O N TH E RO A D

• 2012-11-11

  I get my religion

  from the palm of your hand.
  
  The stores are closing. My eyes are burning.
  And one day we’ll realize the second coming happened in an alley thirty years ago.

• →

  Everyone around me is as I intend them to be.
  Everyone.
  Is around me.

  And my wicked imagination
  Is
  Your wikked ambishun.

  REALity
  fALLs
  shORt
  So I go home early
  to undress my mind.

• 2012-07-20

  I have secrets in my pockets.
  And I have deep pockets.
  Deep pockets full of secrets
  and you are a
  Pickpocket.
  A pocket-picker, if you will. 
  Was what you found, worth more than money? 

• →

  There is a line in the sand
  so there is a scratch on my glasses

  Was there ever a difference between passion and insanity?
  Was there ever a difference between dreams and reality?

  I will sweep this floor

                        until you don’t see me anymore

  and all that’s left is the hallucinations you never had.   

  and then you will know what I was all about.

• 2012-07-15

  

  Beach Kids.

  We are the Beach kids.
  The reality-is-out-of-reach kids.
  The never-get-sleep kids.
  The bumpin’-beats kids.
  The talk-is-cheap kids.

  The ones who used to buy mids.
  The ones who sometimes smoke cigs.
  The ones who yell, “Come and get me Pigs,”
  The ones who like to ride, surf, skid.
  We are the Beach kids.

  We are the Beach kids.
  The Swisher-grape-or-peach kids.
  The roll-it-up-like-Cheech kids.
  The Steez Kids.
  The never-ever-leave kids.
  
  This is where we stay,
  And we are the Beach Kids.

• 2012-07-12

  I’m having one of those Hollywood moments
  And today I’m an extra.
  Tomorrow’s wardrobe might change my mood
  High heels with high heeled skepticism
  and the scene is titled Nicotine Queen
  and I’m resentful of the character. 

• →

  Sandpaper Monsters

  This is a piece from my current project, Poemception. There are poems within poems; some are on purpose and the rest is yours for the dreaming.

  
  

  You have a beautiful living room and beautiful pillows
  and beautiful faces are symmetrical.
  But did I ever cry out for symmetry?
  Jagged edges have kept me awake.

  I’m shouting every thing we should not say.

  The contents of the vacuum are sprinkled on the floor.
  A bit of ash and deliberately un-papered sand.
  And our house is well kept in chaos, with a welcome mat
  deceiving the door.

  People have been coming at me with sandpaper.
  They’re all trying to sell me sandpaper.
  And it’s been showing up in my dreams.

  Sandpaper mustaches and mason jars.
  Sandpaper buildings with
  sandpaper people all attempting to
  (smooth.rough.edges) 

  tell me why in none of my dreams are you made of sandpaper.
  And I was worried what that meant.

  
  And the emory boards all have PhDs.
  A monster’s hand turns the knob of my closet
  and his nails are nicely manicured. 

• 2012-07-11

  And then she said something lofty like,

  “We only exist on the inside of imperfection,”

• →

  This means something.

  Sometimes I just write full pages of nothing.
  It’s like letting the air out of a tire you didn’t want inflated.

• 2012-07-10

  Her mother had warned her
  not to wear her heart on her sleeves
  and it was too hot for sleeves

  and he had made a habit of carrying things for her

• →

  Sometimes I forget I wasn’t built to fly.

• 2012-07-09

  

• →

  

  rabbit hole

  they seem to think we’ve gone too far darling
  
  slow jazz was playing the day you helped me off my rocker

  storybooktrees
  and the canopy you always wanted

  slowlydeconstructing
  
  the burden of Time
  and pieces of mind
  into peace of mind 

  misplacedmarbles
  and i lift my hair from my neck
  so you

  can loosen my screws 

  we have
     un
        raveled 
          (their) conclusions and
     un
        tested solutions  

  we have
       stumbled into     
  bliss in lucid delusion  

• 2012-07-08

  Giant

  I have been somewhere else lately
  Real life is far away
  Trains and busses, people movers moving people, churches with steeples, lights and sounds and it’s all abstract.
  If I were tiny the lines of your palm would be the Grand Canyon
  And that is where I would stay.
  One twitch of your hand and I would be crushed, but I dream comfortably in the hands of a giant.
  Do not wake me, my life has just begun.

• 2012-07-04

  I’ve stopped writing poetry.
  Now I just write what you show me.
  And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.