no room for city folk.

cool city boy,

with inky blacktops,

wander the streets,

of equisit backdrops,

purple plush sneakers,

linger a name,

tell me a story,

cry out insane.

calm country man,

lend me a hand,

build up a harvest,

of industrial wasteland.

crazy city kid,

look what you did,

took all my lovin,

with nothin to give.

collected farm friend,

this could be the end,

lost in a romance,

written lovers in pen,

surrounded by stars,

the country is ours,

there will be no city,

in the place we began. 

lines

lines. to organize and patronize right from wrong.

to concecrate order. 

to ensure efficiency. 

lines with subtle beginnings and infinite endings. 

as precise as they aspire, they are afterall a construction of abnormal.

to assume liniar, they must of corse be as effective as time.

these are the things we wait for.

give priority to.

accept without question.

though I wonder, what is at the end of the line?

like a tree rooted in a singular dimension.

time too works only in singularity.

our line and the brash assumption of infinate.

is only complete after we have reached the end.

which again, ascends.

enlightened earth

the clouds hang in the sky 

like a heavy heart

ready to shed

and bring new life

to the dry and stark foundation

which they surround

they grey world 

covered in shadows

“where is the light”

the people ask

angry 

“it comes from within”

replied the earth

enlightened

(art)work

'friends'

'spring thistle'

'live.love.laugh'

'summer hat'

'a tribute to (our)crumb'

'dream big'

'lux y veritas'

'staying connected'

'untitled'

'oh, funk'

'(fall)ing in love'

'old monterey'

'old fisherman'

'untitled'

'love & light'

gemstone eyes

there is something serene and beautiful-

oh, those gemstone eyes,

a pool of consciousness flutters,

brilliant and alive,

like a butterflies wings,

like a blossom in spring,

like a bumble bee’s dance,

like the moment we enchant.

there is something magic and transcendental-

oh, that freckled skin,

splattered with imagery,

vivid and surreal,

the way the night sky heals,

like the lilly pad tango,

like a feather’s fringe,

like a myriad of fantastic hyper-reality begins.

there is something quiet and quintessential-

oh, that illustrious dance,

a panther prance,

bountiful and deep,

like the first high dive we seek,

like a nimble acrobat on repeat,

like a speckled coy; beautiful boy,

like the melodic storyteller envoy.

there is something forever and new-

oh, the story of us two,

a fairies dream come true,

alive and askew,

like a setting sun in the dust,

like the beauty in rust,

like learning to trust,

like being together is a thing that’s a must. 

bouncing banjo trampoline

I'm a bouncing banjo trampoline style poet, you didn't know it but thoughts bounce out of my soul like intercontinental cartwheels. My heart's been healing. It was the first time my heart broke a sweat like a runway. I've been staring at the sky since my love took off. Would you be my friend? Would you push me in the porch swing? Punch me in the stomach just once? I need to reset my bones. Calibrate my karma. Swingset my ribcage so the next time someone pushes me away I can swing right back with my marble spine. Before you become my friend, I need you to picnic in my rubble, roadtrip with everything I left in the dust. You left me to rust. I know you never meant to throw me in the fire lover. I know we never meant to hurt each other but the tears have been dripping from my eyes like a faucet, falling like a metronome- I know there is better music. I've been planted like a tree in the dead of winter, naked & lonely- branches for bones. The doctor told me I feel too much, I said, so does God- that's why you can see the grand canyon from the moon. I'll tell you, these poems are my birthmarks & I came this close to getting them removed. What's it like to feel wicked & blue? I've been dying to grow new leaves, all mine left me like they were falling in love with the ground, they left me without a sounds. Have you ever thought about God's ears and what he hears when there is silence? I wonder what you feel when your mother says you name dripping off her lips, pulling at your cheeks, I can't remember my mothers voice. I have no choice. The road has been long & windy and I am but one crooked tree. My roots have found me, caught up to ground me. I wonder how long I would've let myself feel alone? Slipping one night stands around my waist like wedding bands. In the morning they would never fit but slip right off. Like a shooting star falling away from a constellation. That's how Orion lost his belt. Do you remember? Do you remember when we fell asleep on the beach awash in an abyss of symmetry? All that's left. All that's left is the scent on the pillowcase you gave me. I once swore if you put that scent in a well all the wishes in the world would come true. Now my pillow is naked & cold and I am in need of a new pillowcase.

sling-shot

sling-shot poetry as thick as your tongue,

let us be one,

joint together by an elastic band,

bend and stretch,

beyond the rest,

these words are powerful truths,

beyond the black and white “I do’s”

a hail to, veil to, tax-break who?

let us be one,

conglomorate on an ideological war,

never won before,

set-traps, subtle-raps,

and unveil a hybrid of half-truths,

frolic with a new found psychological muse, 

bound to, wound to, sound to,

thats who.

let us be one,

a conquest of paranormal production,

instigated by a mantra of sound introduction,

one moon, one sun, one star, not far,

from the place we call home,

throw me a bone, find me a phone,

call up your neighbor, 

while I’m all alone.

let us be one,

bound in unanimity,

balanced trajectory of oval blastphemy,

let’s talk my-archy,

it’s the same as yours,

a piece of the puzzle lost no more,

we are one in the same,

and I am yours.