Three things are red-
My lips
The rose that you gave me tied on my wrist
And the passion between us as I
Brush you closer.
"You're a dream," I say-
"This will make it so very hard to wake up."
"I'm a dream," you say-
"I'm more real than anything you'll encounter when you wake up."
Black and white,
Like life.

====

Beyond every shadow
Peel back the layers
And there you'll find, under
Crusts of dried dreams
A memory-
Slightly moldy-
A breaded thought left out
Of the fridge for far too long.
But cut off the hard parts
And you will find the fruit-
An image of us,
Making silly faces and laughing too hard
To take a picture.

=====

=====


It's almost like my life the past few weeks is in review
Before the memories leave my mind
They turn themselves inside out-
Like shirts fresh out of the laundry
And then disappear,
As socks do in the dryer
Oh, if only it were that easy to dismiss
And say that you were a clothes cycle
I once watched go round and round.

======

It'd make it much easier for me
If you would stop running through my mind.
There are marks on my cerebrum that read Nike-
You have become that frequent a visitor.
I'll start to do something that, I'm sorry,
But doesn't involve you
And you start lacing up your jogging shoes.
All right, fine- run on-
But one of these days would you mind staying?

God Bless You, Mr. Salinger

If you ever wanna be referenced for the rest of your life,
And never left alone-
If you wanna have silly ska and punk bands beat the crap out of your work
Analyzing every word you've ever written
Repeating them, illustrating them,
And alluding to them with every repetitive chord-
Write a book like Catcher in the Rye.
If you want every movie ever made to have some echo of your character,
Your protagnist repeated, your settings revisited,
And your themes dug up like dinosaur bones-
Take a crazy seventeen year old, give him a dialect,
And name him Holden.
Toss in a exactly one hundred and twenty six "phonies",
Sell it to every English class that ever existed,
And you've got yourself a classic every killer reads.
God bless you, Mr. Salinger.
You gave meaning to one more hopeless teenager.


I'm really not as cynical as this makes me sound... in fact, I'm quite in love with this man.

We've talked about the moon and sun,
The Mayans and Buddhists.
Death and life,
Water and ground-
All parallels in the world.
We've discussed ideas others have given us,
Dreams and revalations.
I bored you with Keats,
You drove me mad with politics,
I guess you could say we're even.
You scared me with news from our current government,
And I told you my goals as far as dreaming went.
Silly me, I promised to show you lucid dreaming.
We discussed rebirth,
Religion,
Recussitation.
Water and Moon-
And the genders of both.
The one thing we forgot we the inevitable-
"Oh, by the way,
I've become attached to you.
Be mine?"
The simplest thing in life, so easily forgot.

You wove my dreams with butterflies-
In the dream I knew I should not be having
Because evtually I'd awake to a reality that failed me
I awake where I do not remember leaving off-
Because the dream was so real-
But what is real?
"Real" is what the general population
Agrees COULD, logically, happen.
Gone are the monarchs,
Waving goodbye with their wings.

Poem

Did Queen Dido deserve it?
Did Queen Dido deserve it?
Just because she broke her promise-
Does she deserve to be banished to hell?
Do we deserve life?
Do we deserve lies?

Second circle, that’s too bad
I’m feeling low today too
Granted I don’t blow around
In constant whirl winds
But I did fall for you
(It’s close)

Queen of Carthage, Queen of Carthage
I got one up on you
I’m not residing in Dante’s nightmare
But I got love unrequited
And as far as I can see, it’s not fair
I’d rather have the Circle
I’d rather have the Heat

Did Queen Dido deserve it?
Did Queen Dido deserve it?
Just because she broke her promise-
Does she deserve to be banished to hell?
Do we deserve life?
Do we deserve lies?

Now maybe this doesn’t make sense to an
Outside observer
But just realize that you are only a merger
What would you give
To repeat and live
Over and over again


Did Queen Dido deserve it?
Did Queen Dido deserve it?
Just because she broke her promise-
Does she deserve to be banished to hell?
Do we deserve life?
Do we deserve lies?


Queen of Carthage, Queen of Carthage
I got one up on you

She's a lover and a liar

A flirt and a fighter

Where do these angry remarks come from-

Her lovely lips

Or her haughty heart,

Sick with a love story

That will never come true,

Wishes she could trust the words.

But "what if" is a lying fiend.

Judas, her male counterpart

(make her what you will).

She wonders if what she's doing is right-

Soft hands often seduce.

=====

fireflies soar over the grass

life perpetual- i'm

dancing in it

spinning in the seductive (circle) cycle

that will always keep them

guessing- clouds ~swim~ through

my hair, life !dances! though

my heart- no matter

how much society toys

with the solid (liquid) dirt

beneath our feet, the sky

is EVER present

life is beautiful- one

consistent *noise* slurs

by the entity of souls, past

the f.r.o.z.e.n watcher- LIFE

is seen, then gone

====

I went to an oboe concert

and watched the people,

Not the player.

One boy kept rubbing his chin,

Nearly concealed by stubble.

The oboe echoed off the walls,

All around. A man closed his weary eyes,

Soaking in the notes that ricocheted

from the chapel pillars. The music danced and dangled

From Our Lady's dainty feet. Another woman

Stroked the ivory keys

Along with the elegant accompanist.

A girl sat alone in the corner,

And, by doing so, made herself beautiful.

And an endearingly disapproving old gentleman

Watch me

Watch him

And scowls.

I love him for it.

Darn kids, always daydreaming.

====

In between heaven and hell, there is a

(WAITING ROOM)

For what important place can you go

Without one?

The lights shine too bright,

The coffee is weak,

And angels and demons cross

Back and forth, carrying old magazines

With their covers falling off.

The couch leaks stuffing,

And every five minutes, someone coughs

And breaks the putrid, sickly silence.

There are two wooden doors that never quite close,

And we can go either way.

I hope some day, I'll clasp your hand

And wait for our fait to be announced.

-inspired by "I Will Follow You into the Dark," by Death Cab for Cutie

====

Confession-

sometimes I put quotation marks

around what I say.

This makes me feel

Slightly more at ease.

As if... someone else said it...

It's more valid.

====

I never felt so empty

As the time

That I gave you my latest

And greatest

And you left it on the coffee table

To serve as a coaster

For three days straight.

====

Where are you going

So officially dressed

Your fate awaits you

And not one can tell in which direction

You are headed.

Make no mistake-

You walk with purpose.

Walking alone into a sea of fate.

====

Willy Loman

You sad, self-depreciated (-ing?) *man*

Built up your dreams

But the world moves too fast for you,

Kid.

You are trapped in a tomb of a city,

A death like marriage- your solution

is The Grave.

No well attending funeral for you,

Pal.

Just those who shared in your lunacy...

Because that is the true

Death of A Salesman.

-inspired by Death of A Salesman, Arthur Miller.

====

She's sweating- good.

This shows progress!

Maybe there is a (human)

under there

A (person) under the remarks

A (soul) under the gauche sarcasm

Not just another lifeless machine.

UNIQUE!

...

But, so is everyone else

She's pouring sweat

Maybe-

She's not a human after all!

The machine learned

How to profuse liquid.

Next, her Proffessor Frankenstein cries, she'll be sobbing

Showing *real* emotions.

Oh! What we can do with technology these days!

The (robot) girl slouches

in the corner

Crying for the humanity -?-

That doesn't recognize

Real humans apart from a pile

of

nuts and bolts.

====

Fate or hate

Change is written on the wall

We are human

Go with the rolling of the ball of life

Hey, man, don't you notice

Everybody can change the future.

Don't stifle the eventual.

It's just the way it goes-

Mistakes can happen-

But life brings highs as well as

Lows.

We are the human race

Let's just pace ourselves

Work on this plate in front of us

Because inevitably it's all

Going to change from night to day

Change is written on the wall.

====

your car gets more dented every day

and her hair changes

with the seasons,

with the reasons

you find her lovely- because she's unpredictable

but you break up with her for the same reason

flashes of your mind fade like

the blue of the lake as it t.u.r.n.s to

ice- "show me the constellations you know!" a

childish demand and here you stand

at the bridge of memories. look back

on the beauty of life you strarted with

her, flying kites in the sky of

different seasons

different reasons

unpredictable

your eyes changing like the seas

show me the way

B

A

C

K

W

A

R

D

S

====

By day, he's a cubicle man

Sucked into corporate America-

Wearing Armanis and driving a benz

And instructing his company like a drill sergent.

But then he comes home, and strips off the world.

He thinks of the girl he once had,

Composing songs as the stars come out.

He imagines that his is gluing the notes

To her eyelids,

To his love's cheeks.

The night quickly fades,

As do his imaginings of taking his lady

Up and down the Nile in

A long rowboat by moonlight.

The peniless guitar (sitar) player

Tucks away the dreams of his cortezan into

His case, and dons

An Armani suit.

====

There's a house on her route home

That stands out from all the others,

Seperates itself from all the grey boxes,

Repeating over again and again.

No, this house is a strange sort of egotist

In love with its own European style

A rose among the thorns.

The girl marvels every day at its

Poetic beauty, pondering it.

Her worn copy of Wuthering Heights

Sits jeleously in her lap while she wonders at

Its occupants. Is it a little girl who asks

Her mother to count the stars with her?

Or are the inhabitants a newly married couple,

Still enchanted with the smell of each other's clothing?

Does an old man live alone there-

Remembering life like Billy Pilgrim, remembering one million

Peices of life at a time?

Does a college student live there-

Excited about the theories of Proust and Nitzche?

But, the girl realizes, turning back to Heathcliff and Kathy,

This house is probably occupied by a workaholic father, suckling

at a beer bottle,

a depressed mother,

and three kids dazzled by the wonders of J-Snizzle,

While The World lies at their fingertips

Untouched.

Poetry (again)

I'm trying to finish up editing my poetry repertoire.

Once I'm done, the good stuff can begin.

=====

Haunt me with compare
What can I do for the world?
Every one's breathing down
Our metaphorical necks
("Hey man, do you mind?
Personal space. Geez.")
This is how you wave goodbye to hope,
Spread adolescent, stuck fingers.
We are blurred by a definition,
Defined like a blur.
You are killed,
You are raped,
You are hidden-
My world brothers and sisters.
But what can we do?
We are a fuzzy generation-
Blurred by a definition,
Defined like a blur.

=====

i am a gypsy of the 'burbs
wandering throughout my caravan
of SUVs
pilfering everyone
(or at least their mind)
walking between the tents of apartments. many
lives ago, my jeans were replaced
by skirts of color, my skin
was dark, and dances
melted my scavenging days
into inky, smoky nights. the houses
all alike don't matter
to me- in my head, they are replaced
by forest and waltzes with the
night sky. i know the taste of fresh air, the
kiss of fire. shopping plazas
disintegrate into street bazars, the smells
of pomegranete and dirt (familiar
from public school, laughing with similar spirits,
spitting out the seeds.) some may
say, "prisoner", but i
rejoice- i am a gypsy of the 'burbs.

=====

I want to write a fun, sparkly note to a friend.
I want to sing in the shower.
I want to recite a poem- backwards.
I want to take a moon-lit walk.
I want to bathe in rose scented water.
I want an innocent mud pie.
I want a hug so big, it hurts.
I want life to take my feet and drag me by the ankles.
I want to sing at the top of my lungs-
And not care who hears me.
I want to love "a love that is more than a love."
I want to wear pretty clothing.
I want enough innocence to believe that the world is right-
And enough influence to make it that way.
I want someone to love me for my freckles,
Not despite them.
I want people to meet me on the airplane and think
I'm interesting.
I want to throw a pot.
I want to breathe like a child.

=====

Words should be beautiful. Sentence structure should be eloquent and flowing. Everyday, invalids, prisoners, and the innocent lose their right to speak. As such, with our status of freedom comes a form of responsibility to respect human language and not further degrade it. For what is more celebrated in our society than an infant's first words? And, yet, we spend the remainder of our lives negating this feat by desecrating this gift that we strove at first to have.

More Poetry

Here we are,

The rush is over

And we're wondering what to do.

I look at you,

And see nothing

That I'd ever want to be

If we were better at telling the truth

We'd say "That was nice,

See you later."

But no,

we insist on lying to ourselves

Saying

"Let's keep in touch,

I really like you."

"Let's keep in touch,
I really like you."

Who in this proverbial mess

Would realize

That their own eyes

Are not going to confess

The tears of

Sinners.

Minotaur of my own heart

Run into the circle

Plummage into ten trembling innocents

Each with my own face

I'M RUINING MYSELF

I ONLY HAVE ME TO BLAME

I'M RUINING MYSELF

WHAT'S THIS CRAZY GAME?

======

She was the child

So wild who saw creatures

To meet her eyes in the

Skies swimmingly

In pools of azure

Patches captured by the trees

Failing to be full grown

The bird flown long since now

Sweat on your brow- not yet

Full, not fullfilled, doesn't get

that you shouldn't COLOR a face

Green or only in the lines, and lace should

be worn, not torn

====

old

busy

empty

but bright

twisted and naked

kudzuless

remembering

watching

sweet lips

creamy page

all alone

at four oh six

where are you going

not rush hour

not lunch hour

either am or pm

on a monday

where are you headed?

====

ultimate juxtaposition-

an old

intimate

intricate

peaceful

holy graveyard

spotted with flowers

pink, red, and white

and

a trucker's gas station

public

grotesque

gassed up

crawling with porn

and snack food.

====

In Chicago

Ancient statues dance in frozen

Poses, and trees stretch their

Naked arms and send shoots

Up the sides of the angular brick buildings

Neon signs boast the best gyros ever

And Lake Michigan groans passionately.

Fire escapes spider up walls, and

Small boxes of flowers decorate the windows.

People with half open mouths let streams of

Thick fog out,

And bartenders set out

Glasses. Taxi drivers mumble under their breath,

Heading into the city.

=====

Would you rather

Betray your love

Or

Have your love

Betray you?

====

Aristotle once said

We are what ew repeatedly do

Which would I be

An act

A love

Food

A tear

A dream

A dance

An apology

A lie

Or a poem

(Oh, to be a poem.)

====

Someday, I will get better

At throwing wadded up peices of paper

Containing ideas

Into the trash can

Maybe one day, they will sink in

Instead of bouncing back out.

To Start, A Little Poetry

Ever wildest world

In love grows

Worse innocence dead

The great hero death

Yet

A kiss

Never before

Is surrender.

====

When life wins,

it's what you call a tornado.

When death wins,

it's what you call a national disaster.

When Vie conquers,

you mortals title it a suicide

attempt.

When Muerta triumphs,

it is categorized as a tragedy.

When one succeeds,

it's simply a "fender bender."

The other,

And it's a six car pileup on the interstate.

But is this creature called fate

So easily separated by the idea of good and bad?

====

What is it like to kiss you?

It is like kissing blue.

The blue of your eyes,

The blue of the wind,

The blue of the soul.

It's an awakening kiss

That rests on my mind,

Lingering.

====

Float towards the exploding super nova

Surround yourself with knowledge

Greet your own memories

But hold on to your past life, too

Don't drink too greedily

Unless you are ready to become

Into the tree of life.

Mortality has put you into a position

Which only you can remove yourself from,

Tomas.

Observe the cold snow,

But love the tree.

~inspired by "The Fountain"

====