Itching

I've been staying in one place the last couple of weeks. Held in place by work. Deadlines loom ahead like a PMS-steeped pride of lioness. Not even sleep allows me to escape. I wake to work. I work and work some more.

What I've noticed, lately, is that I've been watching documentaries about prisoners. I'm also craving shows on adventure travel. No Reservations. Globe Trekker (AKA Lonely Planet). Even Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmeran. It's pretty obvious why.

I'm getting itchy. I feel like changing scenes.

Suck Me

you draw blood with each glance
fangs piercing thin membranes.
penetrating throbbing vessels,
unwelcome, unfeeling
but comforting like soft pajamas
a morning kiss after a long night

feast until my blood become your tears.
drain it all...
the electric humming in my head
the static that keeps me restless
and leave me nothing but a fresh start
freshly washed sheets
a room just painted...

we're fire and wild brush...
gasoline and matches...
guns and rusted cans on fences....
destined to consume each other.

Go On Anyway

simple little treasures.
clarity. fitting in.nice.
boring. but still nice. normalcy will always
be illusive to someone brilliant like you, but
that desire and foolish quest keep monotony at bay. write. paint. sculpt. mold. scratch. hammer. melt. inscribe and make known your voice to a world which always remembers to forget. feel. dream. and hope there's a
point to it all. i don't know
what it is but
colors exist.

J the Cosmic

J the Cosmic

sparkles as she falls
And furry little things
melt into walls...

Wolves howl to keep
the blood moon in place
catalyst constellations light
dusty road back to grace.

And all the midnight spiders
sink fangs into dreams
until morning creeps;
smoky beam by smoky beam.

Bones aching, voice is gone
what frequency is reality on?

When i finally wake from this
may your taste bleed from my lips...

i flew in around 4am... got a ride into town from a person i met
at the baggage carousel. it's raining and dreary. i couldn't sleep, so i wrote that.

Just Maybe...

midnite passing. another lost beginning. i was supposed to start over... maybe tomorrow...maybe Monday...

i should buzz off my hair. get clean. i actually got the clippers ready last night for whenever i do decide to do it. maybe tonite... maybe not at all...

tough couple of days coming up. thousands of miles left to go. we'll see where i end up. i traded the map for a kiss. now, i'm just trying to put my life in 5th gear. full speed into what i'm supposed to be. a 6 figure career. sports car and bachelor pad. maybe a vagabond clutching memories asleep at your door...

dizzy. the world is spinning. tomorrow is coming to suck me dry. vampire calendars. rip them from the walls. burn them. it's midnite in november from now on. maybe...

maybe... such a rubber word. seems like you could say anything if you say maybe first. that way you never have to commit to anything. maybe tomorrow will be different...

Water Light and Weed

There's a lake not many people know about, where a fountain
creates a butterfly mist dancing on a shimmering floor.
It’s so radiant, I have to turn away after a while. It burns my
eyes. It strikes me as peculiar that such a thing of beauty to which
my attention and mind gravitate can cause such pain. Were my heart to follow suit, I would stare until my eyes become like dates that have been baking in the desert sun.

It’s just a fountain in a lake on a summer afternoon. It’s really just water, confined to one mass, imprisoned within land. And the fountain is just municipal water traveling through hardware store pipes and given force by an industrial pump. But when the sun hits it just right, well…that’s magical. Light kissing water…

There’s something poetic about light traveling millions of
miles only to touch water for a fraction of a second. Millions
of miles.  Just one touch.  One touch lasting the smallest
increment of time.  And only to then die in the viewer’s eyes…

Everything beautiful is tragic when you think about it.  But
thinking is overrated. So the chron I smoked when I woke up this
morning makes this moment more meaningful. But man, I hate this
Hallmark bullshit.  Any other day, thinking about fountains and
light is kind of pointless… except for today. 

RE:RE:FW:RE: One-Night Muse

Cold Brew and Nicotine

Captivating veiled in a cloud of nicotine

Secret longings sailing in smoke

Love is color to eyes that have never seen

In amber libations, her heart she’ll soak

Each sip closer to when the sadness slides

Bottles and cigarettes count hours gone

Each drag she confesses and she confides

She's long tired of the drama: Fine Being Alone

Her eyes betray secrets

that her smile works to hide

No lover. No regrets.

Only pain by her side.

Memories yet born

And things left unsaid

Haunt all the love songs

that play in her head

To love and be loved

First thing on her list

Three words are enough

To one never kissed

Cold universe

Cruel destiny

How ironic her name

Yet to everyone she’s happy

She just smiles through the pain

But in the small hours

When emptiness calls

Loneliness devours

Yet still she won’t fall

She looks up at the night sky and wonders away

Will these falling stars keep their promises she yells…

Will love be faithful and find her one day, someday

She fuckin’ hates that answer: “Only time will tell”

So just keep faking the smiles

Even after the smoke clears

Love may take more than a while

A thousand tears, maybe beers

I wrote this after meeting her on the Islands. 10 minutes. Drunk. I threw it away, but her friend picked it up. She read it and said I should share it with her. I didn't. But angst anyways.