Pouring smoke

I'm going to pour myself on you, then lick it up like cayenne mixed with honey. 
In less than six hours you'll have every bitter sweet memory, 
so spicy and heavy it's hard to tell who's stomach turned first. I will swallow everything about you to satiate my unquenchable thirst, 
before vomiting my self hatred into the most sacred spaces you never knew you had. 
Then I will roll up another cigarette and smoke it.
If you come back for more, then I will know that somewhere there is still hope. 
I'll know I'm a fool, for feeling so hopeless. 
The insides of the vacated spaces formerly inhabited by my intense self hatred will resonate with the vibration of that hope.
The me that is I will resist,
but eventually wither and die, 
and hopefully something new will rise from the ashes. 
Then it will be your turn to pour yourself on me like tar and molten marble, 
chisel me into a form that make's you feel comfortable and stable. 
Set the foundation with chaos and shameless nudity, fill every gap in my armor with serenity, then take the cigarette from my lips and smoke it.


 

Satisfied

Remember the moments when
This, Too, Shall Pass
sounded so much like breaking glass

I remember walking down the highway
with a smile on my face
the sweat dripping into my eyes
and that overwhelming sense of being
satisfied

I'd walked 20 miles already
I knew the next car that passed
would be my ride, and the feel of the
AC would be divine

Sleeping in the soft grass
the contours of the earth 
fit my body perfectly
As I drifted off to sleep I
Felt the earth wrap her arms
around me

Sitting under a bridge in Missouri
Or was it Oklahoma?
The storm pounding the ground like a hammer
I felt the air pressure pop my ears
at the same time all my fears disappeared.

That time my dog ran away during Mardi Gras
I walked around for hours calling his name
I laid down in some field, praying and the rain
soaked me through
I ended up on your porch just before sunrise
Broken hearted and red eyed
Knowing I'd done all I could
Crumpled on the cold hardwood
The smallest piece of me somehow felt
satisfied

sabotage

Being practical and realistic
Is all I can think about while staring into your eyes

Staying calm, maintaining my distance

While inside I crave your lips on mine

To think I just met you
And blind passion contains 

A heavier dose of hurt
Practicality tells me
"take it very slow, and stick to the truth"

Torn between infatuation, pure fantasy
Or burning this unbuilt bridge

I see clearly my capacity for
sabotage 

Itching for home

I have got an itch I can't scratch
I can hear Asheville, Nashville and Seattle
Calling me home
Nola wants to know how fast I can pack
I threw away every love letter I wrote Richmond
But Mobile forever has my heart and Berkeley wants me back

All these dreams of green Nor Cal hills
The dungeons of Savannah
Echos of Memphis giving me chills

Sitting in the house in which I was grown
This feels like the farthest
I've ever been from home
The road is all I want right now
'cause the road is all I've ever known

Bring me back Louisville
Send me to Ladenville
Give me back my night
Let me sleep in peace

Irony

could you expand
lay it all out and fill up the pages with
concepts and notions
all the details of the implosion
the sum of which amounts to
nothing being said at all

could you just look in the eyes
holding the reflections of all the
unsaid projections
bare bones splintered
insightful inflections
wintered
the flower inside the eyes
withered

could you realize
agony prescribed
wants amplified
while the needs were
neglected and left to die

could you tell me again
how it's okay to hurt sometimes
but not in public
and never for too long
we got to suck it up
and spit it out

could you show me the
love that overcomes the risk of hurt
and lasts a life time
not love unconditional
but love tangible and literal
messy and miserable

could you tell me it's all good in the end
and if it's not all good then it's not the end
without irony

four thousand years

Looking for warm skin
finding hot, burning, consuming freedom
shivering and shaking
naked on cool tile, laying
down in my soul
found a child, four
thousand
years old

I saw flowers in his eyes
moving, growing
bigger smaller

I found her
in mobile alabama
small body, huge heart, deep scars
it was a car wreck
she almost died

I laid my love down
laid it bare, stripped and screamed
tore it open
pulled out all the stuffing
busted every seam

empty head, tired heart
I walked the neutral ground of Esplanade
and drowned half the love I laid down
in flames
and embers turned to charcoal

naked
on cool tile
i laid down in my soul
and found a child
four thousand years old

I Wrote Poems

I use to write beautiful poems for the beautiful women I loved

It was truly a gift, for I wrote about anything that really touched my heart

And while perhaps not masterpieces, they warmed the hearts of the ones I loved and

in my lonely hours

Reminded me of the good company I had experienced and loved

I stopped writing poems a few years ago

The excuses are endless, I never had time

I got tired of drying out all my writing, or having all the ink washed away

I got a dog, and it was the dog food or the writing

I was more inspired by living than writing about living…….

That last is close to the truth, but honestly

I just lost passion for it, I lost my muse, I repeatedly searched my heart and ripped out my emotions

just to hear

"wow that was so pretty"

and it felt empty 

I’d look down at the paper, the frayed edges and smudge marks bound up in a stained cheap folder

I’d see my blood and mind and emotions dripping onto the floor 

I’d wonder who or what am I doing this horrible thing to myself for 

I never had a good answer to that question

Every single time I would feel empty

Every time I had to sit in the sun with a pile of rocks

Carefully removing each page from the folder and placing a rock on it so it wouldn’t blow away.

Every time I sat in some bathroom drying page by page in the blow dryer

Every time I rewrote a page before the ink washed completely away

I knew the reason I did this is because I wanted to remember the things that touched my heart

and to share these warm moments with others

I just want to be loved

for depth instead of skin

realisim instead of popularity

rawness instead of a sugar coating 

I stopped writing and started drinking, I sang the blues for money and love

And forgot about sharing the warm moments

They say that beauty is only skin deep

I wanted to find that deepest beautiful feeling the universe put inside me

Write it down and be loved and praised for that plagiarized truth

There was a time I had less than one dollar in change, hitch hiking in the new mexico desert

Huddled under a bridge in a blizzard, eating nearly frozen canned soup

And at that moment I was so content, not ecstatic or happy or excited

But serene, peaceful, calm

Not long after that moment, I was in an apartment laying next to a beautiful girl with money in my pocket

My car was parked outside, the bar was less than a block away and the shower had endless hot water

At that moment, I was joyful and content in the happiness of the moment. But I saw so clearly the transient nature of ecstacy and excitement

And I wished for the simplicity and serenity of that bridge in the snow with the frozen soup

Pay attention and you’ll notice how no matter what extreme you are experiencing at the moment.

It’s not the opposite extreme that contrasts so starkly with the present extreme

But its the middle ground that you long for to truely comfort you

I had a dream the devil was chasing me

Everytime I talked to a person they would at first try to help me, then laugh and turn into the devil and I’d run away again

Eventually I realized none of the people in my dream were actually real. Somehow my dream world had

Been invaded, and I needed to wake up, and find my heart again.

I left all of my writing in some bushes in california, near the 101 freeway in santa barbara

My best friend found all of it and kept it safe and tried to return it, but I wouldn’t take it back

After you pour your young heart onto dead, ground up, bleached and pressed trees then

Leave it besides the interstate for any takers, you may feel a sense of shame deeper than any you’ve felt before.

And it still feels like I betrayed myself. 

My mind betrayed my heart and decided to rip out some of the most intimate peices, write it all down

Then leave next to the road like a dumpster baby that was the result of a rape

When others betray you, don’t get too hurt

Because the ways you can betray yourself are worse than anything the devil can conjure

Trust, Beauty, Integrity, Serenity, Contentment, Pain, Fear, Rage, Peace, Joy, Love

These are all simple words for feelings that the complex universe conspires with our souls to inspire in our hearts.

Please continue to share your warmth.