be, BEING, been

You resonate clearly through my mind
a faded echo of yesterday
Roaming through empty hallways,
smeared mascara,
bleach blond ghost.
That's not you anymore.
Letting your fingers slowly glide
over opalescent waters
to lose track of the hours in incandescent lighting
nails, bent and broken
That's not you anymore either.
Lost between layers of plastic,
stems and seeds,
glass bottles and worn shoe soles
waiting impatiently with an empty gas tank
and purring engine.
Those weren't your best days.
Soap dried hands,
early mornings, late nights
and remnants of who you were
to tempt you in the silence.
Luckily these moments do not define us.

Poet

Poet

Nothing is more dangerous than a hopeful optimist
with inner recklessness
who bends the senses to please their disconnects.
The grass gets always greener,
the mean girls even meaner,
but for us hopers, for us dreamers,
we all just end up being feiners.
Our civilization digresses,
the rest just progresses,
left empty, left breathless
empty shells of human messes.
By the time I taste the heels
of the hopers and the dreamers,
I'll be flat out of breath..
flat broke,
disposed of by the cleaners.
and maybe we'll always be running,
to find the place where the sun is sunning
I never stop. I'm always gunning
even an angel wearing tears is
always breathless, always stunning.


I try to steer clear of rhyming poetry because it tends to be seen as "beginner work." All I gotta say about that, is sometimes you gotta get back to your roots. Rhyme and Rhythm is where we all started, isn't it?

Soothes the Savage Beast

Soothes the Savage Beast

You can only lose so many pieces until there is nothing left
I listen to the strings resonate through the air, to dance inside my ears for a moment in time
as though someone is speaking to me
another soul, wrapped and tethered,
and as battered and bruised as my own
nothing a band-aid can't fix.
Brush the sand from my knees
wipe the pain from my face with a single eloquent motion,
but I cannot force myself up between broken breaths and gasps for air.
It's as though I can identify the moment it breaks in my chest,
The chill up my spine, the tightness in my throat.
Not a single soul for miles.
You've encompassed my entire being
in a few strokes of the keys
and a voice that will echo forever.

My Subjective Judgement

I writhe and fall again in slow motion
and feed you the cliche life you're expecting:
picket fence, black tie, hopeless romantic, party of four.
We all reside in a box near the overpass,
some boxes just have better curtains and more windows
which marks the contrast between living and existing.
Defined by the contents of our wallets
this civilization, this abomination,
conceals animosity between clean sheets-
a six hundred dollar "egyptian cotton blend."
Freedom in this new millennium is not actually defined by being free,
it's being shackled inside 'American Gothic"
encrusted in Swarovski Crystals, and name brands to keep us blind.
The English language is trapped inside five hundred thousand words
that define us, but mean nothing as we are only equal to our number
that lies between hopelessness and supremacy, or 450 and 850.
A single being's entire existence
is only as crucial as a single wool mitten in the lost and found
at a run down elementary school that lies where 'Nowhere USA' meets 'Rodeo Drive'
Human life is subjective,
and only supreme amidst whispers in polite circles
where relative thinking is an art lost to the ages.