the man on juniper hill.

an alphabet poem from 2007.

After she was left and gone, he
Backed away, and fell onto the red plaid
Chesterfield. As he looked up, a chickadee
Drew up to the window, down from the crumbling
Eaves of his peeling, rotted house.
For years now, he had waited, for
Good or bad,
He couldn't yet say.
In his made up mind, it was all alright, but here, on the top of
Juniper Hill, in the light of the moon, without
Knowing how, he had
Lost himself to his
Mind. Now his paranoid mind pulled him away, deaf to the screams of
NO silently ringing through the
Open midnight air,
Penned up by the moon. His
Queries continued to confuse and
Razzle the friendly neighborhood police,
Stopping them in their
Tracks, leaving them scratching their
Unhaired heads. This
Very day, his
Words had pierced them like an
X-ray in an operating room.
Why? they asked, as he fell, dying in the air, the roundness of his stomach a
Zero on the concrete floor.

heart monitors.

how can i tell you
that my strength
is failing.
all at once,
in a sudden
shudder of my lungs.

they gave out twice before,
and i might not have recovered.

if not for...
if not for what?!
if not for nothing.

i know this life
is not my own,
i am afraid of it.

how can i tell you
that this does
not lessen my fear,
only makes it bigger,
because it's one more
heart to lose.

my denial is slowly
catching up with me,
i'm afraid.
but i cannot
tell you what this means.

you are my silver lining,
my apollo, my adonis.

but how can i tell you,
that even that way,
i don't know
if i can hold on.

these bleary eyes.

her eyes were hazel,
that much i remember.

she made it hard to look at anything else.

she was younger than me,
knew more of the world
than i ever would.

i knew i had to let her know,
that the times without her
were the hardest thing to go through...

i knew i couldn't last much longer.

every time she touched me,
it burned my skin,
because i knew, and she knew,
that she did not truly care,
she simply ran her fingers
down my spine,
softly touched my face-
just to see my look.

this woman makes me cry.
and i can't last much longer,
now that i'm without her.

your life.

my city burns like fire,
heedless of its dangers
heedless of the troubles
that it causes.

it is a trouble,
my city.
it is killing me,
and it does not need a reason.

this universe is bigger
than the stars,
and it's eating
all your souls.

there will be nothing left,
nothing left of skyscrapers
or towers, or long metal bridges,
when i'm through with it.

does it open its heart
to anyone?
or is it cold,
like steel?
it turns us all to stone
with just one look,
one glance.

this is real,
this is cold.
it is killing me,
at the same moment
it is dying itself.

boom bang baby.

my future does not change my past,
will not make me weaker,
by staring this in the face.

i realize the rain makes
these things heavier,
and what i carry
will grow deeper,
more important.

i wipe this look away,
because you look like you're not ready yet.
you are hell to help -
this is not a question.
i don't think it ever was.

i will give what i give,
despite what
you tell me.
you can whisper your lies,
i'm no longer listening.
i don't think i ever was.

i will not let my future change,
despite the things you say,
i will not let you change
my future.

sestina sestina.

Sestina from 2007

your silent truth roars like the river
breaking down the dam of lies your mind houses,
taking root in early winter and sprouting like a tulip.
this truth is too old and brittle for your mind to hold,
but in its glory is as beautiful as a shooting star
that flashes through the sky, like a petticoat.

your silent untold truth has now become a grown up petticoat.
look at her standing on the corner, as loud and graceful as the river
that runs through the city. one day, she says, she will be a star.
she will be rich and famous and own many houses.
she says this to you, and also that she wants to hold
her father’s hand. like she did when she was young, when he gave her tulips,

her favorite flower. now the yellow of the tulips
glances off her walls and onto the hidden layers of her petticoat.
this precious moment you have of her is the most wonderful thing held
in your mind’s eye, with her sitting in the corner, with the river
sounding through the window. roaring through the streets of houses,
it seems as near as it is, and as far as the stars.

you feel like shouting your truth to the stars,
those cold unfeeling stars, as yellow as the sun-dried tulips
sitting on your daughter’s kitchen table, in her big empty house.
on the wall is a black and white photograph of a girl on a swing, you can see her petticoat
as she pumps her legs and swings back and forth, as wild as the river
behind her, longs for her to hold

just like you long for your little girl to hold
in your arms, your little star
she walks with you along the riverbank
as she walks, she picks up tulips
from among the flowers, coloured petticoat red
to keep in her empty house.

when you look at her house,
you wonder how long she fought to hold
it in her eyes, so she could wear a petticoat
alone under the burning stars.
blossoming nebulas of interstellar tulips
running through the milky way river.

the house of your little star
pulls you in and holds you like it did the flowers, the tulips, while the petticoat drifts slowly down the river.

[uhb-skyoor]

Obscure. -adjective
1. indistinct to the sight or any other sense; not readily seen, heard, etc.; faint.
2. inconspicuous or unnoticeable: the obscure beginnings of a great movement.

this is a thought that feeds on my mind,
creeps over the
thoughts i'm told matter most.

sometimes it gets to be too much,
and i stop,
and the thought comes
"This is not my mind."

this is hidden, it is obscure,
these thoughts are inconspicuous
(or unnoticeable) even to me.

they are notes in a melody,
ones you do not notice
until they disappear.

this is the way it's always been,
the way it always will be.

i cannot see it,
i cannot hear it,
but these thoughts,
in the mind that is not my own,
they make room
for the mistakes.

and yet,
it continues to hide in the
shadows,
behind the lights.

soon now,
i will let it know.
these mistakes are not my own.

broken promises.

just like me,
the wind runs.

runs like the ocean,
because i do not know his name.

he whispers in my ears,
he knows my secrets,
my truths.

he taunts me,
tells me i will never
know anything of his life.

he whistles now,
shouts at the sky.
he cannot get out,
so he runs.

he begs the sky to let him go,
to let him swim the oceans.

but the sky is holding him
too tightly.
the sky is afraid of a love
too big for her,
because the wind
is afraid to love her back.

lies + alibies.

would it be better, do you think,
if my troubles were not my own?

if i could carry this weight,
myself.
i was never one to judge,
but you did ask me for the truth.

i just did as i was told - straight up.
don't hate me for your
shortcomings.
don't blame the others.

it wasn't anyone else
who put you in your place,
there was no fortune teller
who sent you on your way.

do not blame the others,
you did this yourself.

it just takes time.

do not take pride in this,
your fallen virtue.
they are out there,
and they know better than you think.

they knew your soul
before you did,
while you were trying
to find it,
and you got lost looking.

this time,
can you hold your own?
will you let the forest
whisper your name
to the wind,
and try to
keep walking?

i don't think so.
it is the night that scares you,
because your shadow
is not there to save you,
and you know
you will have to hold your own.

academy news.

Because the word on the street is,
that you've got a weakness
-Tokyo Police Club

do you know what this means?
it means my cybertelekynetic powers
are growing by the second.
i am a superhuman superhero,
and i can take your life apart.
i can give you back five minutes
of your life, but i don't think i will.
you've got a supervillain?
great. fight it yourself.
because word on the street is,

you've got your own powers.
you can take down godzilla, and
run through walls. so what?
i'm still your nemesis, and i'm
still going to let you do my work.
until i find out just what makes you tick.
you are a timebomb.
and i need to keep searching for it,
just to be sure, so i can knock you out,
that you have a weakness.

sour fruit.

your love tastes bitter in my mouth,

makes me cringe.

like the over-ripe

plums you picked up from the market.

i cannot lick these juices from my palms,

will not lick these leftovers

from the corner of my mouth,

the tip of my nose.

your love tastes bitter.

it has soured too long,

too long lain alone,
in the dark.

no-do not sweeten this

with false talk.

that will only hasten its end.

i am sorry,

do not hate me.

but these are not my problems,

and your love will still taste bitter,
in the morning.

a short story.

This time, with her, he knew he was done for.

fierce betrayals.

you fool me.
offer up your kiss of death.

is it worth the lust?
knowing you will die?

do not slake this death.
you are still it's slave.
it is a hunger
you did not ask for,
for the indecision,
your art is imprecise.

your bed-seduction
dance has yet to start.
you are already drawing me in.

it is a painful truth,
your kiss of death,
our wants, unwants.

i desire, but i cannot take.
will not take.

your offer,
it will be forgotten.
it is for the best.

Dear Citizens,

a found poem.

Not on our watch!

sometimes we wonder,
we become aware,
that something has to change.
you are all hostages.

we know,
we are destined-
to witness Armageddon.

the sun can cause damage wherever you are.
do not bury your heart just yet.

we are here for you.

-Defenders of the Universe.

this world of ours.

the moon wishes it could see the sun,
that it was not shadowed
by the earth.

they are both so far apart,
each time the moon gets close,
the world pulls her in again,
and away from her heart.

this love-making,
it will not end.
it is a story who's ending
has not been written.

you say all is written?
no.
i am not written.

neither are the sun,
the moon,
or their stars.

they will live unwritten,
knowing only unrequited,
perhaps, unwanted,
love.

but i don't need to tell you this.
you don't need to know this tale.

letter from a madhouse cell.

they tell me it's not winter,
but i feel so cold
inside.

cold and old
cold and old
cold and old...

i used to hear the saying
"You Cant Teach An Old Dog New Tricks"
but i never understood what they meant.
they are trying to teach me new things.

but i already know i have nothing to learn,
that i have already been taught
everything there is to know.
everything i NEED to know.

i know i'm not wrong, about this.
but the people i see,
they think i'm wrong about everything.

they know nothing.
the world knows nothing.
i know i will always know nothing.

ode to a grecian myth.

Her unnaitanable body moves
the world of man to death
-Suzanne La Marre

she is like the light from the sun.
she yearns for men stronger than
her father;
adonis, apollo.

but she is unnaitanable.
her body moves like the light from the sun,
the life is one of tragic circumstances,
lost childhoods that never happened.

her body moves the world of men,
as she moves,
they watch her, and they wait.
they wait for the night,
when apollo has finished his work,
when she is no longer staring at the sky,
or thinking of her red-blooded men,
she can turn her thoughts to them,
they hope.

some hope for so long,
wait for so long,
for her and her body,
that it brings them to death.

oh aphrodite,
do not hate the men,
you have already stolen them away.
they did not take your childhood.

the writing is on the wall.

a found poem


the writing is on the wall
"A hint of menace," says a
confidant, "isn't necessarily a bad thing."

he thought, if he didn't speak about it, it would go away.
so the truth in labeling, with its roller-coaster testimony,
never resurfaced.
[GOD IS NOT GREAT]
now, behind the howls of outrage,
and his re-creation of a world that never was.

since astronauts last set foot on the moon,
some wonder, and perhaps, worry,
that they were only
human after all.

love stories.

it is not always epic,
not always heartbreaking,
not always a story for the children.

sometimes, i don't know how often,
but when it happens for real,
it will last forever in that second.
even though it may already be finished.

i fear my love story is already over.
my old loves were great,
now all that exists are the seconds
when it was real.
when it was something like the truth.

it was hard to recognise,
i think, because there isn't much truth
for children to see.
that's not what fairy tales are for.

but who knows,
these children believe in the truth.
even if they won't know what it is.

life is funny.

Feel all right? Feel all right.
Protected from flame? Protected from flame.
-Kenward Elmslie & Joe Brainard

this practice distracts you,
and you don't feel safe.
please, know that you're not alone.
at least, not for now.
i can't make promises about tomorrow.
(don't hate me)
i know, i feel further and further away,
but it won't last forever. (the good or the bad)
but for now, can you tell me you will
feel all right? feel all right

until tomorrow. but i can't make promises.
it was never my strong suit.
i feel you are too strong for me,
i think i will give in.
don't hate me for it,
i know you love me for my strongness.
honestly, this danger feels wrong,
somehow, don't ask me.
i'm just glad. i hope i can keep you
protected from flame? i promise, protected from the flames.

eternal truths.

Batman is whispering in the wind;
The cans are jewelled with the stars
-Henri Coulette

the city has no sleep. it runs
and runs, regardless of the bodies
sleeping in its gutters.
casting dreams here is unthinkable,
for they are untouchable, like something
in a dream. this life is one of trial and error,
the best before date is rubbed out, and
those buried deep inside it know they
are alone. if only
batman was whispering in the wind,

there might be some hope. but
they know they will always be alone.
because the city is cold and unforgiving,
it has no heart to speak of,
it will live long after you are gone,
brittle at the smallest touch.
they are sleeping still, those
ones who know this truth, because
they know their immortality is not real,
and the cans they hold are only jewelled with the stars.

lessons in history.

Dreaming of this I was when they spoke to me.
Lovers they bragged of, long since dead and gone.
-David Ferry

they say it repeats itself. has it not been listened to?
it is for this that we keep our eyes open,
our hearts awake, untouched
but we will never learn.
it was a long time ago, the first time it happened,
my heart was awake, untouched,
unbroken. the world was still,
when the ghosts of my past rose up,
and i could finally see that they were touched and broken,
dreaming of this i was when they spoke to me.

spoke to me of the past
noone else said it would happen that way.
it's not their fault they will never listen
to the lessons in history, from before
the world was touched and broken.
but that time is passed, and it is the right now
that i must listen to. or that is what they tell me,
the ones who dared to live. my ghosts.
they tell me of this, and of the
lovers they once bragged of, long since dead and gone.

everybody knows.

a found poem.

with unusual violence, a king keeps his title
hook-jawed and aggressive,
hanging on for an hour or so,
tongue flicking and horns back in a gesture of
such sympathetic magic
as if struck

they might posture and stomp,
flock and join in the ritual,
might aid in killing the lion,
overmarked with fine-line scratches.

gods have their own lives.

it's been days since i've seen the sun.

why is it that the old religions
have transcended into childhood myths.
your forest nymph climbs into the bed
of sun gods and kings.

she's ready to take the world,
but i know she will never leave her forest.

the stars are not so old,
cannot see my thoughts,
even if i wish to dream.
it is all inevitable,
the ending.

some would say that
nothing ever ends.
i beg to differ.
with each new passing minute,
the world is different than
it used to be.

but where did my world go?
my myth is not your own.
it has no immortality,
no surreal beauties.

my myth is just the stars.

past times.

i remember when the world was young

and i thought i was too.

when anyplace was better than this

but the world didn't know it.

i don't think i did either.

the world was smaller,

and i could fix all the problems.

all the problems.

you and your problems were smaller too.

but i didn't know it.

i don't think you did either.

the chance of change?

now we know better?

slim to none.

the truth is the truth,

and some things you might not remember,

but you never forget that.

tales from the sun.

you are just a demi-god
and you wonder,
are you invincible?
or just another human

perhaps your sun shines a little brighter
somedays.
because you can walk across its surface
and live to tell the tale
but us humans won't believe you

because the sun is just the sun,
and the stars are untouchable,
just like you.

you are just a demi-god,
and you are not invincible.
you are just another human.