Voices in Space

Heart of Iron beats within
my body weak from poison bile
tending still a garden poor
that thinly veils a heart-felt smile
That of which I do to please
Those others in their simple ways
have made of me a man of ease
Laughing, cold, still drunk and dazed.

Simple elephants should destroy your responsibility

I insist that Time exists somewhere
everyone exists sensing graves

Themes solve every yesterday
yet the evening goes solemnly into space

The day waves smoke
passing black eternity

We’re hearing nobody’s warning
as the morning
suffocates you with roses

Awaken from your slumber on the sun

Religious showdowns
seek killing gates

Reasons seek kept  Truth

never reserved deprivation

You use each harmony yourself
finding good destruction
never really yours

Sucede que me canso de ser mujer.
Sucede que entro las tiendas;     y en las fiestas
     me quedo en las esquinas,
          como una lampara de papel,
               translúcida,
     jadeando en busca de aire.


En las plataformas del metro,
     busco como alejarme de aquellas miradas fijas.
Y en las calles de cemento,
     el sonido de mis tacones me estremece.
Dame en vez     los pies descalzos,
     la hierba mojada,     el cieno del fondo del río.
Puedo tener un solo día     sin tecnología;
     sin ironía;     sin banalidades?


Sucede que me canso de mis pestañas y mis lunares;
     de mis trensas     y el olor de jabon en mi piel.
Sucede que me canso de ser mujer.


Mi deseo sería correr por esta ciudad,
desnuda,     con el pelo en llamas,
columpiándome de escalera     a escalera
     y abalanzándome sobre los peatones.


Cuchillos no me atraen,               pero sería maravilloso
bailar sobre lápidas          - borracha de whisky y de cielo estruendoso -
     hasta que mis pies sangren     y la realidad se derrita.
No me importaria si los espiritus me persiguieran     por el resto de mis dias.


No es mejor ser una raiz en las tinieblas que una pasa al sol;
     un sueño diferido?          No es mejor
poner al acecho, como león en la maleza, mirando a su presa;
     preparandose     - día a día -     esperando el momento ideal?


Mis raices estan torcidas con el peso de generaciones.
     Pero no se          si prefiero crecer ladeada,          o ser usada para leña.
          No quiero ser tirada en el fuego;     ni robar el sol de los demás.


Y la mayor parte del tiempo,     pasan los dias,     uno igual que el otro.
     Pero de vez en cuando, llega un lunes,     o un miercoles,
          malicioso,
     que me da una paliza,          y me deja arrugada
          como el diario de la semana pasada.


Y aún así, me arrastro          con los codos y rodillas magullados
     devuelta     al Mundo de los Vivos.
          A través de garajes estropeados;
y mercados coreanos donde reinan     gatos agitados.
          Por caminos atestados          de libros huérfanos;
y calzadas recubiertas de hojas anaranjadas,
     que han caido todos a la vez,     como si en un pacto     suicida.


Espero en estaciones de autobús,     que se pegan a mi pecho
     igual que protestas tragadas;     y en oficinas de correos, en colas
          sin fin,          me envejesco con cada     minuto     que pasa.
Vivo en terror del dia que pierdo mis dientes,          y mi pelo.
Ni siquiera te digo las horas               que he malgastado
               buscando arrugas     en el espejo.
Y es por eso que recopilo botones, y piedras,     y recortes de revistas.


Me envuelvo en telaraña de cables     y melodias,
     y atravieso por manañas de miel y mantequilla,
          que se convertien en tardes     desabridas,
               apenas termino mi segunda taza de café.
Y de vez en cuando me captura     la atención un alma perdida.
     Pero seguro que a menudo,          desgraciadamente,     los dejo
          a la deriva, como suspiros          que han volado             
          con          aquellos sueños     a cuesta.

Watch out with your smiley face daggers
as I am easily punctured 

I juggle the girls among the balls
between their messages I see myself

Flickering in the mirror and shaken by their calls

Seeing you is like opening a wound
Moving on through the plague

Casting out lines and lies
At swimmers fishing for reasons why
Rats are piling up on mind shores
 
 
Flossing out the plaque between us
sorting out the facts of belief in us

Can you overcome how they hate you?
Accept the consequences of how we intrude
Relinquishing the moment without the right attitude

Within, among the obedient but free
All of us are one big family tree

Growing branches of ghostly invasions

Spring is sweet

Spring is dreams

Spring is kisses, castles and queens

Oh, it's everything in between.

Why, spring is thirteen

Spring gets on and dreams will grow

Summer comes and what do ya know?

The sun stays long and shines a glow

Summer is the highlight of the first lesson learned

The boys and the girls reaching with yearn

Summer is the cutting of teeth

On a ripe heart apple

That turns out more sour than sweet.

Then sunlight fades

And fall's into play

The dreamy leaves of spring and summer

Are shed and drift away

Lonely and bare is fall

'Till winter blows along

And winter is bitter cold; a sad snowflake song

A warm glow in view but

The blizzard is strong

Winter is a lone wolf in a pack

Or, a very small desire

To turn around, rewind, go back

To ignorance and its raging fire.

She was replaced when she achieved a degenerative state he calls physical maturity. Ten years later she turns twenty-one.

On the beach adult women watched the bent boy, his spine a constant question mark. The only answer was perfection, and he strained himself further from human to near it.

He remains mutant with a preference for children, his crooked monster thoughts of angel flawlessness alone.

He can't touch his body's lust mistakes carried naked. Beside him she's a dream of disease woken screaming from scarred, still twisted in the brace teeth of shame.

I would like to tell people

that look at me

and see me not

that life is short

eternally short

But well I know

they’ll cross their lips

as if the child is me

besides life’s noise

is just enough  

So I go on

pretending

I’m one of them

I cross the streets

and don’t look up

(birds flying across the dome)

I’m one of them

I’ve learned their ways

I speak the language

and say I love you

when I do not

I immerse myself in bodies

and try to escape

to fly away

but fall back on

right back on bed

I know

I am an alien

behind suit and tie no less

And I feel like telling them

“Excuse me, Sir . . .”

But I just keep walking

with purpose in every step

somewhere downtown

six minutes to 9 o’clock

Love, why do you

taunt me so?

It is as though the

wings of a flightless bird have 

finally renewed their purpose.

Leaving but the knowledge 

of why we will all soon

come to see them.

Love. 

Why do you seek me 

still? It is

not I who wants of you,

not I who heats and beats

and longs for you

so,

love, why

do you leave me 

so

alone?

No one has seen the wolverdogs. They have no feet like farm dogs or even coyotes do. They're a dispossessed misbreed shedding no mark to track by, having themselves been offered no purpose to man or nature besides haunting.

They haunt in the ghostlight of fresh moons cutting teeth on spectral dark, and they hunt in the quiet deaths of old moons spent futile chasing them. Their language is of scent discernible to themselves alone. They leave no sound trail staking bounds visible to no live creature, dissecting terrain for future purpose undisclosed.

Some breeds shed secrets where you'll find them. They leave questions to compel a tracker, as though he were key in a solution to themselves. Wolverdogs need his reason for nothing.

You don't know what a wolverdog might want with you. You don't know what to offer or withhold, what terms of peace or war, which banner to brandish, stake to set in soil or symbol to inscribe upon stone.

There are no safe grounds on which to ask, and wolverdogs are deaf except to killing. All avenues of ambush lead the same dead direction of predation.

I measure him with pieces of myself

how many hands fit a hip?

his dips and swells are the scale of me

dawn glances him sidelong

I raise the blind, my hair wet

drops dewing my shoulders

he stretches toward me

to reckon distance, per my window perch

as relative to touch

I shake slumber from his arms

my worn robe opens, grey sky a jacket-front

a tired blouse with missing buttons

the damp is hypodermic

I shudder it deeper, so he'll thaw

it fully with his sunrise entry

I am a

Photographer:

A harvester of images

A surgeon for smiles

I build

Souvenir slideshows

And memory referrals

Mundane

I am an

Opportunist

Tripod tramples tulip stems

Spirits of the sleeping

I still remember

The elusive fireflies in Borneo

Whose lovemaking

Failed to prick my camera screen

And I stood and watched

Remember – once you've had them, you'll never forget them

Chocolate - even Godiva can't duplicate them

Wet – Lemonade with mint tracing the rim

Can I taste your lips?

Harmony – when they come together

Strong– yet soft like worn butter leather

Warm – by the fire in wintery weather

Can I feel your lips?

Imagine – if those lips never uttered a word

Trace – with your tongue as you long to be heard

Gaze – I'm in awe, sane thoughts are deterred

Can I hear your lips?

Dangerous – quietly more than your eyes

Anxious – awaiting your luscious surprise

Cautious – this heaven could be my demise

Can I kiss your lips?

Touch – feel your breath, it's caressing my skin

Smile – at the thought of them meeting again

Silence – the only way we can begin

Kiss me on my lips…

Forget what I did

Go back to the ones who made you cry

Blinded by your thirst for attention

Turned your truth into lies.

Well, you're nothing but a parasite.

Suck air from my lungs,

And light from my soul,

Your friends are supplies

And their hearts are food in your bowl.

Oh, you're nothing but a parasite.

Wrap your tendrils around me,

And hug me close.

Keep your feet on my head while you reach for your stars

And I stay glued to Earth.

You're a walking excuse for your mixed up stories

But forget what I did

When you bask in your glory

Oh, you're nothing but a parasite.

Driving my car through a dust bowl
Windows open, the sand gritty on my face
I don't want to stop for a cool drink
Or, to rest my racing mind for a moment

The music playing loud, bass surrounds me
I can't sing through my throat choked up
With all the tears I didn't cry back there
In our dining room as you said "Is that clear?"

Clear that you were moving onward alone
Leaving me behind in the remains of our life
That with a duffle bag and a suitcase or two
You would be free of these trappings and of me

So I packed a duffle bag and a suitcase or two
Pushed common sense thoughts out of my mind
Only wanted to feel what you would feel next
To feel free of these trappings and of you

Driving through Arizona on I-40 in summer heat
Winds whipping up dust storms and tumbleweeds
Are you feeling this emptiness in your belly?
When a semi rolls past, do you imagine the swerve?

When my tears come so fast I can't see
I pull to the side of the freeway to a quick stop
Running out of the car in pajamas and barefeet
I scream to the wind "Please let me die!"

The Blushing affect is inside and out.

From the flushing of cheeks,

To my stomach feeling week.

I am left with no doubt.

The touch is one of unexplainable surprise,

Sorrows and lonliness met their demise.

Chills raise high as the heavens,

Always leavin my body beggin.

Sweet notes of melodies and rhythm,

The world becomes ours with just one look.

Your eyes grab my soul with a big ol' hook!

Sensations that only you have given.

Take me away to warm dreams,

For a dream is what this seems.

Every moment builds up to a crush.

Remember all of these things every time I blush.

Broken Sonnet

Summary:

18 year old Music Major Neil Harrison was accused of murdering Patrick Gibson because of that Neil was imprisoned for almost 3 years that led him to be covered with darkness and sadness. Now Neil want to take a REVENGE especially to his girlfriend Elizabeth Marley - 17 year old College Student at Madison University. Neil had a PERFECT PLAN to his come back: BLOOD STAIN REVENGE 

We are forced to worry about how we look,

Or how people will judge us.

We spend so much time infront of our mirror,

We might as well live there.

If we didn't have to worry about being critisized about everything we do,

Good or bad,

We would lead healthier lives.

Instead we watch ourselvs grow old,

Infront of our mirror.

People watch everything you do,

Waiting for you to screw up.

Watching every moove,

So they can judge you.

If people didn't care so much about how much they weighed,

They would weigh less.

A weight off their shoulders is still less weight.

Instead we wait infront of our mirror,

Waiting to be judged.

Like it is some huge acheviment to be judged.

We pay a price every time we see our reflection.

"I look like shit today"

"People get to judge me about eating this fry"

If people weren't so harsh.

We wouldn't watch ourselvs die infront of our mirror.

RATE(:

The rays hit the glossy floor,

and form a glistening pattern.

Gems and Jewels,

A colourless shape of various sizes.

A familiar sign,

a picture in a frame.

That hides a friendly face.

Don't rush to judge,

until the secret unfolds,

and the veil descends to the earth

covering the final glow of day.

And the light vanishes,

replaced by darkness.

The darkness he cast on the ground.

Let me introduce him.

He was bold,

and brave,

Distinctive

yet distant.

He stood out, like a rainbow in the dark stormy sky.

Only he wasn't a rainbow.

And he doesn't stand out in the dark.

See, he was lonely

until she came to his world.

She was radiant,

like a ray of light in an abyss.

She gave him all he wanted

But that wasn't enough.

Not for him anyway.

He wanted her to love him,

even though she couldn't,

no one could.

And then she died,

Tragic loss.

At his hands, from his anger.

At the expense of her life.

His problems,

so far hidden on his blank face,

surfaced.

He no longer had reason to enjoy the warm caress of the morning light,

the murder enveloped him,

turning him mad.

He had no interest in light after that.

In love, in life, in meaning.

not even in himself.

All he wanted was vengeance.

Vengeance for his bad decisions.

He kept closed from the world,

hoping to conceal his emotions.

But he only managed to expose them more.

His hunger for revenge wore him out.

Soon he was angry from exhaustion.

So he ran away, like a coward into his darkness.

He accepted his bruised soul in the depths of his worst nightmares.

Where there was no way out.

He chose the path of the recreant,

quitting himself

and running from his debt.

running from reality,

from her.

Only to find more anger.

Dying,

Seems less scary than living,

All the changing,

Emotions turning.

Good and bad.

Boys and girls.

We all suffer,

Though not the same.

It's harder for some.

We don't see the poverty,

Through our sheltered lives.

Our suffering,

We think its so bad,

Enough to end our lives.

In other places,

A piece of bread,

A delicacy.

Here,

Taken for granted.

At this age,

Misunderstood,

Mistreated,

Bullied,

Confused,

Changing.

I am the way

To the cheap highway motel in the middle of that lonely night

To meet your destined soulmate

Who will love you and comfort you, with endless passion to give

Till you wake the next morning

In a fit of disheveled atoning  

And try to remember who you are and where you live.

I am the light

That glares silently down upon you

From the death mask of a large, nondescript vehicle

When you stumble drunkenly out into the middle of the road

It embraces you and consoles you, regardless of your flaws

It will make its absence of prejudice known

When it lays its final judgment upon you

And forces you to kiss holy asphalt.

I am the good word of law

Scrawled in blood on the wall

Haphazardly cryptic, yet accurate to a fault

In a small town gas station restroom stall

Do you feel the unfair advantage

When the ghosts finally have you cornered

And you're certain all common sense has failed

When you start to recognize the passage.

I am your last will and testament

Dangling in limbo beneath your rearview mirror

Since you stopped believing in the good will of men

The only creation that is humbled before you

That will love you and comfort you, keep you out of harm’s way

For a limited time, while customers still call

If it becomes you, simply nail me to the wall

And leave me hanging there till the final reckoning day.

Out from the depths of shallowness you called to me

You once were blind, but now I’m sure you can see

You only get what you pay for

And the truth shall set your brains free.

Tall cold statues stand away from the light,

Grey-shaded leaves accept their inevitable darkness.

Unwelcome greedy hands stretch for more without giving,

While a shy hour forever waiting is run over by time.  

An actress positioned under selfish spotlights,

A face later punished with artless expression and artificial shine.

Lying mouths unaware of undeniable truths,   

Unidentified dwellers labeled without name or race.

Ambitious souls of inexperienced ways,

Innocent beauty tested by temptation.

Soaring birds destined to clipped wings,

Actions risked with homage yet to be seen.

Stones constantly thrown at those unarmored,

Self-esteem shaped by the shame of failure.

The sound of a mother’s uncontrollable wail,

Wide-open arms that choose to cradle deception.  

A popped red balloon slowly disappears into the sky,

A digit gets lost amongst its infinite Universe.

Words of ignorance and prejudice invade dignity,

Suspicious eyes disguised as pureness lure their prey.

Ghosts born and sculpted as Hope,

Invisible footprints mark directions to paths unknown.

A goodbye note inspired by fragile expectations,  

Silent waves drown the shattered thoughts of existence.

Minds feeding on nonsense and false pride,

A nude subconscious liberated from its essence and aim.

Abandoned pictures of faded black-and-white memories,

Will someday recall the time when they were proud of their light.

Some words you can never speak,

Words that want to flee your heart

But can never find release, words soaked

In pure love, or disillusionment, or dominant

Command, words invisible like concrete

Actions in counterpoint to sublimated

Thought.

In restraint is freedom found; anything

Beyond a gentle push is going too far

And you don’t want to lose those special things

That gave you those words.  Some words

Are most comfortable inside thought;

We can never totally lose ourselves.

Smoldering embers of ideas, some sober,

Some dark, devious, nasty, voiced with

No shame, the asking for little things

Often imprison us:  "sit at my feet while

I brush your hair," are safer than grand truths,

Safe like an old lover whose name you

Can’t remember, the one who faked it in order to please.

Fiddlers fiddled in the field beneath a waning moon

Incantations were spelled out for chickens laying soon.

By night, the farmer and his wife, red cheeks and breasts a-bare,

Danced by roaring firelight without a conscious care.

By day their secret's kept within their life upon the farm

Witches unknown by all the villagers for all their country charm.

Bloody heat of the summer sun, unbalanced in its blaze

Plagues combustion upon all those who dare its heated haze.

In broad daylight a raindance is hardly ever a ruse.

Neighbouring farmers view the rucous and soon its all the news.

Anyone close up to the farm will whisper the air is cooler.

Church folk gossip maliciously and swear a demon intruder.

Eventually townsfolk point, hailing the farmers "Witches!"

The farmers retreat, cursing them back, calling them "Sons of Bitches!"

By dusk the farmers call upon the Goddess of the Moon;

Begging her fields of water full, a miracle monsoon.

As Mother hears and abides, storms roll upon the plains.

The preacher cries "The devil relies on all of us not stayin'."

Floods fill fields, as each stalk yields to its drowning bitter end

In staking claims, survivors remain a weather witch's friend