10:18 AM

We have referendums on everything quickly-
The heart does not know what it wants. I say
This because my heart wants something
My brain tells me I cannot have. So I have
a referendum on it-

My friends and my family and my lover
All have different takes-my lover
is my hearts desire-my friends and my
family is my head’s conscience

Ping-ponging off of each other like
Two heavyweight fighters fighting for
Control over my choices-

ping ponging
off in my brain and in my heart the forces
Are not in my ear but there in my

So contemplating and so thinking and so tired
My heart tells me that to be happy I should
Forget to forget &

My brain tells me to despise the consequences
Of the wrong decision

& in the meantime I’m straddling the line
waiting for something more perfect

& I’m trying not to slip

Oh you slow fade
In and out of conscious feeling
Of desire
Of pain
Of heartache

I’m tired of it all
Tired of whispering to myself
You are not worthy of it
It being love
It being forbidden
Because of what the object is

So that’s the fight
So that’s the struggle
Between alienation &
Acceptance & peace


A Long Rambling Poem because I’m Hurting Deep Inside

Dear flower. Are you my rose? You have not bloomed yet,
not yet. Dear Rose, and now I’m quite sure you shall call
me crazy because I’m out here talking to flowers that have not
bloomed yet because it is still winter and the only people pushing up
daisies are the ones breathless in warmer climates. I find it funny that
we blast people for falling prey to various vices when isn’t it true
that alcoholics drink to forget, that pill poppers pop to forget, that
forgetting is the best way to mitigate the deep seated loneliness
I keep finding on the faces around me. My father my father, he said
he always gets the short end of the stick and my mother my mother
uttered some response. I read the good book. I read it and I read
Lamentations and it said it is good for young men to have hard times
and to bear those hard times Do you also look for signs that
the universe is responding to your preconceived notions?
I’m being taken away in a strait-jacket. To the loony bin because
which way is up and which way is down is like being underwater
discombobulated I’m absolutely sure I’m not deserving of love
absolutely sure these words will fall off into the universe forgotten
so I appreciate your judgement and your vacant stares that take me away

A Letter (shortly) Then I Shall Be Quiet

I was not shocked as much

disturbed to hear that

You’ve been eating something

made for cleaning. Perhaps

it’s your soul that is craving it

because it’s all quite ridiculous really

that you’ve ingested Tide Pods

into your mouths. Mother always

said to watch your language or she’d

clean it out with soap-which

I’ve always found less threatening

and more concerning that anyone would

eat soap so maybe you just haven’t adjusted

all that well. That perhaps some thing

inside of you still wants to be comforted

and held and not simply dismissed and

that this is all a cry for attention that Gen-X

parents could no longer give in the rise

of mortgage costs, keeping up the Jones’,

and the economical collapse of 2008.

Perhaps it is all less nefarious. That

to fit in for the fleeting fame you have

to be bold. So bold as in to cross over into

unsafe and uncharted waters-do you know

who even started this practice? Perhaps

the boredom simply took over and it was

the thought, what’s the worst that can happen?

Perhaps it was just plain stupidity

in the face of so much noise

its a reach to find some quiet.

Easy Tears Falling Off

The Bedside. Dazed kisses
are drying them up. It’s
a cavalcade procession that just
won’t stop

Even after the soft down of the
white flannel sheets enrobe
The body in a cocoon,

And the wooden frame sighs a
gentle retreat for the night.

There is nothing accidental here,
The heart has made its choices
Bye and Bye.

The heart has enclosed upon the
Meaning and has sent the necessary
signals upward into the brainwaves
eliciting the appropriate response.

The clock sighs with felicitous desire.
It clicks clicks clicks


It’s the day after Christmas.
The time is 4:39 pm.
My watch tells me its 9 degrees
My heartrate too.

I can tell you more about the
Weather outside-but it’s just
small talk

Although small talk means
You’re talking
You’re not communicating
You’re just trying to finish
The conversation

I can tell you more about
The weather- I just took an Earth
Science class. We live in a frigid
climate. But those who live here
Choose to live here.

The Skid Row is warm. You can
be homeless and warm.

I can tell you more about
Weather than I can my own heart
Musings. I see a passing of
pretty faces-every one of them
I think I want to kiss

That might mean I’d be happy
That might mean I’d face 12/31
11:59:59 awake…


There are geniuses
and there are geniuses
and then there is the kind
Who were born in some kind of
Special amniotic fluid
Destined to travel the dusty earth
Looking for some special brand
Of genius that perhaps shall never
Be stumbled on.

Remember now; Remember now
Those days when you were alone
Destined to play by yourself
Because someone had decided you
Weren’t worthy enough of the group.

Remember how you felt then. Not like
a genius. Like a castaway. So searching
the depths of the ocean for a shred
of dignity to help yourself through
the pain of the desertion. When it’s
all done

You’re looking back at Facebook pictures
settled firmly in the past wondering
where you should of went different.
What perhaps would have made you a genius

Or what, if anything, could have made you
like those geniuses you stood up on the stage
with Graduation Day.