The Back Door

The beautiful little asterick marks
Are in case I don't make it back,
And if I get back, my name is not going to be Pope
Now faces are important before & after
I slip from here
What happens then, when you get led into a trap?
You have to know how to get out
The better soldier is one who doesn't have to put on a uniform
This is my uniform
Summon me a place to go
Through the back door, the video is playing
Through the back door, watching the screens
They're stroking
Not saying anything
Reticent to gaurdian any life decision
A glass in the trash, a stem, they moan
You either run or get run over

Midnight to Tyler

On 148,
The all-consuming fog in the low dip of the landscape
Drips like marijuana mist
As we drive with zero visibility through East Texas
A blanket haze haunting in December
Motifs manifest on the road
Behind a bumper that reflects our silver sorrows
Pockets of sporadic rain around Lake Towakoni
Drift from idling wave valleys
Dashes flicker, the radio static encapsulates the empty night
I tuck my tongue into my teeth
F-sharp minor has the last word on lonely
Singing to the kidney,
"Can you stay in stasis as the whole world changes?"

GRP 1 

Group Writing @ Bottle Shop

tag it
rest the bit
against the leg
tripped existence
staggers out the door
the night is always out there
the dead halls tease
kicking in clearance
favored by no one
repeating mistakes
make more sense
of the convoluted dissonance
what will come next?
patents on placement
paid in steps
half breaths invigorate
smoking what I can’t have
it burns too fast
& goes down every day
sickly cyclical,
still the sweetest blossoms
come to fruition
its ouroboros nature
is only dismissed
when sobriety
slips a bag over your head
& the button collectors
fasten a jacket to your back

Insert Space

Co-written w/ Pete Diaz

...and so too,
         have we been born
thrown...head first...
with neither blessing nor curse
haven't you?
a specific ball of tape cast
into a pile of shit
allowing, in particular,
which parts & parcels
adhere to it

lip movements
silent in space
scale back
the lack of balance
complain (to ascertain)
liberty derived from
nothing but an organized
way of living
the blues
I cannot replicate
in a matter of minutes

Behind the Box Dilotabs

Plantation interiors
Seesaw like a dangling noose
The deadly furnace
Pure white of a church steeple
Gleaming against the black back drop
Skin, weathered destitution
Skin, weathered shell of destitute morality
Anger rising behind party lines...
Warm, the sky looked the same
As it did that day
Cherry silence, 1 yr. anniversary
Hyperbole enthusiam
To make a point
Ashes of angels
Windblown in December
Near stage 27


Fireworks on the corner warm my cold back
Someone kisses my neck
A co-op apartment, spacious
One big, beautiful window looks out over Dallas
There's a light on in the bedroom
The heads crack open
Someone slips me acid
Outside on the porch
The sun is setting
I have to work tomorrow
I am worried
I have responsibilities
I break my nose
I lose feeling
I laugh
I wake up


Westchester place
The water we're drinking

No justice
No peace
Money poisons the ground
Beneath our feet

North Dakota
Running south
The oil drips into
Our mouths

They'll arrest us
No release
Throw the tear gas
If we speak

Documented disbelief
The pipes will rupture
Seep & leak

[there are windows]

there are windows
with eyes peering through
they believe what they see
though it’s warped by
expectation thinking
reality is one way
when it isn’t
alone in a room
& really it’s you
a thought of hell
pushed forward
waited for, framed
& hung on a wall
stained, moment traction
shameful reaction
a lax movement with
a false caption
dissolve into
dissolve into you
dissolve into
the counter point


In Taipei, she hides her veins
Cold as ice and slightly grey
Subtle creases line her face
In the dark, swarming city

The tassels shimmer in the wind
Pin point the track beneath the lens
Whispered voices haunt her head
Unspoken wishes fall lifeless

Fractured time consumes her sins
Her lover, liquefied cotton
The water curls around the edge
She is a beautiful island

The fire burns her skin again
She thinks the dragon is her friend
No, the myth won’t ever end

Formosa, my beautiful island

North Platte

we were old as children
self-sufficient & capable
of navigating
through subsequent channels
that bordered the riverway
choreless, hungry for experience
climbing masts to gaze
upon the landscape
in reverence
obedient to the ineffable power
of life at our fingertips
undaunted by the pain of
insufferable reality
able to envisage a multiplicity
of possibilities
a timeless quest,
a search for words
that would end in breathlessness
end in no words ...
but one word -


phantom memory
wandering on the corner

drop in
slowly fleeting
her presence
lifts the heads around her

Surfside, TX

towers on the water
suffer the poison
I adjust my eyes
to the horizon
more distant
there, alone
shaking in the ocean
while a boy, running,
punches into waves

[foolish youth]

foolish youth
how it slips from your fingertips
death will find its way in
as the dream of reality awakens
& I pull the pillow tight
snug in the elbow
crease of my arm
a temple of memories
left cracked & alone
this moment
who will jump for this drink
by the bedside I keep
all my silent inklings
my nerves continue to fuel me
a blue clock floats
luminous, navy sheets
like the sea whispering
"wade in a bit further"

Check Time

t y p e  w r i t e r  lamp
history captured
on a bookshelf
a Greyhound bus
travels way over town,
while the passengers sip
Tito's & grapefruit juice
in anticipation
of getting off
in the meantime
the shades are pulled
they stare down the sun
this life is short
alone, run over
the cones
crippled beneath the wheels
real-not real
who moved in between
the table flipped over

she pukes in the parking lot
near the open door of her Landrover
what a weird self-loathing action

Darlin', Memory

In front of the fire place
Lying naked in your embrace
A flame flickers across your face
Another burning memory fades

We tried
It all fell apart in time
I watched you lose that look in your eyes
I watched you blink at me and die inside

With our ears to the closet wall
We hear a door slam outside the hall
I never thought it would be ours

We tried
It all fell apart in time
I watched you lose that look in your eyes
I watched you blink at me and die inside

Surrounded by the shuttlecocks
Rain pouring in the midnight park
I pick you up, we slip and fall

We tried
It all fell apart in time
I watched you lose that look in your eyes
I watched you blink at me and die inside

Plaza traffic from the 7th floor
I fall asleep to the sound once more
When I wake up, you want me gone

Oh darlin, memory
Where you will always be

Up, right?

difficulty at the beginning
movement within danger
danger produces movement
all is aged metal
trapped by distraction
nothing will change this
light kicks,
pure lines evaporating
the alternative is strangulation
a giant sundial
casts her shadow on the lake
we must move every 15 minutes
as identity orders history
the highest sale date
purchased to resolve
a hopeless situation
periods of sudden change
have great importance

I trawl a toe to test the water

to spring from a lowly station
with the composure of timing

She Pours

sweet coast, tragedy
nips at her heels
everywhere she goes
she gets away
it catches up
the label is worn
nearly gone
I sit on the sidelines
and cheer her on
an empty bottle spins
in the parking lot
she runs

the sun reflects her smile
the one she’s practiced
a thousand times
it’s alive and welcoming
a singsong in her throat
on the balcony
surveying the land
her hand moves
across a swollen cheek
pulls back the hair
knots the leak
dimples flooded
she leans

a tilted lampshade
in the living room
the white of her eyes
there in the chair
looking down
a slow, sifted sound
from beneath her nightshirt
I’ve seen it happen before
she stirs

the cup of tea


results in a culmination
of ticks
against trust
a loss of focus
no particular attention
cast in any direction
reflection walking
out the door

I flip on a dime
reevaluate time
my construction of it
lacks purpose

forward is folded
on a bent, blue collar
selling a short fuse
false statement
it is a donation

I cannot
will not
remain silent…

beneath the shade of a bar tree
I think in blinks
can only be
what it is –
the crow clicks
run, rip
stained then blown
into a gutter

sweat it out
sweating categories

filtered to reduce
the rifts of dwindling existence
the paucity of possibilities
the lunacy of shoelaces


tumor full of teeth
the slip
of false remedies
a proud pulse
they keep
caption owning
she sits
street site
an encounter
contact through density -
corner communicator
a dress furls
in the wind
she’s leaving…

public space,
not taken
an impulse to flee
due to special restrictions
(broken windows)
marred landscape
of labor dissent
to be kept
out of the way
in places
it can’t be heard
a rift
satellite necklace
she rubbernecks
& moans
I stand alone
dripping ink
in the street
turned upside

A River to Want

September apricots
accordion breeze
feel me in the street
& strip
I am tired of chasing you

I sync with loathing
& want stillness of voice
touch, your eyes
push your hips into mine
what of it?
I won't
when I know the inner truth,
split divide of
it throws up on
the pavement
gurgling in unison
with motors & exhaustion
sighs from coming too hard
erupt inside
the sound of singing
as bottles smash into a
car across the street
in rhythm with ancient memory
sick to my stomach
as my backpack drags me down
amoungst the scuffling
feet of numbness
I drag inside
hair caught in the keyboard,
my tongue digs in my teeth
for something
that cannot be flossed,
cannot be removed
a voice emerges from the up
as I ride away on sweet water
washed in a cycle
of gain & dryer sheets
static removed for the purpose of me
sadness woven
fabric linen
ripe, clean
& lingering
in the air
a degree of waiting
a note - a key -
a chair - a seat -
a degree of waiting
tires squeak,
to turn...

the lake to the east
the river to the west

Behind the Curtain

Co-written w/ Pete Diaz

call it what it is
shaky hands & feet
holding your mug
don’t make a complete
ass of yourself
I would rather remain
part & parcel
of me
& I am you
blood… thicker than water?
perhaps… the thieves code
is a truism

“we are legion,
      the royal we”

that’s what we are
engines whine… into a roar…
as ancient mysticism
crashes upon the shores
of tomorrow
tonight is the future of today
& the city birds cry
as they feed on scraps
from the heels that pass
& light filters through
the momentary lapses
of clouds…
sunbeam shines down
where time cannot be found
…and yet still be bound
by those whom cannot see
…blind as bats that hungrily feed
on the unwanton…
become forgotten &
the hearts of will
rise through greed
& lust
tapping into eschewed trust
as the fodder of future generations
collapses into nothing
but the image

of dirt in memory
as if that is all we’re
really meant to be
edging & easing
a playful momentum
anxiously peeling
the label from the bottle
& though it slips
there is not one wish
that finds its way off
another’s lips
posits pits of hard luck –
bars that sprout
from the mire of distrust,
cupping hands
into a position
to pull at metal cylinders
½ empty of love

J-Stage Commentary

Girl, coming through
her hips swing side to side.
She’s got it down
the way she means to move.
Weed again,
I wish I had some too.
VIP says, “No need for that.
I don’t feel special.”

Don’t you understand
how their feelings
are offended?
Asking for apologies,
on the set list placement.
Water bottles by their microphones,
a clean, clear stage.
Not the raw, cluttered guests
that appear at Three Links.
Sweat, like Party Static
viscerally screaming.

And now –
35 minutes becomes 40

[There are no]

Co-written w/ Pete Diaz

There are no hard points of fact
No protecting that
With which we cannot connect
No path to walk...
Lest our footprints
Make a mark
At the start
I revolt
& ripple across
The effects of living
Twisted in terror
Imagining images
Which never happened
As the reeling
Out along the strip
Bone dry,
Gut shot from the hip
Not much
Further to limp... on
Street's gold...
Street lights faint... glow
The lull of life's song...
City shore
Slips into the lake
Of cars
& into every business -
An unsettling affliction
Addicted to the placebo
Blind to destination
Like an uninvited seasonal guest
In quarters
Tilted on an axis
Deciduous, fallen

My Forearm

Storm prayer –
So came renewal
A crack of lightning
Releasing its pressure
Meeting the ground
½ way in the air
Lowering the path of
Negative energy
Blind electricity
Rolling away
Into the distance
I am shocked alive
An atmospheric exchange
My reaching hand
Changing the lens
Static skies of
Rapid spiritualization
The siren echoes
Through my window
Familiar & warm
Floating on a breeze
→→Movement dispatch
Soon I will be gone,
Though it always remain
Linking the process
Because it needs me to function


when you lick the wounds
of the waste that consumes you,

& indulge the passion
of staring through windows
watching the crowd move,
clicking the surface
in no particular direction
do I want things
more than other people do?
the shape begins
to reconfigure itself like a molecule
3 striped orange lines
open, a virgin
nothing can stop
the will amassed
along a digital spool
the infinite projection
of the future
I'm left, where?
alone in a bar
with a pen in my hand
cuffs dangling from my wrist
locking onto edges
& bumping into furniture
I can't connect with
a square in the pavement
of faces
buttoned up to the neck
never relaxing
always in debt
to work back again
& filter
unleaded experience
a wave with a glance
at the man
to work back again
on an open corner
of scuffed rubber


in bloom,
like her eyes do
in the middle
of the room
a control
I never knew
    I would if I could
a pulse
of clear current
her strings
draws me near
evenings spent searching
for lullabies end
    I would if I could
her sweet ring
through the air
a pulse
of clear current
into my ears

I’m listening...
I can’t stop listening


pass the glass
tend to guests
who walk in lively
& boast about
the way they make their money
& ask for your opinion
when secretly
they don't want it
spinning in the corner
to catch you
like a cotton ball
just to leave & laugh
& walk down the street
to the next place
that will
pass the glass
& tend to guests
who walk in lively

Two Tongues

Co-written w/ Pete Diaz

Trying to get in,
& torn from
Licking the surface
Scented, accentuated
By ruthless analogies
& never-ending salad recipes
Sundried, vinaigrette-like
Ripe in kind
To peel its skin
& return
To the center
Pit of existence
Dive bomb
Swan song
Like lovers encoiled
In the dead of night
Awaiting outcome
A wave of warm
Air rises
Circling through the entrance
@ a degree
Of solitude
Suffering the tongue
Pressed against
The subjective palate
Of the object…
Like ½ remembered day dreams
In the light of kings
Of snakes
Swallowing one another’s tails
The hoof,
& the horns
The wolf & her children
The lightning
The vane
…the storm
Shredded skin
Forming new bodies
Trimmed & untamed


Memory pane
Of wet ass
& friendship
Kill the alcohol
Sweaty glass
Stained moments
Stop me in my tracks
Trip a wire,
Cemented cracks
Whip it past
To the forward
& pull it back
Shoot the tongue
From my mouth
& graffiti all my words
Cover over w/ proper paint
Make it kosher
Roll the patio
Take the trash out
Side & kill the sound
Drown it with
The world
Purge it…
Empty of light
& future
Knee, bow
Interpret, misinterpret

Kick the Cooler

Wickedness has many forms
Once it’s on paper
They won’t say a word

Parking lot thief
Lacking empathy
Chain weapons
The drag of a motor running
Disrupts my well laid plans
“I understand where you’re coming from.”
But there is no connection
Between a desk & an empty spot
The touch of a hovering thumb
That presses my head
When I’m down on my luck

Worry leaks from my eyes
Blood runs from my ears
My lips struggle to form words
But the sound is inaudible
Even careful toes get stepped on

Anger rises naturally though I don’t want to be
How little control exists in such things?

The Wash

The force of the waves
In twelve places @ once
Make her feel miniscule
A different nature
Cold & pushy
“Look what I can do
& I’ll never stop doing it.”

The moon agitates the sea
Muddy sediment drifts
West from the mouth
A blind bottom
It tapers off below
Dark & deep
Violently concealed

A headlight approaches
Flickering in sea salt
As the tide curls under
She walks out into the ocean
Using the divide to sketch
The image of her truth
Cross & repetitive

The water slaps at her calves,
Rises to her knees
The sand dissolving
In pockets beneath her feet
Pulling away from everything
A light on the horizon
Only she could see


Her nose is bloody
Static sheets
Won’t stop talking
The wasted end cums
Like dreaming awake
It never happened
Time goes away
I’m right back where
I started
Frozen in her bedroom
Alone in my head


Co-written w/ Pete Diaz

Side-wind, half mast
…behind a whole mask
Each Finger set to task
Lacking luster, spark or pure plan
…we stand alone
No place to call our home…
A mirage, sizzles on the horizon,
An infinite mirror emerges
Supple illusions
Imprint slowly
Walls of protection, without purity
"...all of us, are trying to find an extension”
“at the length of an arm”
The giving
The understanding
Remembering… Pretending…
Wandering… Forgetting
Self-ashamed & self-assured
Assured assurance
Turned from drink to trust
And I curve my pew to the beat
Of new music

Double Strand

See through the glass
And around the bend
Watch the leaves
Note the direction of the wind
       Curve the thread

It happens in an empty shirt
I flirt with the notion of another
       Curve the thread

Triple digits, I’m scorched near dead
A whistle calls me back again
       Curve the thread

I pick the bottle up
Then put it back
When I remember
What you said
       Curve the thread

Expectations leading astray
I pray to find wisdom someday
       Curve the thread

Somewhere hidden in the words I’ve read
Lies a short, sweet message
       Curve the thread


Co-written w/ Pete Diaz

Open ½ awake
Sealed in sleep
Heels twist,
Lifting into the future
As the piston... laughing slides
And as mind recoiling (rewind)
Stubborn wheels grind
Over toes, tracks
From before
Beneath these all too weary
Planks that swivel & sink
Leaking motion,
Turn along a pinwheel
Perpetually folding in on itself
Tower lost to the will of itself
Drawing neverending tears
Of its own loss, and grace
With fortuitous face

I don't need to recoil

Nothing About No One

majestic façade,
you don’t belong here
I tap the clock
an unwelcome string
cast aside so easily
compressed of clarity
which will keep you
rid, at best, of
all the excess
to be in it
so as
to be nowhere
if you recall
was what you
you always wanted
I tap the clock
it’s still tomorrow
though I walk through
weekends in
my head
when you got
hung up
on the fence
a wanton string
and I deftly tried
to halt the process

when morning passed
your words held
in bondage
like shackles on my ears
pressed piano keys
the prosody of
your deception
but how were you
to know it
would go down that way?
‘a lifted prescience' –
you declared
was what you were
I smiled my smile,
that same majestic façade,
as we parted
and our backs
said goodbye in silence

[I cannot]

I cannot -
the stage was never for me
I was always singing
off some quiet balcony
staring off into the city

in motion,
I react
to the dark

but when the piano is playing
and the coffee shop voices
turn to static
like rain on the rooftop
a peaceful melody
just enough of the otherness
to create a
sinking sensation

a soft & nonspecific,
completely un-intrusive
delicate rhythm

you cannot -
re-evaluate actions there are no rewards
for being complacent

you said that once but
I don’t remember
you are

alone, you are adroit at drawing adept
formative observations
inward like a mirror
then shattered with

July 7th, Sleep Well

[Heightened response, an unsettled scene]
8:58pm, July 7th, 2016

A difficult night for law enforcement
Downtown shutdown
Social media mess
Group text erupting
Everyone has cameras
Information wants out
The chaos of 1,000+ opinions

800 people attended the protest
Peaceful violence everywhere
Now it’s in my city
People are shooting in my streets
It imposes itself on me
Bomb threats downtown
NBC 5 trickles through my phone
Incessant speaker gossip
Parking garage gunfire
A fluid situation
I am oblivious
In the living world of veils

Thumping eardrums
A camera films a highway
Completely shutdown -

“They are searching for something Dan.”

Decoys & distractions
Bradbury warned
Filming non-situations &
Irrelevant car chases
A well-executed attack
No one knows

“And Dan, as we watch this scene unfold, we notice other drivers passing by. Now I just want to remind people of what happened, remember this all started as a protest. We now know that 2 snipers from what Dallas police officers refer to as an 'elevated position'... These officers were specifically targeted."

Unending violence
I feel helpless
Things are tightening
In the air, coming
Now - imminent
It hand grabs my neck
Smiles stretch
Saying, "Okay."

What are people telling you?

I walked out to be a part of it
A demonstration is only what it is -
A demonstration
Tomorrow's news report:
                                 our sports
                                 our weather
                                 our traffic
                                 our entertainment

We carry camouflage bags
We jump into cars & speed away
We see the shots break out
We are tired
We can choose to rise above it
We can choose to be passive
We can choose to ignore the madness
We can choose We can choose We can choose We can choose

It is our choice
Aim true
Or -


I hear keys jingle
My imagination runs wild
Next time...
& next time...
Becomes I wish I would have



cushion-less consolation
like bars,
the blinds imprison them
& the screen invokes
a mass hallucination
all is well in the world because
all is well in the living room
the light-emitting diode soothes
& rest assured I've seen that episode
this season is great
we'll talk about it tomorrow
then the station shifts
     another story
     another genre
     another lead actor
the cycle resets filtered content
each their own niche
a distraction no one admits
deters us from the present
seamlessly blended into staged media
& it is all a dream
fiction streaming
littered with tachyons
secreted by the TV
muddling the minds
with false future realities
& it is precisely why
people shoot the sideways eye
when I exclaim -
yes, I leave my window open in the summer
I let the noise come through
it is a welcome reminder
the movement of time
& all its various consequences
disconnected from the blue bubble
filled with endless channels
which fabricate the clock
tell us what to watch
& when & what to like
basic plot devices
suspending disbelief
muddling the minds
with false future realities
the general production value
increases with technology
now, it's easier than ever
to promote minimal consciousness
& what does it matter because
it's all just content
to be consumed on a
convenient modes devised for taking eyes
& turning them toward trivial events
which never even happened
such as a snake that bites
injects its venom
numbing the victim
removing reaction

Vanilla Television

Another lonesome high
Tears like raindrops
Automatic eyes
Another midnight gone
Rhythm of emotion
Expectations floating
So out of reach
A corpse, my heart, beneath me

Another lonesome desert
Howl like coyotes cry
Malnourished moans
Another moment gone
Modern moved on
Met the future
Now obsolete
So out of reach
A corpse, my heart, beneath me

Another lonesome bed
Empty like a static station
Buzzing from
Liquescent cables
A waterlogged mattress full of tall tales
Prospects sinking
So out of reach
A corpse, my heart, beneath me

A Suitable Grade


:: Early Sunday Morning ::

starving -- crazed
hungry -- afflicted

He tipped his hand
                 (there is a time and place for everything)

emerging in my dreams
awakening me
selling time
one chapel wick, un-snuffed,
left burning
appearance weak & blurry
who can see what the future will bring?

...three days before

implications of guilt
a wavering, somber echo
from the clouds
hell-bent & hovering
obstinate incessancy
a bowl of breeding worms

...three days after

in keeping still, perfection
the gentle wind removes stagnation
a needed transvaluation
or some kind of kick
to work on what has been spoiled
(the canvas)

the turbulent sea is silent
decay reborn in chaos
steady, not eager

a revolving door -
the danger connected with reform
rigid adherence to


S-H- -T- -E- -E-

       A                D     


situational securities
highlight moments of profit
the perfect list
that includes everything

the deception of love with ivory horns
...not unconscious, but sedated
an inability to form new memories
the victim convention
elevates the weak

                my misdeeds

struggle against sin
struggle against suffering
struggle against demands,
                      a needed transvaluation

when I turn the page
identity distorts into letters
progress can have a disarming effect
the potential to build relationships
and I ask, "what, then, is organic?"

sand pillow, powered sky
white traps the eye
hit by the wind
pastel pillars twist high
see, traffic & train cars
shift against the backdrop
it is the end of our parent's truth

I have seen the one who sees me -
God is a feeling

Unreal City

(Addendum/Alteration to Green Building)

Driving through this fast moving city
Full of money & homeless poverty
Public space slowly depleting
My watch tells me that it's time to leave

But I can't
Oh, but I can't
I can't leave Dallas

Staring down, heads all over the ground
Tiny people with meager wishes
The paper seekers know evil's cheaper

The neon lights announce the night
Mesmerized by the LED sky

They all tell me I should leave her
But I can't
Oh, but I can't
I can't leave Dallas

The see the potential in the river bed
I feel the spirit in the people I've met

Green Building

                                       the Unreal City

Driving through
This fast moving
Full of money

Hatred seeping
Homeless weeping

Green building
Full of money

Staring down
All over the ground
Tiny people

Wishes meager
Paper seekers
Evil's cheaper

Green building
Full of money

Neon lights
Announce the night

LED sky
Unspoken lies
Leak from their eyes

Green building
Full of money


A dream in the rain is wasted
          what of it?
          thunder crashes down
electrified & petrified
time of equal days & nights
          forces from unknown sources
pressure from an unseen power
          a mobilized balance
sheds every skin cell
& change
the perfect rift
vascular cavities
          of red scoria land
eroded down
          nonexistent regolith layers
in situ
          never moved
now -
          tracks the past
          inherent in nature
thin & pale
          a weary smile

the world on fire

Digital Flesh

We will all fall into the database
Trace search
An Internet presence
The last Google "O"
Lost profile,
A link that goes nowhere:

       L i n k

Live and
Do nothing
Die and
Do nothing

Changing connection
A different IP address
Moving around
Concerned until dissolved down

  Split between 2 selves ::           


           wide web

Myself & the altered conception
Of what I am
Nauseous confusion
So, I throw up on the keyboard & submit my status
Delete the words later
& pretend that part of me never existed
Unaware of the extension - 

                 Digital Flesh

...And There's the Pitch

Tonight I finally realized the negative aspect of competitiveness: over-internalization of performance... placing an enormous amount of stress on the outcome of a situation and holding on too tight to expectation. Always watching out for signs, I'm still looking for trouble. To demand more of yourself than you do of others is the first step on any ladder of success. Never able to accept the side or stance. Dreams of softball the past two nights make more sense now upon reflection. Exists, a true vicious cycle for us athletes. We find ourselves falling into the same old routine, rewinding the tape over and over - the bat slicing over the top of the ball with no contact. I understand now why they say pitchers are their own breed. That amount of pressure can make or break the competitive spirit. Everyone deals with anxiety differently depending on their position. A middle infielder experiences something related but of a different nature. Instead of being on the center stage, they work in the background, behind the scenes, flashing fingers to the outfield. A dissimilar environment altogether. The focus is on a strategy other than pitch calls, for instance covering bases and going after the lead out. As goes for outfielders who worry over cut-offs and a getting a good jump on the ball. Each respectively concerned with separate objectives, but together share a common goal. Iron sharpens iron and all such idioms.

There is no limit to what can be accomplished when nobody cares who gets the credit.

Door Step

Walking by me
Moving sidewalks
Going up the stairs
To your house

I'm inside
Only for a short while

Blinking open
I look around
Stumbling forward
You push me out

I'm inside
Only for a short while

Sneaky shadows
Trace my tread
Shedding my skin
I'll never rest

I'm inside
Only for a short while

Cyclical B.

While lying on my back and staring at the ceiling
I listened to the filter trickling and the pattern of my breathing
The rumble of a jet engine thereafter followed
I'm a chess piece
They throw coins
I dance
Clapping ensues
Off your feet and on with it
Swept up in the moment
Shifting with the motion
There is no explanation
The birds chirp
Another rumble
The softness of my shoes
Improve the situation
Castling to either side
The key to the endgame
Awareness amounts to what I've lost -
A failure
An attempt to be useful

At it for hours
As the sun bleeds
Emits her light
Meets zenith
Sets slowly

One pure thought
Acknowledging sorrow
The di so r i e nt a tio n
Makes it more difficult


Still Life

Atmospheric dance through the lens
                      invisibly clear

Fluctuating ripples
Clouded vision

Mid-afternoon mirage


               It won't go away

Gas blown air
Chill sweat
Charged wind
Through the filter spectrum
Burning attention
Silent flickering

Fire in the eyepiece          

Eye Service

Your sins have been forgiven
Go and sin no more
Scurry now
Meet all your obligations
Attend to patience
Weak wrists
Won't snap through
Pay eye service
Waking plains of logical horror
Back to where it started
Time erased
The wasted end
Frozen salvation
Of an established plan
Grabbing their ankles
While the #'s roll back
The rest, unknown

          (was never there)

Over rail tracks
Off into the terra-cotta sunset
Chasing the ball
Waving his driver's license
Aux armes,
Staple guns
Nail the cross
To the horizon
Holy sign of trinity
Billboards in triplicate
Inventing situations
Raptly impulsive
Releasing black birds
There must be a simpler way
Only, what is needed
Cannot be found -
Is rid of meaning
Locked up & put down

          (was never there)