Desert Rose

Think of me as a pause between point a and b
A minor hiccup in plans
A popped tire on the tourbus of your life
just when you needed to step out for a cigarette
so stand with me for just a moment longer
pursed lips blowing smoke rings to the wind
smiling in the face of fate
closing our eyes to the fact that this stop along your journey is a short one
but you have another minute, at least, so let’s smoke another
talk with me
late night hazy giggling conversations over flat, warm whiskey and soda
we forgot about
early morning fingers twisted in my hair
and our lips meeting
parting
tasting of one another all we can in the short time shared together
I want to remember this every way that I can
Trace fingers along the length of your lithe frame so my skin can recall the route taken to make you sigh into my shoulder
Plant a hundred kisses from your knees to your neck along supple landscape
like a memory of me might grow from them
Blooming flowers reaching up to your ears and whispering
When those Arizona nights might be too cold
And my arms surround empty space in my st pete apartment
I’d like to think you might miss this sudden weekend
This unexpected detour
Because I know I will
When swans fly west for soothing winds blowing over desert sands
I’ll still be sitting here
Smoking cigarettes under banyon trees overlooking the bay
And wondering how far across the horizon I’ll have to stare
Before I can see my desert rose again

we wander (AKA after drinking sangria w/ Lizz)

We wander
Across the barren landscape of our own selves
Lost to the wind blowing through a world we perceive as near dead and yearning for resuscitation
We wander
We being those who share only a generation born into
combined with a thorough and profound lack of self
We can’t find ourselves
So we wander
Through our lives with eyes turned down from the sunlight
Can’t keep a level gaze at the horizon before us
It seems too far off for us to reach in one life spent squandered on the empty words our souls belch forth to keep us moving
Forward
Calloused heels and broken toenails our benchmarks of experience
Blistered feet bleeding beneath the weight of a soul like iron
Contained in a body of mere flesh yet so heavy
Each step seems to drag us farther into the planet
So we must keep moving
Pacing the steps of our life along lines of spoken contradictions
And unspoken promises to the self we still search for
So walk with me
Hand in hand
To the horizon so far off we refuse to acknowledge
Yet keep plodding one foot in front of the other towards
like the final destination will give us the answer we’ve been waiting for
Our entire lifetimes
Entire lifelines of generations forgotten though they stand right before you
Eyes glazed and dried spit-spattered lips mouthing the same lies our own mimic
When the end of your journey seems so bright you won’t look up at it
So we talk to our feet
Bruised and bleeding
Beneath sneakers battered to shreds through the strife of our life’s travels
But continue we must
Into the blistering of the sun burning away leathered skin like epiphany to writer’s block
Peel back the surface and stare forward with no eyelids
Because if one never faces their future they won’t know how to reach for it
Clutch it
In palms cut too deeply the scars never discolor
Garish crimson
Staring back at us every time our eyes continue their inevitable downward journey into our hands
Like the tears we won’t let hit ground can soak into our broken hands and renew us
Like existence would let you pause for a moment if it knew you were trying to hide weakness
But it never will
Biting at our heels
Teeth gnashing at the bits of our selves trailing behind us when we don’t walk fast enough
Or wander far enough
To try and meet the horizon when walking blindly forward
Keep moving
Wrapping arms around self and holding tightly
Like it’s the only way to keep it together
Speak louder
Whether face towards floor or eyes open embracing the bright skyline stinging at tear-soaked cheeks
Let it warm you
The acceptance of your own doubts and insecurities
The knowledge of not only your imminent mortality but the instruments that hail the inevitable final chapter of you
Use them to write the lines walked upon daily to continue towards what you know lies ahead
Just past the end of your vision
Just past the horizon
Just after that last step taken
Eyes to the ground
Hands interlaced at the end of arms encircled tightly around ourselves
Hold yourself up
Even if your chin won’t raise to face the day keep holding yourself up
Above feet battered and blistered
Plodding each step towards whatever may be
You won’t know what it is until you face it
Open your eyes and face it
And take hold of your life’s path
Between criss-cross scarred palms and direct it
Be beacon to others still searching for the sky under rocks they kick over
Let the light of not only a new day but the million more to follow guide you
To the zenith of this generation’s desire to be fulfilled in something more than simplicity
Complicity can kill you
But in order to beat a path past
You must break down every bit of yourself first
Before you can rebuild
Bathed in the sun
Smiling at the sky
Eyes open and shedding tears for the welcoming of a new day
Not wandered to
But knowingly traveled to
With feet calloused but no longer bleeding

you a.r.e.

You are
Like sunshine I could actually stare at
For moments that lasted longer than lifetimes
In your eyes I could see a semblance of what could only have been family
Ours
You are
That burning spot in the recesses of my heart
Still aflame and raging wildly
Never a memory to just remain dormant
You are
Fanning the flames without trying
Standing outside the range of my peripheral but still standing there
Burning images into my retinas when eyes close
You are
The sunshine I stared at too long
Basked in too casually
This was nothing as simple as a game but we kept playing
So I’ll play the shoe, stepping too harshly on our delicate balance
I took my powerful step for granted and tread too much
You be the racecar
Speeding away from the echoing of my footsteps
Too fast to catch up with
You are
Gone without even so much as tire marks burned into concrete so I could follow
So I wander
Through the days smiling at the sunshine that won’t warm me as much as yours did
I am
Not broken, but definitely bruised deeply
Purple black painted over with a smile so bright
It’s almost infectious
Like my memories of you have become
It hurts so magnificently because I don’t have to shut my eyes to remember how beautiful

you are

women on fire

I want a woman of fire who speaks like she keeps the sun tucked under her tongue
words reaching from lungs, approaching air and igniting
flames scorching skies like blunts burning flags burning patience burning down to embers
tongues lashing backs like whips torn from hands of masters
call them tricks, chickens, or bitches at your own risk
chins held high with a fist clenched supporting the fight from the street up
the other hand cupping full bellies holding the seed of tomorrow's revolution
enough passion in one palm to fill the city with heat and burn it down
but demure, so she responds to honest compliments smiling with a slight blush
warrior women
jaw set and staring down the barrel of a new day determined to survive
catching bullets in teeth grinning
swallowing teargas and never shedding a tear
swelling the frontlines of the fight
breasts swollen with words and the pain of bearing life as looked down upon by the majority before you even factor in the skin color
swollen with fury and ever-burning
women on fire
each step leaving smoking craters on sidewalks littered with cremation ashes from the mothers of battles long past
weaker sex my fucking ass
let’s see any man bleed from the dick for a week straight and still stand tall
birth children and breastfeed with sixteen stitches fixed from slit to asshole
sized up by how much tits you show or how rapidly those cheeks shake to the club hit
back that ass up
bitch, back that ass up
commonplace phrases gracing the ears of those who walk streets proudly despite deadbeat dads, incomparable wages, trifling girls with no sense of self-worth encouraging this behavior
and surviving the fangs of rapists
in this profession of dick swinging pissing contests between purported revolutionaries with kids they don’t support
beatniks living on their parent’s plastic assets
and boozed up, chain smoking assholes, like myself, chasing tail like that actually meant something
cherish those few women strong enough to stand at the mic and speak fire from tongues this world has tried day after day to cut out
but couldn’t
we can B Boy stance and look strong in the face of the spotlights but it’s a female of dignity and poise that I envision when I think revolution
change
growth
poetry is…
every woman who reaches out to the hands of the forthcoming generation of girls struggling to remain strong
stuck in the current of radio rappers and MT-video hoes
anti-abortion legislation and refusal of contraceptive supplies from religious right-wings
women on fire, keep burning
keep bleeding life from a body gifted with the wonder of creation
keep lifting voices to the heavens
whether it’s ecstatic fits of mid-coital convulsions, conversation
or poetry
demand yours in a fair share from those too scared to see a woman’s worth
slap knowledge into the heads of little boys who think a set of balls alone is enough needed to demand respect
I am by no means blasting my own gender
because the brothers in my set elevate our ladies from the depths of darkness descended into daily towards the light of a new day named equality
spit in the face of those who would demean a strong woman for being simply that
strong
in the face of religions that would wrap them head to toe decreeing their bodies as unsightly and unholy
demanding three steps behind husband as the position to stay in
saying education and profession are no places for women to be in
if I never have to hear another story of persecution pressed onto the sex of a young woman frightened to be what she was born as I would be able to sleep better
when I don’t feel the need to concern myself with walking a friend home at night, not because she can’t protect herself, but because I fear for what this world might do to her over the span of just a few blocks I’ll be able to breathe easier
when I can open my eyes and look into the face of a word blind to anything but the worth of a person regardless of appearance I’ll know that enough women have burned brightly enough to cast off this shadow of ignorance and let the light of the next step towards bettering everyone shine in
women on fire
don’t ever stop burning regardless of gallons poured onto your flames trying to douse you
don’t ever stop speaking heat into mics hot enough to burn stages to ashes
and please, don’t ever forget that the worth of a woman is what she sees herself as
and not what this world deems you
women on fire
burn me
rebirth me in the heat of a thousand suns so I might move past my previous transgressions and honor thee
as a poet
as a priestess
as precious
as a woman on fire should be

fuck a poet

i used to write out of some grim necessity
like poetry was my clot to stop the bleeding
as if in pouring into pens my experiences
and insignificant insecurities
would tie off some cosmic knot
and stop life from being so very mean to me sometimes
like bitching in retrospect was the sum total of my assertion to artistry
as if there isn't enough ex girlfriend poetry in the world already
or angsty, self-righteous calls to the indignity of american culture
delivered by some loudmouthed ass who can sure call out the bad points
but doesn't know step one in the direction of good
this is not another interview poem
this is a poem protesting poetry
presented like a picket sign held proudly front row centre at the venue reading
"fuck a poet"
for trying so badly to be what the crowd wants
trying to make sure you model your inflection best fitted for whatever demographic might be in front of you at that moment
poetic marketing, some make the stage a board room table
microphones a power point presentation of possible ploys to parley
pursuint to pushing puffed up plagerisms of personal proclivities and perspectives too pussy to please passing pedestrians purely off the proof of their own personage
and especially those who abuse alliteration
for thinking that revolution starts behind a microphone
when this isn't even the wick to spark fire on
the streets are the canvas on which to paint change
so if you really want to see those so-called egalitarian laws you keep spouting off about so much actually put in place
march to the white house, not to the stage
after a while, it's just fucking boring
for poets who think that angry scowls are the best gameface to approach a person with
like being intelligent and well-spoken are excuses to act like an asshole to those you don't know
or thinking you get to pick who in the crowd most appreciates your words
fuck a poet
for taking themselves so seriously they even start to hear their own words as truth
fuck a poet
for treating crowds like they owe poets shit
don't get pissed if you can't garner enough attention
that should tell you something about the performance
not the participants
fuck a poet
for assuming word placement alone marks you above anyone else
most of the poets i know can't accomplish shit else but poetry
so where the hell did we develop these collossus egoes from?
thinking we stand above the rest of civilization like some literary gods of man
and with each resounding breath we can change the flow of life itself
and reset the spinning of the earth to a more pleasing pitch
when most of us can't balance our checkbooks, significant others, jobs, bills, performance schedules and family affairs
without twisting completely out of focus
but finally, and most importantly
fuck a poet for simply being a poet
for being underappreciated and underpaid
misunderstood but very well stated
third string entertainers with first rate presentation
broke from day one but never trying to get fixed
existing if only through persistence
linguists and wordsmiths
hammering verses into the minds of a generation
pounding out the heartbeat of an entire generation
and very rarely getting that simple and very much needed honest
Thank You
so instead, poets, i offer a fuck you
but only because i love you

America

I’m as American as rotten apple pie left forgotten on the windowsill
because there’s a new Idol scandal on the idiot box
and the whole family’s so much more concerned with what Simon says than what momma might’ve slaved over all afternoon
driving in a big ass convertible Cadillac
top down at over a 100 plus miles per hour
belly full of cheap whisky, lungs full of unfiltered lucky strikes
one hand white-knuckled gripping the vinyl steering wheel
and the other graciously giving the bird to the picturesque American landscape blazing by in a blur of browns and greens
dotted here and there by a billboard no wider than maybe a half inch at the speeds I’m going
but I don’t need to pause to read the message, they’re all the stating same thing: welcome to America, now sit down, shut up, strap in and hold on
tuck your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye because I am American
not imperialism and warfare, I’m the more subtle, more poisonous America
the America that creeps into the minds of your young boys keeping them up late at night watching scrambled porno hoping like hell for that moment when they might make out a clear nipple in the midst of all that static
I’m the America that slinks up the miniskirt of your teenage daughter
you know the one she’s not supposed to be wearing but snuck out of the house beneath baggy sweat pants saying she’s off to a friend’s house to do homework
when the only studying she’s doing is in the backseat of some sweaty-palmed senior’s daddy’s buick lesaber hoping she can grope herself into some sort of conformed social acceptance
I’m the America that keeps on keeping on by keeping us all down
ground under the palm of big brother, corporate America and the man in whatever color or gender he may come in
the America that turns a blind eye to fair and balanced because injustice is more honest
you don’t get more hitting the nail on the head bullseye than bullshitting your fellow man for a quick buck or just some shits and giggles
the America that won’t ever let two men marry but loves to watch two girls making out
the nation of corpulent couch potato pseudo-pundits packing their fat mouths with potato chips and beer watching worldwide wrestling federation talking about how the greasy Mexicans are taking all the good white man’s jobs
then bitching because his welfare check hasn’t come in the mail yet
the America who travels overseas and gripes because nobody sounds like me and I can’t get a good cheeseburger; I mean what the fuck is a royale with cheese
the America who hands over its rights gift-wrapped with a big fucking bow tied right on the top so I don’t have to worry too much about being too free
and I can enjoy my freedom fries and supersized styrofoam happy meal at the expense of some third world child who’s name I couldn’t possibly even pronounce if I gave enough of a shit to try
just keep making sneakers that fall apart in a few months and underwear elastic that stretches way out of proportion so when I reach back to scratch my white hairy American ass it’s easily accessible
give me shitty, vapid, mindless entertainment 24 hours a day 7 days a week 4 weeks a month and 12 months a year so I can inhabit my lazyboy sucking back pork rinds and screaming at my wife for a blowjob and a sandwich
if I didn’t even have to move to take a shit, I’d be the fucking Buddha
content being ignorant?
Shit, I’m so fucking happy to be so fucking stupid I don’t even know where to start
The middle east: bomb those fuckers and make it a parking lot
Poverty and homelessness: get a job or get off my lawn
Racism: I’ll just move to a nice lily white neighborhood where I can mow my lawn smiling like the biggest asshole in the whole world talking over my white picket fence about the “other side of the tracks”
You know, where all the black people live
this is the America we’ve all worked so very hard to build and is now toppling off its own axis and crushing us in the rubble
the most perfect analogy for our nation; 9/11
we watch twin towers crash and fall and the best fucking course of action we can take
bomb the shit out of some brown people
and sell lots of cheap plastic American flags to hang from our SUV antennas
only 4.99 right now at your local wal mart
let’s not take a closer look at where our problems originated, no
we’ve got the bombs, the guns, and a much, much bigger dick than anyone else on this planet
and when America swings its pendulous penis around like a fleshy warhammer
you better get the fuck out of its way or start swinging along with us
stay the course
if you’re not with us, you’re against us
god bless America
because considering all these facts
we really fucking need it

swallow

today i've decided to weep words instead
let verse run down the palm of my hand and catch it
rivers running through pens like wet ink will dry the tears i'm determined not to shed
and applying to pages the pain jabbing at my eyes demanding to drink flowing water will wash away my thoughts and leave me adrift on the sea of inspiration
just trying to fill this empty space inside with volume
like the rushing of wept words can drown out the screams i'm holding in the back of my throat
taking shots to choke it back like it's the only antidote
but ask any poet for truth and they'll tell you
poured libations can only fill so long before you find yourself parched again
empty bottles don't yield enough refund to payback the expense of making them so
and no matter how many pens run dry or pages get filled
we remain thirsting for enough spit to fill that empty space inside
with volume
let crash together the torrents of your frustrations like empty ears are decanters and nothing but your words can fill them so we all might drink together
spend your last breath swimming through the ocean of each day reaching for the surface
and when you've finally come above the crushing weight of life trying to drown you inhale that first breath deeply
and swallow
be filled with the bounty of simply surviving
if only to weep words and spit verses
emptying ourselves just to remain thirsty for that next day's first breath
now swallow
just be filled with just being here
like life itself is water
knocking it back in double and triple pour doses
drowning empty gullets to the fill line
then swallow
give me pain on the rocks with a heartbreak chaser and two shots of uncertainty
smacking the table and shouting
like god's a bartender and tonight
she's pouring real heavy
lining up glasses so i can fill palms to empty them
and swallow
immerse me in existence if only to ride the highest crests and dive to its lowest depths
keep my vision blurred like staring out from a street puddle during a rainstorm
keep me staggering drunk so i can sway like the current at nighttime
weaving back and forth
and if i crash like tidal waves into empty space
then let me fall freely
full of life poured lavishly