if only you knew
the things that i do.

I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."

listen and look,
honey,
dear,
sweetie,
baby,
won't you shut the hell up,
you're driving me crazy.
I'd survive if you'd save me
but

love hasn't saved anyone I've ever met.
maybe someone who wants to know what to expect
like
home before dark and promises never kept,
and secrets in the park with naked words

frozen
on the lips of an adulterous misstep.

this is useless to those who crave the subtle bliss,
who enumerate ridges of skin dedicated with a kiss
and
catalog nerve endings that shiver and resist . and . just . (quiver to exist)
so promises never need be made,
so we can fall apart and it won't matter, none of this

we never needed a place in a poem or a dictionary,
just a dial tone or a few letters to arrange
to call home and portray the strange
and… try… to find a word…
that rhymes with… dictionary

never trying to deny
our eyes cannot lie,
they will fade from glory.
like the dead,
like you and I

like we needed to fake these scrawling notes
that claw for understanding of mistakes we once wrote,
inky sketches that wax polemical over a misquote
and crying starry eyes over favorite chemicals,
the elements we conjure with, so verbose and so broke,
over coffee and cigarettes and mostly ***** jokes

my life has been a series
of encounters,
each one between me and
the truth that
I discovered much
too young
and,
truthfully,
wish I never had
at all

it is impossible
to escape that ghostly
truth

he is patient
he is smart
he is fast

and

he is right

(but I can still run
from him)

and I do run:

into women
into poetry
into the arts
into new locales
and exciting
venues

I run and hide
and hope

hope that truth will
leave me alone for-
ever

(but we all I know
he can’t do that)

eventually he’ll find me,
walk leisurely up, grab
the paper out of my hand,
look at it, laugh at a story,
and throw it the ground

then he’ll say it:

you’re going to die son

and nothing you ever do
is going to stop it,
and nothing you ever do
is going to last

you know as well as I do

this “life” thing is all a
sham

so come on, come with me,
I promise you the darkness
isn’t as bad as they say it
is

(but somehow I never take
him up on that option)

I always run

I always distract him
(just enough) and then
bolt

it’s all I can do
it’s all I’ll ever be
able to do

my life is just a series
of encounters with that
truth and his solution

trying not to believe him,
trying to defy myself

When I was eight, I threw a rock at my cat.
I wanted something to love me, and he
didn't. Unfamiliar with rage and unskilled
at throwing rocks, I missed and hit the fence.
I was and am ashamed of this.
I wasn't that kind of kid.

Once, a boy sent me photos from Scotland,
daybreak over  the snowy moors where he
hunted grouse with his father. He was skinny,
and sweet. I stopped writing him because I
had a thousand words for love, and he
couldn't spell any of them.

And once, I took your love for granted. It was vanity;
I felt like the lost works of a prolific master.
I wanted someone to delight in discovering me,
to wonder where I had been. It was easy to
blame you; all those years and you didn't
know what you had.

If you believe in all possible universes,
I aimed for the fence and hit the cat.
I married a sweet, skinny boy who will never
love a poem. I never had anything to prove
and I don't need you to forgive me.

You know what it’s like to be alone with god?

(long version)

(An infinite rustle of ideas
Silenced in this steady heart.)

Here my shoes fall freely
god knows I’m hungry for primitive answers; you see I relate to
life’s barefoot minimum while maintaining a full set of
godly lotus lashes, who’s petals fall like thin paper trails
where I rest my mind as I savor earths crooning tempo

At night with you god the fires burn like morning coals
Just enough to start the coffee, Just enough to wash my face
Just enough to sip away night trails made of lust from another existence.
genuflection in prayer is my choice because this position lends me a humbleness that makes clear my own yearnings, my desires are purified into understanding that I can never stop this flow of desire.
I pray with connective tissue smells of jasmine and myrrh and pinpoint the dust bowls of fury hiding north of my shoulder blades.

I am soothed by the contrast, where I bow my head and make my own pearls of wisdom to follow, you hummm to my knowing, you dance to my foibles like prince did in purple rain. You never ask for love,
I Just feel like love.

I ponder:
don’t you think god that this fermenting human existence is innocent after all?
after the fall
(after birth love’s forgotten all knowing)

for it is in birth
I am blinded by my mothers cooing call
and now, that’s all.
It really does not matter why I forgot
I remember now
All of this ‘knowing’ triggered by my failings

Triggered by the lack of ‘others’ to fill me up
Triggered by the desperation to know who I really am
because of my … failings

I look above and our likeness is astounding,
I may faint in the truth of it ALL…
I am flush to the bone
I fall
Landing in the crucifix position
Against the wall of Desdemona’s illusions I lift the veil

I open up to your call

(The

All

In

All)

You said, “and greater works shall ye do than me”
You said, “be still and know that I am god”.
“The seed does not fall far from the tree,” you said

The busy bees came through imagined murderous pesticides
That was my life (imagined) and their words hummed me towards my alignment

“accept your magnificence” they buzzed

then god said:

”change your focus and let your failings
fall like tears (did you say duckwater god?)

…magnify the joy”

And you will see

The

I (In You)

And
The

(You In)
Me.

Linaji 2011

he's a bright sunday morning
full of hope and faith and praise
for the one you worship right
then while he sits right next
to you, your knees almosttouching
and your hand{s} lying palm-up in
case the other feels the need to
hold it.

he's fried chicken after church
with baked beans and a side of tradition
in a sharpblacksuit that looks
dashing on his slim figure but you
don't say it because you're afraid
of yourself.

he's sitting on the porch swing
next to you while you debate the
intelligence in asking him to take a
walk through the meadow across the way.

he's a bouquet of lavender with small
sprigs of babies breath that he says
remind him of you, though you can't
imagine why. "they're different, but still
beautiful." it's almost "iloveyou", but
not quite.

he's in love, but not with you
"you're my best friend," he says, smiling.
and your fairytale falls down
around you in beautiful shards of *nonsensicalnonsense^

It all happened so fast. Like most good things in life--the really monumental moments--it's like you float out of your body and come screaming back just soon enough to realize the moment had passed.

I didn't know how many miles were behind me now. It seemed like a thousand but it didn't really matter. I wasn't going to be one of those mindless wanderers--blindly probing my way through life's misery and defeat to one day wake up wishing I was young again.

I'm taking my youth back from the government, the bankers, the Wall Street gamblers and racing toward the horizon like there are commercial airplanes in my blood and skyscrapers burning in my chest.

You can only go to the same god forsaken place to have your soul ****** out of you for so many ******* days in a row before you either become one of them or make your own revolt and

collapse
                 *into a sea of ash
                                              slithering like snakes along the city streets.
You just run as fast as you can.

I chose the latter.
__________________­__


I'm going to do the cliche thing I suppose. Do as many drugs as possible, do as many women as possible, keep chasing the next good time until I get high enough to slap a saddle on my car roof and ride off into the Atlantic--fireworks shooting off in every direction to *** up the stars--refracting radials within the iridescence of the shimmering sea.

>explosions echo endlessly<
[wrap around the ambient rhythm of the TidePuller]

touch! caress! make love!--stare through eyes into deep blue souls and find something of yourself there.

That's how I'd like to go anyways, I don't know about you--.

That might just be this narcotic cocktail talking. I take my pills ground up in a wine glass mixed with cheap scotch. Then I chase with cups of watered down coffee--chugging until ceilings start to undulate and shake me loose. That's when I know I can start the day.

It's usually my most productive days when the ceiling tiles arrange into piano keys. Then I get to create my symphonies and soliloquies before I try to go get laid.

Now that I'm out here on the road though my mind is being blown.

Try waking to the same white black piano key ceiling everyday, to then finally feel the colors of the sky--for the very first time!

A never ending metaphysical canvas for the thoughts and longings of a drugged up DaVinci who just woke up in his time machine to start the 2nd Renaissance in the clouds. It all makes me wish I would have left years ago.
__________________­_


You see, I'm your typical twenty-something passionate kid trying to turn a ****** past into some kind of salvageable foundation for a chance at catching up with the rest of normal "adult" society. But I've got some problems with this whole "reality" thing people are so adamant at upholding.

Last time I visited my human family around the world they were all drowning in debt and poverty; trying with every fiber of their being to find that one bright spot. Stuck. In the deepest, darkest, most cavernous rotting excuse of a day to day life.

All because some meaningless number
on some computer
in some bank building
with their name on it
either is too small or doesn't exist.

Most of my human family know things are bad,

But most in the impoverished third-world are so deprived of basic human needs that they never get the chance to ponder who really holds the key to their cage.

So they are inclined to accept the status quo and the system and try to live inside of it. Failing to find sunshine within the deepest depths of an erupting volcano; mistaking the heat, the burning alive, for some kind of sign that the brightness has got to be somewhere close. So we will just try to sink a little deeper with the rest of them.

Here in America:
Sure, let's go on back to ringing registers for minimum wage all day until my ears bleed and my head wants to fall off so I can go home to watch some television!

Yes, God Please just let me relax here with my box of flashing pictures and scintillating sounds. The only truth I'll ever need.

Just let me relax here with my reality being defined for me by the volcano directors--telling me that I didn't just come in my house dripping with magma all over the carpet.

YES GOD, just let me relax a little before I have to go to my volcanic, skin searing hell again tomorrow morning. Where they tell me on T.V. that I'm going to find that sunshine I desperately long for. But It'll always

*collapse
                 into a sea of ash
                 to scar the sky grey, silence the sun's rays, blot out the stars, and darken our days*

You just sigh and say "Tomorrow's another day..."
_________________­__


Yeah, I was right there with them yesterday. I was with them for years. Getting brainwashed and ***** slapped by advertising--getting barraged with constant reminders that all I was meant to do was to work my life away--decide to be some tiny insignificant cog in this "economy" they call it.

Looks more to me like I signed up to be some mindless consumerism *****! Sheeping my way along... buying and wasting; buying, wasting; buying again, a bunch of **** I don't need and throwing it away.

We're Living in a society infected with some sort of capitalistic contagion that pretty much siphons off the Earth's life force.

We are conditioned into a reality that the richest & most powerful would like all to believe.

Art-full hearts are stomped on, told to get a job, and plan for retirement. Told to slow down and be reasonable rather than speed up. Velocity of the heart may as well be an act of terrorism unless it's for marriage--and LGBT is on the no fly list.

This is a reality set up predominantly for the endless profit of a bunch of trans-national corporations who won't be satisfied until they hold complete and utter dominion over their ***** and pillaged planet.

Perhaps then they'll be rich enough to fly away in spaceships to **** the next Earth and leave all us sheep here with bargain sales, social networking and reality T.V. as distractions...

Too bad for them some people still read. So I'll learn the different strains of herb from my local library and become a ***** of feeling good, freeing love, and accepting all artistry.

Have you ever seen a painting in the sky? Or witnessed windy symphonies in trees? Hey, don't judge me,

you're the one addicted to killing everyone and everything with your mindless dollar bill.

kneel before almighty god,
mind your founders,
adore their wise countenance,
looking up at you,
re-assuring you,
comforting you,
taking the pain away,
but DON'T RUN OUT!
you'll be back for more.
you'll come crawling back.
You'll do anything for just enough,
just one more fix.

It's got its hooks in bad,
don't it.
___________________­_


PRODUCT-XA110357: Capitalism
DRUG STATUS: Still in Clinical Trials
TEST SUBJECTS: Human Race
PHARMACEUTICAL LABORATORY: Earth
INITIAL FINDINGS: Subjects not receptive, keeps causing: Anger, Greed, Jealously, Oppression, War, Ignorance, Famine, Inequality, Imprisonment, Slavery. Environment not receptive, will cease functioning in the future. Time of Earth Death is unclear. Thankfully it does seem capable to last through the next few fiscal years. A relief, as this is what our stockholders are concerned with.


Symptoms of Withdrawal
Users who are addicted to money and are going through withdrawals may or may not experience a loss of food, water, shelter, clothing, transportation, education, free-time, happiness, fulfillment, reverence of nature, beautiful moments, relationships with friends or families, and love.


FDA Warning
If you are poor, lazy, and uneducated it is your own fault. Being poor and lazy may or may not result in Debt. DEBT may or may not lead to SLAVERY, stress, illness, and an early death.


Poison Control Center
If you have ingested too much debt, slavery, stress, illness, and are fearing an early death please do not call any corporate buildings. Access your phone, computer, or go to your local library to find reputable resources and EDUCATE YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY. Get some nice speakers and start exploring ALL GENRES OF MUSIC. Look at as many paintings, sculptures, forests, and gardens as you can--as often as possible. Lay under the stars and dream about what YOU want to do to make a positive impact on this world. FIND OTHER POSITIVE PEOPLE and AVOID NEGATIVE PEOPLE. If you know someone that is poisoned who you want to save please refer them to the nearest Poison Control Center

-->Smile at the sun--feel its warmth<--

----------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------------------------------

happy hearts:--after love--not money--free from pain--sickness will surrender--
addicted to art, peace, compassion, and empathy--feel the sky get closer--.

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"In a state of enlightened anarchy each person will become his(her) own ruler. They will conduct themselves in such a way that their behaviour will not hamper the well being of their neighbours. In an ideal state there will be no political institutions and therefore no political power."
-Mahatma Gandhi