Fingers Crossed

i was drinking
excuse me, writing
and you came up
i mean, across 
my thoughts
as i crossed a t
and then again when i dotted an i
i'm too far gone to tell lies...
you're crossing all the time
like x's in my mind
'cus i can't erase this story
or even finish the chapter
flipping through the pages
searching for a period


we blame it on the heart
but i question the head
what is it that makes me love 
the way you spell 
almost every word wrong
even though you're always reading?
what makes me miss
the smell 
of your newspaper palms 
after you finished the crossword at night?


science doesn't theorize 
about the infinite nuances 
that go unnoticed 
until someone burns the book
and only a myth remains


at night i lie awake
writing scripts on my pillows
of what i'd say
if we crossed paths
presidential speeches
articulately addressing 
all the different ways
you let me down


this time last year
i couldn't get enough
you were busy chasing dreams
on a highway of hopes
but unlike everyone else
yours all came true
and i sat in that sidecar
gazing up at you eagerly
as your dust blinded the others 
i was safe in your peripheral vision


i'm not sure when i knew
but i know that i liked 
how you pronounced my name
never saying the actual word
but rather nick-naming me with noises
and i loved how all the boys would
look your way
yet you'd be oblivious 
and say, "will you hold my hand?"


and your eyes held the innocence of snow globes
with big cities inside
populated with more ideas
than a hummingbird's beating wings 


but one mustn't be fooled
because you could
one up
slam dunk
sucker punch 
anyone
with your quick tongue


indeed it's no secret
that everyone plays second string
to that litigious diction
but your punishments lasted but a day
because you love like mother nature
always flashing beauty
quickly after storms
so no one remembers your wrath


i wish i remembered your wrath
yesterday when you came across my mind
as i was crossing t's 
and dotting i's
because now i'm up tonight
writing scripts on my pillows
so if we cross paths
i have something better to say than, 
"will you hold my hand?"

Vicious Circularity

giving up one thing

for another

and calling it 

rehab

a machine

living off puffs 

of poison 

and caffein 

reciting sermons 

by heart

with no heart

as uncertain as that

three-legged

pedestal 

teetering underneath your 

borrowed shoes

everybody's waiting for january 1st

to lie to themselves again

standing in the refrigerator light at midnight

swearing that Monday will be different

waiting until 5

to pour 

that glass of wine

makes you think

you got it all

figured out

and getting on 

your knees

to preserve that 

promise ring

is a paradox

you've come

to condone

but no matter which way

you skin

the cat

the by-product

of your every 

passion

whim 

and act

somehow seems to will

its own downfall

everybody's waiting for halloween

when did we loose touch with our own identity

worshipping the egos of the profits on tv

instead of the voices in our heads

FlashBulbs

I have fallen in love on the phone,

but who said that pictures are worth thousands of words?

Or that they tell stories?

I'll tell you a story

about who said that...

a lonely lady

on a hill

in a house

made of glass

because she needed the sun 

to be shining on her

always.

The only gifts from the sun are laziness

and beauty.

Flowers sit idle in vases

waiting to wilt,

while moss enjoys no expiration date

in the shady corners

of our minds.

Once you left me a note on the refrigerator that said,

"your smile is my art,"

and I wrote back,

"your words are my muse."

We had no time to take pictures then,

when we were happy.

Running swiftly through the damp forests 

of new beginnings.

When every cloud or rock or leaf

seemed to be in the shape of something

that made us smile.

When your palm

touching my palm

turned ten fingers

into one braid,

that made me smile.

But words begin to saw at the trees with time,

and as each one fell louder on the forest floor

we became helpless to the harsh rays of the sun,

which crack surfaces

and expose truths. 

So we bought a camera 

to freeze time.

We bought a nice big fancy camera

to prove that there was life left in us.

With each flash 

we captured lies 

like fireflies in a jar,

trapping them behind metal and glass 

and hanging them on our walls

so that our guests could have something pretty to look at.

But at night, 

when the visitors would leave,

and the only light left

came buzzing from the television screen,

our minds began to wander

as our eyes rolled back

and like clockwork

the moss continued to cultivate…

For lest one forget,

no matter what it sows 

every seed begins to grow

under blankets of soil

in the dark.

2012

jimmy's chipping away at a novel in the corner

a stranger just sneezed a sonnet

and I'm a dial tone 

drinking coffee 

to feel up

pulling wool over my own eyes

scratching the blue

blurring the black

yellowing the white

erasing 7 numbers

I memorized

destined for something more 

than wanting something more

for someone else

I keep blinking 

and walking

fast

two feet

running

one heart

gunning 

to keep the promise

my mind made

my gut

to be surprised 

and adored

to adore

and surprise

to daisies on Wednesdays 

'cus it's the 3rd day

to be supported

and to say thank you

to give standing ovations 

to good ideas

to be encouraged

and inspire back

to laugh

too hard

and too loud

at everything

and with everyone

to blush often

and always

to feel safe

when vulnerable

to be open minded when listening 

calm when speaking

clear headed when choosing 

and steadfast when acting

to be at peace

when sleeping

and eager

with the sun

to be in tune when creating

in touch while loving

and always digging deeper in the soul's pocket

to hear

and answer

His whispers

to be deserving 

of everyday gifts

to be aware

of everyday miracles

to set examples

to stand alone

when something's right

to stand up

when something's wrong

to talk less

and do more

to give more

and take less

to set intentions

and meet them

to set new intentions

when old ones are met

to be the type of person

one hopes to meet

to manifest these jewels

fervently 

in the days

and years

of this life

and the next

jimmy's novel is finished

the stranger sold her book of sonnets

and I'm dialing in each day

while drinking coffee

until my time is up

numbers game

cigarettes smell like cancer
but they taste like vogue
whiskey sounds like 14 years of abuse 
but it feels like Ginsberg 
everyone, including Bowie, wants to live in the golden years
which is directly proportional to your birthday minus 3 decades
at 15 I wanted to die at 27
at 24 I have 8 different doctors 
1 of them sits in a dilapidated chair
2 and 1/2 appointments with me could buy him a leather barcalounger 
but his shitty chair makes me think less about money 
and more about how he can see the whiskey and cigarettes in my eyes
his 6th sense picks up on the habits I've mastered, like Karate, 
to block the feelings orange leaves bring
he wants to talk about what happens when the leaves fall
I want to ask him if he ever saw Zeppelin live

outro

one day i
will hear no
quarter and think
of jimmy or
john instead of
yosemite and you

fist full of roses
fight in your teeth
ugly love
the water looks deep

our house was
unholy, a den
of spoiled seeds
sprayed with physical
graffiti mixed in
the kitchen sink

this fight smells like roses
there's ugly in your teeth
watery love
four fists, knee deep

being trampled under
feet after kashmir
kisses on your
sleeve was a
stairway to hell
with no railing

a dozen ugly roses
salt water drips towards my teeth
i wave an angry fist at love
but you fight back, dig deep

white petals wilted
on the flower
in my hair
the levees broken
and the black
dog don't care


the water filled with roses
as your fist hit my teeth
we were fighting for love
but the ugly got too deep

liquid measurements

it's 54 in Newport

and the locals are dressed for snow

their insulated gloves 

grip ceramic mugs

full of 5 dollar foam

this place is a safe haven

for eye rolling

they are too wrapped up in 

cashmere and self loathing 

to ever notice me

ordering an ice coffee

on the 26th of December

if I wiggle my toes 

I can feel the last sandy whispers of summer 

shake free from the souls

of my sandals

and then you slip into my thoughts 

like white wash

slowly rolling in at first

but then in waves

a tsunami of 14 line sonnets  

that I've begged my mind

to un-memorize

sipping liquid life through a straw

that I've already bitten into submission

I watch the carbon copy aliens communicate 

through my foggy windshield

they are smoking

excuse me, choking

on cigarettes they don't inhale

dripping in name-brand nothingness

they emulate the rec-room at rehab

coffee, ciggs, and bullshit banter

their heads are balloons painted with promises

steadily filling with helium laced lies

worrying which one of their friends

holds the needle that will deflate 

their rubber dreams

and someone everyone knows

must be having a '60s moment 

on the cover of Vogue

because all the girls

are wearing fake flowers in their hair

ten feet of memories 

come crashing over head

when you made me laugh

daisies grew from my scalp

and eyes and ears

I was a bouquet of happiness 

watered by your quick whit

but the warmth of your presence 

was stolen by the seasons

and as green turned to grey

the petals browned

and lay wilted on my shoulders

so I plucked each stem from the soil of my mind

tied a ribbon around the dead memories 

and hid them in a shoebox 

under my bed

along with everything else

that reminded me of you

the lights are warm and wet

my pulse is the current

in a lazer-bean stream 

and

I'm jolted awake 

by the sudden spill 

of ice-cubes 

now permeating through my tank-top

I pillage through a bag of old clothes 

collecting mold in my backseat 

and pull a ripped flannel from the sea 

of things I've been meaning to throw away

slip out of my damp shirt

and back into the depths of you

with the touch of a dial

Bon Iver is dripping from the speakers

like a sweet opiate river

the purple noise inflates my car 

and becomes the life-ring I need to stay afloat

in the rough waters of reflection

stoplights look like jewels in the rain

rubies 

emeralds

canary diamonds

I never wanted diamonds

I have too many rings

my gypsy fingers didn't need adorning 

like Lennon said, "Just give me some truth"

people can't drive when its stormy here

so I'm even later to work than usual

slamming on my breaks I grab the wheel

with my free hand

which was busy gripping 

your shirt

rubbing the worn fleece back and forth

between my finger and thumb

which are now both muddy green

from the grass stains we acquired

at that festival sometime last April

the flashbacks come hailing down

thousands of angry ice stones

piercing through the skin 

of my life preserver 

until all the air escapes

and lifelessly

I sink back in time

this shirt was our pillow 

with the ground at our backs

we poked holes in black canvas 

so soft yellow light could leak through

and everyone called this stars

but you told them it was music 

and I mumbled something about love

whatever the name 

it got louder 

and stronger

until no black remained 

on the canvas

so we rose 

and started swigging fire water 

from a sunscreen bottle

when out of nowhere 

a stranger appeared 

drenched in a waterfall of white 

and handed you a note 

that read,

"plastic causes cancer."