From My Window To Yours

gaza

to those who were born
with a wall on
the inside—
to those who’s lives
are rocks flying at bullets—
to my brothers
and sisters
living, dreaming, dying
in a corner—
some of us see you
and we
are fighting the monsters
with you

at first light

    I had never seen
     the sun, not like
    the one that I saw
       between us

    your eyes were my eyes
       for a moment
          at dusk

    the sun was
          new
     I didn’t even
         see
     until it had
        arched
     from your eyes
        into
              mine

silent attempt

I am silent
not for long
nobody has lips
for this wind, no words
can fit on this 
weathered page

explain it—cant 
and no lapse of time
or thought has silenced
my attempt

no wonder I
am so disoriented,
constant moody, frequent
shivers, even when it rains
opiates and gold and
women and water
I still bask
in a cloud of lust—not love

I am silent 
long enough for one
moment to be swept
into the sun, no one,
nothing has words
to bring it back

night sentence

the night is made up
of words—close up—
eyes to the ink
heart broken
in to syllables

lose sleep/dual meanings
your voice, I can 
hear it though
every wall is sealed;
draw light, yeah, but
from where? neither blind
nor def nor lost nor
found

the night is made 
of words; blackened tongues
speak to devils while
choking on Gods; false deity talk

yet the sun too
is made up
of words; so read
the verse, speak/think/one
and sing
with me; night is
words but light
is voice

Believe.

I sometimes fall victim to petty stress and pointless worrying, too.

Yesterday, worrying about having enough money to travel on this summer and, furthermore, how the hell am I gonna get to Portland? Bus and train both cost $150—more than I would want to spend to get there.

Last night I’m at a small get-together at a friends house.  I’m telling my plan to a friend-of-a-friend.  He says:

“Bro, I got frequent flier miles I’m never gonna use. I’ll hook it up.”

Ten minutes later he clicks book flight.  I scored a plane ticket to Portland for $70 including fees.

As per the money, fuck it.  I’m gonna leave CA with at least $600 and where I’m going (Rainbow) wont require any money.  At all.

In other words, I’m set.

Got my harmonicas and my wits.  If I run out of money I entertain on a corner.  We made $100 in two hours doing that in South Carolina last summer.

Friends, have some faith in the universe.  Don’t set your future in stone because that is not how it works.  Have your eyes and your heart set on a destination but leave the path a mystery.  If you are determined, if it is something that you know you want and you need, then you will get there.

Just believe.

so walk true

I let go of my gaze and
the sky began to fade—
the dusk united one color,
the earth burning in
cold contrast bellow

a new corner
opened;
a new path
blazed
among the stars
feel
the void, the vague

fall into melting horizon
and see that all is fine,
all is unified and all
paths lead to the
same destination—

the setting sun—
the reflection
of your journey
burning in unknown
hues—

the light at
the end
of the tunnel

Y ¿Dónde está mi mente? (I am confused)

soul-in-division:

I left it somewhere
a place where I took you
now I’ve forgotten
bread crumbs eaten by mice
no one warned about that
I insist on being fine
who needs it

I hope this isn’t making sense
he said to stop doing that
and I agreed
we watched the film on the lawn
clover for grass
hard clay underneath us

and now my sister’s mother has died
a peaceful death
and a daughter’s guilt at feeling relieved
I hear it in her voice
when she sits with me in clover
they bury people above the ground there

I dream of you
you smell like the ocean
you leave me salty
saltier than I started
maybe I’m cured

someone wrote a poem that has my name in it

So I just bought a plane ticket from San Francisco to Portland for $70.

Looks like I got the first leg of the journey figured out.

I leave June 4th. It is official.

patterns

scriptures on skin—
sin genes strung in spirals
through your veins; beating heart
beat to the finish—concluded
as ‘you are doomed’
you are doomed
to see in circles
the very end without
beginnings

embodiment of stone
cold carvings, etched
forever in the face 
of humanity—words that
meant something then but
what did you know about now
back then?

manifestations of 
shut curtains and broken clocks,
circulatory and nervous
systems entwine around
the room—you are
stuck here, body one
with the monotony 

            and if the windows were
                  to break
            a flood of uncertain colors
                  and head-lights
            break the eyes, soil your
                  DNA
            choked in the smog of
                  your dark words

            see the light, my love
                 you are
            predisposed to nothing
                nothing
            you are the manifestation
                of nothing
           but love and light

be free
                  

s&s light house, deity

artehago:

myopic and brutal

that telephonic eye,
Fatima 
with coordinates,
seeds our future
,
peels back pain;
crooked libidos for ransacked brains.

sea storms of swords,

rained compelling words
to soft landings

on hard heads
with pillow talk 
pictures
and hearts bled.

how many arms
and fingers
legs and toes,
as you infiltrate
the corridors
of to those who know?

passive

You cant just choose
pacifism it seems—
even if you
hold flowers to the sky
with your heart, there will
always be
someone breathing smog and
ice until very little
of you feels alive

(that someone could be you)

you might have picked
it up—you may have learned
to balance the world
with bottomless-pit hands
and a heart that
seems to beat too fast or
not at all

you fight the war, no
matter what—but what
side are you
fighting for?

are you fighting to
keep it all
together

or is your struggle
to swim with
the tides
of change?

Pacifism
is never
an option

Meditation

After a Tibetan Book Of The Dead mysteriously found its way in to my possession, I decided to take a lesson from it and practice traditional meditation.

It says to pick a certain time of day—and to give yourself 30 minutes—and that putting yourself in a setting with some religious or spiritual symbols is helpful. Count your breaths to help facilitate clear-mindedness.

I chose sunset—approximately 7:45PM. I found a spot on the western most edge of town, in an empty field which captures the last of the setting sun. Time of day, check. Spiritual symbolism, check.

Its hard keeping the mind completely blank. As the book says, distraction of meaningless thought-flows is to be expected. The trick is realizing it when it happens and going back to concentrating on your breathing.

I made it 14 minutes without interruption.

Tonight at sunset I will face west again and hopefully top 14 minutes.

somewhere inbetween

At night
I open my eyes;
I am awake
but nothing
is real

I dream
a life—
I see monsters
and stairways that suddenly
drop off a cloud;
I climb trees to get
the highest fruit—
a juice I
will never taste

I’m a machine
with vipers instead
of arms; I bite
with teeth made
of sand; I lose
my stomach
to holes
in the floor

at dawn
I seem to slip
through one of
these holes

I am dreaming and I
cant even tell

so who
am I 
to decide what
is real and what
isn’t? I am
the only one
who can