruction.

We are the main course
the glass of wine
laughter between friends
and tears
shed in solitude.

We are overpriced candies,
a gesture of caring,
and children
playing in the sun.

A bleeding of color.

Red
was the color of everything.
I stood on the edge
a clearing
and the wind blew red
through the leaves of red
falling from trees of red
growing ageless from an earth
the color
of red.

I stepped into the clearing
on red blades of grass
through red snagging shrubs
and brushed
red hair
from my eyes.

I turned
tipped my head
to a black sky
broken
in red clouds
and found
that even the moon
shone the most
breathless shade
of crimson red.

I looked upon
my body
to find
red nails
on red fingers
protruding
from deep red hands.

These were the hands
of my mother.
These were the hands
of my birth,
but
in the warm still air
of the warm still night
this night,
these hands
were stained and painted
for all to see:
red.

Lolina.

The days pass too quickly and still we are wasting our lives in the cafe of green and yellow paper. These chairs of antique leather mold around us like chains and something in our being stirs with discomfort.

"Can't you see?" screams the voice of inner monologue; the omniscient voice of dreams, "You are allowing yourself to be trapped! Soon you will be nothing but the smell of coffee and cigarettes and the babble of Spanish chatter!"

But the voice is far off and distant, competing with the draw of necessity and acquaintance. The voice screams clear from across a field of drying grasses and a sun baked river. The voice is fading into the fruits of orchard trees and lost in the sweet bite of nectar.

Once again, the days turn and we are heavy in curls of smoke and becoming our own reflection in this cafe full of mirrors.

021409

The clouds of Montmarte
inhale the buzzing streets
and turn to sorbet
with the dusking light.

Hiding in the shadows
a twinkle of the city
I catch eyes in the distance
coy with a wink.

And youth with a baseball mit
a crack of leather on leather
over French beer; a picnic
and, "Bon journo!"

There is no romance
in looming steel frams
unless Gustav himself
was hopeless with love.

So be my platonic Valentine.
Together over cafe au creme
we will share our hear's desires
of the distant ones we want.

de la Tour Eiffel

Close your eyes; you are there. The entire city is simmering at your feet.

When I die, I will choose to return a pidgeon. I will live my days roosting the steel beams of the Eiffel Tower and I will feed on the crumbs of croissants. I will know the words for awe in every human language. The wind will blow and my feet will hold firm, rooted to cold metal and nothing but my feathers will be moved.

021209

If I could I would
tell you the ways of my teeth
the way that they bite
on gathers of skin and
pull your thoughts
out in the cold.

If I could I would
tell you the ways of my feet
the way that they dance
to the sound of your voice
set tune to their tramp
on the built on fantasy.

le Village

Is it fate that we should find nothing but nutmeg in the electricity flowing current by current through the wires? I would never know, would I? For every appliance in my Spanish flat is frayed and sparking to break circuts and threaten the users.

Electricity is a priviledge. It slides up my arm when my fingers catch between the sockets, and again in between our skin on the moments when you want me too. And do you realize that I am always? I always, always, seem to find room for another bite of ice cream.

But what if I am destined, in denial, a lactose intolerant? What if your sweetness should turn my stomach to stone? I would purge rocks down the path to your feet and all the while you would hold me at the length of your arm. Never would my shape and marble feel the warmth of something beyond your chest.

This hostel bedroom has six beds and a skylight that looks to the stars. I see the clouds sail by the rate of traveller's dreaming. Tomorrow I will stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower and make a wish for us. But until then, I will find the one star through the milk of clouds and wish upon my dreams of you.

One night in Paris.

The water ran all night
to trickle down the surface of
staling teeth and Sangria.
While the night is suddenly
calm

with parting clouds
a looming tower
promising a view
of the city
non-transferable.

This room is foul
as the forgotten brushing
and one hour in Paris
proves the brazen Italian
to ask a girl to coffee.

"Don't you have time
to have just one drink
with me?"
No Sir,
no Sir I don't.

Can't you see?
You are too old for me.
Like a city that whispers,
"Tell me your dreams."
and follows suspicious
down the alleys of Thursday.

Come on baby.

You are turning me-
and I have to distract-
keep me from-

'cause it's all too inappropriate.

While black speakers sing,
surround sound,
"Come on baby,
light my fire."

I am grin-
face in hands
numb with
wanting.

Wine lips for-
fingers twirl with-
a silver chain.
a collar bone.
a wave of-

I watch you
through bangs
and distraction.

Nails bit in-
lips pulled in-
hands in hair and
a fantasy:

this cafe basement
empty
and heat
on old leather.

011609

I keep a picture of my mother and I with me when I go. Sometimes it falls free from my notebook and I examine it before I put it back in place. The photo is over twenty-one years old, and in it I am just born. She holds me in her hands and looks up into the camera with the glow of a new mother. I look at her and I am proud. I am proud of her in the same way the photo captures that she is proud of me. Without condition or accomplishment, she is proud of me.

011509

I lost myself in the abyss of a romance-

and again in a lifestyle that worked.

I lost myself in a complemented fitting

and the future that snuck into place.

I lost myself a hundred deep breathings,

of labeled and identified tags.

And each time I found where I'd been dropped or misgiven

I lost myself to habit again.

Madrid.

Madrid is 

love at first sight

and finding home 

in a foreign place.

I waited for Madrid, 

and she greeted me 

a warm embrace

on the coldest of days.

I waited through four trains

and days of travel.

Through turbulence over Ireland

a lost kiss in the stars.

I waited on the airport floor

feeding Euro coins to a pay phone

just to tell you I was alive

[but they grounded our flight 

for seven hours].

I waited through airports and white wine

and new friends loosing flavor

with the drop in altitude

and a rising intoxication.

I waited with the full moon 

as we landed on the Spanish desert 

dusted in unlikely snow 

and sunset. 

I waited for my bag for an hour.

Then 

I walked to the lady of my searching

and the pale eyes of my saint.

Vivid through commotion.

With open arms

and besos for my face, 

the city took my heart

and she led the way.