Words

Words have the power to cling on

Like—a sliver of lint on
an unwary shoulder

or a floating floret of a dandelion
grazing the wasi-sabi rifts of the skull.

A playful pounce of a puppy trapped
in the body of a furry leviathan

or the patter of sheets of aluminum rain
on the leathery hide of us.

Like a looming purple comet
getting larger as it plummets

or a tackle from a friend
that leaves you
laughing, breathless –
broken

Doors

We are our choices.

– Jean Paul Satre

Doors

The shuddering storm
of fractals intolerance

The sky turns an Albuquerque orange;
the shade of the gut. Of a
quick draw gun fight

A spiral staircase
flanked by closed doors

I get lost some days.
That’s alright.

But some nights I

shudder.

at the creeping purple

of crumbled

doors
                                        unexplored

 

God, the Poet

I’ve decided that God exists.

If you asked me why, I would tell you that if I fell back to my Judeo-Christian roots, God created people in his image. In that case I would think He exists because there are poets in the world. And that means God is a poet.

This proposal is entirely based on my opinion that it is symptomatic of a poet to be content with being revered, without being fully understood.

Then you would ask me if I assume God to be relative, since I’ve based my argument based on an opinion. And to that I would then reply, “Of course God is relative!”

God’s the Father!

As You Grow Up

I
As you grow up
you’ll learn parlor tricks
don’t work as well as they used to.

That close up magic
also closes up the ladies

That your boyish charm
only works on the aunties

That your once-polished boots
Start to lose their shine.

II
As you grow up
you’ll learn second chances
come by lesser than they used to.

That deadlines and cutoffs
Should be taken quite literally

That relationships hold pricetags
and hidden expiry dates

That when Time gets grumpy
It starts nipping at your heels.

III
As you grow up
you’ll learn being cynical
doesn’t sound as bad as it used to.

That vices and virtues
are spelt similar to be mistaken

That you’ll bottle up the fairies
who tell you you’re special

That you should hand them the drills
when you know you’re screwed

IV
As you grow up
you’ll learn staying put
doesn’t solve all problems

That happiness is a granola bar
you keep in your back pocket

That some days you run out
of duct tape and band aids

That life still shifts
like the phases of the moon.

The pencil and paper case

Why have just a pencil case
when its perfectly legal
to have a pencil AND PAPER case!

Its quite alright to have one with the other as opposed to one without.

Like a bleeding nose needs a tissue,
Or a book needs a reader (and a chiropractor after)Or how I need better metaphors
to substantiate

A pencil case needs its paper
Honestly that’s the only case there is! Or should be.

So stick a wad down in there
and never despair!

The infinitude of the pencil and paper case!

Why I Am Afraid

I am afraid.
I’m afraid of growing up.
Afraid of waking up one day, and saying
– gosh I’ve been so old
so old. All this time.

And never taking risks
when the time was right.
and never striking gold beyond the
safeties of the castles in my mind.

I am afraid.
I’m afraid of growing up
afraid to tend to more, more than
the ghosts that plague my head
and how they sober me to sleep.

and never understanding
full the things that I create,
or of the people that I meet.

I am afraid.
I’m afraid of growing up
Afraid of never staying up some night again
a night like this to write
some battered poetry.

and never really learning
why I never fell in love
and never understanding why
she never could love me

I am afraid.
Not of the creatures of the night
for people tell me its all
tricks and figments of the mind.

and that the world is what
you see, and that’s the world you get
and that I’ll live like all the rest of them
that there’s nothing beyond that.

I am afraid.
But now that, I know that I am
Perhaps, it will be different
For I finally understand

Why, I am afraid.

The Problem With Typing

There’s a problem with typing.

It takes a little less effort than the conventional expression.

You let perfectly crafted typefaces and leading

-dictate your course.

it shows a little less oomph, a little less flesh

a little more nothing.

 

But we do it anyway. We move with the times.

We let the slaves be our slave drivers.

And so we look for new things for our release.
We pause a bit. we

choose to do things a little more deliberately.

And maybe then, typing isn’t just as bad as it used to be after all.