i spoke with a friend this evening, of muses, of romance, of balancing invisible lines of who we are in what we write. i read some really profound poetry, and it got me diving back through some things i’ve written that resonated similar feelings.


I was chasing flickers of light. Did

you wait for me? Could you? I

walked in the quiet, footprints on

damp leaves. Woke up, saw you


I can’t apologize for missing all

those signs, posted on the way.

Night-dreaming blind to all truth—

but, there, where there needn’t be,


Clutching whispers, I carved a

space out for myself in the warm

absence you never left, and were

never there. Because I wondered.

When your hand finds its way to

mine, taking those whispers—

keeping them safe—may I shudder

in that which wakes? This is how I


Nursing me back to health, you

named me (d)iscourse. Every

morning, before we left for work,

you made sure to kiss each palm—

to speak easy.


Hugging the curves of this desert. The only way they’ll get it out of me is to burn this desert down, watching my whispers escape as I kindle with the Joshua trees. Undressing my soul in your tender wind. Turbine kisses, tastes of temporal drought. A land felled in its own dust is still land.

2.24.12 “Based on a photo of Saturn”

That just made me fall in love with existence all over again. Someone hold my hand while I jump really high. Why am I thinking in 5s? “Here, hold on to this for a minute,” she said, pulling out the blinding everything in her heart, “it may fit.” What if it all fit in a ziplock bag and wouldn’t decompose for a million years; would you want it then? Why don’t we only love what is fragile and ungraspable? Can we love the discarded, the ugly, the previously deemed unworthy? Is another’s perceptions how we judge all things? It all comes down to the person, in all cases, with love. So we can never know the outcome of anything for sure. And that’s where I see the everything–in all possibilities we are the us we make us to be, and be. A classic example of interrupted REM sleep. Benadryl dreams, led by thoughts unguided. It all is so terribly, awfully pretty. And it is everywhere. Existence. Do you have a butterfly net I can borrow? None of these words mean the same for you as they do me. But you hear them and reach out, attempting to meet understanding halfway. Maybe these words don’t mean anything. Maybe I just felt them. Neither way makes them less true. Or more real. They are here in this now. I never said I had the answers; I just like venturing into untilled air (always looking for you).

~~~~~old stuff~~~~~~


desolate images being thrust to my withering nature. isolate your self – righteous exterior for the safety of my upbringing. eroding under your desert is your creation: me. subliminal downers race through your high speed chase. watch me phase, I am interchangeable. Alert eyes sketching the bounds of reality. Is anyone there? How far is my voice reaching? Are you holding on tight? Feel this psyche inside–let it wander aimlessly and passionately. Don’t put on that mask. No, I won’t let you hide. Realize this fate clutching your toes, sticking your “shoes” in the ground like cement. Look me in the eyes, face what becomes of you.


Raw sleeplessness. The skin peeling off me reminds me to shed my pride and change. Unknown directions take me distantly afar. The breeze of aqua causing me to reminiscence days gone by. So I say goodbye to the confusion and look forward to the hope of understanding. The only thing I take with me is the memories of mishaps and empty pages waiting to tell of satisfying encounters. Lure me into your dream, I want to taste the vivid colors and savor your fragile being. Wake in my arms that’s where you belong. Don’t poison the earthquake it was born to create destruction. You can’t see it but you feel it–well honey that’s what you need because that’s the idea.


Nites are sleepless now. Meeting strange, yet soothing new faces. Swallowing the whole freshness of pure surroundings and breathing in the sounds of nature. Echo in my veins the soft murmur of silence as I lay in my state of nausea. Wondering aloud the pitter patter of my own self-beat: thud thud thud. Solo gathering the masses of breaking adhesive to an essence. Dancing without structure like all the palms that sweetly waver in the balance of ecstasy. Transfer this connotation, rewrite the pointless and disdain evaluation. Bitter remorse for the finer things in life remind me that change is inevitable. So why bother with simple nuances when I must surround myself with the critique anyway? What does it matter if I refuse to hear sustaining measures of violence? I should listen to the voices of her–my resource. The only abstract theatre that can accomplish knowledge. Wither in petty artificial conclusions while I base the answers on the unknown. The only equilibrium set out to fulfill your desires, yes even standards. Take a hold, grasp my hands and encircle your fingers with mine. I will protect your pale and fragile soul.

7.6.98 “Action on the Freeway”

lonely faces desperate for contact

staring at desolate gray asphalt

eyes wander into mobile forces

hoping for a soul to hope back

soothing music may calm nerves

but absence sinks into open hearts

admire the wildlife with compassion

taste the security of Eastern petroleum

the person driving next to you–

it could be a stranger with strange thoughts

it could be someone like you

thinking like me.


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