I flew, arms spread, hands to the sky, my fingertips reaching the clouds.  My hearing silent, but for the gusts of wind exploding all around me. I twirled and swirled, gliding and dancing, maneuvering between empty spaces, but for the passing avian. The air frigid, icicles formed on my extremities, but I was okay, I was comfortable, I was safe. I bellowed a deep sigh of relief, for I felt free, my mind resting comfortably within my heart. Down below, way down below, a person stood. Stood in solitude and in shadow, masked by something from within, eyes filling with tears from within casting tears on blades of grass that to the undiscerning eye could easily been misconstrued as the ordinary morning dew, but for the source, those eyes. Beautiful and dark, longing and forlorn, lonely with despair, or so they seemed. Always inexplicably cast wayward to the horizon and beyond, peering into the fleeting future. Fleeting because the future always becomes the present and so the future becomes unattainable until it becomes the present moment that then as a consequence is not appreciated and is not experienced for want of the future and what it holds in store that is just in fact the present moment. Either way, I digress.  This beautiful figure, stoic in appearance, bent down on one knee and took aim, took aim with a bow and arrow from within. Took aim towards my being in flight, towards my dancing spirit and shot skyward. Piercing the air with a shriek of despair and fright, this arrow did fly, did cut, did slice, did strike me, it did strike me. And so closing my arms and clenching my hands to my chest, I fell from the sky. On my way chaotic descent downwards, I somehow managed to grasp a moment in time and looked into the eyes of this beautiful person and asked, “why?” to which she responded in a haphazard way, “I do not know…..” 

waking at night to only be in another dream.

everything dark aside from a pair of eyes staring back at me.

from the shape of the eyes i could tell they were going from joy to sadness, happiness to sorrow, squinting to tears.

i held my hand out to those eyes, but felt nothing and heard nothing.

The air was stagnant and dry.

i stood up to open the window just a crack to allow frigid winter air in.

at that moment i woke up to another dream surrounded again by darkness and those eyes staring back at me.

but this time those eyes stared back at me with a longing, a longing to be desired, a longing to be heard, a longing to be loved.

i spoke and the silence provided the answer because those eyes could not answer me.

i held myself close that night, well tucked under my bed sheets and turned my head to the cold side of the pillow and to fall asleep again and wake up to another dream.

now these eyes lay next to me in my bed, staring at me, but with fright, whimpering and sobbing.

tears ran down the ravines of the pillowcase that my head had created.

i held it close to me that night and quieted its crying. i did my best to share my love and kindness, comfort and support.

I felt a pool of tears collecting by my chin that soon sank into the mattress below me.

I fell asleep and woke again to those eyes still next to me.

They remained closed. peaceful. not moving. eyelashes like feathers on a bird, curving and undulating. "im sorry" i whispered and kissed both of those eyes that felt hard and cold as lonely can be.

nothing stirred. not a sound was made. these eyes were that of. . . . of a dead person . . . of someone without warm blood running through their veins, of someone without a beating heart . . . I do not recall if i was afraid.

i continued staring at those frigid closed eyes encased in a watery grave.

someone had laid next to me that night, to let go of something, to let go of some pain, of a sorrow longing to be released.

when i held it close, that was the precise moment when it was finally able to close those eyes and entangle those eyelashes for those eyes would never see again.

as for me. . . just another restless night of many, tossing back and forth, staring at a crack in the window beside me, waiting for the first sign of daybreak to shine down on we.

everything under the sun, i want . . . but i can't handle the brightness of the rays . . . everything glowing in the moonlight, i desire . . . but i get spooked by shadows lurking in the darkness . . . everything within my reach, i want to touch. . . but i am scared to get close to anything.
i am surrounded by skyscrapers, yet i hug the ground and greet earthworms and pill-bugs with a sigh and a frown.  i am surrounded by people with money lining their bathtubs, yet i employ a hamster to spin a wheel that provides me light so i can make out the faint letters in an old yellow-brownish stained history book.
longingly i stare at nothing, and desire everything.  a plane darts behind a building a reappears alongside the next.  i wave from my window, hoping that its passengers will take sight of me and send back a rescue party.  but just as opportunity passes me, so does this cold, metallic, hollow vessel of a plane, serving only to remind me, that i am but a spec of dust, swept up in a boundless mound of . . . . . . .

feelings

of now

of yesterday

of the week before

of the year before

of another lifetime

no feelings for tomorrow. . .

i sit in my room rummaging through old fotos and letters written to people and memories

what to do?

excavate a giant hole and bury everything and start anew?

pile them high in my room in plain sight so i never forget?

looking outside, pressing my nose against the window screen, what do i see?

something alien to me. . . what is it like to lay down in the grass and watch the passing clouds? what is it like to find refuge in brush or under a tree during a thunderstorm?

i never forgot you. i want you to know that.

i dont think i ever will.

how could i attempt to even begin the process of forgetting you?

but here i sit with you (((or at least my memories of you)))

i know you are no longer that same person

so in reality i sit here with the past. . . with memories. . .with fotos and letters. . . with someone that no longer exists.

in essence i am longing to wrap my arms around a memory, a thought, the past.

sad, in way, dont you think?

do you remember when i said i loved you? and you said you loved me as well?

i once told mother nature that i loved her and moments later i was stung by a honeybee, pricked by a mosquito, and scratched by the talons of a hawk across my heart.

In the words of the beautiful Nina Simone,

"here in my heart, you'll always stay here in my heart, no matter what the words may say, you will stay here in my heart, no matter what the day, you will stay here in my heart, no matter what they say, no matter what they compose or do, no matter what the drugs may do or songs may do or people may do or machines will do to you. . . i will always have my feelings nothing can destroy them 'cuz i know that that is all that there is and that they are the base. . . for you."

and so spring is here and summer will be here tomorrow and fall will arrive and winter will descend on us again and the earth will complete another cycle and i know i will feel the same. i will not complete another cycle, i will sit in place, not rotating or changing.

i had wanted to try love again

but bruised and battered i recoiled

i constantly defeat myself when i am ahead

and love when i shouldn't and not love when i should

spring cleaning anyone ?

an emotional spring cleaning anyone ?

i can't write like this anymore

have i turned you off ?

because i have turned myself off, like a robot with a switch on its back

mechanical and programmed

not instinctual or emotional

not heartfelt or driven to tears.

if the input from my programming tells me to walk forward even if i am at the edge of a cliff,

then i hope the impact wont hurt much.

but since i am a robot now, it really doesn't matter. . .

does it ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

Where the sidewalk ends

And the dirt path begins

Where the foliage overgrows the human touch

And the trees

Oooooo those trees

Swaying giants turning the blue sky green

This path like the ocean

Winding and zigzagging

Curving and twisting

Dipping and cresting

Becoming murky and lost in the brush

Bushes and leaves

Screaming and chanting

Howling and crying

The forest cries out

Where the dirt path ends

And the human touch is not welcomed

:::

A strand of hair landed on a feather that had landed on a leaf that got swept away by the wind

An idea lost by a meaningless distraction

Whales bellowing and signaling underneath cold rusty fishing ships

A warm sunny day lost sitting in a frigid cubicle

The memory of a fathers affection

Could it be as simple as climbing the nightsky, using the stars as stepping stones.

Could it be as difficult as staring down the bullying sun.

If we dug a hole in the earth and spent an eternity in it, together,

Would we be alone?

The faint smell of a fragrance, could it be him?

Or just a memory?

I held my head high but couldn’t raise myself above the clouds to see clearly

But to see tomorrow you just need to remember yesterday (and be a bit older)

Could we hold each other and forget everything and start anew?

Would it be like climbing the nightsky or more like standing down the fearless sun?

A babies smile, a babies cry, a tear from you, drops from a leaky faucet.

Just remember yesterday my love and we will see tomorrow together.

:::

Could you say that again.

Or would it be too much to repeat yourself?

Could I paint my surroundings and change the world without it being considered abstract art

Make sense you say. Why?

So that you can make a dollar you reply.

And to see you smile again I would pay anything.

Pay without regard.

Do you accept love as payment or require a more tangible means of currency?

I sing and dance.

Not very well, but I sing and dance.

And laugh and cry.

Laugh very well, cry a bit less.

:::

Death

Disappointment

Resentment

Anger

Hate

Pain

Erick

Joy

Love

Happiness

Appreciation

Satisfaction

Life

:::

You

Me

:::

HATE

love

HATe

love

HAte

love

Hate

love

hate

lovE

hat

loVE

ha

lOVE

h

LOVE

:::

Apple trees

Peach trees

Orange trees

Brown trees

Green trees

Rainbow trees

she had fallen asleep writing. the pen still in her left hand, her face buried somewhere in between the pages, her long hair like gently rolling hills exposing the smallest portion of her neck. she sat motionless, her breath the only movement in her posture. a sparrow perched at her window and peered inside, took note of the events, and with the quickest of reflexes vanished. a squirrel followed, scurrying, jetting back and forth, nervously chewing, its grayish tail bristling upwards towards the cloudy sky. autumn leaves swirled across the backyard, reorganizing themselves over and over again, as if never satisfied. the wind had picked up and a few drops dotted the windowpane, the chimes on the front porch twirled in and out of knots. a loud knock at the front door broke the sequence of events. she continued motionless, in fact venturing deeper into sleep. the doorknob began to turn and the door creaked open, she had forgotten to lock it. in stepped a tall shadowy dark figure of a man, with a long brown coat and tophat. he carried a suitcase that smelt of decaying wood and aged tobacco, his first steps leaving dried mud where he stood. setting his briefcase down he closed the door behind him and checked his inner coat pocket for something he could not find. he removed his coat and sat it next to his suitcase on the dusty floor. he was wearing an old weathered suit, a faded blue that appeared grey from a distance. one of the buttons was missing as just the thread protruded outwards. grabbing for a yellowish white handkerchief that he kept in his backpocket, he lifted his hat and dabbed himself across the forehead. noting how quiet the abode was, he gently creaked across the floor, carefully considering how much weight he placed into each step. turning the corner he spotted her asleep, a mound of papers and hair with two legs jetting from underneath the table, feet crisscrossed. he approached her and came down on her gently and ever so slowly like the night does to the day. . . spotting the exposed portion of her neck, he gently landed a kiss, his lips touching her skin like running a flower pedal across ones arm. she rustled and turned her head to one side exposing a side of her face. he again leaned down and this time whispered into her ear so very quietly that not even the sparrow that had come back to perch on the windowsill could hear. he leaned back so slowly and retraced his steps as elusively as a plant follows the sun across the sky, put his long brown jacket back on, again searched his inner pocket for something he could not find, gathered his suitcase and was out the door as the knob turned back to its starting position. dried mud that stood in tiny mounds by the door and the faintest odor of oak barrels and scotch hinted at his presence. a single tear rolled down her cheek and smugged a few words. truth be told that even whilst she slept, she knew that she would never see him again, hear his voice again, or smell his brute odor, and that she never did.

___________________________________
i once imagined a place
a time and a place
it couldn't have been that far, maybe just over that hill
or maybe under that raincloud over there
or basking under the rays of the sun this place sits
quiet and peaceful
melancholy and sad
once upon a starry night i laid in its fields and
swam in its lakes to dry under a flowering tree that smelt of kisses
i smiled all the while letting my tears be whisked away by the passing clouds
and i held you
________________________________________________________

it is okay,
i am
b
l
i
n
d
floating off a musical note
of course u dont
how could u...understand
u dont and that
is okay
just let me sink and ride this song till i fall off the composition
flapping my arms, but i don't fly
so there i go
and went

-
- - -
- - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
i woke up that morning 32 years old
i looked into my hands and saw all the people i had touched in my life
all the hand shakes, the caresses i had given, the punches i had thrown,
the hands i had held, the babies that laid in them, the long hair my hands had run threw with my heart beating out of my chest,
32 years worth of grasping and holding on
and yet when i woke that morning, they were both empty
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - -
- - -
-

they fell together, arms around each other falling effortlessly, they were in love.

he knelt down in a field of golden yellow and red flowers and kissed her hand promising to love her forever and he never did stop.

he caressed her black hair and laid it gently besides her rosy face as he laid next to her and he loved her.

she washed his strong body and spoke to him in whispers and tears that she would never stop loving him and they embraced in a field of flowers, underneath a wooden bridge at a rivers edge glowing in the moonlight filtered by clouds, on a distant hill underneath an old tree bearing a bitter-sweet fruit, far, far away from everyone and their voices.

they were a forbidden love.

they turned to nature were they were not judged and could run free.

as time wore on, their love grew stronger and they knew that neither time nor any living person could bring them apart, but it was death, death itself and the occurrences of happenings that they could not control and had never imagined.

she did not attend his funeral when he passed away suddenly on a golden morning.

she laid in the field of flowers that day, underneath that bridge by the water edge and on that distant hill, she was in all places at once and those tears, oh those tears flooded and inundated these places that now appeared solely in memory, a memory of the past, because without him these places were empty and quiet to her, desolate and cold to her, she wandered aimlessly searching for a way to recapture what they had experienced in these places as a way to get closer to him, but it was now impossible, she ran and ran and stumbled to the ground and remembered how he was always there to catch her but this time, she hit the dusty grey and brown mud with a thud and then silence.

what was once a sparkling river teaming with life, a waters edge bubbling with excitement was now a stagnant pool of water carrying dead dry leaves and eroded soil.

a hilltop with a colorful tree, fruit bearing and shimmering in the sunlight now sat motionless, its trunk a weathered grey and what leaves it had left were dead or dying and brittle.

the field of flowers simply a field.

time passed and life passed at a staggering rate, the moon and the sun gave no pause to her sadness and gave no ease to her void.
many a night she would lay in a light sleep and whisper "why did you leave me. . . ".

she slept when she could and sometimes he would visit her as she dreamed, but she hated this because as happy as she was while dreaming, when she awoke and realized that it was a dream, the pain was multiplied. She would think, "to have you so near as if i could touch you again to only have it whisked away by a loud sound or some sensation that awakens me is unbearable."

and so it was.

she never did stop loving him from afar, endlessly pursuing imagination to turn back time and gaze upon his face again, to let their eyes lock in the way they did when they first met.

sometimes rage, anger, sometimes sadness and sometimes happiness would overcome her, but she held on to her love for him because she knew, he loved her always and forever, and that love could overcome death, she could feel it while sitting alone drinking tea, or letting the wind breeze through her hair, letting herself gaze upon the horizon again, and lifting her aged body from bed every morning, to let the tree bear fruit once again, and to let the river run.

on a bright golden morning, she passed on effortlessly, without a fight, as if longing for death, she did not put up a struggle or resist and her face finally showed that she was at peace.

her funeral was very simple and quiet, with tears and whispers under a cloudy sky she was hushed away as the last bit of earth was shoveled over her shallow grave.

y el silencio, la solitud y la oscuridad acariciaron el sueno y los labios del recien nacido, palido en la luz de la luna, ojos negros y profundos, la lluvia cayo como disparos de las nubes, el techo, las ventanas, la reja y la puerta como gigantes en la noche, sus sombras creando monstruos en la oscuridad de la casa, en sus pasillos y rincones, en su tranquilidad, padres, tios y primos como arboles en el patio lejanos y misteriosos, cubiertos por la lluvia y la tristeza de la lejania, mientras el nino, este nino palido, seguia dormiendo y respirando en la profundidad de un sueno que nunca iba contar

where basking sharks go in the wintertime,
is where i go
to feed and swim,
jetting through blue and black
endlessly shooting past reefs, mesmerizing seaweed and scaly monsters,
crashing waves collide against my heart
sending ripples through my consciousness,
i scour abyss and shoreline for her,
i had found a strand of silky hair so i knew she was an ocean near,
poking my head out of the water for a moment i saw her,
flying just above me twirling
endlessly shooting past clouds, raindrops, and sunshine,
crashing wind collided against her heart
sending ripples through her consciousness
tears streaming down her face,
i could not distinguish between the saltiness of the sea and those tears of hers,
i floated and dipped under a wave and tucked myself just underneath a giant seashell,
she was sky and i was sea
she was air and i was water
she flew and i swam
i loved her and she did not love me. . .

blue smoke billowing out from red rooftops angling toward an orange skyline

a room with grey windowsills sat powdered with a glaze of dark grey dust, the clouds of a thunderstorm

caking over the years

a kitten once playing about had decorated the dusty surface of the windowsill with tiny imprints

abandoned spiderwebs nestled in the corners swayed gently, their keepers having moved on

an old pitch black piano stood in the center of a room like a strangely designed monument,
a darkened wooden guitar rested against the wall, its strings curly and pointing all-about
amazing how a room full with so much music,
kept so quite now
the lovers had laid in that room in each others arms and grasp
as the pianists fingers caress the piano's keys and the guitarist gently tucks his guitar and strums beautifully
and so notes floated all-about, some escaping through the cracks in the windowsill, others collecting on the ceiling
they had laid together in that room
along with those instruments
they promised to never let go, of those instruments, or each other
but they could never have imagined the toll that time would take on them,
and it did, and it is so
that two lovers imprints on the dusty floor lay strewn across the floor about this room
that keeps quite, for now

it was the morning that i had been dreading. moving day had come and i was not prepared. essentially, i still had not packed-up my belongings. I had bought enough boxes for most of my "things" to fit into and rolls of tape to seal them up with. brown boxes. all them the same color and shape, i could not distinguish between them. i had forgotten the marker. couldn't i just meld them all together and place my entire apartment into it? rummaging through desk drawers and boxes full of old momentos and odd trinkets, i fell upon memories. good and bad. soft and hard. delicate and rough. glistening and opaque. how could i ever rid myself of these things? these objects that somehow continued to haunt me, reminding me of a distant past, when time stood still and i stood still in amazement at how time had passed and had not stood still at all, but instead passed by in a flash. people had passed, relationships had passed. . . love had passed. jetting out of a mound of clutter in the corner of the closet, a feeling sprung out from amongst chaotic emptiness, meaningless clutter, dusty clutter. grasping for this object that stood out like a beacon. . . in one sense warning me not to come any closer, and in another sense, waving me in for discovery. going through that object and remembering what it had meant at the time and knowing that it no longer existed in the present, but in the past, i placed it back into the closest, but this time not standing out, camouflaging itself in my pile of "things". i spent the rest of that afternoon sipping tea and reading dated magazines, picking out which bird feeder would suit me best if i was an aves. night soon befell and i left that apartment without a box, bag, hanger, or suitcase. gazing at what i had found in the pile in the corner of my closet, i came to realize that all i needed to move-on was already well packed away, deeply packed away, in my heart.

i will tell a story like you have never read before. a story of love and passion, of day and night, hands and feet, sky and ocean. words that glide gently across your eye and cascade free-falling into your soul. i tell you that i sit here and write this alone in the dark, it envelopes me, the screen like a camp-fire in the dark of night. staying concentrated on my words i ignore the way the pitch-black of darkness just over my shoulder calls me to look and stare forever. tormented by thought, i know that you share at least this with me. sit in the dark of night when you read this, listen to your inner voice tempting you to do things. Dance with a flower in your hand in this darkness until your eyes crave the coldness of night before you begin to read the story that i write. Please, you must delve into what i speak of and feel as if nothing surrounds you, until the walls around you no longer exist. Now reach up into the air and pick a strawberry. . .hold it close to your nose and smell it, smell the sweet bitterness. squeeze it until it mashes in your hands and swirl it across your face, like you swirl in mesmerizing twirls across the room. Hear a creek or movement in the room with you? Do not look, hold steady and follow me on this journey of a story. . .do not be scared but embrace the cold, fear and solitude. You must become part of the story, you must become the words, do not react to fear or feelings of the energy approaching you, be it dead or undead. i tell a story of loneliness and love, emptiness and caressing, of kissing tenderly and crying all the while. sadly, i tell a story too far gone to matter now my night-time reader. we have both descended to depths from which we may never return. You possibly. . . me, never.

i clenched brown earth in my hands and let it sift through my fingers,

what remained in my clinched fist were small rocks and strings of dry grass,

i never felt more alive with my hands dirty and muddy instead of clean holding synthetic plastics and cheap processed metals,

i raised my hands and did not smell perfume or manufactured aromas,

painted creations that melt with sweat under the sweltering sun. . .

how i had neglected earth and myself for so many years,

making a small hole in the soil i stood in it and planted myself like a plant and covered my feet and ankles with brown earth, bugs and earthworms.

raising my arms to the sun there i stood browning with the sun,

nestling in shadows under the moon,

birds nested and picked away at my skin and eyes, ears and tongue,

wasps nestled in my nose,

butterflies emerged from my ears every season and fluttered about before disappearing from sight,

a bee hive descending from my chin, beetles nestled and used my skin as a blanket,

my roots stretched deep into the earth and became entangled with others,

i had lost all my senses and yet,

i was alive like never before,

and so never did i again weep. . .

i noted how she flapped her wings and flew up and up
i sat at the kitchen table thumbing through coupons that i knew i would never use
and she flew and flew
i grabbed a pen and began doodling black swirls on napkins until they ripped
and the pen stabbed the table
now with enough altitude she began to glide and let the wind cup her body and take her
wherever it wished and she sang
i moved to the window and sat perched for hours painting with my imagination, a home, a house,
a tree in front of this house, small children playing in and out of this tree, they swung from limb to limb and carelessly took down several leaves that floated for a few seconds before caressing the grassy knoll
i painted a yellow kite with feathers that longed to be free of its attached string
i slept on the front porch that night, nibbling on clovers and dandelions until my teeth were a grassy green and my tongue a sunny yellow
and i laughed and cried and laughed and cried
dancing and painting streaks of bright red and yellow across the nightsky
i stumbled down a valley painting down the side of the valley all the way to bottom
and grabbed onto a sturdy old tree pleading with it, "please do not let me go...", 

which the tree responded in the deepest of gargles, ". . . i will let go of you in the fall along with all my leaves and i will sit naked in the frigid winter and count the suns and moons and grow you again, as i do all my leaves"

i kissed her

and walked. . .  

i kissed her

and ran . . . 

i jumped from tree to tree

gliding across crosswalks and rusty metal grates

from sidewalk to street back to sidewalk

nothing really mattered but that,

i had kissed her. . . 

how time passed and change passed 

and it rained, 

it poured and flooded

inundating love and liking someone until we both drowned

and i sleep alone at night,

alone gasping for air

jumping from dream to dream

drowning in shallow puddles

1
he sat in the corner enveloped in cobwebs
tiny spiders crawling in and out of his nose and ears
his arms folded
his head laying between them
his chest serving as a nest for moths
larvae danced in-between his toes and fingers
decaying he crumbled to his own feet
and blew away with the autumn wind
without even a whisper

2
i used to stand by the side of this dusty old country road
barren and dry unpaved and surrounded by rolling hills, green in the spring and brown in the heat of summer,
i would stand for hours, motionless and steady
a statue amongst animate objects
ever so often i would hear the pounding hooves of wild horses galloping in the distance,
they ran free, their muscles rippling, their noses frothing with breath
lizards and roadrunners kicked up dust amongst themselves and dry bushes and weeds
passing insects buzzed, some glided
a few even jetted like rockets into the sun
i made a few friends standing on the side of that old country road
but i never did see her again,
and for that i stood on the side of that unkempt road
day and night, day and night
even when i was gone and forgotten
because i never did forget her

3
i spoke to you and as always you listened
i remember our discussion
i can still smell the air and feel the weight surrounding us
i knew i would speak to you again and yet
here i sit without u
and its so very hard so very hard to lose you,
eyes piercing my soul,
u were there before i even knew i was
i want to be able to see you again and yet here i sit without u
but i do not sit without your memory
i do not sit without your continued love and support. . .
and so now i stand,
i stand and walk with u my beloved father all the travels of my life,
i know. . . we walk together
(this was written for you Ms. Thompson, that you may find peace)

pills were strewn across the table top, half chewed and broken, their white powder spilled like sugar on the hardwood surface as he sat with his head in his hands.
he was spent and hungry sweating from his brow channeling down his arms to his elbows.
he stood up quickly making the chair screech across the wooden floor clammering to stay upright finally finding balance in gravity.
he stood by the window and peered outside, the sun blinding his retna.
Children glided across the grass and danced hand and branch with a group of trees rooting in mineral-rich earth.
He stood and gazed behind the whipping curtain and held the window sill tightly with his hands, chipping paint onto the floor and deep under his fingernails.
sitting back down at the table spotted with medicine bottles and cotton he again rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes masking his thought in darkness. . .

. . . . . . .

i felt the blood trickle down my arm, past my elbow, slowly dripping onto the uneven tiles on the floor that mounted each other like a hastly created jigsaw puzzle
the drops didn't run or form channels, they just sat on the dirty white tiles like red thumbtacks on a map
it didn't hurt, in case your wondering
like lava oozing out of a volcano the escape of my blood warmed my outer self, my skin, but made me colder inside which each drop that escaped
pushing back against the wall and sliding down to the ground i sat on the floor and watched how the time passed and the leaky faucet mimicked me
i did not have to hold on anymore . . .
holding on to ghosts and phantoms that i could never catch
ghosts that i could only see when i closed my eyes
phantoms that circled me like smoke dancing around a chimney to only ascend away, upwards stars that i could not reach. . . when i reached up to the nightsky and came down empty-handed the blood collecting no longer resembled thumbtacks,
more like a large red towel strewn across the floor, sitting underneath me and all around
i let go of it all, at that very moment, when the darkness enveloped me whole and my eyes were open but saw nothing
and so with that i let go of my dreams of one-day finding . . . . .

To my son i write this to you, for when i set eyes on you i will know:
i set out that morning before the sun was even out, the stars were still bright in the sky
the air was very cold as frost coated the grass like a vanilla glaze
i had with me a thick coat lined with sheeps wool and a large woven bag that inside carried an axe, a book, and a hardy lunch that your mother prepared for me the night before over an open fire.
i had told her that i would set out before the day arose
i would lift myself out of bed and get dressed without causing her to stir so that when she awoke, i would already be deep in the forest, a great distance from our humble home that sits on the edge of a small river and a few yards from the ever encroaching line of pine trees, that stand miniature compared to the giants of the forest that stand a fast morning and afternoons walk away.
so that you know your mother, in case of anything that should happen before you are able to realize
she made me promise to her that before i left i would give her a gentle kiss on the lips that landed with the gentleness of a butterfly on a flower but with the powerfulness of a stampede of wild horses on a great open plain, bucking and galloping with freedom.
and so i did, and she did not stir, but smiled without even being conscious of it
that is how we have loved each other my dear son for all these years, and with this love and tenderness we will raise you
so that you know the joys of freedom beating in your heart and the warmth of the human touch
so that you are not left alone to howl at the moon to an empty silence
walking ever deeper into the dark forest, i found my way by the light of the moon and gusts of wind that always blow northwards. Remember this if you should ever get lost and i am not there to lead you back.
why was i making this trip you might ask?
well you are a few months away from your birth and i promised myself that i would find the greatest, most humble, and worthy tree to supply wood to build you your crib, so that you may lay your head and sleep in love with life and your home. so that you can lay your head when you feel pain, for when you are hurt, for when you are happy, i want you to feel with your body and bare hands the love that your mother and i have for you
The wood that is left over, to warm the first foods you will eat, and the first baths we will give you

i have felt since i set out on my trip that i am being followed
followed by a past and memories
i feel like if i would just turn around as quick as possible, or look around a tree i would see my mother and father smiling back at me, my brother lending me a hand, my grandparents standing motionless like statues.
crickets danced and signaled alarms as i walked over shrubs and hurdeled giant old logs strewn across the forest floor.

Late this afternoon i found what i had been looking for
i kissed the tree and explained to it that i was in need of its services, that it had a new purpose, and that this purpose was very pure and honest, that it would serve as a base for my son to rest and prepare for the difficulties ahead.
A tremendous gust of wind blew across our faces carrying with it the seeds of this tree that sat perched high above.
I held my axe with my bare hands and began the job that i had set out to accomplish so early that morning.
My dear son, so that you may lay your head and sleep in love with life and your home. so that you can lay your head when you feel pain, for when you are hurt, for when you are happy, so that you never howl at the moon and hear nothing but a deafening silence and stare at the stars in vein, knowing you can never reach them, quietly suffering like your father has his entire life.

when he awoke the sea shells had already drifted back into the ocean returned by the receding tide
sitting on the cold beach, the mist tickled his nose
a passing sea turtle glanced at him from a few feet in and delved back under the careless waves to sing . . .
the breeze was fresh and clean and spoke of eternal love and happiness behind a dark wave of despair streaming his black hair into the surrounding night
tiny bubbles bursted from the sand at his hands and feet. . . the earth was breathing
a pod of dolphins jetted towards the horizon with tremendous speed, finally ascending into the moon that canvassed the distant horizon
he began to sing a lullaby that whispered throughout the night and carried beneath the waves a story of solitude and pain
he continued this lullaby for hours, motionless and still as the moon and sun are silent
the tide eventually began to come in and the ocean returned,
and there he sat now several, several feet underneath the oceans turbulent surface, tucked away under an empty giant sea snails shell
and they begun to dance
the fish, the whales and stingrays, seahorses and starfishes danced all around him
carrying his lifeless body to the oceans depths where no living person could find him
his outstretched body gently drifted downwards, as if flying, into the dark abyss to reach a lonely place where he could rest in peace at the oceans bottom
while they had taken his body, they had left his song . . .
they left his song to echo throughout the oceans floor, colored with bright corrals and mesmerizing seaweed that sway back and forth, back and forth . . .

i still hear his screams of death from 33 years ago

i felt him in the gust of wind that squeezed through my window on this cold and lonely night

the curtains drifted like sails on a marooned ship giving no direction to the vessel but adrift amongst celestial bodies

i listened to his song and i closed my eyes and felt him in the room or he felt me in the room with him

his bullet-riddled body slung over my wooden chair

the pitter-patter of blood dripping reminded me of melting icicles dribbling on my window ledge

the creaking and moaning emanating from the rotten wooden legs of my chair stopped when his old dangling arms ceased from swinging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back

shadows began to stalk me, i saw them, i saw them dancing all around me, gesturing me to chase them

the only way to have them disappear was to sit still in complete darkness, which i did after

shutting the blinds and pulling the black curtains over them

i cried and held the base of the chair that his body canvassed

as tears began to mix with the blood on the wooden floor

i heard him murmur once in my ear . . . . . . ."i love you"

dark rooms are never lonely. every day i change. it is now close to midnight and i am not the same person i was at 8am this morning and tomorrow when i awaken i will not be the same person i was when i closed my eyes. i change according to my life experiences and dreams that burn and are extinguished and are lite again. i sang to a girl today as her eyelashes began to flutter with embarrassment, so fast that she began to float and like a balloon the winds carried her, up and up until i melted. i sat at my beds edge before i began to write this and thought, pondered for a while, just a while and stared in the mirror. Mirrors give so much of themselves. Mirrors are truly the epicenter of selflessness. if a mirror would just stop giving so much to everyone perhaps it could catch a glimpse of its own reflection, its own self. i sometimes lay down on my bed and feel so much about the great sadness that is yet to come in my life and the great happiness that also awaits. i will admit that it scares me because of the tranquility and tragedy that i experience constantly from just the past . . . . sadness, madness . . . . . reality, fantasy. i often feel like a stranger to everything around me, including myself.. . . .and mirrors. a fish trying to swim in the desert sand, a bird attempting to fly underground. i saw a tiny spider while i was taking a shower this morning walk delicately up the bathroom tile trying to escape the splashes of water from my shower that must have seemed barbaric. shielding her from the water crashing all around i placed this tiny spider on my fingertip and gently placed her on my bathroom sink behind a small box. she smiled at me and i frowned back at her all wet and tired. i would like to think that she felt some form of comfort to have escaped. so much to say, so much to say . . .how much i want things to be different . . . but i only help myself and little spiders in my bathroom, their webs flickering with the slightest of whispers and insects. . .

The human being is definitively a communal organism whose social being is constructed within the framework in which he/she engages in social interaction. This framework in its largest context can be simply named “society”. Within this macro structure there is an infinite number of micro structures in which humans interact within. These micro structures that are constantly being created, recreated, and dissolved constitute family units, neighborhoods, places of employment, schools, etc., that can themselves be subdivided into even more specific components and so forth. It is within these fluid organic structures that the human being is socialized. Through the process of socialization the individual is taught how to “be human”. Biologically, the individual is born human, but in the capacity that the individual can reach his/her individual potential, socialization is essential and rudimentary to this fact. It is interesting to note that many conflicts that arise between individuals and structures in society in essence arise from a disagreement about the socialization of the individual.

When we as individuals, as organizations, argue for a just and equal society we are fundamentally contending for the socialization of a more humane human being. I believe that through the struggle for justice and the uplifting of the common man through education and social action do we as individuals begin to uncover what it means to “be human”. The elements that we begin to ascertain through hard work and hands on experience in solidarity with our fellow man are some of the virtues that constitute being human. Love, thoughtfulness, benevolence, and generosity are all cultivated under the wings of justice and law. I therefore argue that only in a society steep in justice and righteousness can the individuals of that society reach their human potential and in essence become truly human. It is therefore necessary that society as a whole and the structures most responsible for the socialization of the individual, concern themselves with constructing a social environment that will facilitate humanities need to be constituted of just human beings represented and guided by compassionate leaders that will defend the venerable and esteemed attributes of a great civilization.

sometimes your okay
sometimes i am

i regard your laughter as music
your smile. . . well that is something i cannot describe.
your presence, like the sound of crackling dust on a vinyl record

you. i. we were both held in the arms of our parents
you like i, needed to feel special and loved.
you. i. we will hold our parents someday.
they. like you and i, need to feel special and loved. some in their own way. like you. like i.

i was standing against the subway doors looking out as the bells rung and the doors closed on the 59th street train station.
lights in the subway tunnel passed like flashes of lightning in a summer storm.
we meet people on a daily basis that enlighten our lives without us realizing it.
or them.
they pass so fast. dashing across our eyes retina and disappearing into someones elses.
the train continued barreling down in the most nonsensical of manners as if shot from a 1776 cannon. it felt like the tunnel walls were the only thing keeping the train on-course.
we reached harlem 125th street. harlem 125th street station. stand clear of the closing doors. and before i knew it, we were again cutting through the darkness like a silver knife.
i did not get off the train that smelled of burning metal as the doors opened and closed on my station stop.
why? you may or may not ask. well you see, what is a home when the only sounds heard are the pitter-patter of the leaky bathroom sink, the arctic wind howling through tiny crevasses and the rhythmic breathing and beating of a lonely heart echoing throughout

is it so difficult to smile?
is it so difficult to be polite?
is it so difficult to care about a stranger?
the well-being of your neighbor is your well-being
although it may seem that our lives are so independent from one another
you are mistaken if you think that what doesn't happen to you individually will have no bearing on your life
every incident of human contact and action taken by you gets added to the collective spirit of humanity
this spirit of humanity forms the basis of the culture of the masses in which you interact in every single day
though this spirit of humanity is manipulated and influenced by economic and corporate powers
it is the decisions and the actions that we put in motion as individuals that forms the contextual matter of society
there is tremendous healing that must be done if we are to survive as a civilization
we must identify the elements of society and socialization that promote dis concern for each other
hyper-individualism is unhealthy
the key to life is BALANCE
anything and everything in excess is bad
think of the structures of life on Earth
think of the biological functions that keep you alive
power, money and the human ego will be the demise of civilization

i took my child by the hand to the highest cliff overlooking humanity.
we found a large withered old log and sat at its rusty end, dislodging it a bit from its muddy roots
i explained to her what i could and she responded in the most tender of voices that she was scared of the future
i wrapped my arms around her tiny shoulders and felt her tremble
because she understood what was at stake
we sat for hours talking quietly and picking blades of grass and dried leaves, crumpling them in our palms
the analogies that we devised within those hours sitting atop that cliff were of the most painfully ironic nature
to our astonishment at how the time had passed, the bright sun was blocked and a great shadow enveloped us like a giant cloak
it was time for me to go home
i quickly kissed her on the cheek and told her that i loved her and that i would return someday
at this time a giant bird of the most monstrous size and wingspan gently grasped on to my shoulders with his gigantic shiny onyx claws
i waved goodbye to my daughter as she cried a tear and placed it on the wings of a butterfly which she sent up to me
we soared into the blue sky and climbed into the sun finding refuge in light and warmth
sitting here quietly in my humble abode i can still hear my daughter exclaim in her tiny whisper as she gazed upwards of the sky " . . . que altovalsol ! "