9/11 10th Anniversary

I began thinking about writing my thoughts about this date about a month ago, and while I can't deny  procrastination made me wait till the last minute, I guess it was mostly due to the fact that I am still utterly conflicted with all the thoughts and possible truths which have been brewing and simmering for a decade now. The thought of voicing my thoughts, from the plush, leather couch at the local snobby Starbucks seemed awfully convenient, and not serving in our Armed Forces when I could have, sure adds a feeling of debt.
The truth; what is the truth? we all saw what happened, perhaps much more often than we should have. Were the towers imploded? why was Tower 7 "pulled"? how was it "pulled" in minutes? (prepping a building with demo charges takes time and planing) but then again, we don't really know for a fact what happened.
The truth is, there are still many questions left unanswered and the 9/11 Commission Report is inconclusive.
The truth is we launched a preemptive war and invaded a foreign country based on the strongest political momentum this country had seen in the past two decades, add a (misused) strong sense of patriotism, biased intelligence, a false case presented before the U.N. and a war declaration and war budget blindly approved by representatives from both parties in Congress; for this I blame the Democrats, whom should have served as the counterweight of power. Instead of doing their job and embarking on their own research, they danced along to the tune the Republicans played (that same scratched record keeps playing today).
The Iraqi insurgency was much more than a natural response to a foreign invasion, as it was aided by terrorist groups from other countries. It should have been expected and avoided.
Was it an inside job? if it was, then the Obama administration should have launched an independent probe into the matter.
If it wasn't? then we can all go back to watching Fox News and continue living happily, thinking that relocating the Great Wall of China to the southern border will keep us safe from terrorists. Wait, you know they all had Visas (yup, they all did, even the shoe bomber and the underwear bomber, heck, even a couple of them were sworn Citizens).
Either way, the Obama administration should have started an independent probe into the atrocious money mismanagement, and human rights violations of the Iraqi war. As well as multiple cases of conflict of interest between big oil, Halliburton, Blackwater and the Bush administration. Instead, he engaged in his own Vietnam in Egypt and Libya (you think I'm a pessimist? just give it a year) and his own money mismanagement blunder with the massive bailouts of both American and foreign banks (the largest shareholder of Citibank is a Saudi Prince) and we still have to deal with an ever growing Anti-American sentiment in the Middle East, a threat that should not be taken lightly.
Above all, we need to make sure our Vets (on tour or at home), our Firefighters (with dust in their lungs or fighting to keep their unions) and all our men and women in uniform receive the care and resources they require and fucking deserve.
Credit were it should be: Obama has supported drone strikes which have killed more terrorist militants than 8 years of the Bush administration, including Osama Bin Laden. The Obama administration has also deported more illegal immigrants than the Bush administration and has kept Gitmo and FISA going. Like it or not, we haven't had a terrorist attack since he was elected.
What does this date mean to me? I'm an American born overseas and I have always identified with America (this I owe to my Old Man). I attended American Schools, learned to speak English, understood and embraced its core values, and followed most of our ways, even while living overseas (I mean Christmas and other celebrations at home, don't think I tried imposing 4th of July on foreign countries). Yet, it is undeniable that there's a sense of pride for being part Mexican, and there is also a place in my heart for Brasil.
Ten years ago today, things began to change... I knew it was a violent act from the moment the first plane hit the North Tower, the hit on the South Tower confirmed my suspicion, and my heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach. I was working at the same building where I still work at, in Issaquah, and the sadness, the heartbreak, the disbelief set on our faces and our hearts. It was almost like a heavy blanket, like a punch in the stomach. Something had been torn and broken, something had been taken from all these people around me, something had been taken from me.
I stared at the towers, collapsing on the projector at a conference room, and thought of my dad growing up in La Jolla and the Glorietta Bay Beach in Coronado, same beach I used to go to as a child, same house, always free of worry. That sense of peace and security, had been shattered.
While living in Mexico and Brazil I was taught to always be aware of my surroundings, and of those around me, and stuff.. not in The States.. here I was safe, here I didn't have to worry about all that, till 9/11.
My ex-wife and I went to the International Fountain, at the Seattle Center on Sept. 12, 2001 for a flower vigil. There must have been over 30,000 people there, putting up a temporary wall of flowers, and cards, and balloons, and words and... we were all mourning. 
We walked around the fountain a few times, then all that sadness and sorrow forged into a lake of tears and flames and broken glass when the Seattle's Fire Department Pipe Band marched in, with their uniforms and bagpipes. Their faces were as still as solemnity, almost like statues, to the tune of a funeral march. That's when I saw everyone come together in a single voice of pain and strength, of brotherhood, of a deep sense of pride and belonging. It was by far one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and one of the most powerful things I've ever been a part of. It was then that I truly felt I belonged here, that I would gladly serve and defend this land with my life, it was then that I knew I'd never leave. I'm an American in every way, and I will never forget and I will never forgive, and I can tell you that if you're still pissed off at the people who did this, well, so am I... and everyday I meet more and more people who feel the same way.
We love America, as imperfect as it may be, but we love it, and we like it just the way it is.

Stars and stripes are now inked on my right arm, emblazoned forever, and rightly so.

Barefoot Siren

Another night awake
the stress and worry she'll never understand
The dead calm of the shallow rain
the tireless clock routine
a mute siren, drowning by the reef
My skin, ripping apart
under the sharp edge of your broken mirror
scarring a new tattoo with its jagged edges
painting her face in join the dots
of my blood spilled on the floor

The endless Mondays
and Tuesdays and Wednesdays
and Fridays and another fucking month gone by
Another evening at the coffee shop
vomiting in nostalgic bulimia
dragging my soul under traffic lights
with the heaviness of wet clothes

I miss driving to Leavenworth
just for the day
the cats (now dead)
show up every now and then
and I continue to swallow my words
trying to make them disappear

And it's elevators and stairs and songs and birds
as I keep looking for a grave
deep enough to bury my past
an ocean to drown this pain
it feels, I guess
like a lonely firefighter
crying in an empty church.

Sakura

I see your feet,
short and fat and white and on your wooden sandals
like two baby whales, on separate chopping boards
carrying you, as if floating
levitating on the long and green and swampy rice grass
standing like a statue in motion, drifting river down


Your face, so perfect and beautiful and white and pale
and perfectly oval, like a porcelain mask
like a static and motionless haiku on a sad expression
almost like a watermark
Your hair, barely covering your forehead
black bangs, like razor sharp brush strokes
and your eyes
marbles of onyx and pearl
perfectly tilted, wandering
telling the story of tears,
rolling down your cheeks like hydrogen bombs


I feel the cold frost on the water lilies
and I dare not say a word
I only witness the soft movement of your lotus flower lips
your perfectly bleached teeth
and behind a forest of exploding cherry blossoms
I see you disappear.

Pointe du Lac

You've come to me
to this theater of faces and masks
led by curiosity
by your inner devils perhaps
heaven sent by biblical mistake
a willing victim for my dungeon
sitting at the end of the bar...
Unless, of course
you came to hunt pretending to be prey
either way
you'll be mine before the sunlight kills the night.


I walk across the aisle
and down the hall
making clouds
while I put my horns and halos
in an old wooden chest


I've been waiting for you
like redemption
like a cigarette
like a drink of water.
Your full pink-grapefruit breasts
and your deadly curves
like a highway, like a cello
covered with that black dress
perfectly painted on you
as I pretend to be perfectly at ease
I retract my shoulders, sit back
and take another sip
that blood, is still warm
Your swollen peach lips
your feline almond eyes
glowing emeralds
on perfect high cheeks
My mind turns and turns
spiraling in lust chloroform
as I see a thousand stills of you
doing what I want
I play with my glasses and I look away
pretending distraction, carelessness
while observing your every move...
Now we're smiling and singing and loving and kissing
and melting and burning
like a fool chasing after whirlwinds
I try to grasp your breath with my hand on your throat
loving caress becomes grope
as I kneel you before the fireplace
on the cold hardwood floor
tie your ankles and wrists with a black silk rope
behind your back
letting you wonder
how far I'll go this time


The flogger bites your train of thought
you're losing control
and as your handcuffs tighten you begin to let go
you can see it reflected on the skylight
the pull of your hair
turns your face upwards to see the stars
tears and whispers and you can hear me speaking in a different tongue
as together we walk the wire
juggling between pleasure and pain
as your open thighs
(and everything within and around)
becomes my domain


We grasp for air
one in each other
you show me your strength
and we drive to madness
and beneath the starry sky
I surrender to your drunk and bitter venom
wake up and find myself hanging on the edge of the bed
with your name branded on me
making this blood thirsty vampire yours
embodying a tamed Bull.

100th anniversary of International Women’s Day

God is a woman
and so is war.
The most beautiful creature to ever walk this Earth
the most delicate sound,
a brook, a waterfall.

They nurture you,
and make you fall in love.
They inspire songs, poetry, art
and on rare occasion
when you least expect it,
almost as if by accident, walk by and break your heart.

Just look at them, playing by the sprinklers,
putting out a fire, ruling countries, flying out to space.
Caring for you when you're sick
expecting little in return.
You can kill a dragon for them,
or a mouse,
or even a tiny little spider,
they will praise it all.

Their words can illuminate the night
they are the ones who close the doors,
and turn out the light.

A hydroelectric dam is a woman,
and so is magnetism, electricity
gravity, pressure.

The fountain of life
is a woman,
and so is every single pleasure.

and so is the ocean
and the sea
and the blood on the sword
and the sword itself.

And the moon, and the cloud
crying each, and every tear,
raining from the thundering storm
shaking the skies, flooding it all, like a woman.

And so is the film, and the paper,
and the ink with which we write our lives,
and the spear, and the arrow, and the cross.
The virgin, and the prostitute are a woman
almost every single star, painting constellations in the sky,
women as the infinite sign is.

The strongest fortress is in the arms of a woman,
the warmest shelter.
Their eyes, the most delicate gem
and their heart an engine
driving this universe in every direction
every law of physics we choose to ignore,
every snowflake, every petal,
warmth for evermore.

Their lips are like fruit
some forbidden, some sweet, some bitter
Their breasts can be colossal cathedrals
full sails, chapels, or pitiless camping tents.
Either way, they feed us
and they feed the World
in endless Niles of milk.

Their thighs are monuments of monuments
pink marble wonders
curves that make my mind spiral,
sensuality that makes my hands sweat.
and yet... we sell them and we buy them,
and we force them into marriage
and we hurt them, and we beat them. and we rape them.
And we use them, and we denigrate them,
and we cheat and lie to them.
And we enslave them, and we deny them the most basic birthrights,
...and stupidly think we can get away with it,
and they say nothing.
They endure the pain, as if it were their cross to bear,
until you can't see them..
That's when they'll cry their wounds in silence,
putting them away, in a little cabinet
all neatly folded, in chronological order.
...But make no mistake about it,
in the morning they will sharpen your shame
and forge it into arrows
cause we forget that love is a woman
and so is a shotgun
and so is History, and if you truly know a woman
then you know their memory is flawless.
So don't forget, they are so much more than what you see
for a woman can be a lover to some
and a mother to others
for a woman is both a flower,
and a hydrogen bomb.

Tsunami Sayonara

I heard the wind rushing in last night
it was cold and dark
it seemed as if the blackout was beyond the market square
so solemnly quiet.
I thought none of the neighbors were home
I couldn't see candles or flashlights there,
I forgot their houses were gone.

It's all so strange and eerie
there's a boat on top of city hall
and no one is answering their phone
there's no one here but me,
and the sudden helicopters which come and go.

First I felt the earthquake
it rattled my bones and my faith
then it brought me to my knees
then the water came rushing in.
I saw the waves crashing through the streets,
dragging cars and boats and barges to the other end of town
dogs and cats and people,
in the biggest human blender I've ever seen before.
I'm so glad I stayed home that day
to think I used to complain about living on the 3rd floor
haven't stopped crying since then
(I know it isn't helping)
but by now most of the water is gone anyway.

There's flotsam and jetsam everywhere
boards and wood and cars and ships and bodies
a dishwasher, debris, a couple of toilets and a kitchen sink
all piled up and torn to pieces
it's like a morgue and a town hit by a tornado
all in a cesspool, roughly the size of hell
Neighbors, friends and fathers
daughters, sons and mothers
priests and prostitutes
whores and politicians
thieves and lawyers
young and old
gays and lesbians
foreigners and journalists
mates and captains
and many fishermen
unrecognizable and dead.

But I survived
I have 3 bottles of water
and a little bit of rice
flashlight, batteries, a radio
and a chocolate bar
I heard a man in the helicopter
shouting on a megaphone
it seems a reactor is exposed
and I must stay inside
and so it's plastic bags
scissors and duct tape
I cry for the one I love
in an ocean of dead widows
please excuse me
I must seal my house
and this is the last window...

In Store

Floating
making bubbles underwater
with my mouth, playfully
with my nose underwater
and my eyes above the surface
I think I'm a submarine, full of weight
a fat whale, a stealth shark
a secret spy
floating in the water buoy
just staring
and breathing.
It's just like being on her thighs
gliding on the sheets
crawling at the speed of nibbles
left and right
hiding between her legs
breathing on the thin cotton undergarment
which, still covers her warmth, undeniably
and there I find myself
making bubbles underwater
drowning whatever sanity remained

My hands, buried deep in the sand
go discovering
or digging my grave
and my thoughts piled up high
like a club sandwich of lust
and desire and everything wrong
slowly and patiently
reason decays
time to turn the TV off
time for another drink
and I climb through the hole in the wall
crawling and sensing and defying all rules of gravity
separating and classifying everything I see
everything about you
and in record player motion
I fall to my death
in the boysenberry devotion
and the bitter lemon obsession I have for you

"Jolly roger in a pickup
Has a packet on the horses
He's a docker with a bucket -
Just the ticket in a thicket" - Brian Eno

The Crown Jewels - Tapestry by Carole King

My left sock turned into a gag, a pillowcase on my head and I'm locked in the closet... who could have been capable of doing this to an almost white American? Is it Abdullah the terrorist? 
No, just my sister trying to keep me away from the turntable, I really can't blame her, now that my earwax has matured I wouldn't stand listening to Kiss's Dressed to Kill over and over again. 
This is what she played... and I think Tapestry is an incredible album. 

Kites

I'm desperate
I wake up shivering
clinching my jaws
with fists ever so tight
ripping those 400 count sheets
and I breathe
I hyperventilate
as I bury my head in the pillows
slowly turning into one big disgusting pig
in fetal position
crying myself to sleep
thinking of using my pen as a chisel
and engrave a heart on your door 
or a can opener and switchblade
to pry you out of my heart
like a tumor
like a foreign terrorist
like a drug
like a kite on the sky

Welcome to The Red Warehouse

What was that light? tiny winged fairy, somehow jumped out of my dream to hover around the living room and up the chimney.. I followed her, well, the sparks and the tiny glowing spheres and the magic dust which surround her and follow in her path like a psychedelic entourage... and into the chimney I went.. but now she's gone, she disappeared.. well, she did when I lit my flashlight.
The beam was blinding at first, in this total darkness.. the creosote dust fell like the curtain of a closing act, settling on my hair, reminding me of the soft mist in a Queen Anne Autumn. A picture began to develop, a story of old... there are marks on the bricks, on their orange and charcoal backs, scratched, maybe with nails, leaving glowing orange Niles on this tomb, this fire chamber, the sacrificial hole, now exposed before my eyes.. Like a Goya, like Saturn devouring his children. Someone was burnt alive in this chimney, I could see the walls suddenly covered in blood, the vision of bodies, twisting and burning exploded in my head, as my hands scan every single inch of this grave, this chamber of death, this coffin of ashes and charcoal death.
I'm all curled up and my shoes were getting in the way. I remember when I bought them, about a month ago. Bostonians, as always, they have a "high ranking" mafioso luster to them, and they withstand time pretty well. I managed to take them off, I needed to feel the cold embers on my feet, the remains of this crime scene.. crime scene.. this is nothing of the sort. This is a bullring, an orgy of body parts, a slaughter, an oven. 
The horror became a lump on my throat, so I stopped and prayed for the little pair of hand prints, roughly 10 inches from the bottom.. little finger traces in the downward motion of the tears of melting candles.

Suddenly a glimpse of light, right at the top.. almost like the end of the tunnel, except this one is vertical. One solid brick and mortar cell... I still can't breathe, in my hurried search for air I began to climb. I slept and fell a few times until I gathered enough resin on my hands and feet (sticky, with a burnt diesel smell) ... and with broken bleeding nails I made my way up, only to discover even clearer marks.. this fire, never put out by the tears of the surrogate mothers of the aborted children buried here, cremated and engraved, plastered on the walls as pain on a wrinkled letter, like words of sorrow in a howl and a deafening scream.
-I'm not alone? I thought, as I heard the door on the living room opening, I then saw the light under my feet. I heard footsteps walking across the creaky wooden floor. Heavy, as if carrying weight. I called out for help, but he doesn't respond to my call, I assumed he couldn't hear me.
I didn't want to climb down, as I had almost reached the top. I could breathe better now, and the light at the top was so bright it was partially blinding. I couldn't quit now.. I needed to know if someone had made it out alive. That's when I felt the logs being laid underneath me, and I suddenly smelled the gasoline, as it was being poured on them.
Fire was set ablaze and I knew I could make my way out before the flames grew bigge... Then I looked and there was the fairy again... looking down at me..before closing my escape with the chimney cap.. Thud! like a knockout punch on my eye, like the shower handle breaking while masturbating violently and falling in the tub, like a thorn hammered in my hand, like the first nail on a coffin, like a body falling from the 10th floor, like the chimney cap on this hellhole where I've been burnt alive... 
I hope you'll tell my story, now that you've found the bloody brook and the map of a life forgotten in the walls of this red warehouse... the horns? they appeared after the third day, but I've gotten used to them by now. 
What size of shoes do you wear anyway? those are some fine leather boots you're wearing...

Night School

My heart bleeds
drowning on my deathbed 
and in your smile.
My blurry night, just a cloudy day
your tears, my sweat, and the fucking shrapnel of it all
spread across the living room
across the bedroom floor
like a crime scene
like a Jackson Pollock whisky hangover.
Until I recognize the bloody fingerprints on the piano
and I remember your tears
falling, like little stars on my shoes
bouncing off the floor
and your eyes, the only light in my universe,
the dying sun of your love.
I fall on my knees
and scream as I desperately drown and mourn my darkness
my poisoned well emptiness
and here I am again, begging at the door for forgiveness
and my eyes, hungry like stomachs
go searching for you
for reasons, for excuses
like the rescuing flashlights
only to hear you through the door, sobbing me away
and through the keyhole I see
your uniform
your chalkboard broken nails
the torn bra, which once was white
hanging in swinging suicide
from the shower curtain rod
your ripped plaid skirt
the dirty patent leather shoes
with their manhole broken heels
your swollen feverish cheeks
and your Fahrenheit blistered lips
hiding in the bathroom, half naked
siting on the cold and dirty tiles
bleeding your thighs again
with your favorite pocket knife.

Intermezzo

I spent most of this week throwing up, which is kind of unusual, since I'm used to eating all sorts of random shit as a daily diet.. mostly dispensed by vending machines or by drive thru employees (seeing their world from that little window)... having a cube is indeed a luxury... I just wish people understood that wearing headphones is a universal synonym of "I don't care to talk to you". Did you know I collect headphones? One of the items I'm giving myself for xmas is a new pair of cans, Shure SH440, I'll write a review on cnet once they get here.
Anyway, back to my puckings... Lauren has left on a cruise, Tobs is going to costa rica and the girl is also going on a cruise.. and my ex-wife unfriended me from FB... I can't really blame her but I sincerely miss having her friendship and we did have some amazing years for which I'm extremely thankful.. I have to respect her space and it is hard letting go of someone special.
Talking about special.. I'm glad to have this public space and I'm also very glad to have so many fans.. the newest one is from the 1950's.. it's Nazi ass grey and all covered in scrapes, a vintage Vornado which I picked up at some basement store in Fremont... that and upgrading this old P4 to Win 7 has kept me entertained, but don't think I've stopped writing those sexually charged short verses you like.. and Santa's elves are currently working on something very special to wave this year goodbye with a bang.

Nautical Chart

It isn't obsession

if there isn't some kind of perversion

almost forbidden

behind the mad desire of it all
There has to be a rhythm
to the mathematic swing of your hips
to our bodies, clashing like waves

I'm so glad I went to church

they taught me sex was something dirty

bad, almost evil

a completely punishable sin

which I've always loved to confess

It isn't wild

if the lust isn't animal

it has to be there

wild and rare

yet discretely hidden

Your fatty thighs

so strong and alive

my hands, exploring mischievously

trembling while hidden under your skirt

My mind becomes a locomotive

my breath a sinking ship

my lungs begin to fuel and fill up

while my body becomes a machine.

... and I see you, standing there

with a bullfighter's red cape

and twisted she-devil horns 

Ivory monument in black thigh highs

plump next-door Helénē

with perfect grapefruit breasts

salt water skin and apricot lips 

your shoulders, punished by the sun
your hair, chestnut curls and almond waterfalls 

with the casual sunbeam highlights, here and there

sometimes I drown in awe
and I wonder...
how can you be so beautiful
and giggle in porcelain vase innocence
only to torture me
slave, trapped between your schoolgirl smile
and your sadist nails

Like a fountain of blood

like a prison of gold

a beehive covered in tangled red and blonde hairs

like a jewel and it's tiny white cotton pillow
where my dreams collide
in sudden death
where all avenues converge

in a train of thought heading full steam ahead

accidentally derailed, since the second drink

and I measure the circumference of your legs

and the fire in your eyes

and my thoughts unravel in your arms

lost, adrift and completely stupefied

I inhale the chloroform of your hormone spiked perfume
almost too dizzy to regain control

and I think to myself

this life wouldn't be worth fighting for
without a woman to tame

Godless

I see my reflection
naked as a vegetable
amongst silver brush strokes
on the liquid tension of the water
on a forgotten pond
somewhere under the winter moon

Again, practicing the mastered art
of letting go
watching as my story unfolds before my eyes
how my magical hands aren't so magical anymore
how starting over (remember? it used to be so commonplace)
has now become an insurmountable task

How every step keeps getting heavier and heavier
and my eyelids plead for rest
how my heart feels heavy with you in it
and my stomach empty without
and my clumsy feet step on a rainbow of dead butterflies
on my way out the door
undoing the shoelaces of what we were
wishing I could dig my hands in my chest
to extract you, like a rotten fruit
like a ticking bomb
or a little hell
somewhere in my ribcage
between my heart and my lungs
somewhere in my mind
in hurtful razor sharp memories
bleeding teary eyes in regret

Then I reach the moonlit pond
and I let my body wash under the silverlight
and I let my dick hang freely, like a vegetable
that's when I'm a child again
in pure innocence, and bliss

But then ...I remember
and I'm not that kid anymore
and I'm much too tired to start over
and I see my reflection
how I've grown old
the photo story of what I left behind, flashing by

and so I throw my belt over the branch where I engraved your name

and I let my corpse swing freely

on that forgotten oak, somewhere
under the winter moon
and in my stupid, idiotic heart
hoping you'll approve

Mothership

I can't ignore the warning signs
going off like a car alarm
at 2 am
like a railroad crossing
like a foghorn
like a dog bite
like a lighthouse on fire

I'm the drum boy staring in disbelief
at the angels blowing in their trumpets
at the wave, receding from the sand
about to come back in crushing tsunami

I can feel the ripples on the pond
the storm about to hit
in a sudden implosion of pain
like a sword, stabbing in a deadly blow
cutting me in half
separating a life with
and a life without
like towers collapsing
like castles, burnt to ashes
and if this strange engine feeds on pain
I'll have despair to write for years

The feared phone call
delivering a message, so unreal and deafening
like snow storm and Beethoven
hedge shears ripping my umbilical cord apart
stripping my childhood away
guillotine sudden
during the botched abortion of this midlife crisis.

Picassos, a white cotton dress with bright pink bougainvillea
post cards and a family album covered in blood
more pain than I could ever bear
my body, suspended in mid air
hanging from the fishing hooks of regret
chocking in the poison of all that was said
and all that wasn't

It will take more than a fifth to calm me down
more than a straight jacket to keep me warm
more than your shoulder and your handkerchief
more than an ocean of tears

It will take more than the pull of a locomotive
whistling goodbye
more than the continents we set sail for
many years ago

but I'll keep winding this clock
cause she raised a devil
with the heart of a bull
and two big horns

that's how I imagine it to be
whenever she leaves
but stay clear of my way
cause I know it will be
far, far worse.

Hard Times

Sometimes I miss you
and it feels like hail
crushed under people's hurried steps
cold and wet and I'm just glad I'm not barefoot anymore

Sometimes everything I said, moves
hiding in the light
making a grim silhouette
sometimes it looks like a door
sometimes a coffin
Like a headphone injection
the words and the voices and the songs
all inside my head
ignoring every painkiller
every letter
every self inflicted scar

and the years
fall one on top of each other
like monuments
like concrete
covering it all
until I see your face in somebody else
in the modern art gallery of everyday people
and suddenly I feel incredibly small
and I freeze
as they walk and I lay crushed
under your hurried steps

Umbrella

The rain curtain has finally fallen on this town

the wet, black and slippery pavement shines and sparkles

sudden reflections of the tax payer public lights

and every now and then, on almost every corner

sudden greens and reds, gifted by the traffic lights

hanging, swinging, dripping

Downtown buildings tower in their opulence

their history, peeking over clouds

dirt and oil wash down to the waterfront

the different characters gather at the coffee shop

along with a gumbo of diversity.

That's when time stops

clocks begin to stutter

and memory rivers flow

the pain taxi has arrived

dressed in fair vomit yellow

with a man with a turban inside

ready to take any unsuspecting suspect

wherever they may go

Me? I'm already there, again

walking down Regret Drive

corner with Anger Boulevard

and in this rain I wonder

if I could have done different

if I should have

if I failed

or if I've simply forgotten the way back

if I am who I think I am

or if I'm tired from trying to fit into this mold

into this worthless, empty, sad, trained mannequin

you wanted me to be

The Morrigan

There's a cloud floating around these places all the time
like a ghost, with intellectual aspirations
a coffee whore
wanting to be left alone

I rest my day in the coat hanger
and plop my mortal remains on the old, fluffy couch
and people watch

wondering what's hidden in the furnace

behind the brick wall

and so my thoughts wander through the sprinkler pipes

exposed, in the open

in a statement of safety

while my hand spyders all along the armrest

as if it were one big, fat thigh

Staring at life, running out

flowing unstoppable

until the banshee shows up

Free

I want to light up a cigarette
not out of desperation
or addiction
not for the habit
like customary sex
or affliction
it's just that.. right now I want a fucking smoke

I lied
I want more
I need more
I want to kick the door wide open
and get the fuck out

sit on a bench downtown
take pictures or not
take a nap or just plant myself there
like the city rodent I've always been
sit at the Chinese cafe
take the train and make a video
pretend I live in miserable existentialism
like you
pretend I like you
and make you believe
that our stained glass window
will last forever
it won't look the same
not after the desperation wins me over
for a sudden irresponsible self-prescription
of some anti-monotony remedies
while I keep putting the writer on a schedule
and his poems in a jail

I wont light up a cigarette

or freak out in desperation

my addiction

was more than a habit

not as good as sex 

or affliction 

it's just that I used to fucking smoke

Cemetery Gates

It all began when I quit smoking
I knew that was butchering my alter-ego
literally
When I became more health conscious
and started pussyfooting about everything I eat
started tracking changes in my high blood pressure
like an impotent man stalks his wife
reading the sodium count on the labels behind the Campbell's
as if they were women, bending over before me
awaiting patiently for me to decide which one to fuck first
always ready, with a can opener, to eat yet one more flavorless meal
until the writer finally collapsed
drowned in the fake shopping mall air
overwhelmed by the constant time demands of a steady relationship
that's it
maybe it was when I stopped having drama filled narcotic romances
it was insane, but it was fun
it was killing me, but it gave me something to write about
after all, we all know we're going to get a few thorns on our hands
that's the price for the forbidden fruit
the apple Adam ate; he'd never regret

But now life is different
I'm loved and fulfilled and complete
and there's an equilibrium, a tranquility
an expected routine and confidence between mates
like the monotonic hanging plant that grows like moss
right here, inside of the cemetery gates