i am merely a traveler.
with dust in my pockets, and you on my mind.
your silhouette acts as the skyline, the city streets are your eyes.
we all just want to see, we want to see.
you light up the surroundings, and allow us to be free.

we're waiting for the moment in which we will be buried.
and as we return to our shelters, labeled with the numerical code assigned to our existence, we close the doors to those outside, and we ask the wind to blow.
to pick us up.
and to carry us away.

we cry, and ask it to set us free.
but instead it gives us a revolution and convinces us this is all a grand allusion.
maybe it's time we figure this out, and call it the end.
but we're just getting started.
and your eyes will never close.
these city streets will always be bright.

and we'll aim for a new place we've never been.
asking the earth to fall to her knees.
and provide our empty corpses a new environment to roam.
and i refuse to see you in my sleep.
your eyes guide my footsteps and oceans keep me warm.
we're saddened by your infidelity.
you betrayed us.

and the streets are dark.
and we cannot see.
you're off in a new place.
being buried.
you waited so long.

()

And it may appear so simple.

yet no one will ever know.

each tangled thread of my existence unravels with your touch.

every perplexing thought, clarified with your words.

you are everything my mind has created through sleep.

and even though you're so far.

and even though my destitution for your body against mine is so prevalent.

you're still so close.

and when i lay on timeworn fabric, 

entangled within cold sheets.

i feel you beside me.

your breath on my neck.

and we drift off in unison. 

each dreaming of the other.

and as i stumble through positions throughout the dark hours,

my eyes open.

and i see you there.

you're soft.

and beautiful.

gentle, yet fearless. 

and i drift off again.

and my mind dances with yours.

it wont ever stop.

it wont ever stop.

i hate shopping.

they all look for new reasons.
new reasons to conform.
new reasons to mold with the universal clay of design.

they search.
with eyes wide, and set for an answer.
with minds open.
but closed from change.

and while on their endeavor, their journey for consistency, i'll watch them.
as they pick and choice.
and look and investigate.

they'll feel each fabric for the correct choice.
and examine every thread for a sign of disapproval.

and i'll sit.
in my worn in apparel.
feeling my way through clues of this and that.

and they don't see me.
because i'm invisible to their eyes.
their too busy searching, ignoring the demise.

but that's okay.
because their pre-occupied with reasons.
searching, searching, searching.              

her pace growing faster.

she covers my eyes as we walk.

she wont hold my hand,

ahead of me... her pace growing faster.

and our walk is smooth.

simultaneously running with the river behind us.

we swam through it together.

but she was ahead.

her pace growing faster.

i sank so deep.

and she swam so fast.

the mass of thawed solid, taking her in.

every inch of her existence.

her movement simultaneously flying with the sparrows.

whose wings were breaking.

but her arms were stronger.

swimming slower, out of there.. out of there.

her pace growing faster.

i floated in the river, and i watched her fly.

she said she would hold my hand when she returned.

be gone, be gone.

and her wing-span was larger than the clouds.

which simultaneously raced with the sun above us.

around her.

below her,

i was.

and i'll watch.

i'll float 'till she returns.

but i wont be there.

i'll grow with the modifications of my surroundings.

fly into the opaque mass.

her pace growing faster.

she'll search for my hand to hold.

it will be with another.

and i wont look back.

..

what if standing still was my only option ?
walking was something i watched, but did not participate in.
how do their muscles feel ?
the legs themselves.
as moved by involuntary movement, forced to participate daily.
or do they decide when their done ?

what if those with a mouth couldn't speak ?
Again watching the movement of lips before them, the grace of sound.
yet do these lips truly desire to dance?
do they long to perpetually move for the sake of others?
or do they wish to stop. to put their constant action to rest?


what if those with ears couldn't listen ?
although these few are restricted from even viewing the movement.
yet they can tell.
when lips are moving, but want to cease.
when legs constantly move, but obtain the desire to simply stand still.
they know.

The Sun, the Stars, the moon.

It's hard to admit you're in love with someone... when you're so unsure if you even love yourself.

yet, when the person you're in love with, makes you feel beyond beautiful, beyond wanted, and loved, then  it's different.

You allow me to feel free, yet safe.
and you make me feel like there's nothing else.. just you and i.

i love it when i look at things, and not only think man, that sure is an interesting painting. or man, these stars are beautiful. But i think about how you would think of them. how amazing you would find the stars, and how intriguing you would find that paint on that canvas to be.

I love that even when you're so far away, when i hear your voice you feel so close.
and i feel so warm. and i close my eyes, and clear the burdens of the day from within, and allow you to capture me.

without even trying, you've got me.

i'm not just wrapped up in the arms of lust and sugar coated feeling.
this is real.

i love that you laugh at me, instead of point out how fucking weird i am.
i love that i can laugh with you, when you describe the funniest of things.
i love your indifference's, because they only make you perfect.

but, even though i'll forever try so hard to convey how much i love you, it will never be enough.
these words will create a flutter in your heart.
and it may linger with you throughout the day.
but normality will return.

however, i'll never stop loving you. ever.
this heart will never stop beating for you.

Sail away with me baby.

there is no sense in pretending, baby break down it's all-right.
your look gives you away.
and you insist on sinkin' so deep, and you say to me baby please
and i say i can't take it no more, and i
break down, baby i break down.

'cause i don't know, i don't know who i am...
with out you.
and i don't know, no i don't know who i am without you baby.
can we just
sail away?
just sail away with me baby.

and take me through what it is you feel.
baby walk me through the vast old fields.
it's all-right baby, i'm not afraid of runnin'.
take me through the night, i'm standin' here honey.

it's all-right.
it's all-right.
it's all-right.

we've got one foot in the future, and one foot in the past.
we're aware of the danger, but it don't phase us.
and we're falling awake, dreaming of our day.
i'm cryin' out baby, it's the way it goes, but i need you because i don't know...

'cause i don't know, i don't know who i am...

with out you.

and i don't know, no i don't know who i am without you baby.

can we just sail away?

just sail away with me baby.

it's all-right.
it's all-right.
you're all-right.

Nothing is Nothing.

Nothing is nothing, and he would say she is nothing.
yet, in november when he waves his cigarette in the air, no longer held down by chains of commitment, he praises the rain.
And i'll pour the sugar in the bowl, sugar then flour. white - pure - virginity.
and mixed together, substances will provide a plan for the afternoon.

We would wait while the sugar and flour coincide, and we would forget what human existence smelled like.
the pine- green - scared and unsure.
and we would wait longer.
he would tell me to wait.
you are nothing, just wait. 
and as the two powders became one, and moss formed over the stove, white lights left unplugged, we became one.
Substances became of order, and he seemed to see who i was.
he seemed to see my whole life, under the eyes of one larger than him.
through the mind of some unknown god, some figure of glorification.

and together we were something.
nothing no longer, yet unsure. like the pine - green and scared.

i wore white- pure and virginal.
and i could hear chanting from the stove.
as if the bricks above it could speak, and tell us a story about life itself.
about sailing ships, and tidal pools.

there are flies in our web, and were crawling with confusion.
were crawling to find out where we are.
it wasn't an hour i could argue, or a minute i couldn't understand.
we fell asleep under blankets and warm sheets.

smelling like pine and dreaming white dreams, of nothing and something.

Untitled.

I am not a follower. 

nor have i created my own path.

i'm not on a road.

or a dirt way.

i am not walking.

or running.

i am afraid of standing still.

for the path afore me shall vanish.

and i will be left stranded.

with my conscious.

and i will be okay.

i will be okay.

 

rules.

and i will forever be defiant against your rules. because i will rule my own existence. and chose for myself, decide, and put the process of elimination to use.
and this is where i will cry.
because i have eliminated you.


and now my choice will defy against me.

come here, love.

come here love, take a seat.
Feel the air, rest your feet.
You've been gone for awhile, it's been too long.


I miss your song.
Y'know the one you would sing...
while fixing your tea.
and those thoughts you would mumble

while staring at me.

Oh, 'cause darlin' lifes been lonely without you here.

Prompt.

She walked to school with good intentions stuffed in her mind, and hesitant papers stuffed in her bag. Each crack in the pavement she avoided with hindered thoughts, and allowed the curious faces passing by to stare. She was referred to as Jane, but she thought differently. She was pointed at with fingers of determination, but retaliated with glances of pure backbone, and spunk.

Jane walked through open doors every day with routine, and glanced at her mothers old worn in loafers, filled with her feet as she walked. She attended each class with consideration, and tried her best to not let the environment around her, effect her thoughts further than usual. 

It was most commonly known that Jane kept to herself. Passerby’s didn’t care enough to take initiative, and she didn’t mind. It was the smaller things Jane took in regard. 

For instance, one of Jane’s morning classes consists of constant apparitions, chasing her every move. Scents lingering through her thoughts, and vivid voices of mundane conversations tracing her pencil as she writes. After school was a whole other story. Fresh views of aged phantoms, disparate, yet familiar scents, and new voices, unintentionally attached to subliminal conversations. She allowed what was around her eyes, to effect her choices. To misconstrue her words, and tear her thoughts. She couldn’t help but give way to her location, as it swam it’s way through every notion generated by the mind, without sanction. 

There will always be those above, always be those below, and always be those in-between. But what is so generally forgotten, are those who don’t belong. Those who are neither below, or above, who do not find themselves within the two. Those who are unconnected, and intertwined within themselves... working together aimlessly. That’s what she thought. She repeated those words with good intention, and tried her best to live up to it’s belief. 

Jane is one of those. She does not belong. She is one of those. The ones that give in to natures tactics. The ones who unwillingly dance with the curves of architecture, and sing along with the song of buildings. She knew she wasn’t alone. And she listens to each corner of every room, and the story it has to tell her. And she replies with a story of her own. 

Prison Cell.

i’m living in a prison cell.

except it’s covered with skin, so you can’t tell.

these arms are bars, metal and strong.

i can’t break out, nor can i fall.

and i will appear graceful, 

and these bars will open for no one.

they’ve tried to break in, with their keys.

but this cell is locked.

and it’s killing me. 

To inhale

is to breathe.
it is what you inhale that makes a significant difference.
a difference to your lungs.
your thoughts.
your actions.
so what if i inhale some air?
am i totally fucked?

yes.

inhale naturally.

If i told you

i didn't care, would you stand by my side?
because the waves are thrashing, and this wooden plank soon will break.
i can view the pier, but it's still so far.
and you're screaming infidelities will forever trace my skin.
and my thoughts will rupture.
and they will crawl deeper inside of you.
and soon enough, your own ship will sink.
and i'll say i don't care.
i don't need you by my side.

Everything appears to be

so translucent, yet more vivid than what an ordinary mind can read.

and i cannot handle this.

i cannot breathe, surrounded by your lucid appearance.

you're everywhere.

and i am floating.

and i am floating.

and i am floating.

I don't think

i like this.

and i live in an aquarium.

and i live in an aquarium.

i swim with hinderance.

and hesitation to be watched.

i'm viewed with curious eyes.

and thought of with hindered minds.

sea-chel.

and i was lost out at sea.

floating about

the waves laughed.

and my boat was surely goin' to sink.

rupture of sunlight was only a mere notion of the mind.

i arrived at shore.

and found you.

you fit in the palm of my hand.

i fit in your heart.

your breath was soft,

and sweet.

you were small,

and beautiful.

and i told myself this was it.

and i stared at your perpetual beauty.

and contemplated my surroundings.

it's funny how a beach full of seashells can make you think anything is possible.

but i found this one chel,

and i know everything is possible.

work in progress.

and i'll write down these words, with good intentions.
and i'll keep you in mind, as i sing each verse.
i'll play this music, strum each cord, and i'll find the right words to convey myself.
it's commonly known that i'm trying so hard.
it's been too long, so i'll sing in tune.
listen to me, i need you.

this cycle's never ending, blame it on the weather.
i'm a mess, and this storm is taking me in.

oh so baby, listen carefully.
another day i can't wait, a minute's too long, this is fate.
and i know what you're thinkin', but baby i'm sinkin'.
uncertainty isn't part of my vocabulary.
and i was once told, if you didn't know what to say, just sing.

Chorus
so i will sing.
and i will sing.
and i will live free, baby do you think of me?
i'll just sing.

.

wine drips and he puts on her slippers.

the road wont show you where to go.

use her soul for support of the broken, and turn off the candles.

you can watch the afore mentioned dripping on the television set in the living room, while grandma and i play cat and mouse in the attic.

he can wander in her slippers, and notice your long hair.

they'll put bread in the oven, and call her down from the bird cage.

there is string holding up your apple tree.

fall, falling, fallen.

blank.

"just look at that blank canvas, dear", she whispered.

"it will always tell you the truth."

she talked of literal combinations,

expressing her own scholastic doctrine of what was real, and what was not.

"it's just... blank", i proclaimed.

"there's nothing special about it..."

she shook her head, and took my hand.

she placed it on the white canvas, and told me to close my eyes.

i ran each finger across the jaded edges.

the bumpy material beneath my skin.

"now", she said.

"paint with your mind."

.

and then they listened.

they heard the sporadic, yet consistent cry of disregard that each tree trunk told.

one owl flew.

the same owl as the night before.

old wings.

weary eyes watched the tree trunks.

he called back to his lover.

returning not, that night.

soon the sky was quiet,

and the owl was perched on an unfamiliar, foreign, yet comforting wooden branch,

talking trunks beneath him.

they watched.

they sipped fresh liquids upon each wakening, and stretched above each ant, beetle and other infinitesimal being with a beating heart.

they lay under the owl.

and around the talking trunks.

they were millions among millions.

they listened, and watched.

they were the best blades of grass...

i've ever layed in.

Boredom.

when i don't know what to write about, i think of what nature brings.

keep an open mind, you'll be introduced to the finest of things.

open your eyes, and look around.

close your eyes, and feel the sound.

tell yourself you're one of a kind.

to be honest, i don't like this poem much.

somehow it's got an annoying touch.

oh well.

Naked Eye

it's interesting that eyes can cure the broken, isn't it?

it's unfathomable that sunken features can prove the mind wrong, isn't it?

it's breathtaking that eyes may cure the broken, for viewing the gracious actions among us with the naked eye prove that peace is a reality... isn't it?

yet, it's interesting that eyes can destroy the soul.

they can tear the strong, and break any barrier.

it's interesting... isn't it?

so, if he was blind, would he be forever protected?

essentially holding a strong barrier that wouldn't tear nor break.

or would his amiable characteristics diminish?

for he cannot view with his naked eye.

can he love what he cannot see?

can he feel his sunken features?

or to him are they merely non existent?

i remain jealous of him.

though, i am not destroyed.

my barrier still stands.

my eyes, no matter what they view, will never prove me to be as sunken as he.

for her.

wake up, oh sleeper.

i will name you joy, because it flows from your pores.

you will name me nameless because i am confused.

i will bathe you in summer light, and feed you drops of disagreement .

we will celebrate the lies we’ve read. we practice them daily, we say them before bed.

and as we crawl into our sheets, demons will creep and entice us to follow.

where they come from, i couldn’t tell for i’ll never know. but they whisper to me stories, and smile with gleams of light released onto me. they cover your shadow, you shiver but agree.

tonight has become what i feared it would.

and no amount time nor liquor could change my perception of you and i.

those demons are gone, the the light has taken their place.

you slip out of the comfort of your bed, and follow my lead.

we dance in unison, down the hard wood floor.

creaking as our feet touch what’s beneath.

we will stumble in a faultless grace.

passing by frozen clocks and flightless doves.

and at this peak of time, the frenetic city commits it’s crime.

and we’ll graciously stumble, and find those flightless birds to be as confused as i.

Dream Catcher

may i be the strings in your dream catcher?

those beads in your hair remind me of summer.

when we drank coffee on the beach, shared a pack of cigarettes and stared at the people passing by, remember?

we created stories for each of them.

i exist with gravity, over your head while you sleep.

watching you deny the invitation to dream.

i catch them with my feathers.

my strings absorb each scene.

i was laying on that beach last night, you know.

i stared at people walking by.

they stared back.

i created a story for them.

and they did the same for me.

for a minute, i thought i was dreaming.

you were next to me, i lit you a smoke.

you took a sip of coffee.

we lived in black and white.

and our lack of color replaced your dreaming, and i just watched you.

i thought of a way to get closer to you.

it didn’t work out, so my mind asked yours on a date.

it said yes, and they thought together.

they did what minds did.

and eventually they fell asleep.

and taunted themselves with silly dreams.

and i was there to catch them

existing with gravity.

above our heads.

on the beach.

The Science of Peace

It’s interesting that a simple, “How can I take your order, sir?” can completely change one person’s day.

Twenty-four full hours, altered due to a common question.

Yet, what is also interesting is how appearance seems to affect the listener far more than anyone expected.

If a lower class black man asked the middle class business man what he’d like in his coffee, the business man could reply with any other answer, followed with any other feeling

or emotion.

But while the business man sips his coffee, and the waiter lights his last cigarette outside the local diner,

they both think

of each other.

Their clearly evident differences.

His pristine tie, and shined shoes.

The ever so modest stature he carries without hesitation, symbolizing everything the waiter hates, yet envies.

Wishes he could be.

But his dirty rag hanging out of his back pocket, old shoes, a gift from a former lover for holiday, and his tired yet alert eyes tracing his mistakes.

Resembling everything the business man looks down upon, yet wonders about constantly.

So what if curiosity wasn’t a present factor.

Would the business man and the waiter be neighbors?

Offering to rake each others lawn during autumns worst.

Feeding pets as the other leaves for vacation.

Because, if you and I weren’t here having our morning tea, skimming the New York Times accompanied by lack of conversation, but perpetual eye contact, then I wouldn’t have been able to see how the business man left the waiter a tip with a note.

The simple words, “Thank you”.

Altering his entire day.

Machines will use their power to create questions.

It's the natural components of our life's recipe that we must pay attention to.

There are facts in the flowers.

Attractive poison in the plants.

Were drawn to each of your petals.

Resembling shapes and colors, not recognized by the common eye.

Celestial beings watch you below them.

Their illuminated bodies mingling with your silhouette.

The materials below you, consisting of a thick mass, intentional nutrition for your soul.

And you stretch your limbs below the surface.

A small extremity, you are not.

untitled.

I couldn't quite fathom what it is you believe.
I remain standing still in a tranquil state of confusion, the stature of in-depth conversations falling short... failing to intrigue the listner.
Words fall from their mouths, spill from their pores.
Scriptures of the ancient are chanted.
In the center of this monotheistic utopia, you are as average as the followers among you, resembling less than what you've been taught.
You've learned to catch each shingle that falls from the shelter above your head, and to clear each plate from the table of those who eat.

untitled.

Go ahead and fall before the next ship that comes along.
Snow flakes will fall, and you'll be gone.
It's a somewhat darker shade, a somewhat deeper blue.
So let's take a trip over to Antartica,
Oh sweet pea it's all for you.
We'll bring a telephone, and a tomb.
a lamp, and a rug.
It's all enough, worth a night full of open eyes, a kiss, and a hug.
Goodnight, sweet dreams.
Shoulder to shoulder, or so it seems.
Falling numbers till we see sleeping with silence isn't half bad.
They took all you had, a forgetful vision, a tranquil view of equality.
Our robot empires will know what to do.
How to clean this mess up and bring the pioneers who were flooded from this town back to us, back to you.

A gnome.

You live in an apple tree.
Candles lead you back to sleep.
Owl's wake you when dreams are unsafe, and sunshine drips upon your plastic face.
Sipping slowly at the shallow pond.
Passing glances back and forth to the others among.
Wander back to your sickly home
It sure is nice, being a gnome.

untitled.

Remind me please, I kindly plead.
Pure breath of fabricated, artificial, fictitious whispers.
Forged mystical beauty, simply a fradulent immitation of another.
Ambrosial memories linger past your deck at hand.
Volitale palindromes make me feel ill.
This is what you get, when you forget to thank oxygen.
Carry me in a carosuel, drip your sanguine fluids at my feet.
Your grey hair has grown so long since I've been gone.
I found your name across the chapel doors, what a riteous suffer for a fallen land.
All that's left is wax, and an apple core.
Your lovers angel kissed your palm, and sent you off to bed.
In a concrete store, at the end of the street is where you reside, screaming neon words.
Loud as the traffic in your fallen land. Have you been here before?
and your words washed ashore.
Seems like your playin' this game right.

untitled.

Let's trace te compass points, and defy the work of which we do not understand.
Run accross these stretching acres, and conquor this lone land.