"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Thursday, December 31, 2015

A Thought.

I take another hit through water.

The audiophile ignites in me.

Suddenly I hear such a range of sound. I hear the set back beating of drums, and the trumpet supporting the vocal harmonies. I hear variance, depth, and width.

The music feels full. It makes me tingle behind my eyes and see stars. I feel it in my mind and throat and heart. I feel a rhythmic sway in my bones--it's easy but unsettling--different from my daily stiff back and lead limbs.

This feels right--just right now. I know when I wake up, I will salivate at the thought of being back here: the feeling of being surrounded by music, feeling surrounded by inspiration, surrounded by love. I forget these-- what does it feel like to not be inherently alone?

That might be what I like about writing--all this fullness. My mind is fighting against this all the time. I think I am in some way afraid of this power and freedom.

How can I fear something that frees me so much?

I am tilting and the music is tilting with me.

I Felt Like Icarus.

There's fire in her eyes,
and it comes out in her words--
I sit back and listen
because I'm in awe
of her passions
and her scope
of life.
There's fire in her hair
and when I lean in to hug her
in a friendly manner,
I feel smoke and heat
and it leaves me
finger tips singed
and feeling so afraid
of being burned--
And yet I'm forgetting
that I wear wings
Of wax.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

The High Level Bridge.

I may fall into deeper waters still.
150 feet up it looks soft and inviting,
even during a murky December night.
I've heard whispers of what happens
to the high level bridgers:
They say inertia stops your outside body on impact,
but your organs keep moving,
thrashing around and tearing
themselves apart.
It's blunt trauma.
It's ribcages busting.
It's aorta and lungs and veins and arteries all ripping under too much pressure.
the high level bridgers must have felt
that there would be some relief in that;
the few seconds of debilitating
would be worth not having to spend another moment
in this fucked up world.

- - -

It's been almost a year since my friend passed away. I've been missing him more than usual. I wish that I had been a better friend to him, that I could have helped him in some way. I wish he was still around so that I could talk to him now, I need his guidance.

Saturday, December 5, 2015


I have never felt heartache
As deep and vast
As the ocean.
Dark and
Blue and
It seems
Like bottomless
There's life
Down deep
And they don't need
To worry about when
They will see light at the end
Of a darkening void--
They make their own.

Friday, December 4, 2015

Dear dad.

When I'm far away from you
It's easy to forget your
On an emotional level      
It's hard to accept          
That you're the father I have  
But never the one I needed.
I miss you                  
I don't
I hate that
I love you.


At night,
your dreams haunt you.
You see ten stories--
flight and conquest
over this life.
At night,
I'm haunted by something too.
It keeps me from sleeping,
drags me back to the edge,
those ten stories:
Guts, flight, and then conquest.
Relief, weakness, and victory
over this life.