wish you were here

Wish you were here
In my same state of mind,
wish our heads shared chemicals,
and chemical reactions
of the same kind.

wish you were here,
in my same solitude
completing me like
the last puzzle piece
of my mind.

A Lover’s Blues

Have you ever spent every day longing, wanting what you never could attain? Aching for the one thing that would satisfy the gaping hole in your heart, the chasm that could be filled by no other? Spent every waking moment thinking about her, wanting her, remembering her? That is the reality I live. Every day, I wake with her face fading, slipping away from my mind like water in a cupped palm, knowing she littered my dreams like fairy dust or cocaine. Each moment I search for signs that may represent her, I lust over women yet do not act upon my instinct. When every weekday afternoon is a lovemaking session between you and your hand and your virtual girlfriend, that whore on the computer screen, moaning on some other guy’s dick, rubbing her clit. Your hand, your dick, and the kleenex.
Every week you yearn for the day you’ll see her next, you wait for the next time you get to even touch her. A hug will do perfectly. You fantasize about being able to kiss her again, but you know you probably won’t. Every weekend you try to plan to do something with her, but it all depends on whether she’s busy or not. And she tells you she needs you, and she tells you she misses you, but she doesn’t. Or does she? You know she’s this uber-independent bisexual wishy washy girl, but apart from that, shes perfect. Perfect. Every weekend you don’t see her, you take every shot of whiskey in her name, every sip of beer to drown out her memory, to lull you away into uncaring dreams of reality where you’ll meet some pretty girl that will never know your name and so that you can imagine she’s the one you love as you try to make love in the drunken heat of the night.
But it’s not love. It doesn’t fill the hole. It doesn’t change a thing. What’s love then? Love is Her touch. Love is her voice, with all its imperfections and gramatical errors. Love is her lips and her ideas, Love is even her deceptions. Love is allowing myself to be deceived, willingly given over to the fate of utter dispair; a man waiting endlessly at a lonely pier for a boat that may never come. You dream dreams that are full of foggy landscapes, of uncertainty, of confusion. You dream dreams that are set in swamps and in fantastical buildings, almost funhouses mocking your imagination and your reality. The morning is only as bright as She allows it to be, only bright when She is thinking of you.
Your conversations with her are prolific, perfect. She balances your slightly withdrawn nature and awakens your thirst for adventure, for struggle and passion. She provokes the best inside of you, and She promises Forever. You buy these words almost quicker than they are set for sale, and you step into every trap willingly, like a mouse that doesn’t mind the pain. Like a mouse that wants to be caught. Like the games you used to play when you where young, where you’d let the girls on the playground put dirt in your hair or make a fool of you, or make you prisoner of the princess because you liked them so.
You know you’re helpless and there’s nothing you can do, you sink drinks like Nazis sunk ships, a submarine in the depths of dispair, wondering when She’ll call you to the surface. Your friends tell you that you’re being cheated, that you have the worst end of the deal. You know she has a girlfriend, but She’s told you that She’s waiting for the right time to break up. You trust that, because you want it to be true. You trust that because its the only thing that keeps you moving, She’s the thing you live for, and what keeps you alive. The days are brighter when you know She loves you, the nights seem nicer, the moon shines fuller.
But youre nothing but another fucker that wants her. When all the extras are stripped away, she doesn’t know what she wants, she’s forever undecided. And where does that land you? Back in your bedroom with what’s-her-name on the computer, kleenex in hand, and drugs slowly kicking in. That lands you back into the only retreat, for you’ve given yourself to her. Your retreat is to be someone else. To be someone she doesn’t know. To be someone even you don’t know, because you’ve never beat off to a whore before, and you never liked to watch some bastard get his dick sucked. But tonight you don’t mind, Kandi looks gorgeous from where you’re sitting, and as she stares into your eyes, you know she wants you. She wants you real bad. And for that moment in your reality, for that moment in your life, you want her. You want her more than you’ll ever want Her. You want to hold her and tell her it’s okay, to tell her she doesn’t have to fake it anymore, that she doesn’t have to take another dick if she doesn’t want to. You want to tell her that you’re just watching because you’re lonely and fucked up and have nowhere to put your love. But you know you won’t, and you know that she’ll be on that screen again next week, when there’s another video. And you know that there’ll be more bunched up kleenex’s in the trash can; some crusty and yellow with old sperm, others bunched up with tears and snot. You know you’ll have to pick yourself up one day, you know you’ll have to face the truth. But you tell yourself: “Just one more day. Maybe she’ll come around. Just one more day.” And she’s worth all this self-destruction, she is your Love.

Out of a Used Shell

Out of this cracked shell I emerge,

re-used and hand-me-down it’s cracked and already open.

I sit in there from time to time,

and emerge again and again.

Out of a used shell of an egg,

I am reborn.

New, again.

you were the fire that started the apocalypse

you put me through hell and through heaven.

now I look back and thank you for the pain

some of the glory, and some of the strain;

im stronger because of you and maybe thats bad.

I woke up this morning and my coffee was cold
took down the posters and the pictures of you.
Called the coroner inside the arched hallways
told him to stop the operation,
told him to stop the fight.
I stepped outside to greet the day,
but it was dark as hell and refused to grey.
I’d apologize a million times if it would make
differences.
But when you add it all up
its all the same.

BURN

YOUR MOTHERFUCKING CIGARETTE OF YOUR LIFE

and blow it out.

everyone, now.

lost souls in unknown worlds

whisper upon my ear,

the lack of articulation blurring

who, what, and where.

lost souls in unknown worlds,

like the swirls of white cream

in a cup of coffee.

In an instant you can reduce your life,

and in another you can multiply it.

we are only temporary,

zooming through life like the

eternal subways, metrorails, and automobiles

that haunt the remains of their previous owners.

And those before them.

And the ones before that.

We are lost souls in unknown worlds,

each of us his own universe

his own galaxy.

each of us his own God,

his own microcosm.

We are infinite, we are temporary,

drifting, floating, mingling along the way.

As you soar across your inner sky,

and pass by your inner sun,

and contemplate Heaven, Hell, Samsara, and Nirvana,

think once of me,

insignificant as I be,

think once of me,

of the ideas and inspiration i bring,

and allow me to live in your universe,

your unnamed world.

the year dreams died

goodbye, year of false hopes, wishes, losses. goodbye year of lost loves, lost causes. hello New. New is the the new you, like youth sprung from old drippy water faucets in open fields of possibility strewn with seed of promise. I swear that i could change, i swear that change is good, and i guess that you can see. Can you see? through hole-riddled bedsheets, can you peek a bit at who i may be? see the truth behind the pain in me and maybe then we can do some cleansing. perhaps my obsession with those vexed with loss of sight opens a hole in a dark cave.  fresh and new, like the dew that forms on these flowers of youth, budding and flourishing like universes exploding in night skies, faster than ever imagined, and flowing wide and fast by the eyes of God. here we lie, here we stand, here we kneel, and here we Live. to be alive and to be free, soaring landscapes of time and space like the first apes kneading the rising dirt and eagles soaring above every great war, eying madness and violence like a footnote on the page called Earth.

this was the year dreams died. but this was the year where out of ash rose glory and a new fire that kindles even the fires of the coldest corners, kindles fires even in the water of banishment where far few lie in between. this is the year where all will change, and things maybe come complete. this is the year we start anew, this is the year no one could ever repeat.

scared stiff

I am, at this moment, scared of life

i am hesitant to move forward

move onward

i stand at the brink of a precipice

and though i could

should i

explore the nooks and crannies

that question all

and i know all would disintegrate

for my mind knows no limits

only plateaus

my tears of uncertainty drip down my valleys and hills of cerebral matter

tears for myself

and tears for mankind

hesitant

i lean one foot over the ledge

and feel the enormous, vast abyss howling down this path

and i know

this is where i must go

and i take one last glance behind

at the sparkling emeralds of childs play

that i know shall stay

though only in a certain way

those tiny emerald pieces

in my pocket.

my foot hovers on the edge of this razor-sharp decision

and the sky

opens to blue sparrows and sighs only my sore eyes

can burn and rend my heart to see

for baby

beauty

is for me

so difficult to behold

for i feel i am not worthy

even to hold

one minute stitch of its garment

and so here i kneel

looking out

and falling

without falling

falling

with my eyes

doing what i thought i would not

but doing it all the same

as a sparrow flies without flying

on the wings of its song.

i think its all too beautiful for these sore eyes

i think right now i might burst out in song.
is this not the one time we have left? the one moment before the last plunge? i’ve sat here in this ancient astrodome contemplating myself and my fellow cigarette ash companions that litter the ground like empty machine gun shells, smoking still from the unloaded killing machine.
is it possible to feel so much love? so much love and compassion for life; to fly, to run, to BURN. To burn up high into the sky like gasoline condors and kerosene firelies and explosives all racked up to produce the next Big Bang. Hey baby, i’m here and i’ll let you know whats the deal. So far we’ve got all these conflicts, these noises. Purring, whirring, like mosquito cats and growling butterflies. Can we undo the knots and calm the snow that pours about our TV screen? Is it in our future, medium? Is it in our future, fortune-teller? I’ll tell you what, this is our time. Make of your life a masterpiece, make of your life the most beautiful inkblot on the page of history and make of your life a truth that flows better than fresh blood from the ram and the waters that started Islam. Make it grow like the most delicate orchid blossom and make it show like the towers of Babel. Trumpet it loud over the sky, and let even the dust below you sigh. I think right now I might burst out in song. But the love thats inside won’t last for long. See them over there? They’ve got a warrant for me. But thats okay, cuz one day they’ll see. One day they’ll see the beauty thats you and me. And one day they’ll wake up, one day they’ll all see.

The Truth Lying Just Beneath You And Me.

El Amor

“Es esto el amor?”
Eyes posed, fixated, darting, searching. Locked as in a wizard’s battle, wands held high, aiming for the heart. The silence pressed up against them, uniting the silence, anger, resonance of shouts that had rebounded through halls and reached silken ears. Silence like walls of water displaced by Moses, and ideas and emotions flew in between like messenger doves. He shifted his weight, his next words wading through his mind. Her face looked puzzled, shocked, like the man after he plunges off the 400 foot bridge.