night sand

mrs. cellophane shoulda been my name, mrs. chellophane, shoulda been my name
becuase you can walk right by me, look right though me, and never know im there.

alone and invisible should be synomyms
no matter how much tv we watch
cant say the words on tips of tounges
repressing ideas that run in my blood
the weight of ur scent
digests in my nostrils to form sneezes of you
the deconstruction has begun

so layering on shells like hermits
finding places inbetween palms
falling from ur fingers
the shore will be different.

spun round too fast
freezing envelops times we woulda coulda shoulda been my name mrs. cellophane.

Trees

pine
infects
shields winds that carry news of sons
infecting
earlobes
with sounds similar
to your voice.

crush

an old oak grows in my heart
its branches are reaching
out
to you
please
i beg you
let them envelop your
inner secrets and
store them in
there holy
caverns of
bark and
wick

let the leaves and buds
grow
with the blood pumping
through me
let the sun make us one
and the water keep us strong

there is an old oak
growing in my heart
will you watch it grow
from the outer rim of space
or
rather
will you
blossom
with
me?

Golden Gate

& i miss this moment the way the son misses having glasses to shield itself from the harsh rays of reality we have come to live by.

& i long for the wind on my face the way im sure the tops of towers wish to be caressed by the same hands that built and birthed them.

& i miss the view and the way the sun teases your eyes as it falls over the edge of the bay at the end and the way the stars make up for it by being utterly climatic.

& i long for timeshares with this bridge on tours where we freeze but understand the beauty of california because we left it

news today

and its like
your saying it and i can hear the words come out of your mouth to my
ears
by way of computers and techno ideas i will never understand
but this
this is too much

its like the rain is falling upside down
and im drowing in the air that surrounds
and the little typed words keep giving me
more and beacoup
bad news
pas encore
pas encore
pas encore
its too cold this season
for your letters.

So I

the
feelin is like
floatin along,
the city of light keeps me company
as dark visits my pupils
and you chastise
and you
criticize.
but baby,
it dont matter
im so far away
im high when i stand on the ground
so say what you say
im just waiting. thats all
just waiting with my eyes closed.

for tawny.

&when i c u

my darling
my hilairousity
my smiles
have belonged to you in the past
and my touch
has grown from yours from what i can remember

our sons have
birthed the same oceans
and skys to fall to dusk

&when i c u

i will dance
like no one has given me love before
no one has sung to me before
i will dance

&when i c u
our bodies will become one.
homoerotic love poem
to write on walls because
i feel i
can no longer scribble on
math notes
english boards
scripts of hurt and honor
or your heart

&when i see you.
when i see you i will run
run away from here and towards the past again where i could
hold ur hand
while
burrittos and grilled
cheeses melted away
with jamba juices and stone tiled walkways between adulthood
and children

&when i see you i will dance
like you often did
those times
when we shared our stories.

Untitled Play list 1- I am

am.
I am. Soft skin and hazel eyes
Waves meeting the rocks and the thunder clouds before they have reached you.
The horizon, I am.
Dried grass and empty buckets all in a row
Wood stained floors with nails reaching and breaking to get out
Swampy mists with fog for light
The scent of him after a shower in its purest form with
Cat, rose and sheets after wash
All mixed in
Burning cigarettes left to dwindle into ash, I am.
Brooms that sweep middle school chat rooms
An Internet super star
Swollen at the heart and pumping though my veins is mercury
Mercury, I am.
Dressed in my Sunday best and spinning out of control
2 years old, I am
1 year old he is,
crying and slipping and stumbling on ground filled with the memory of misters misbehaving themselves upon me.
Dancing on tabletops, I am.
Screaming and bright techno parade
Neon, I am.
Tour Eiffel with sandy rock bottom champagne to sooth the grassy knoll
Shade
Candle lit by dusk
Bubbles with felt and wrapping paper
Blue carpet and
Red carpet in church during the revival
Flowers in the darkness to touch, I am.
Looking glass for Alice a crucifix for Jesus
A broom for Harry and the sword for Brutus
The tool used
The light bulb affixed
Finger puppet gorilla
Swaying upon a nightstand I am
A notch on a belt,
I fit perfectly around you.
Deployed and coordinates and running and
Physically training
Camo and I guess ill stay around for that
Those boots and laces all tied up around you ankles
Weights shackles with chain
Pulling you towards me, I am.
Mint leaves floating in wine bottles and hyphee and hella and
Stupid and dumb and riding yellow busses and screaming the abc's out loud I am
Screaming out loud I am.
The riff of the guitar in front of thousands,
That fatal song
The dancers mistake in the back
French books and Shakespeare and co, I am
the horizon, before it greets you, I am
and I was,
I was yours until you pushed me away.

for him 1

every sun
i arise
believeing the warmth against my skin
is your hands
teasing me.

Questions for God at the end of January

I come home, head to my room, hang up my coat, look god in the eye and ask him, " my darling, what is the sole purpose for the month of feburary? nothing good comes of febuararys (with the exception of caelayn and monika of course), but still, what good comes of this tragic month after the glory of january and the progressive era that is march?"

Alas,
I'm swiftly approaching the light at the end of the January tunnel, and i would quite like to turn around. yet, somehow i find i am still jus like the dust you sweep off of surfaces you rarely touch, im forever falling.

on high school.

m thinking now that i have thought of it i may be spinning in the wrong direction
as in, the world is going the other way.
Im just sitting here
spinning
clearly
ignorant to the changes going on around me
the way the ocean has changed
or the trees, because the trees have certainly changed
for they like me
have been struck down, shaved, and remodeled into something unfamiliar
its called
paper.
flimsy, easily broken and often too white for its own good, unless it is green
like the leaves used to be (how my
curls used to be)
before they were straightened
or the paper could be black.
like the graduation announcements for
oakland school for the arts second commencement ceremony.
black and purple
chosen, mostly in part by those that found out about the pizza.
but back to the world
the trees have changed, and the ocean yes, the ocean.
also the air
is dusty with the sexual tension of the flowers.




( the flowers are fucking, and I am not)
(this is a problem)
(dont worry, im on it)
therefore, i assume the bees have also transformed, now
to be the condoms to the flowers that are fucking.
everyday
(unlike me, let me remind you)
yes the pavement
the pavement, the ground.
the ground has become soft, as to
envelope me
take me under its tender care, the soil
pretending to love my skin ( i have soft skin, you know)
(my hands especially)
the soil, is moist from the rain.
the rain has sprung from the ocean
which has changed
while i was standing
and alas.
the world is spinning and i am still.
goodbye
march.