I am alone
and hungry
I do not howl
or bay
I am bigger
than that
I stretch my
hairy neck
and bite the moon
squeeze it between
my sharpest teeth
until it bursts
and I feel the
heat exploding
against the
back of my
throat
I grow warm
all over
as I feel the
excess
drip down
my neck
I feel full
but I am not
satiated
not tonight

lavish me
in yellow

and orange

don’t be
greedy

let it loose

wash away
my years

make me
feel young

I want to
shine again

I want to
be the sun

rising
everyday

and I felt like
an empty shelf

people staring
at me

and then walking
by me

shaking their heads
wishing I was

someone else

she never spoke

sat on the floor
and played

with silver stones
made them dance

in circles

sparkling under
the lights

her voice was
a melody

of soft sounds

she never needed
words

to make sense of
everything around her

and everyone around
her understood

it was a month ago
I saw you

face to face

the day you ate
a cheesesteak

with onions

I remember
your breath

time doesn’t fly
but it does progress

memories fade
but they don’t
disappear

I hope

I am alone
in this house

and the walls
haven’t moved

yet

I am not hearing
voices not even

my own

maybe I should
get a pet

Despite feeling corroded
I did not dissolve
back into the earth

as I had wished.

Just as expired stars
the lights that have haunted me for so long,
disappeared.

I must have reached the outer span
of their rapt attention.

I just may be forgotten
and there is finally…

quiet..

I move, and for the first time,
I am aware of my movement.

I walk around this small space
to explore the edges of…

the walls are sweating
as if they have been working

my mind
is not yet embodied.

I live in darkness,
I am still a stranger to myself.

I touch myself
to feel human.

I touch the healing scar on my
shaved head.

I think
if I pick
at it
I can
free myself

But alas
I am the perfect workmanship
of my creator.

I cannot free myself.

I leave this womb.
I know I am separate from my creator.

I now know I am human.

I remember
it was dark

the flame
of a candle

cast a
flickering

shadow

lighting
a path

to our secret

we dare
not breathe

we could
lose our

light or
give away

our secret

the sun,
longing to be touched,
moves closer to him

slowly

so he can warm
to her
so he does not
become
like the others

quickly
overwhelmed
by her

she heats his
atmosphere
with soft
whispers and
long breaths

creating anticipation

until he is basking
in her attention

she comes
closer and closer
until he becomes
obsessed

with her
and only her

and she is now
close enough
for long enough
for him to want
to enter her

for him to want
to overwhelm her

and she wants
him to

but she knows
if he does

he will disappear

and she will be
alone again

in the corner
legs crossed

hands folded
head bowed

avoiding eyes

she thinks she
does not exist

she thinks she is
not noticed

but she does not
know her power

the potential she
can never allow

herself to see

the way she
holds the world

together with
her quiet ways

he was a soft
part of the world

so easily damaged

at night
before dreams

he escaped

into his tears
the puddles

on his pillow
he did not

make sounds
it was not in

his nature so
no one knew

he was drowning

a rebel inside

she has
an independent voice
she expresses with ink
coloring her skin
  her arms
  her chest
with the way
she sees the world

she allows herself
to become
a canvas
a timeline
a map
a model

she starts her day
serving others

a ****** morning
two people
complaining
about everything
meaning nothing

she does her best
to explain
everything and
nothing to them

in the most
polite way
possible

they are not here
anymore

she wishes
she could let
them leave

she tugs on
her shirt
the sleeves
the collar
the silver buttons

hoping to hide her colors
hoping she
cannot be read

by the others
she must serve today

love is a dagger
with one clean edge

entering smooth
and with charm

it quickly makes
itself at home

becoming part
of me

growing in me
living off me

love is a dagger
with one jagged edge

and when it leaves
it rips me apart

taking more
than it gives

my insides
spilling outside

and I’m eaten
over and over

by

the appetite
of the ravens

love is a dagger
teaching me

everything has
two edges

she sits in the back
swallowing her words

she knows the answers
to some questions

she has questions
about some answers

she has a voice
inside her

telling her to be quiet
it is not hers

it was given to her
as a birthright

and she doesn’t
know how to give

it back

the dance sends us spiraling.  

spinning.  energy.
funnels in the air.  
swans in the water.  
white necks intertwined.

the truth is a piece.  of a puzzle.
so many pieces. to lose.

love is never pending.
it is or isn’t.

we were in london.

in separate single.
beds.

naked beneath.
thin skin moving.
sheets of.

imagination.

her eyes

framed
with thick
outlines

sweat and tears
make them bleed
black

she leans
her body
forward

a *******

her arms bent
her fingers
extended

stroking
provoking
the ivories

she disappears

searching
for a key

to express
her voice

she lives
for that
moment
of silence

when everything
in her has been

expressed

we are small and
powerful

more than beings
we are

principles

hovering above
over and around

I am sound

wailing
gnashing
teeth

deep as
nails

pulsating
particles
penetrating
brains

collapsing
wall­s

she is light

thin
sharp
and angular

striking
bolts
of energy

hot waves
of explosions

only ever
momentarily
contained

released into
pain and
pleasure

together
we explode

creating senses

we give and
we take

life

with us
you come

to understand

money is not
everything

with us
you come

to understand

money is not
anything

find the loose
piece of string

pull on it please
untangle my brain

and when it stops
find the knots

and unravel them

please be careful
and take your time

I am worth it

I stared up and into
the core of a planet
constructed
with chicken wire,
slowly spinning
hanging on a string
no one will ever see.

It was constructed chaotically
but also purposefully,
and fits perfectly in
this specific place
and at this specific time
and I wasn’t sure whether
this meant it was art
or science
or whether there was really
a difference

I touched it
and watched it
spin faster
changing its form
to conform to the
pressure I placed on it;
and even as it was
reorganizing itself internally
it remained a planet still.

I couldn’t take my eyes,
my mind off it
as I stared at it
I started to see
spread sporadically
throughout this planet
were pieces of wire
that did not connect
to anything

so I stood perfectly still
to watch them vibrate
and then I heard them
humming and chirping to each other
like a family
of scared little birds
hiding their secrets places
and I felt the pain
and the fear
in these little wires
and then
I heard them speak to me

And they told me
where there is movement
however slight
there is energy
and where there is energy
there is life

and where there is life
there is danger

and I felt the danger in my soul
and I was spinning and spinning
and out of control

and I felt the danger in my soul
and I felt that I was energy
and in that energy
I felt the artscientist in me
come to life
and I knew
in that moment
that I was life
however slight.

another night.  another dream.  of being lost.  in a building.  some building.  in some land.  a building.  that seems.  to contain the world.  we are (whoever we are) moving.  from one place.  to another.  in the building.  people are living.  working.  and playing.  in this building.

we are lost.  in that.  we don’t know. where we are.  or where we are going.  but we don’t feel.  lost.  in the sense.  of not belonging.  to this place.  and want to leave.  

we are lost.  in a way.  that we enjoy.  the random search.  the atomistic movement.  the momentary discovery.  of something.  we can’t name.  and then quickly.  moving to something else.

I see the future.
I create the future.

my mind is a knife. and.
the world is clay.

I hold the first tool.
I create the sound.

that sets world.
in motion.

I speak and it is.

my words pop!
faster than rain drops.

my fingers
cannot draw

but my soul is
made of art

so I organize
words to express

the desperate
longing to belong

to a world
I know

I can add
value to

I enter the collective
without a soul
it was missing
since early childhood
when neglect
blew out the
first light
and it was
never replaced
the collective
promises to
replace it with
something living
beyond the voices
in my head with
something living
beyond the stars
in the sky
it only asks that
I give up questions
I give up thought
I give up doubt
and I tried but
in the end it
was too much
to ask for
sometimes I
wonder if I
made the right
choice

I don’t want to sleep
the night is not

long enough

street lights are
not sunlight and

I can see in the dark

slim limbs
I walk in the quiet

wide eyes
I see your future

sharp teeth
I make you

and I pray
to no one

before I sleep
you have not a soul

to keep

she plays with
the word knife

makes it a girl

makes it cut
the others words

straight cuts
clean cuts

makes them bleed
their ink

down the paper

changes their
meaning

so they make
no sense

so she is the
only word you

can recognize

before awareness
life was a ******* wound

chaos and dark stars

and when the quiet child
finally spoke

each word was a butterfly
in his mind

he was reluctant
to release them until

they were ready
he did not want them to die

too quickly

they were so beautiful
in his quiet mind

he thought they could heal
his broken world

if they could live just
a little longer

she is beautiful
she is partial

this work in progress
she is parts discarded

a long sleek
metal pipe spine
sending signals

thin flexible
wire ribs
protecting

a wood basket
collapsed and spread
to create the muscles
of a back

her brain is
a series of dense
connections

with no apparent source

(I can hear her)

as she speaks
with analog voices
recorded

(I can understand her)

as she thinks
with history
the ideas
we tried to bury or burn or hide

the cone-shapes
of what will become
her *******
are naked

she wears only
a loose skirt made of
colored strips of material

I watch her
waiting for her
to form herself

maybe she is will
maybe she is want

I know she has not yet been alone

because she has yet to
get herself together

I would never ask her
to finish

I only ever ask her
to be true

a father to a son
riding bikes by

the river

correcting his son
that it is not an

ocean

it is just
a river

and I wonder
if this will

reduce the son’s
wonder at this

important body
of water

will he think it
less important

rather than not
as large or not

as deep

as the father
probably meant it

I stare into my acrylic breakfast bowl
to identify the distorted shapes
floating in white powdered milk
and spell out words never before spoken.

They are creatures
of the deep and dark
imagination
escaped from the dreams
of children;
we are all dreams
of children

who will one day
awake.

my little
blue heart
aches

it can’t speak

has feelings
but no words

to express them

so I take a walk
into a dark field

and lie down

surrounded by
yellow petals

I fell asleep in
the land of

the sunflower
and pray for

some of their
brightness

to leak into
my little blue

heart

She enters the bar after dark. I am immediately captured. Waves of electricity pull me near. She turns toward another and smiles.

I am an avalanche.

Her eyelids close when she speaks to him; one lash falls gently toward the night. It lands on my arm. I make a wish and blow. She turns to me and whispers, “Be careful what you wish for.”

Maybe I should have listened.

She dances by herself for a moment then disappears. The night is still young, but I am not. I search for her. The crowd is black and white; she is in color. It is easy to trace her steps.

When I approach her, a bullet grazes my ear. The lobe disappears. I can only hear her voice as she whispers to me,

“I hold the gun, I always hold the gun.”

water laced
with lavender

warm as a teacup

flames flicker
the only light

her favorite
glass is drunk

she sinks slowly
as the day ends

it is her time
to disappear

will the young
lose their memory

in their machines
can their machines

forget or is erased
the same as forgetting

is the nature of
knowing changing

what is the source
of an idea

and where is it located
will we all be implanted

or have we always
been implanted

is innovation alchemy
and what are the

ingredients

do we know our
own recipes

can we recreate
ourselves

and become our
own young

you paint
beyond your

place and
time

reaching into
souls you will

never meet
making us see

more than ourselves
more in ourselves

is that what
it means to

be eternal

she is an
artform

a movement
a new way

of thinking
and acting

one lifetime
is not enough

to discover
her patterns

I will pass
my observations

to the next
generation

and hope they
create a new

science or
religion from

her way of life
so we can all

learn how to live

a sound wakes me

I don’t know if the
sound was real

or in a dream

I have no one to ask so
it will remain a mystery

captured by a mouth
with no teeth

we are not chewed
we do not bleed

we are swallowed
whole

like a pill
like a cure

we are the
medicine

for what ails you

they wait for
us to reach

what they call
the bottom

but they are from
another generation

they do not
understand

there is a bottom that
cannot be reached

so we float forever
in the

dragon’s breath
burning away

what ails you
and become artists

making life with
our own colors

I’m sorry.

I

can’t
can’t
can’t

get it out of my head,
the dread locks in place
and will never release me.

It has somehow become
a piece of the puzzle
and fits together perfectly;
neatly nestled into
that special place
in my brain
like a bear in his cave

waiting out the darkest days
waiting for that signal to awaken him
waiting for that spring to release

we live as numbers
waiting to be counted

to become part of a
formula

that tells us what to do

we do not want to be
a remainder

a leftover
a piece of pi

that no one can
remember

I missed you yesterday
something soft was missing

the air changed its formula

the room was not as vulnerable
the room was not as breakable

there was not the gentleness

of yellow butterflies flying
to their quiet death

there was not the gentleness

of ***** dandelions spreading
from a quiet breath

I missed you yesterday
something soft was missing

watching you curl yourself
into a medicine ball
in the chair with two arms

squeezing your inches
together tightly

looking like you either
want to swallow yourself

or are preparing to be swallowed
by something else

I moved north
hoping the leaves
would fall;

changing reasons
for living again.

I met a ******* a lark
laughing at the trees.

She said “I’ve been
searching for you
sand man.”

She really meant sad
but she was too happy
to say that word.

She said, “I will wait
for the weight to fall from
your shoulders.

You will be my shiny, red balloon
I can ride to the
moon.”

I took off my overcoat.

energy I do not expend
eats me

unexpressed expressions
are so hungry

they smell my
every weak scent

like a pack
of rabid dogs

digging wet teeth
and disease
into me

I fight trying
to hold in
just one piece

that piece I
never want
you to see

tonight I will
try to sleep

counting
electrified
sheep

and I wish blood
was not so thick
and sticky

so it would not
pull me back

and it could be
easily drained
from my skin

and replaced
by something clean

and I wish the
past was not
so close

and familiar

and with time
and space
I could lose it

and I wish I could
float away from here

toward something
shiny and new

something that
reminded me

of nothing

sometimes girls
are soft

not weak

they are awake
to the earth

with no need
to speak

they move
as one

controlling
space

transcending
time

I rode a
nightmare

into the
mountains

to meet my maker

a creature
calling my name

I followed
the deep bellow

an echo of
the ancient past

I knew I
would find

life or death

either way
our war will

finally be settled

I

when I was young
you cut me with

your words

I bled out slowly

when I was young
I was a tear

flash floods

salt and water
burning skin

when I was young
I was broken

not like a bone
that heals with

time

II

I share a lot
with my words

and
you think it is

everything

you think you
know me

from my words

you think I
am exposed

but I am never
completely naked

I wear masking tape
to hide my

deepest scars

I have always
had an uneasy

relationship
with you

knowing I
needed you

but not wanting
to know that

when I didn’t
have you

I wanted you

when I had you
I didn’t want you

I find myself half past.
Painting images of you with red wine.

I wander through the garden again.
Weeding out memories of you.
Rubbing poison on my lips.

I thought the shape of your face was one more piece
of the unfinished puzzle.

I thought the color of your eyes was the color of my heart, pale
and fading blue.

I thought about you yesterday.
At least it wasn’t all day.

There was that moment
when a bee stung me.  Then flew away to die.

It is ten in the morning and the sun still has not risen. We sit on our balcony sipping scotch and stare at the moon. We think it is the moon that has not set. It must have organized a coup. It has grown jealous of the sun’s attention, feeling itself the lesser god.

We have been outside forever, our language has become foreign to the others, but not to each other.  Our words are sung to each other as if a psalm.  The world that is outside our embrace could have ended and we would not care.  We have been inside each other forever.  I stare at your sad face, framed by the rays of the moon’s subtle heat, and realize again just how beautiful you are.

We see the first awakening of light, the color purple of the bruised moon, and quickly escape to the inside.  We sit side by side in our dark room high above the lifting fog and feel crushed by the rising sun.

she felt alive but
she did not know

if she was

he told her things

but he was the
only one

so she had no
comparison

she felt unique but
she did not know

if she was

there were versions
of her

before

but isn’t that
true of all of us

did she have a
heart?

wet metal
flows but

is it blood?

her feelings
flow but

is it love?

a candle just
beginning to

melt

slow drips
burn and

the smell of
sweet cinnamon

intoxicates

stronger than
strong drink and

I cannot think
or breathe or

think about
breathing

when I am

drowning in
love