something right

eyes almost touch

the paper burns

the skin when touched

moved to another emotion

rising to be heard

sometimes you have to yell

and no one will hear anyhow

much will be lost

with no direction

spinning until dizziness

becomes a balancing point

in any direction

written to document

real history not merely his story

around the clock a couple times

not waiting why would anyone

distant word or two come crashing

with no real destination

severe concentration

burning down deep inside

a wounded beast it appears

pushing them all away from the fire

the barren field of thought rising

lost before they manifest

whatever point was intended to be

witnesses kept silent

and far from the site

damaged over time

and changes have been made

the memory will return

haunting a mind that plays

a game in order to survive

someone must be hanging on a word

too many thoughts

nothing waits for no one

might be a storm filling the air

with severe confusion

impending doom

no one is safe under the blanket

called reality nonsense pitching

tents for the troops

arriving before sun rise

fight if you like but it will do no good

everyone is doomed

inferno sky flashing

signals to those

aware of the constant change

the sound drowns

all the water floods the streets

rivers pushing the oceans

take on more than they can handle

just out of reach

fall beneath all the walls

as they crumble

originally thinking

to fail on purpose

just to show something

can be done correctly…

always his loss

its always his loss

no matter what one might say

what do they know
he is the one with the gut
wrenching pain doubled over
a book filling fast
no time to waste
no where to go
anyway what time is it now
who is this unidentified
character even he wonders
at this point
no one loses in this race
they control their thoughts
keeping them light
and on the surface
he is a scratch which penetrates
deep deeper still no use
in looking for anyone
at this depth no one else
will let themselves
sink so low…

fuel the fire

who is ready

for words

an extension of who he is

and if this

is any indication

he alone will sit

and enjoy all these words

thoughts had

and laid out

no one has any response

can’t make the words get read

or heard or seen

failing to reach one

never mind the world

flush the plans

they are burning

here’s another

to fuel the fire…

thinking as instructed

wonder what the message will

be when I get to the house

will there be one at all

the traffic must be awful

middle of the day and week

thinking tentatively as instructed

don’t expect plans to follow

don’t even care that much

sitting across from the great

mr. m.t. chair another scholar

another thinker

but no one joins here

in this space I occupy

not trying to reach anyone

just searching for something

that makes sense…

does it exist

almost time to fall

thinking destruction

only way to correct

mistakes made over time

trusting expecting

someone to hold strong

to their word

actually show up

or call leave a message

instead this nothing rises

like dust in the wind

floating around

blurring vision

already clouded

with tear filled eyes

almost time

to watch the towel thrown

the tenth reached in the count

he still doesn’t move

and goes without a sound

or a word but letters stacked in piles

everywhere will anyone read them

seriously wondering who cares

running in circles

around some thought

some problem

if no one can identify

does it even exist…

make room

very few clouds

to fight the blue

today attacking

like horsemen

rolling with wind

at the sails

sky rocket trails

and can’t understand that either

overhead birds don’t worry about

tomorrow or the next day

marching like new years day

just another day

Saturday cold and alone

with too much useless thought

through the windows

searching for a smile

help warm this spot

the one momentarily chose

many more to come

two and three zeros rolls right

into view as if it really wouldn’t

who hasn’t been expecting

another day to come

just make room…

who cares

need an answer instead

of all the repetitive questions

the ones that have no answers

anyway who cares

by now it is all pointless

the survivors parade around

without a care in the world

while those defeated

try to stand try to forget the pain

try to be strong

what good does it do

who cares

no one even looks the same

the day after

nightly rituals included

excluded like the one

with the red nose…

has been

waking from dreams afraid

of each day as it might hurt worse

bracing for the worst

with each movement every task

patiently prodding along

until everything is in order

for a thought to arise

it must wake the soul

from a sleep too deep

for full recovery

waking a demon haunting

with every breath

taken into beaten lungs

beneath a thin frame

could be easily crushed

and has been

more than once

and now he is back to

the has been

that he has always been…

one chance

no time to rehearse

one shot

every time

how many failures

might equal a victory

how many victories

before understanding

might take place

as minimal as it is

not ever asking for much more

no more

only one chance

to attain all the good shit

they say those

are the things that matter most…

ugly in the corner

a sudden chill fills the room

where he sits facing the wall

no one there

the sounds tear at his ear drums

phantoms around and the wind whispers

at the stained windows

not much happening on the inside

the quiet finds his mind

can’t even vocalize his thought

wishing it would evaporate

pointless now as it always has been

standing ugly in the corner

swearing again that any heart ache

is impossible must be phantom pains

had that heart removed

probably kicking around

somewhere on the floor

ugly in the corner collecting dust

next to a broken mirror

with five years left…

scribble, scribble

bare trees
skeletons of summer
where has the warmth gone
change is understandable but why
did it have to change for the worse
saddened trees
bending and breaking in the cold wind
almost to that point
slower each day to rise with the sun
still scorching
the other side of the planet right now

a voice unheard
and eyes that don’t touch anymore
eyes that merely observe from afar
longing for the last few words before sleep
taking it’s strong hold
a silhouette still staining every room
the elevated living space once shared
now deserted
no one to share all of the moments
silence and noise
four legged companion cannot replace the loss

the words that lie unread
unheard unseen
eyes once running the pages nightly
hard covers never move
unless under the pen
the sword digging the flesh of the mind
spurting one after another onto
blank spots created for this alone
this alone tearing at the mind
until it spins sideways
until it tires under stones
heavy at times
the rain is constant and it burns the skin

warping warped thought
unrecognizable now
seemingly pointless
finally told to get going
with all of this scribble scribble...

white van

every white van is watched
wishing the thought
would go away just
as fast as the white van
screams by not the one
knowing I could right the wrongs
dream that will not die
though it must
the white van crashes every thought
won’t leave the mind alone…

un-rested by morning

so close when visited
for lunch warm smile
cold outside
afternoon and no more
than ten minutes
as if that might be enough
to last for the remainder
of the day
sun will set soon
and wishing to paint that
sunset sky each night
breath taken for ten minutes time
trying to catch the last
corner of round light
and not let a thought get passed
asleep with random dreams
un-rested by morning…

half as bright

the days start to blend together
and then the hermit wakes
turning over stones
until the pile covers his eyes
twitching with the cold looking down
about twelve feet doesn’t remember
what day it is no
then whenever still looking down
with some sort of prayer
all the sounds make him lonely
he wants to talk to someone else
no use speaking of it when no one
else is here to hear no one
ever knows what to say
could it have ever been there
if it was gone in a flash and
then back only half as bright…

constant reminder

a pair of eyes
no one will look closer
noticing he might not be there
sadness can build thick walls
and the heart can choke on itself
he becomes the clouds
passing fast in front of the sun
the light will reflect in his eyes
again will anyone look closer
days get longer and chances increase
for more sun exposure
but the cold air could keep him back
attached to that warmth he misses
all the other necessary things are there
is no difference aside from the obviously
obstructed affection he is afflicted with
having toward that bright spot he found
no longer shining this way he needs to find
another way to enjoy the things he felt he shared
and it will be only a memory in years
just have to find that thicker skin
and it will insulate against the cold all around
meditating profusely on what he may never know
sadly clouds still hang in the way at the moment
anticipating the absorbing he will need to catch up…

the other way around

hands numb as the pen falls
no one to pick it up for him
finally stands but is unable to move
no one is around just longing
for a kick or something
wake up from a year long sleep
starting to unravel and realizing
he might only be the beginning
creeping slowly through each day
a lonely march dark nights
hiding a darkened mind
hardened to a solid
the sympathetic words and gestures
are not quite believable
eyes frozen shut with tears
will he be able to break the ice
that hardens and keeps lids shut
warming by a fire finally
the idea to move mad him find
warmth how was he helped
something someone he cannot see
strange as sirens blare through the silence
he had found near fire and warmth
suddenly he reaches a boil and the eyes
liquefy and spill again on to the bearded face
he thinks of his brother and tired feet
and other friends that may have grown out of him
or was it the other way around…

he didn't say it

then it all came charging

him with a crime he didn’t commit

to anything

would be better

than this emptiness

comes up from under him

the ground

from where he began

to see things clearer when he was left alone

he came to some conclusions about life

is a crock of shit

and he didn’t say it

Kigore Trout said it

may never make sense

maybe he thinks too much

thought can lead to solitary confinement

to mention the insanity that may rise

with the sun in a cell

or locked in the mind alone

will try to fool the lonely man…

in the corner

none of this

holiday shit is important

he was alone

on the eve

and of course

it was by choice

they all say

no one would ever

exclude him

who does he think he is

anyway

says there is no care left

yet gifts with meaning

brought and given

what does it mean

he sits

confused in the corner

of his mind…

cold hands

the hands are cold

and he is inside

trying to put thoughts

together about those

he has leaned on too hard

won’t look into eyes

couldn’t have meant much

looking back

important things

take center stage now

insensitivity to a situation

like a broken fuckin record

where are the good memories

guess not much of a friendship

when it comes right down to it

hands still cold moving

across the paper…

stepping on his own toes

again stepping 
on his own toes
trying to stay 
out of everyone's way
trying to keep to himself
trying not to hurt 
those close enough
not many are
he finds himself 
in an empty room
bare aside from his presence 
and a candle burning
dim light creating 
some strange shadow
dancing down 
from the ceiling to the floor
floating and hanging 
somewhere 
he can't reach...

someone has to know

sneezing through
forty dollars
in colored chips
blue cards fours sitting in a circle
another arrives
bottles tipped
mind still on summer dreams
ship captain head spins
with laughter still can’t shake
the fever as cool air blows
across a round table
almost uncontrollable
urge to ask a question
someone has to know...

years away

standing strong
alone in the cold wind
reaching out for ideas
maybe some that make sense
train broke down
no station for miles
passengers wait patiently
but cold and far from home
strangers become support
and hope is not lost
panic could get loose
and spread like wild fire
someone sees through the fog
rolling in like a die cast
wishing up a big break
most likely years away…

the problem is

his problem is that he trusts
his feelings and doubt
was once invisible
but should be the one
ingredient that never leaves
turning all the appropriate
colors and then falling to the ground
and blowing away
these false hopes he keeps
are gone now but recent enough
that they return from time to time
they return with renewed force
ready to topple the new
goals he sets for himself...

final chapter

he doesn’t realize
what he wishes for
and what may in fact
come from these thoughts
quite the scare last night
when lights went out and
dream state entered
sitting under very low light
finally realizing how lonely
he has become
four phones stare blankly
and he has no one to call
no one wants to hear
this story and those
that do want to hear it
run at the final chapter…

hit each other

one on the phone
one too drunk
to know what just
happened
one lying on the ground
too drunk to stand
two cars mangled
at least they hit each other

trying to see through
the fog
don’t know when it arrived
don’t remember when I left...

left for dead

they all take turns as he reels
pain almost falling to one side
they make sure he stays standing
the blade turns with each blow
strange though
he cannot remember
wronging anyone to deserve
this ongoing punishment
at one point the faces
were recognizable
his eyes have since closed
probably passing out
as they leave him for dead…

still dreaming

asking himself day after day
if he is satisfied
day after day distracting
himself long enough to forget
the question day after day
the question remains
unanswered
how do they know when to stop
when they have wasted too much time
in one spot seemingly unmovable
so many have come and gone
how many really know for sure
it’s time to leave and they
might be better off
at least better than where
he has been day after day
waking violently at five am
wondering what has happened
to the one who was here
or was it all a dream
is he still dreaming now…

my friends are mad

the strangest things
happen when I stand
there long enough
the head starts to spin
and the mind gets lost
in the mints
only a few might
appreciate a moment
like this
flash of a log cabin
and a woman standing
tending to an unlit fire
wandering back to the table
a changed man
no one noticed
no one hears
all of my closest friends are mad…

the tower falls

the thought is still there
stuck in the mind behind
the eyes causing a bit of a pain
something that cannot be erased
etched in as if onto a stone
only the sea can smooth
the stone the mind becomes
that stone that the sea might
never reach far from
the high water mark
receding a bit too low
can’t taste the cool yet
almost drowning in a dream
a thought living it long enough
to know the reality waves
as they crash and the tower falls…

think for him

thinking he might not
make it out this time
sirens tear through the silence
seeing him stare from across
the large room
into some sort of space
unseen by the rest
no one quite knows
what to make of his stare
thinking too much tonight
won’t make any more sense
than it did last night
his right hand is twitching
and he is looking left
looking right and won’t stop
if he wasn’t in public
no one would be looking
suddenly he stops moving
takes a deep breath
and then back to his twitching…

rumble like thunder

caught in a web of madness
contemplating over dinner time
fending off sadness
wandering further than ever before
there is always an option
staring back at the door
smoke with more smoke
standing near a wishing well
wonder if the wishes heard
somewhat hard to tell
where do eyes look
how far must they go
can’t see the other side
who do they say must know
nothing to lose
crushing the stone
rolling right through
if they have to go it alone
then all at once
the tower falls from under
sound heard for miles
rumble like thunder…

into the corner

desire covers eyes
blurring sight
mind thinking to act
then staring that feeling
back down into the corner
from where it apparently came
lonely ropes swing
low song sung
words barely audible
hardly worth the time to hear
sinking deeper into the chair
birds aren’t singing today
the air is silent night
holy soul jelly roll
through speaker hearing
a poet speak getting discouraged
distracted on his way to the peak
white pages and random words staring
into thoughts passed presenting
a future with a sweeping motion
making all the wrong moves
at the moment and ended up
alone no idea what to think...

resting spot

approaching the intersection
like every other day
yellow then red
stop tonight lights
screaming action somewhere
he’s hit
police car hit him
at a strange angle
airbag upper body blow
thrown into the backseat
belt still attached
smoke rises
a shell of a car
and his limp body pretzel
blood lost and he is only
seeing white
then green light proceed
to his final resting spot…

choking alone

spinning in a sea
of confrontation
he stands facing
the glass hours pass
in solitude sometimes
unbearable how are the thoughts
kept straight and the lines
carefully drawn
spinning somewhere else
piercing into and out of
his own mind space cornered
figuring out too much too fast
swallowing a piece too big
to handle might choke
tonight alone…

safety of the tower

retreating to the safety
of the tower
may in fact be
own worst enemy
rejected as if he is
the epitome of everything
bad when in reality
clinging to any and every
thing that could be positive…

WTO protest in Seattle

watching the news
Seattle under siege
people protesting
is freedom under siege
what else can the people do
angered at the corporation
the country has become
and the news only shows
the violence who was it
pushing the seemingly peaceful
protesting man
at whom should the anger
be directed if not in the streets
instead protesters met with
rubber bullets and tear gas
this is still America
land of the what?
freedom of what?...