Thursday, November 20, 2008

variations on a theme.

I remember your lips: a sliver of pink angelfish making love.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008


you walk around
as you scatter your petals
of pressed hydrangeas
from your father's bible

in polyester paradise
your hips swing like the bell
at Notre Dame de Paris
and pardon me if I notice
more than what meets the nerves
'cause I came to observe you
not to touch what I don't deserve

it wasn't real, nor was it wrong
but I saw it in my head
under the looming moon
and I felt I was a pistol
firing out of my bedroom

Monday, October 13, 2008


I'm reminded why I was slingshot
through the waterpark of my
mother's reproductive system.
Through each and every tube and tunnel,
wet and wild with fluid and feeling my mothership
doing the lambada with all of her
confusion. And so I knew genetically
I was wired to master flamenco dancing
with my lobotomist, and running through
lightening storms wrapped in aluminum
Yet any bolt that could pass through
my bones would never amount
to the electricity I would feel
as our hands would first touch.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

I am You are

I am swooning, 
   hot air ballooning over the Potential energy of your Passion
     I am dying, 
       I am sighing, and testifying as you whine
         I am bleeding, 
       pleading that you please me 
      I am slowing this down, 
    mowing around, throwing away The Crown
   I am pulling the table cloth out from under the china
       I am pushing and swooshing, 
          and rushing to feel that Rush
            I am writing to the person responsible for this plight
           I am this fear personified, 
        I am this Flickering Light
         I am no one, 
          and no one is never someone
        I am elsewhere, 
      and elsewhere is not right here
    I am gone, on a trip, 
      to some worn out, torn down place
        I am happy,
          in my static electricity and
         I am warning you about those damned socks
       I am not who you assume I am, 
        I will never be who I was back then
          I am smoking your carbon dioxide and 
            I am enjoying my feather-like bones 
          I am watering your words, 
        so that they will someday grow
         I am expecting to have a garden 
           that will somehow survive the snow

"Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt." (K. Vonnegut)

There's a magnifying glass over everything
that is beautiful,
and everything beautiful 
          reminds me of you---

everything you are,
   everything you do.

desire. [lost and found, from 2006]

Spinning on the dizzy edge
She almost wants to fall
'Cause when you give her what she wants
She still feels one inch tall
She's not sure how long it's been
But her time is growing tired
Her car is fast
On the shortest road
And death is her desire


Upon meeting an extraterrestrial,
one must toss aside all preconceived
notions and potions regarding
foreign life forms.
Aliens are not slimy,
or scaly or anything unpleasant, you see.
I made love to an extraterrestrial
and it was the best damn
three minutes and twelve seconds of
my dwindling life.
It beat that time at the University
Library, where I slid through rows of
encyclopedias searching for my
collegiate prey, and landed amongst
the all-stars of Pre-Med fornication.
He was a beauteous beast, full of
precision, but alas, a mere Earthling.
I was a man-eater then, ferociously gnawing
away at hearts, mutating them to fit my
But I can now say without any qualms
that I eat Neptunians now. I am a converted
It was tender in its musings.
malleable to each curve,
adjustable to my valleys, and I lived inside
of it, screaming out to the cosmos
through the tunnels of my pores.
What a night it was,
on the Eight ball.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

written in 2006

It's raining in your eyes,
  and I'm in disguise,
    of who you dreamt of last night.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008


A million times a year,
the same place is renewed with
a brand new film that chips
away at the nostalgic souvenir it once was.
Growing greener, more ferocious.

The alligators linger along the hiking
trails like the fragrance of a morning
glory during a sunday picnic.

Bull ants decorate the trees
as if December is too far away to wait
for nature to be jeweled.

Sitting at the base of the giant hill,
your purpose diminishes,
and you're humbled beside
the gargantuan size of this green slab.

At the faintest rendering of boredom,
you climb the steps that lead to
the very top of the hill.
Sixty-six steps, and a whirling ramp
that dissolves into the grassy patch
at it's forehead.

You lay down, aligning your body
with the ground, and proceed to roll
down the spine of the hill as you're lathered
in a million suds of momentum.

At the base of this hill, you are but a human.
But at its top, you are a god.
faithful in your need for speed
and the feeling of the grass at your ankles.

Children bask in their youth in the grass
and adults try to regain the left overs of
what once was their youth as they walk
along the paths, tracing old foot prints
with new shoes.
Look to your left,
paddle boats chase after ripples,
ripples of time.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

A dormant winter. [written in 2006]

The truth is anything I could say will never suffice
Anything I could do will never bring you to your knees
Anything I could show you will never change your mind
Everything I feel will never be balanced by a counterpart
Such as yourself, and
What pains me,
What strains me,
What brings me to my knees...
Is while I'm remembering you,
You're forgetting about me
And I miss what we never had
I miss the words that were never spoken
And the thoughts that were always mere
Never more