Saturday, January 8, 2011

am i real?
or am i a bodiless voice
from nowhere
stuck on a rudderless ship
turning around
'n around
'n around?

Monday. January 3, 2011

it is what it is

it is what it is

doesn't matter how many times i repeat to myself
"it is what it is"
the fact that my inner-eyes were
carrying the heavier burden of a sadder soul
weighed in disappointments of unfulfilled goals
makes these words relentlessly cruel and judgmental

and
i am still shedding 
people

still waiting and repeating
"it is what it is"
again and again
"it is what it is"
like a chant
like a prayer
"it is what it is"

it is an impossible sick prayer on the wind
and i don't believe a minute that it is true
deeply afraid that 
it is far from being over

Sunday, January 2, 2011

i gotta get this right
right as the unpredictable fists 
of a gypsy god
who got 
not a night
free of silent clocks
that knock
thirteen thousand plots
together with
some rhymes
that don't fit
quite right

Saturday, December 11, 2010

a sputnik descending in my mind
into a sour moon 
dipped in my childhood memories of 
mercury magic
but swarmed by sequences of numbers
meaningful only for some 
impossibly sharp minds
sitting in their sofas 
watching coldly raising waves 
of randomness and false patterns
yet the only thing i hear
is a weak signal
and waves breaking on
my memories of a yellow nylon ball
imitating that sour moon

Thursday, October 28, 2010

he could see the writing on the wall
his house wasn't his house anymore
he inherited his father's disappointments
and he could not
would not
build a home 
on a desolate ocean of discontent
such as his

Flashback: March 16, 1998

                                                 in
late days                                       and
bargaining late hours                            of
                                         every ache
                                         everything
and anything
besieged by deliberate
sharp edges of burning temper
which is delinquently sore
in every respect                                 is
washed away by                          nothingness

touch

the
absolute
innocence                           lying calmly on

solipsism's ladder of words                    sank
                              vessels of perception
                                              which
is read                                      killed
in one of three
thousand ways

i don't know
which one                                   the way
                                          the arrow
                                            of time
                                                was

Thursday, October 21, 2010

she quashed this family
  without mercy
this ragtag group of people
  poisoned with sarcasm
  drunk to stupor with self-pity
with the ease of an 
  understated gesture of kindness 
  of giving a plumb
to a scared and distracted 
  little girl
  wrapped in city's crazy crowd