Friday, May 13, 2011


i can dream all i want about how things are going to be someday, but this is today and today sucks

Friday, May 6, 2011


this is for my best friend...

this is the last letter i'm writing you.
a while ago, i didn't think that this would be the case.
instead, i dreamed of
La-Z-Boys and lawn care
mini vans and Mini Wheats
Sunday naps and serenades
Gerber foods and graduations.

i don't have a better way to say i am gonna miss you,
other than in a poem.
i sketched these words on the walls of the mind that imprisons me.
i read and rehearsed them again and again with each open
and close
of my eyelids.

i AM studying.
i study you harder than for any exam or college course.
your lips, your eyes,
your voice, your sighs.
and i thank Heaven for this photographic memory.

today we packed
so many memories into boxes and bags,
stuffed your car full of them for the ≈4,500 second trip
from me to... well, there,
but these memories play on repeat like my most favorite movie.

i think i'll ride the bus today.
i won't turn this pencil tip upside down and
the romance novels you've written on me
whitewash the elegant murals you've painted so carefully
with your delicate fingertips.
each one a bristle on the
paintbrush appendages that have
a masterpiece of colors and hues on this
canvas life of mine.

autumn leaves and skipping stones are for us.
i might be cheesy and a little cliché,
because you know i know that if i said it
with an accent it would be
sweet and sensitive.

i've been lost in your
more times than
Waldo in a crowd at New Year's Rockin' Eve.
if you're wondering, yes
i do still get nervous and my palms
whenever you're around.
i st-st-stutter at the thought of the
first and the last
"I love you"
hoping that it's not a lifetime before
i hear it escape your tulips again,
like John Dillinger fleeing from his
life sentence in a
midnight prison.

i've never been good at "goodbye"s
nor "see you later"s for that matter.
hell, i suck at "hello"s,
i don't know how i am supposed to do
with you leaving, all my words
leave with you.

this is the last letter i am writing you,
the omega of them all.
but if you ever need to hear 3 words then
all you have to do is call...

Saturday, October 2, 2010


sometimes i feel like driving
driving so far up that the stars
look like ants or
like little people when they
look like ants when peering
out of the 38th floor window.

driving so fast that 83 cheetahs combined
at the speed of 72 mph,
by 15 million lightyears
are eating sandwiches
from the dust in which i leave them.

sometimes i feel like driving through
tunnels that lead to the heart of the earth,
in other words,
that is where everything is made,
therefore it is the heart,
making these tunnels
through which i drive
the veins that pump me through.

sometimes i feel like driving.
driving an automobile so
carefully constructed
with regret and riding on
of a new tomorrow.
taking me places that
we never spoke of in our
fairytale dreams,
because they were "too good to be true."

sometimes i feel like driving with no
road maps nor routes to restrict me,
no predetermined destination
other than that of complex equations
inside your beautiful head.

sometimes i feel like driving.
driving over the fallen autumn leaves
of our memories,
hearing each one crunch under
the tires as i speed away,
fast enough for a reckless driving citation,
in a 500 mph zone.

i tell you that sometimes i feel like driving,
but my car is blocked in tonight.
so for now

i guess i'll stay

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

street dreams

the infantry of ghosts rise from the
mine eyes cannot
distinguish the beginning of one
and the end of another.
the pungent aroma
of precipitation loitering
about in my nose as if
it were
a 7-Eleven on
a Saturday night.

with great precision
i signal right,
then left
and right again
my gestures virtually
constructing a labyrinth
retraced from memory,
so intricate the
Vitruvian Man would shrug
his shoulder blades
in confusion.

eluding the phantoms
that haunt the
streets' dreams
the streets dream
i discover myself
in that familiar

the unwavering
steel frame merely
soaring above
the blackness,
cloaked in the
velvety quilt of asphalt
by the dark blue
solace that
has embraced
me in its arms,
tucked away
with the warmth
of a summer's

i am home.
once again.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010


today i am coating
these walls
with kerosene.

i will carefully paint
over each
square inch of the canvas
paying special attention
to each nook and crevice,
pull out a single match
from its small cardboard
strike it on the rough
exterior and
let it slowly burn down
until it scorches the tip
of my thumb and index finger
forcing me to let it drop
in rotation
to the ground.

creating instant
i pull out my
lawn chair
and enjoy the show.

the flames dance
a delicate
waltz to the
orchestra of crackling

i am burning down these
walls today.
i have no need
for them anymore.

Friday, July 2, 2010

i wove webs tonight

tonight i wove webs.
shining, silky ones.
there was a dew hanging from them.
the memory of the night was
etched in them and could not
be erased like a child's handprint
in plaster to remind us of their
everlasting innocence.

i wove through lights of cars that
looked like stars and i was
going warp speed.

i wove an intricate and complex pattern
in the baskets.
the impeccable designs
told of love and hate
peace and war,
good and evil,
beauty and disgust,
but mostly love.

mostly love.
i wove webs tonight.
the kind that could catch you
hold you
cling to you
embrace you
and want to do so forever.
now, if only you would fly by...

Friday, June 25, 2010


i called the police tonight... on my own dance party.

okay, this didn't actually happen.
it almost did.
it did in my head.
i played it over and over,
rehearsing the words i would say.
"i'm trying to sleep, officer, but there's
quite the ruckus coming from up the street"
"what's that? i can hardly hear you"
"no need for a citation,
perhaps just ask them to quiet down a bit"

the party died just in time.
time for sleep.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

it all depends

i squirm in my sleep
i squirm like a bad dream
there's something eating me
like a bird devours a worm
speaking of worms
i wriggle the way one does
when disemboweled with
the side of one's shoe

i do a horizontal jitterbug
while in between my cotton print
i begin to
none of which escape my lips

i lay in a cold sweat.
my eyes pry open with crowbars
as i wait for them to adjust
to the ninja black surroundings,
i pay attention to the rhythm of
my heart as it reverberates in
my chest
it speeds and slows
like a lead-foot driver
without cruise control

speaking of control
i lay on the verge of losing it
my mind reflects on the frigid feeling
of the porcelain
the thought of the tiles causes my
being to shiver, despite the warmth
that shields me

i hear a faint sound rising
from below me and remember
that i am not alone

the bathroom from the top bunk
seems to be more than 17.2 miles
away and there is a dragon that
guards the door
a sharp pain penetrates my lower
abdomen the way a crash test
hits a red brick wall

on the scale from 1 to urgent
my urgency is over the top

as i inch my way to the foot of the
i remember that my decision
no longer depends on all this
it doesn't depend
on the 17.2 miles nor the serpent
that protects the dungeon

it depends on the Depends that
are so dependable
hugging my hips tighter than
a hippy would hug an endangered tree
my body relaxes as i let it all loose
and drift back to sleep in the warmth
of my own pee.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

one windy night in logan, utah

the wind blew musical melodies
through the branches
while i hummed along to their

it blew so hard as if
it wanted to lift me up,
sway me in its arms
and lay me down on a raging cloud to sleep
with the lullabies of thunder

'twas only my trusty bicycle and i
on the road that night
we seemed to be the only ones without sense enough
to stay inside on a night like that,
but i had always wanted to fly

the sour-sweet wind sang promises for
wings to burst forth from my shoulder blades
and take me to that familiar place
that i once knew before my adolescence

at that age i could
and fly
even while awake

now it's only in my dreams

new to this universe

to whom it may concern,
i am an amateur to this whole blogging nation in the world known as the wide web. my roommate says that he heard somewhere that "blogging = so many people saying so much to so few..." this shall serve as an outlet, i suppose. a form to share poetry, prose and others thoughts that run rampant through my mind. here goes nothing.



my words cannot be locked away to ruled paper like a convict to a cell, whistling a tune to maintain sanity

not just about melodies and bars. sheet music & tablature resemble feelings being scribbled into symbols. creating sounds.

felt, lived, experienced, breathed and yes, also written with a pen, not in any particular order nor arrangement, format nor text.
my feelings are bled from a pen like the blood of fallen soldiers, filling pools of letters & words that form paragraphs on pages.
this army of words will fall subject to no one.
no king nor queen.
no dictator nor tyrant.
no government nor rule.

no, not even the rule of college nor wide that so often murders creativity in cold blood, attempting to control the chaos that is inside my balding head...

Lorem Ipsum


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