manifest disposition

occasionally--
i believe i have a few things to say
that i understand the motion the world speaks with
that your heart is in a plastic bag before me.

can i calculate the number of drops the sky would sigh
each morning?
could i possibly force the message to materialize within your
masked eyes?
could i ever number the lines that compose the reassurance of
your thoughtful hands?

i ask with a quivering, faultering presence of mind--
what could i possibly understand at all?
the turning of the ocean under an expanse filled with
the nightlights of the heavens?
never
the timbre of light, colors that clothe every
creature and thing?
not at all.
the delicate silence, a gossamer that enwraps
the breaking dawn?
of course not.

above all,
it is my pretension that compels
me to believe i understand.
it is my vanity that leads me into
the darker corners of ignorance.

i pale in the light of exposition.
your words are too much for me.

to believe i hold your substance in the palm of my hand..
absurd.

omniscience is a talent i do not possess.

straightforword

i place the words in a line.
wooden blocks
and daisy petals
form the perfect train.

the wisps crowd the countenance.
to bring into seclusion
the quickly growing doubt..
with a bash of your hand
could you cast it away.
but only with the angle of the sun.

a love of love is above all
a dangerous infatuation.
could i but climb into your mind
pull apart the petals of the brain
and peruse your many thoughts
could i but fully comprehend
the nature of these circumstances
the depth of your affection--

i could poison the fast growing doubt
that plagues my weeping heart.

injured eternity

as the leaf is to be crushed, underfoot
so am i called to croak words, by the by
lips around the words for now, as they should
a gatekeeper to the tomb, i ask why

scarlet orbs under brilliant eyes
surefire win, under silent skies
fair days shake under certain strain
castaways take to end their pain

a few words

the enticing strings of
the mandolin sings of
softer sunlight on the ground.

the barefoot walks in
summer sand talks in
ways we hadn't yet thought.

it may have frightened some
the sound gains momentum
blooming into a chord
that cannot be ignored.

steadily i meet your gaze
whatever i might have said
i slow into a steady daze.
taking your hand i am led
far past the cloudy yesterday.
allowing all of it to fade.

my eloquence may not be sure
my face may lose its youthful shine
my heart may leap with less ardor
but somehow i know you will still be mine.

goodnight dear world

neurosis out the wazoo

ten
tense
tension.

arms flailing
falling through space
a spacious living room is what you need
needy was I?

word
words i string together
attempt to describe
the shapes that lurk
through my head.

at the same slpit instance
i mean everything
and absolutely nothing.

scribble down thoughts like a neurotic.
my neurosis is
obsolete.

the words bang on the door
but my mouth is a padlock
you can only escape in altered form, dear palabras.
slanted. curved. discolored.
muddled.
shifty.
deceptive.

i just keep writing. i know not what i have said. ? maybe.
i close my eyes to what i have said.

i believe i have said nothing at all.

Narration to my Life. (and which of these ISN'T?:P)

motivated.
vindicated. [i am selfish, i am wrong...]

I can.
and I will.

[I am RIGHT. I swear I'm right--I swear I knew it all along!]

I always could.
but now I will.
indeed, I shall.
________________
the transition is indeed, palpable

from my fingertips
the notes will resound
from the deepest valley
of my heart
the music will arise

stamping my soul into the air
that is indeed alive
with the sounds of the essence
it has embraced.

dearest, you are the cousin of my music.
the spent shells of the wars of bygone loss
sink deep within the mud
that helps me forgive--mostly forget.
the scars you have yet to discover
sink back into my tender skin.
i digress.
the cousin of my music, you are indeed.

hello, beautiful world/beautiful life i have yet to know!
i creep up on you, hoping to s na t ch you away
like the child-stealers you so vehemently accuse
i sneak past your window at night, hoping
to find a way to put you safely in my pocket.
beautiful life, i am on the cusp of this beautiful life.

dearest, the words are increasingly difficult to piece together--
you are the best thing that has happened to me--
any other words just don't sound right.

talking to myself

small hands
interlaced.

through time i peer
searching for your gentle eyes.

your silence never cold
but not quite reassuring.

i speak endlessly--needlessly
amused, you smile.

my mind goes absolutely insane
as i try to typify this

never content am i
to passively watch time unfold

searching my brain for something of interest
to keep your attention--that chuckle i crave.

earnestly i desire
for this to mean something

i can only hope for sonnets in the afternoon
and guarded smiles in the evening.

why can't we just make out in your car?
oops... did i say that out loud?

reflection

she brushes the best kept secret behind the vase
all is well
all is well in this happy little house.

we smile to ourselves
as the wind catches our hair
remembering to take time to remember
to roll through the memories we expect to lose.

clicks of the piano keys remind that
music has its story too
that the flight through the atmosphere
is not just for you.

sauntering down those hallways
preparing to prepare or something like that
i never really did all that much
but i expect gratification anyhow.

its all okay,
and i really mean that.
we smile and we laugh because we are truly very happy
we were just told that maybe we should be sad.
or perhaps we finally discovered
the secret to letting go

a blade of grass falls down
at the beckon of the wind
all the way
til it touches the ground

but nevertheless,
a few seconds more
and it will be up again---
straining towards the sun.
hoping to capture the sunbeams if only for an instant.

a hasty yet solemn farewell is all i have to offer
the moments i pack into my brain seem destined to fall out

thorough thought

the cleanest rain ever known
falls from the sky
late tuesday nights.
the standby sufferers
sniffle their sighs
in the palest of moonlights.

the dust clouds the air
as the phantom emotions
crowd the hearts
of the underground lovers.
indifference was never foreign
among the vulturous pair.