gravel.

so i think i'm right cold comfort. knowing the knife is coming doesn't stop the bleeding out. ironic that a communicator is so confined inside his skin. i want to say it my mouth so full of shame and spit the only sound gravel.

broken bone set crooked

so there it is all over again

the biting reminder of what never happened

it flashes so bright the electrical spark that numbs my head

and- sonofabitch- it came from the source.

romantic optimism, that nasty evil bitch,

makes me reconsider over and over if it meant something.

i dissuade myself and reconsider over and more

of course not, but what if?

the same circle that started this up again

i'm thinking about things that i shouldn't

i'm considering things that i shouldn't

will i ever know; would the shouldn'ts even lead me to know anyway?

i doubt it, but there it goes all over again-

what if it would?

these paths that brushed close have split

that ink has dried, that broken bone set crooked

never as strong as it used to be.

dilution.

 

the black bark of the receiving trees

this house is a graveyard
sitting on holy grounds and blackening the soils
full of what is not and what really weasn't
the memory lies as the perspectives change

ghosts in my graveyard
the black bark of the receiving trees
feeding from unusable husks shed in haste
whipping winds ringing through the night.

the ground shifts over time and
the blood of ink seeps up through the greying craggy peaks
risig like mountains into the night
jagged and unforgiving asking for more
taking only a single answer

the ghosts are black as coal
and burning just as hot
and they won't stop chasing me.
"come and face me, come and face me"
but i outrun them
praying for a way around a wall
though they promise safety and clean slates
though they promise cleaned hands
though they promise my futility
but there has never been trust.

black-red spirits following me like Japanses vampires
hopping
dragging their feet and leaving tracks
strewn in cursive text
leaving directions for the others

it is building.

cunning knives rest deep

its raining again
and its been raining for days

blood like ink like water
flowing away from straining fingers
and pulled quills.

somewhere the sun is shining

straight down her face
oblivious to contours
so fast
pooling at her feet

she
she spins
disappears through the door

it's my turn as defenses fail
the flood plains fill up and spill over
and over into sleep.

it's those dreams that i swear i've had before
or the dreams you swear are replays of real life
giving you the chance to say something different
regrets.

some dreams you know you're dreaming and it doesn't matter
if you scream out in the night
it doesn't matter who hears what you have to say
your second chances scream at the walls of your chest

and so you shout it out.
and you hear yourself in bed.
and you hear your second chances screaming
but it comes out in a whimper
mouth too full of spit and sleep and tongue

the sound of infants
the confusion of the mute
trying to spill out every emotion
every last word, every do-over you never had

and in the confusion
you kick and twitch, convulsing
and in the rage
you spit and grind teeth, eroding
and in the rush
your eyes flutter and furrow, repeating
every conversation you wish you could have finished before the phone hung up.
and then silence.

you wake up in bed in sweat and fear
heart races, eyes redden and unrestrained tears
and your lover is holding you in the confusion
and you're unable to process all the confusion
and you are exhausted from the marathon sleep
and you're unable to get back on your own feet
and for a split second you're holding her but it's not her
and for a split second she's telling you she loves you, but it's not her

the adrenaline filters out and the room goes dark again
and no more red.
and no more white hot.
dark. again.

the flood spills out and you can't say a word
not for lack of description;
shame.
for keeping secrets from yourself

---

i've dreamt of her for two weeks straight
and i can't tell my lover
her ears open her mind forgiving
but i can't tell my lover.

the interactions anachronistic
the reactions too kind
she left in peace with a piece


this green mile, the longest mile
the perfect length of rope
the sharpest, dirtiest needles.
the borehole.

cunning knives rest deep

the fire blossoms fight on

whispering winds
whipping winds
cutting near silently through clothing
identical.

The sun is on fire and is spreading
to the flowers in the garden.
so green, yet so red and orange and hot

it just hasn't hurt enough yet i suppose
so i dig my hands in deep,
turning the soil


these steps lead to nowhere but the empty garden
the glass rock and sheet rock lay in piles not ten feet out
and the fire blossoms fight on.

everywhere i've been is identical.

waiting for the night to slip in
quick as flies, swarming like bees
all around like a shallow grave.

my friends call like church bells ring
i can count on them for that
but they call for everyone
they expect to be heard but never hear a response
customs outweigh reason.

I go remembered and then forgotten
how i was but not who i am.

gravel is the ground

smashed wide open scattered white splinters to the wind and ground
red fluid flowing from the socket
the pink is pale is white
the limber is stiff.

this house built is flimsy
this banks has no safes
this ground is only gravel.
hard and unsteady.

defeat.

with data i can't delete 2: water everywhere

and now i see them get up
they depart with a content and worried look
its coming. the current is grounding out
the black wire draws the charge from the machinery.

the ghost in the gears is pulling levers now
its written out a million times
the actors merely playing the parts
single line by single line
at the end of each line is another on a blind turn
only those off the track see it.

poor bastard. poor bitch.
it will never be what you want
it can't.
the infatuation has it's own suicidal agenda.
the bleach knows what will lose its color
the river knows who
will be caught out, caught up
called out, drug under.

unforgiving water
unforgiving heavy water everywhere.


i wish i could call home
but the number's been changed a hundred times
and no one picks up anyways.

with data i can't delete

i can see the look in their eyes saying "temporary."
But i can't say anything to them. The same thing i imagined
i would have wanted to be told then
exactly what i would have ignored.
that blinding flash and the light blindness that takes so long to fade out.

only when it has faded out do i recognize the pattern
and of course it's way too late.

She looks at him with subdued fire in her eyes
careful and somewhat guarded, arms not protecting her chest.
appearing to be free and willing to try it all.

I've heard it said that one should
"never regret anything, for at one time it was exactly what you wanted."
and i suppose i don't, but i'm so nostalgic that i can't let anything go.
everything that was lost, the roads not taken, the roses not smelled along the way.

Everytime i see someone remotely resembling her i spiral
contortion too fast to lock mine eyes on anything.

i catch glimpse of the couple and they are outlined in fire
they are burning blue-white hot and i sense the fire will burn out soon.
i fear for them, pity them, envy them.
their infatuation won't last, that's how it goes
they will stray and forget to forgive

he will long for her for years and remember the littles things
she couldn't possibly recount
the passing glances, the near-silent murmer she makes asleep after sex
the glassy look of her eyes after drinks.

Hey! Don't put any hard work into it that you want a return on.
this is fleeting, this is temporal, this is not built to last.
if you open up too far, that door will never fully close.
and it will hurt
and it will haunt
and it will never let you sleep soundly.

i see her face and hear her voice in my dreams
and it's been longer without than it ever was with
last night her sister told me that she never liked me either.
it was a dream, it lasted but a second, and my day is ruined
the cloudy shitty weather is so bright
its time to find a stone to take comfort under

its crushing, its caving in
its never ending

its heavy, its so heavy
its never ending.

if it was only her, i know
it'd be almost bearable
but her and all the others.

its her and it is all the others.

this memory capacity i try to grow
fills up with data i can't delete

the wrecks that closed the roads

one day I slept on the warm sand when
I heard the calls for help from the sea.
all the lovers with their drunken roses
all the wrecks that closed the roads
all the reasons to jump off of roofs.


there seemed to be no way to ignore the wailing
I felt driven to answer the sirens from the sirens
and stayed stuck on the sand where I stood
from the beginning of the mad season until
the middle of manic non-reasons that
started the end of treason against a heart.


the weight of the waiting for something new
pulled too hard against the pool of stagnant blood
impulsive, i took the chance, to her it seemed
repulsive, like more flooding in the land of floods


sometimes, sometimes.


sometimes the times when we speak
are the best times to shut the fuck up and listen
listen hard
with all five of our senses
and come up with our best intentions
to find a better set of directions.


instead of following our blinded and drunken hearts.
instead of ignoring the advice of the stones
who have recorded our lives in their lines
who have our history written in their faces


the sand, the seas, the stones have seen it unfold
a million times and million more untold
the seas try waving us away from the stoney cliffs
to keep us from crashing on the stoney reef
to keep our bodies from lying on the beaches in pieces
shattered like the husks of rowboats put to sea in haste.
shattered like icicles
falling from mountaintops to buidlings and shoppes


but then would we be human?

calls me through the sussurus

deadtime
blackout
waiting for the buzz of the world
to trick me to sleep again

shut them out, shut the world off.
the stifling monologue
calls me through the sussurus

whipping speed winds
whipping boy on the post cries out for mercy
passes out
comes to on a new day with most wounds scared

hungry executioner, time
willing taker, earth
the twins eager, inviting
never sated.

the center of the forest bears no new tall trees

the woods are alive
the leaves are talking and jumping as the seeds
of their fathers are consumed
the center of the forest bears no new tall trees
saplings stripped bare
trampled underfoot on muddy trails

light spattered on stones
life scattered in the stones
moving water is always out of sight
birds are flitting behind another tree
watching, reporting, calling

blind insects careening, swarming
moving by instinct rather than senses
higher spiders preying, praying
lying and waiting for accident.

the land will claim me too as it did you

looking down at the angels above you
swimming in the æther surrounding
the smell of your wounded heart and soul.


shoveling the sweat-saturated dirt and gravel
digging a hole and covering another grave
so much to get done, so little time left
drive, drive, drive the road north
to the end of the highway that ends in water


the smell of burning hair and rubber
the weight of years


experience


too little too often left me too distant and wanting
wanting to take the reigns and leave this western town
holding on, hoping against hope i remained
waiting.
rusting into the ground.
the land will claim me too as it you.
as it you.


i suppose its always the same:
we look to finish we look to leave others
with sufficient provisions
but we never really do.


as a son says "goodbye" he hopes his own is better prepared.
but it won't be.


"even in a crowded room
we all die alone," he said.

unravelling in the rain on a boring Sunday

pouring in from the leaking roof
the water, the weight, the gravel, the sand

hits the tables and cascades
over the chair and to the floor
the streak, the line, the current, the torrent

whispers stick to the walls, hidden under the coats of new paint
grooves in the floor have been ground down and stripped.
bare. refinished.

"watch me run down the hall way and not make a sound"
but no one sees it with interested eyes.
no one hears it, that was the point;
now i wish it was noisier.

the weight of the roof is massive
and the windows bulge and sag
the dirt foundation gives way and the house shrinks
but i see it.

how could i not notice
it's always in my head it's always on my mind
every updated picture is fuel for the fire
and a brisk breeze to boot.

no one shovels the snow on the walkway like they did
and no one runs to exhaustion like we did
tore it up reckless.
reckless.

and now the only way to have regret is to have done something stupid
the only way to miss something is to not have it
the only reason to apologize is to have broken something down.

and the thread comes loose.
unraveling in the rain on a boring Sunday
wasted with complaints of boredom
and now...

full-color monotone

skin so strong it breaks the needle
eyes so blue they light the room up.

kicking around the old street
i hear the cars and their tinny radios with maxed- out volume
i can feel the warmth of the shadows on the sidewalks still
i must be the only one

must i?

the trees are gone, the handrails rusted off their posts.
different birds are singing in diffrent trees
different cars park in the same driveways
looking up at the same houses with different colors.

my old house is for rent.
i feel so betrayed.
they stripped off the siding and tore out the old bathroom.

my mouth agape
my face askance, my arms akimbo
my cheeks flushed and drenched
just who do they think they are?

this was mine. I didn't choose to leave, i was moved
at eight years of age, you can't
push back the tide

of parental consent.

i don't get mail there anymore
i haven't for over twenty years.
the mail i do get now i don't want.

burn me. it burns me deep

until my blood boils to steam.
my feathers dark blue and so pretty but no one sees them but me.
i'm going blind but i can't tell.
All i know is that the light is darker than it was.

i took the pictuers, i stored them on a hard drive.
i'll post them on line with little messages
inside jokes and rose-colored memories that won't likley
get picked up by anyone.

I will format the pictures, probably enhance the colors.
i wonder what hue the pictures will have when they post:
will they be blue to reflect some predictable feeling i feel now
will they be rose-hued to portray the way i see what i saw then
will they be monotone to emphasize some sort of absolute and finite notion
of my condition:

even though i understand
times have changed

i refuse to admit
that times have changed.

fuck.

the drowning of poor Mercury

run, Mercury, run
stinking of blood and sweat.

you've your wings torn
and nowhere left to fly to
the mess of inky blood and feathers
lying in a pile to your feet
is getting thicker as you still stand still.
stranded. a mess.

your paranoia serves you well
they are after you. run.
run fast run now get out to where you are safe.

can you hear them? you can hear them.
you can taste them in your nose
as the air around them drifts toward you and you are stranded.

in the dark. everything is a wall
in the forest in the middle of the pitch-black night.
you move, you die. you stay, you die.
can you still feel your feet?

your movements betray you
your thoughts display you
as the morning fails again to break on the hill
where the hummingbirds buzz incessantly
in the wild roses.
laughing at you, with you.

you can't even stand up, can you?
the torrent is coming

This Town is Full of Ghosts

spitting rain and misting
rising steam in piles heaping
the side of the road is full and dangerous.

angel's wings and blacker things
set me on fire
walk away not in pity
sharp, to the point,
salacious, serrated.
oxidation.

driving through ghosts to get here
standing alone at the top of the hill
swinging, missing, bleeding out
red soil.
they scream and scream and gently tug
tracing lines in the wet and leaf-littered ground.
i get smaller everyday.

i smell them, i taste them
i hear them in my skin
telling me what i know i know
i cannot fight them

yellow ribbons tied tight around the whipping posts
this town is full of ghosts.

socket

feeling so lonely today
even with people 10 feet from me

looking at photos i shouldn't look at
through rose-glasses at times that weren't
like i remember them now

what is it that keeps me turning around?
sometimes the hole feels like its growing.
gravity-fed, rusting
i weigh a million pounds
and remain invisible.

push on, i know it will go away
i know it will return, too.
i am alive yesterday.
paint peeling, rust creeping, dust settling.

straining muscles sore
dry socket eyes.

this thin air

i smell you when i wake
i swore that i could feel
the whispers in my head
"i wish you were real"


i know i dream in color
the shades of flesh and hair
the warmth still in my hands

staring up at the empty sky, the starless sky

i push and the blue pushes back

chapters leaf by in rapid motion

i run so hard to get away from what was

but regret catches me every time.

i am staring up at the empty sky, the starless sky

i suppose no one can get in if i don't let them

but in the confusion i still wonder

why no one gets in.

the circle ends all the time,

over and over.

it's over; it's been over for years;

but the scene never ends:

it never fails to loop seamlessly

i never seem to change the channel

the credits never start, the closing theme never starts.

arms shaking in preparation

i see it, i smell it

i can feel it pulling away from the body

where i stand is where i fell

20 years ago but i'm back on my feet

you can't hold me, you can't burn me anymore

the skin is too tough for that now

the growing shadows surround

i feel their cold breath

i smell the saliva at my feet, the sweat on their backs

i hear the arms shaking in preparation

but i'm still standing

where i fell

20 years ago.

they can't hold me down

they can't burn me anymore