Mornings, they stumble

Mornings, they

Morning, they stumble
Witness the progression
Milling fathers and mothers.
A line,
Procession,
Sweep their solemn feet across the pavement.

Wait.

Wait for something blessed and holy
On this Monday morning.

Breaks in the clouds permit their slow restitution.
Holy, holy sun.
Holy, holy day.

They wait for their train to come
Hear its vibration in the rusted tracks
Chugging along.
Transcend
They raise their necks
In silent, silent anticipation;
And they stumble

Stumble
On this awkward morning
When God is found, resting in the front-most car.
He waits for his stop.
Face buried deep down in his hands.
Face buried deep within her hands.
Children sleep pristine sleep the whole ride through.
Rises
Gazes at the blasphemes
Sweeping their feet across the forsaken landing.
Dust rises,
Goldening in the ostentatious sunlight, bending-

Ask
Who calls?
The men and women quietly pass
Wait, Wait,
Pass, Wait.
Sometimes
(Only sometimes)
They act.

It is the time.
Do not ask.
(What is it?)
Let us go
Dance wildly in the windy avenues.
Hum along with the scales chattering up and down
White and black keys in a poor-man’s symphony
Lovers wearing out their welcomes.
Don’t ask.

Mornings become auspicious.
Women gregariously speak to men,
Men call with chivalrous tones.
Happiness comes in the new-born mornings
Foxtrot upon the wires carrying our crackling voltage.
Courageous nights spring
From his and her’s sprouting mind,
Escaping from the seams of the tuxedos and sundresses,
Unfurling as they twirl in the raging twilight.
Breaths escape from the open mouths
Directed northward as the rain falls.
They spin.
Now they are here.
Now they are aging.

Now they are here.
Now they are aged.

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Wasted Time

Ensure me
That I will not waste away in the Greyhound terminal
Sitting on a soaking seat
Somewhere between 8:10 and 8:30pm
Counting the seconds as I shiver
Shoo’ing away the workers and police officers
Questioning whether I am waiting for you, or loitering.

Or that I will not wind up
On the sands of Santa Barbara
Skin burning only on my palms and
The nape of my neck
Clenching and unclenching sand
In a rhythmic yet careless tempo
Holding on and then letting go
And holding on and then finally.
Letting go.

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Slow

What a life
To lose in a cascading fashion.
Waterfalls falling into waterfalls,
Running slowly out to sea.

Speak until the distance no longer seems
As if it truly exists.
Shout into the ether,
“I do remember, and it was fine!”

Long gone.
Far past the wavering mountains
Subsiding on the Eastern shores
She, softly slow dancing with strangers.

Gather yourself in the sun’s glow
Waking forever slow.
Rising northward with an arrested mouth,
Houses creak as they break apart.

Our time slowly comes to an end
Then stops without noise.
Hands motionless, knee-high
Giving themselves a break from the furious wringing.

Hapless, reckless
Read the postcards with a bitter spite.
Remember the splendid dances when we were poor.
I do remember,
And they were fine.

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Light

I will find you
Wading in the afterthought
Searching in the temperate bay.
My heart and hands withering from the wringing,
Jettisoned from the nearest cliff
Screaming
“Polina, Paulina.
Where are you
In this narrow space?
I must tell you so,
All this time I waste.”

I pull myself up from the floor
By the skin of my aged teeth.
In Two-Thousand and Ten
In a glorious failure of changes and expectations,
We changed.
May you never know this song is about you,
Don’t you-
Don’t you ever discover
That the men fall in love too quick
And break hearts far too slow
For your own good.

With your gregarious eyes and magnanimous mouth,
Forgive me,
As I drift in the pond of inaction,
Tapping myself softly in the temple for hours,
From here on ever.

I will drink until I see your face
In the fading array of stars
On this unfortuitous Friday night.
Clamoring down the city streets
Just to make a racket.
I hope you will hear
And you’ll come from behind the corner of a drugstore or diner,
(Alone, of course)
Say hello,
(As I am fading fast)
Pull me up from the gutters and from myself,
(Glowing refractions in the pools of water in the streets
Begin to darken)
Take my hand so as to take care
(In a shattering falsetto
“At once
I knew
I am not magnificent.”)
My words stick to my clothing,
Desperately wandering down the alleys to discover
Wrong names
Incorrect ideas
Now ingrained into my fontanel

Jutting from my ribs are my ribs.
Are your ribs
Scraping against each other in a cacophonous disharmony?
Are you nervous?
Is that even possible?
Angle myself towards the rocks in the water
My trajectory falls not in my favor.

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Air

Sundress radiates
From top to flowering bottom.
Tumbling petals in the turbulence
She fluoresces in her ascension.
There is a space between.
Speak of me like jetsam, defenestrated.

Honestly, I tell you permeating words
Of craven moments.
Meandering though the sultry air of this cabin,
A pressure exerts upon us
Limbs and chest tied to our seats
I am a captive of my own volition.

Coming to an impossible halt
We are aloft in the air
Dreaming in a dreamless state
Departing
Departing
Disembarking from this familiar plot of land

Twisting in the afternoon
Speaking about baby bears and altered paths from what was our inevitability.
She is forever lost
Discovered and squandered
In one fell swoop of cowardice.
The fool plays a fool just fine.

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Retreat

You will find yourself slowly retreating
Retreating away as a ghost does from this earth
From the high fires and the glowing, splintering embers
The fallen, monolithic sycamore trees
Given the skies over San Francisco are bringing in the ocean mist.
This fire will subside soon
As most fires do.
As they all do.

I will go to the shores and build a boat,
Depart from the sinking sand.
I will grip the wood panels and push,
My feet slipping, falling out from under me,
Tumbling minute after minute after minute into the sea,
Lost in the tides
Settling to the bottom of the ocean floor
Undisturbed.

One day
In your vibrant youth that is quickly fading
You will stumble into a room sullen and opaque from the deadened dust
Swirling around in its own deprecating atmosphere
Seeing the somber faces of your cousins and aunts and uncles
Patting you on the back
Giving you condolences,
That the world, regardless,
“It’ll be ok.”
You will lose, and it will tear down the veils and the tapestries,
And the column of your unwearied support,
The support that created you from scratch-
That taught you right from wrong-
That treated you justly when your juvenile mind could not discern-
Until there is nothing left of you
But you

Our faces mold to the contours of the life that crafts our years
Bringing the jawline to meet the low-hanging neck,
Canyons in the back sides of your hands,
Deep caverns in your once taut skin
Signifying that your days are numbered, kid,
Did you use them wisely?

Languishing men and women storm into the room
Asking for more
As their understanding exceeds no further than the hardly-ethereal
The lightness of their being
Floating
Because nothing can weigh them down
There are no anchors in this life
That are heavier than their own conscience.

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Untitled

Ash settles unsteady in the folds of the paper
To read, undone from top to bottom
From top to bottom
Take apart piece
By thinning
Piece
Composed in an ancient language he forsakes
The ground beneath shakes the children to sleep
Our angels believed we were pure souls
Only until we turn our shoulders
To the cities and machina
Cast away
They returned to their once regal homes
Decorated in iridescent hues
From top to bottom in delicate garb
Tapestries torn and tattered
Tables upturned
Mountains recede to whence they came
No longer monoliths in the aging, ripping sky

I remember her face
It would stay still in the panic and tribulation
Press against her creases in the Spring
And still, she would refuse to go
“I can save you”
Dove into the frigid lake and out of reach of her arm
Extending from the clouds like a herald with a message.
Wading in the wake of a bastard, mercurial world
We would sleep until sundown
Unable to remember our first love
And our second
And so on and so on and so forth.
The fourth and fifth measure came crashing lazily
Uninspired
Exhausted

Her words refused to go
Resonating down the greying halls
Glancing at the faces in the photos with a glazed look
In the frames we built together
“I can save you”
Glossy eyed blackbirds perched in twos and threes outside the window
Reminding us of the families we left
Rays of the sun flex with the imperfections
Curving down into the sullen house
Smoothing near the languid conclusion
It’s here.
Right here.

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In This, Is You

Months come breathing in the chest
And the departed come in waves.
Memories, photographs, in spots of deja vu
Lifting the thoughts and melancholy up, hovering in the air
Lofty like the specter in the clouds
Coming quickly and lingering in the abdomen.
Cement pulls down the lungs in the survived,
Asking
Are you ok?
In the kingdom, is it as beautiful as they have sang?
My mind carries with the wind without wings in tandem
With the blackbirds in the endless fields.
In the wheat and barley are specks of life.
I believe I saw you in the Summer, years ago
Believing in something greater, something All
Jousting, jabbing, thrashing in the night
We all wished we believed in you
Yet I speak here, now, in a dark tuxedo torn and touched
By hands in the procession, spreading across the plains and through the sky
Finding themselves in the cities and countries
Hoping we see them once again, in dreams and letters
Postcards in envelopes smell like
Eucalyptus fires
Luaus and palms doused by the sea salts sea breeze
Himalayan treks freezing the edges of these pages
But in our memories we will find you
Breathing, panting, in harmony with the gods and godless
Cherish the incorrigible words put in these perishing words
Coming in waves
My shores recede in the hours, in the moments without-
Returning home in the nights without shoes
I forgot who you are, in the closed room with shut lights
I hear you breathe, if only in these nights
When will they end.

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Rivers Flow Through

Rivers flow through the living room, and we are submerged,
Yet be it only waist high

Your virginal hands wringing the jeans
Drenched in salt-water
Haughty baby call me down from ledges
Hand on the handle
Mantle melting down to its core

Brazen baby forsake the words of wisdom
Cut your soles for the sake of expedition
Learning how your skin thickens around the scars
Your words impertinent
Coo’ing and cawing from the coop
Down to the shuffling masses
Unwinding
Undone

Northern lights, dimming glow
Outside your hemisphere;
Sagittal Sagittarius bucks and falls
Shooting stars acquiesce with your shimmering eyes
Extolment in the river of your baptism,
Hold your palms to the sky

Elation’s source is the diaphragm
Wind up
Release into the wilderness’ night sky
Reaching above the firs
Dust falls from the branches upon our sleeping shoulders
Sounds spurting
Tears trail from the source like comets
Calming until we are found.

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Rambling Sonata

Oh, darling
The sloping hillsides pass so quickly.
“Greens and vermillion come in blurs, and I am shaking.”
Ostentatious
Her lifestyle proved a blatant disregard for the commonwealth.
She packed up her belongings and moved to the next city
Coming undone in a selfish way.
Life in a fruitless world
Our hands stay hidden deep in our pockets
He
She
Walk away in terrible fits
Tremors come lightly until we are all submerged in our hedonism
Like wading through an adamantine ocean
Craving.

We divide ourselves amongst the wheat and the chaff
Realizing only too late-

When the sun is coming down over us
Engulfing our carnal bodies,
As we wade in the narrow stream,
That we are mistaken for something beautiful,
Something other than our spitting, rank, carnal existences.
We come to be nothing
Spinning in our graceless plots of land
Wide enough to sleep.
Gone are the hands and graces of God.
He has left us
(You can tell from the charcoal sky
Lording over the blank horizon
Laying out in front of our eyes.)

Dripping slow from the peaks of the world
Hillsides of dying magnolia and-
Should we even speak upon our dogma?
Construct the buildings and the chain-link fences
Keeping us from us;
The sinners from the seraphim.
Overbearing
We heard you shouting from the poor man’s rooftop
Angle your voice to the gutters and the streets
Motioning to the herds
Preaching
Stark raving mad about the starry dynamo creeping slowly from the Cave.

It was not you
Your voice was drowned in a bucket
Gripped around the neck by the Man,
Hands and feet flailing in the still air.
Able and willing
Your song was somber
Trudging its way through the sound and fury
Hours and hours
Years and years
Leave us slowly until the heartbeat becomes a mirage
Discuss, discuss.
Our minds perish in a homely wasteland
Fast-forwarding to a harsh inevitability,
Abyss-bound
Coming to a full
Stop.

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