Glimmer

There's a glimmer out on the Bay

A golden light nearly lost in the haze

I come out here to recall my day,

to recall the present as it is happening

Feline Professors

A cat will teach you forgiveness.

Pair or More

Two is a pair

A couple is two

Any more than that

Call it a few

Cerulean Dream / The Name of a Poet

I was her passenger

on a dark blue freeway.

"I want your last name."

"Really? ...but, why?"

"Because it sounds better. It's cool.

It would just look good on my work."

"On you're writing, you mean?"

"Yea! I could carry on the name.

Whenever I publish something

your name will be there, too.

You know?"

I was baffled by her proposal, but

more so of her ambiguous enthusiasm,

the seriousness of her tone,

the earnest of desire.

As she steered the old Corolla

around muted blue bends,

a dusty sky churned behind

ashy blue mountains.

I glanced over at her.

She had that subtle smirk of hers,

a purple tank top,

her skin softly aglow.

All around was a cerulean shade

save for the flicker

of indicative red lights

"I guess I just don't understand.

You only want my name?"

Pressing on the pedal

she bent her smile

and quietly 

burned down the Caldecott 

Tell me, what harbored soul

is able is rise from the depths

of fear, uncertainty, and insecurity

just as the Sun rises everyday

with grace and ardor?

Who then has the capacity

to undo all the tars and cancers

writhing and twisting within?

Who can unwind the vines

of the lessons that taught

self torment, quiet suffering,

endless stress, and solemness?

Does one ever reach the final end

to any one and to all questions?

#respect

It's true, my sensitivities get the better of me

I get twisted like a damp rag and everything

stagnant rushes out and whirlpools round

before being flushed away, down the drain

So, sorry for the shitty attitude, but something

about coffee runs after nine o-clock

offsets my trust module and I begin to

question everything over and over, again and again

And pardon me for being confrontational

It's just that I did take it personal

when our collaborations went missing, but
not before you twice forgot to mention my name

Fossils

She's still a mystery

  And on those rare occurrences

when fate guides our crossing paths

I fall silent in her eyes

and a thousand winds wrestle my spine

perhaps it is the peak of mountainous love

piercing upwards through the fog

or simply a strong nervous laugh

who got lost along the way

I admire her bravery

In living life and in love

images of her kiss

are imprinted in my thoughts

much like fossils

of our prehistoric love

On Becoming A Man

I have a need to be a man.

A tacit yearning to conquer the self

I have a need to be clean

in my body, in my spirit, in my mind.

I have a need to love the way I want to be loved

so that I wont feel alone

and that I may become whole

through the vitality of love.

Through a series of enlightenment

I now see much more clearly
that every strength, every weakness observed

is an observation on me. 

Every critical remark or thought

aimed in any one direction

reflects back directly on me. 

So I ask for forgiveness 

I ask for permission
that I may always be in motion

always moving towards brighter days

alive with brighter thoughts 

and emboldened with broader
considerations.

Awkward Kids In Love

It's always awkward when I go over there.

"Why am I even here?" I often ask.

"For the beer." My glass responds

"And the weed!" says the bubbler.

A hot white cloud of "Ah..." escapes me.

Sure, sometimes there's a cute girl or two.

Often a good conversation about a cartoon

character or super hero or musical film.

I can usually count on one pretentious

friend who will succeed at draining any

and all enthusiasm from the activities of

the night. He's usually easy to point out.

Deep voice, white-man confidence, angular

face, and an impressive brain capacity.

"I drink Jim Beam Whiskey exclusively."

He says. "Oh give me a break..." rolls my eyes.

It was uncomfortable enough with Johnny's

fragility and suspicions  running all over the place.

But now he's moved to L.A. and the house is

too quiet without his boisterous air to fill the corners.

Still, his props and action figures echo about the shelf space.

This house host heartbreak. First Patrick and Madison

and their inevitable split, with Pats questionable lingering

eccentricity and Mads viking-woman-esque appeal. 

Madison, apparently was too mean for Patricks

flamboyant softness. And Pat was too nice for Mads mean.

I would think that a therapist like Pat would have all the

answers. Break-up and move on was the apparent correct

choice. Johnny and Marnie weren't a match made in Heaven,

but they had their cute moments, I'm sure. Though, 

I was never found of Marn calling Johnny a bitch

in front of his friends, no matter how playful. 

(I certainly wouldn't stand for it)

Their end was in sight, but not for all to see. 

Thus were the inner toils of John and Marnie.

Finally there's Rich and Maig, the match made in military.

Two pale Americans married soon enough yet too soon.

Cute couple until the comedy started.

Rich would open a routine whenever he liked,

Maig would melt in atrophy, patient and sickened.

I would listen, politely, calm, rapt. 

Fascinated with the near predictability of an

evolving romantic fiasco. "They're just kids..."

I start to think, "...just like me. And they want to love

and feel loved like anybody else. Awkwardly,

unconditionally, musically, intimately.

So, why do I come here?" I'm asking again,

taking another sip, exhaling a whiter haze. 

(Too) Close

Sometimes I get so close to something,

So close I can taste it, smell it, feel it

This is the "good zone," a place where I feel confident

A place of Faith, where I can graze the skin of absoluteness

And then there's too close

Where the balance is offset

My calibrations are jumbled

All of my settings are undone

And I spiral inward to personal darkness

Like falling down my own throat

Sticking to the walls on my way down

That dark, tar speckled, vertical hall

Noisy with sour wind

Sour with vapors of half digested foods

What does the brain think of all this?

Yinka says our brains protect us from ourselves

Perhaps. Or definitely. Most likely...

This year has been a violent wave

Of being close, too close, and so very

far away.