2:30AM, Awake Once More

I wake in the arms of my one true love,
Night kisses my cheek once again,
The cold tingle of my toes,
The deep thick secrets of a friend,
As I name constellations up above
cool air hits my hands
and I swim through thoughts of sugar and honey
as a weightless moth lands
I watch a few more specks of dust
float down from over head
sinking in and out of sleep
reciting what you said.
Between the dusk and dawn of days
I leave my windows cracked
so sweet things like hugs and cookies and cider
drift ever so softly back.

Big City Dreamer

Making car bombs with balls of foil and bottles of gasoline;

sometimes it's not enough to be polite,
and you just have to find your own way.


Broken lighters and an empty pack of 100's;

sometimes flies are attracted to the less putrid smells,
like the back of my arm
or the cramp in my side.


Walking seems to get you somewhere slow,
but enough of it puts you back into the true perspective of life;

sometimes the grass is greener on the other side,
but usually, when you check, you find out it was all just weeds and clovers.

Autumn's Heavy Winds

Listening to the echo of my father chopping fire wood;

and autumn runs its fingers across my neck, and down my back
my hairs raise up with the winds and leaves

i remember when i visited my great-aunts, and my second-cousin stood by the car, and the green grass, and the damp concrete, and the fall sky, and the dream of it all wraps around me
like warm blankets or sleeping in real plies.
and the feeling of not knowing, but imagining and wondering, and standing on a bed in socks with the sheets ruffled and the sun slightly making it through the gray clouds on down through the window into the room, warm and dusty from the heater as joints loosen up from being in the cold.
and the trees with their colors and the grass with its dew and the street with its glimmer.

at night i want someone to be cute with, and i want to make beautiful things and i want to takes pictures that make people feel emotions that are less fleeting than laughing at a joke or smiling at a remark.

during the day the lights suffocate me, and my nose clogs up, and the people complicate the smallest actions and make up wild things in their minds that aren't true and don't happen, and the heat kicks in and the sun blares down, and become burned through my thick cotton skin
at night i want to be awake and active and at night i can breathe.

at night i am home, i am free, i am calm and want to cut pumpkins out of construction paper.
at night i want to lie on a cold hard rock of a thing as the meteors swing around the stars and the planes waltz through the sky, and i cast wishes beneath me like shadows.

Morphing Through and Into the Nineties

i miss sitting on the couch
watching that show with Oscar the grouch
watching the tube as i sat, back slouched
didn't even know what it meant to vouch

now, there were some dank shows back then
but nothing was cooler than all the morphing

once tried out by Godley and Creme
the video for Cry made me scream

next there was The Golden Child
From 1986 with an Eddie Muphy smile

Then Gorge Lucas up and made Willow
Warwick Davis' face reminds me of an armadillo

at the turn of the decade there was the Last Crusade
the 3rd Indiana Jones was made

even Scott Bakula in Quantum Leap
morphs into some historical peeps

with Black or White Jackson does it right
the end of the video serves it up tight

with Terminator 2, on the Judgment Day
four Academy Awards were taken away

in the sixth Star Trek there was this girl maria
the first shapeshifter to be computer-iahd

then Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
there was an introduction of CGI

As the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers took the spotlight
technology was already in full flight

then Pokemon, in the Cuidad de Laguna
the morphing of Weedle into Kakuna

then came the books i read every day
Applegates animorphs scared the shit out of me

and watching cartoons on saturday mornings
Digimons ditched the tactical warnings

and growing up in this morphing world,
i feel my self to be a morphing girl

look at me now, i look kinda wild
but not to long ago i was only a child

and the nineties came, and the nineties left
but the way morphing took my heart,
you couldn't label that theft

its love
morphing through the nineties
thats love
morphing to the nineties

sutin' to make you quit

my second rap:

It was warm enough to call it hot
but i never thought
it would make me stop
pop and lock
I'm calling my shots
never been better
except for last crop

i never wanna hang around
down the block
and i never found it wiser
to stop the clock, count the stock

if i was rolling down the street in my car
i'd be checkin' out the hotties at the local bar
never thought wheels could get me far
this town was built in side a little glass jar

the bitches ain't nothin
the bros ain't shit
i got sumethin' to make you quit
the bitches ain't sumthin'
he bros ain't tight
rollin' out wit me, you'd feel alright

i was walkin' down the drive
on my way home
kickin' at the rocks
talkin' on the phone
when i saw a hariy bitch bustin' out a drone
pitin' wit her tongue
like it were a trombone
wearin' down the vocals like sand upon a stone

so i laid my beat's down
rappin' in her face
talkin' 'bout her moustache
putin' her in her place
when she tried to reach back and slap my face
damn that girl was a Head case

i caught her chubby wrist
right in mid-air
swung it round her back and pulled her hair
punched her in the tummy
'cause bitch, i didn't care

holdin' on to her stank ass weave
i yelled back at her homie, said
"bitch you better leave"
i looked the cunt in the face and gave her the crazy eye
and it was enough to make the hoe cry

cuz bitches ain't nothin'
bros aint shit
i got sutin' to make you quit
bitches ain't somethin'
bros ain't tight
i would recommend you leave wit me tonight

heavier soil

the shed tears for the past is my problem never fixed

the faucet that can never be shut off,
the river that continues to run away.


and i run away and back again,
thus completing the circle, never ended
never stopped.


away is not far
about 180 degrees from the starting point
a pendulum swinging or
a sun's course from a singular perspective.

and i am but a singular life.



and today i talked about a balcony as if it was a tomb,
and death could enlace me
like a silk slip
smooth
soft


and death has a feeling
one of mystery, or glory
to see what else is out there

but i know there is nothing.
just a straight jacket,
just a coffin,
just a black hole,
just a desk.

but kittens and pup pups and snakes will all fall in love,
and one day i will ask the cutest coyote pup pup what his lovers name is,
and he will tell me, and i will smile,
but really deep down inside where that hole is,
that part of me will cry,
and rip its self into tiny little pieces so that no one whole thing could fill it,
only a bunch of little things,
like a coat hanger, a bottle of tequila, a toddler shoe, a piece of a car, a large vase with 6 or 7 long skinny stemmed flowers, a really nice pen, the nose of a stuffed animal, a bowl of cereal, a very interesting bouncy ball, and insignificant pair of earrings, a bike ride, a warm embrace, a secret that i never tell, a pet owl or even the simple act of some one pressing against my neck and fiddling with my hair.

and i crouch, 6 feet away from a bear devouring a rabbit,
and i watch as i become
and he becomes,
and everything becomes
awfully small,
incredibly unimportant,

till i begin to understand how we are all the same,

100,000 feet above earth you let go of your ego and realize
there are more important things than you,
or how you don't like swimming,
or how uncomfortable it is to have sand in your bed.


and so even when those tears are for the wrong reason,
or if that hole starts to look like a desert night sky,
i know the feeling of loneliness will always be less important than i wanted you to be.

Small Figures

I sat three feet away from a 100 mile per hour wind today

while i ate 6 snicker bars and watched an amphibious turtle get eaten by a hummingbird

my legs got caught in the over pass off College
and my hands were eaten by a shark in my pool

i am typing this with my elbows.


the sun went down before i could wake up
and my fatigue ended when a cup of vanilla pudding jumped into my mouth and slid down my esophagus.

i enjoy pretending i am dead when i wake up and i make strange correlations between the time on my clock and quotes from old math problems i never did.


my bones are cracking from over use.
i think i will go smoke a cigarette and lie to my self about health benefits from listening to Rush Limbaugh.

too long of a wait

i lost my motivation

i think about you less each day
less in the way i remembered you to be,
less in the form i made you out to be in my mind

more for who you are



sometimes i feel like crying
wondering about this disposition

and my body becomes flooded with near indifference

my throat begins to close, i feel the hole grow smaller, the muscles constricting
and my nose stings, like fire on my skin
my body gets heavy, my appendages numb up a little


i think back on my life
lie to my self, and tell myself that everything was so much better then
'i wish i could go back in time'

anger is a poison, and so is love
my veins were full of it

but i think they have begun to clear

i think i will be ok

Integrated Circuits

He becomes an electronic boy. Every work day spent surrounded by preprogrammed computer chips, sending out electrical hums, when plugged into the oasis of sockets. They all speak to each other; clicking, creaking, spinning their fans faster, slower, beeping a secret, a plan, a concept, to a neighboring cell of plastic and metal. And he stands, surrounded by them, selling them.
He sleeps by one, humming its lullabies into his delicate, decomposed brain; singing him to sleep at night.
In the evening, he stares into a surface, 12”x9”, glowing and burning, images into his soft, squishy memory.
Most of his long days, skateboarding, community college, a part time job selling to the average consumer hunks of material that will one day be replaced by something better, always something better. They are concluded with the consumption of cheap fast food that slowly eats away at his digestion system, intestines filled with cardboard, the intake of illegal smoke and loud, terribly constructed love songs; of broken hearts, and tears that infinitely flow. Most of his long days spent sleeping, spent losing focus, spent dumbing down until he become what he once was: a child [only this time of ignorance] of a lonely, lost soul.
Playing 8-ball on a table just big enough to function, with a friend of like circumstances. All the others migrated to more enriched environments; universities, state campuses, places requiring then to obtain makeshift bedrooms and eat microwaveable dinners while studying 10 hours a day. And Charles is stuck here, stuck with a bad influence, his only influence. At least, his only one left.
They spend plenty of time together, doing things that break a mother’s heart and cause her to leave nasty voice-mails on the father’s phone about how he has failed as a parent. Charles spends his time indulging in his activities. Hours in front of the television, hours trying to maintain the same of beat, out of time, bass line, hours practicing the same keys of the same song on the same electric keyboard, hours playing the same PC version of the same video game that allows the players to reenact the same courses and race the same races, over and over and over and, well you get the point.
The computer’s enclosed in hard plastic, holding the capacity to communicate in a binary language, holding the future in the hammock of its internal wires; sending the same signal to the same section of the motherboard, to allow the same process of screen going from black to white, just like it does every time someone presses the same button places conveniently on the front face of the plastic shell.
Waking up on the same bed, on the same desk,
without thinking, automatically grabbing the same old green bath towel with ripped edges and torn corners. Dressing in the same monotonous colors: black slats, white button up, gray tie, name tag. Driving the roads to the job in the car that was always driven. Everyday, what distinguishes it from the last? Work, sleep, eat, study, lose consciousness while performing the all too familiar task. Always feeling in the right place, since nothing ever changes.
Slowly, the brain goes fully automatic.
Leisurely losing control, losing the natural human crave for change.
Gradually morphing into the pressure of his coworkers,
The electronic generation,
The artificial knowledge,
The unsophisticated happiness,
The plain old, every day routine.
Turn on, load up, store information, increase data capacity, organize and categorize daily events, daily regularities. Creating a restrained life.

He will wake up from his coma, one day, and realize that this is His: preprogrammed day, plastic protected life, credit cards, Tupperware, shoes, buttons, telephones, compact discs, keyboards, casino chips, storage boxes for his seasonal winter sweaters with reindeer and snowmen, and red and green flashing ties.
This will be his cardboard, toy poodle, mass media, fast food, television, made in China, capitalistic, hand crafted for 15 cents a day, life.

Will he love it?

Will he know how?

love is nothing but a jumble of thoughts that some how make me smile and get me no where but to a make-shift, hobble of a home

today i slept on my bed, curled up next to my dog.
i anticipated his call. it did not come.

i became entranced with depression, and sunk into my despair.

at 12 he called. at 12:23 he fell asleep.
i lie awake,
counting the stars that appear on my ceiling as the night grows brighter.

something makes me love him.
something makes me cry.

and something tells me these things should not be connected.

but not all beauty can be identified in the moment in which it occurs.