Previsto: antes del conocer al desierto

Dry heat stings and scorches
burns my bones
Buzzes like a live wired vulture.
Drinking sand, breathing dust
deflating rubber, beaten tire.
The desert wind
blistering lizards
aching to hide in
canyon shadows.

Teeth

Fearful
worried
mortal
Tell stories of candied palaces
and hope that is what he's dreaming about
repetition
causation
micro
macro
dreadful space of reality
knotted stomach, knotted back
nausea
sweat illness
deaf to nothing blind to nothing
why unveil consciousness
pray
mortal space
atoms colliding
feathers colliding
friction
bones, years, millions of them
mother son me
shake listen
yearn to revert to my youthful ignorance
open light
close - flying 3-D shaped morphing
memory of her
blue, soft, sad
bells
baths
wet grass
shouts cries flowers baseball
muddy skinned knees
perfume
cigarettes
robes satin pink
gravy
wallpaper weak moving
heads against walls
eyes organic saline
milk
vomited bananas and applesauce
5 am twilight
5 am pitch black
running across wet grass
umbrellas blown inside out
wondering about structures
and sleepwalking
Christmas
hysteria torn skin
chipped teeth broken
wooden spoons
mother OD'd on floor
breast hanging out
men pills
creaking breaking
down
sister falling
catching rain
gardens being watered
constant
remembrance
decent normal
she makes straight As
and gets locked in the basement.
cookies
pretzel rods birthdays

Maggie

now, then, then

I am
now
in my bed
after a days work
listening to my
son breathe.

I have been
alone.
In a bed
after a few drinks
listening to my
lovers heave.

I will be
then.
With my chosen
other self
listening to our
bodies be.

3rd layer nostalgia

In the hour when the sun
has yet to be fully seen
sleep still hanging all around me
the whir of the fan, the morning numbness
of my body.
The room fills with gray light.
Eyes open, eyes close, where did my dream go?
Somewhere in between warm sleep and
this autumn morning I lost my dream
of Paris.

Of black clothes, cafe avec creme, le Louvre.
Ianesco, wiry intellects contemplating my
adequate enough American figure.

You were there drinking wine and coffee -
staining your teeth in perfect European style.
You were there, Mr. American. Tall,
unassuming, relaxed.

Eyes open, eyes close, open again to the gray
room by myself, in middle America
worrying about starting the cycle of
coffee, work, dinner, bed.

Bed after Hot Bath

Skin hot, muscles liquid
soft, white, warm
air blowing on my
naked body.
Turn over, then around,
lift up my hair.
Twitch, contract, stretch, sleep.

The rich, complex, ancient sound of music
sliding soothingly down the canals of my soul
to the roots of my being

A fifth century redwood
arms like strong branches
reach out to the tones, over and under
weaving stiffly around the cool rhythms
moistening, becoming supple and
new when the warm, red hollow notes
once again find their homes
for the spring

Warm

My sould wants to dance, to become fluid, to clap.
A red skirt, a sunflower
High-heeled, brightly dressed dark woman.
Acoustic guitars, gypsies.
Boys named Juan, Pedro, Giancarlooo, ooh
watch with big brown eyes.
The dry heat making the outside of the glass drip drop down
onto the cheap plastic table
on the terrace

Lullaby

For the restless
shall sleep
And restfulness
shall refresh
them as new
buds on the redwood
The light shall
be captured
and held captive
in her heart
where gravity once
collapsed under
its own weight.
For the heavy
shall float
and release
shall conquer
her as new
breath is blown
from the four corners
of our mother's sweetness
Our eys shall close
and sleep shall find us.

Indian(a) Summer at the Beginning of Spring

Air is out
house is hot
sweat dripping down my nose
hair wet
feet stuck to the floor
window open
old air, summer air
spring's just started
Baseball game
Corn on the Cob
dog needs more water
air is out
tomorrow they will come
fix it.
If the phone is on
humid, wet, soggy
heat

Sunday Morning

Two
come out of a mid
open and raised
to the side i'm falling
trying to hide gravity's work

A treasure
unshowered, displaced
Sleeping with my mouth closed

Miss Manners

#4

Looking myself over
in the quiet daylight
I remember you.

Sludge

Mild and wet,
cold and wet.

Why does it seem more likely to oxidize steel when it's warm and not covered with snow.

I can feel the rust
form in my mouth
when I step out with no shoes and a cigarette hanging from my lips.

The soil is orange.
The air is sour.

Transluscent

My eyes tired
but can't stay shut
My mind races over
nonsense from January.

Where was the snow.
Why can't I taste my food.
Even water is more tasteless than ever.

#3

The circle is broken
by addiction
food, sex, alcohol, travel, escape
maybe not broken
but a square with turns
angles, an option to revert.

I was reading
about my addiction
and saw your face in the newsprint
eyes wrinkled in a perfect smile
you were frozen
and then I imagined what
was underneath the forever
suspended image of face and neck
so often the product of efficiency

#2

It was like staring into
a cheap styrofoam cup
full of black coffee

like when you are standing naked
in front of a mirror
denying it's you in there

It was that feeling of
stepping into your car
after being in bed for
2 days and seeing all of
the people on their way to
work or to drop their kids off
at school.

Opening your eyes and cursing the light
Closing your mind so it will stop running in circles.

Before I Found My Media Naranja

I see my friends going through the same desperate twists and turns I used to fall victim to before finding Rudy. "You need to work on yourself first, then love will come". How I wanted to strangle the necks of the coupled ladies and gentleman who could give me now better advice. Shove a dirty sock in there.

The first writings shared here come from that empty/full era; before Rudy.