Monday, November 20, 2006


a madrone in a thicket of oaks
bending, arching wooden spine,
twisting, stretching for light
searching for its missing element-
in its photosynthetic life.
she is energy
fuel for growth
beautiful brightness,
consent for stripping bark,
smooth revealing skin
a reason for longevity,
rambling bramble-
never to be trimmed
veins reaching for spherical burning
the tasteful combustion of molten memorabilia
reaching for warmth, growth, and reason
she smolders.

Cynacism between the lines

I could squeeze your neck just to see how blue your face could possibly be, a blueberry balloon ready to burst in the clutches of my dwindling patience. Hit you just to see how much damage I could do in one blow. I often wonder because I’m not an aggressive person. A hand slap, crack to the rack to slow your dome. Straighten your eyes! Think before you speak, you ranter! Over excessive comments in the most ear cringing tone, so dull and monotonous, tumbling, stumbling once in stride, on monosyllabic words. Inuyasha-cross around a neck, skewed belief and culture, open your door, be expansive, be realistic, but take a chance, “high school lovers” don’t dance in the fairy-lit-moonlight and how would samurai feel about your words?

Google-e-eyes on la professora, forcible laughter at silent moments, (eyes roll,) keep your head straight, not like a curious dog.

Take your fingers off your chin your not profound! Body language speaks louder than words.

Respect has broken the sound barrier.

Stop drinking mountain dew, it is legal crack and you might choke on your own words. Just calm down, gather yourself. Stop twitching and recycle the habit, renew it for something worth sipping.

“The …dot-dot-dot,” those are called ellipses.

A couple of mice should hook up. He could organize a musical essay, strum the keys on his palm pilot, just for her, while she creates her own cultural dance, the twittipated-shimmy-shake with a geeked out twist, and yellow-5-dye stained teeth.

Vibrant chartreuse, lines like an illusion game, laced up heeled boots, and patch pants, all under a velvet green cloak, keeps the room interesting, lit up like a Christmas tree in a theatrical roll playing game, and I expect her to roll dice for the next thing that she wants to say.

Sitting close to me the next “sane uni-bomber” recites reflections for his new screen play called “Life.” He touches on all the tasteful things, and all the abstract images my mind can handle, and leaves me wanting more. In order to take a stand against what we don’t believe in, violent forcible acts are necessary, and this man should be followed into battle.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Reflections of White

I thought of you today.
It wasn't the bush monster
guarding churchill
and our lives
wide-open eyes
watching every step
and breath
those were gone
they may have left with you
and the spear he held
towering over us
a medium for our breaths
swirling in the light
that was gone too.
It was underneath our tree
the memory leaped from beneath the leaves
and nearly knocked me over

I stood and saw the smoke curling,
billowing out from under the green-golden pages
strewn across the ground,
like a lemon-lime-quilted-patchwork
smothering the smoldering cigarette
yet giving it enough air
and cover from the water
that seeped through the deciduous canopy of light
down through rising bending trails,
like we were sending smoke signals
and maybe we were
it was a magical moment of incomplete combustion
we stood around the hidden fire
as if to keep warm
to stay dry
we were cold
and the water ran down us like sweat
we didn't acknowledge it
we stood in awe
the smoke swirling around us
and we wondered how,
but we knew what it meant.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

An old soul with eyes that crawl a few strides then
to a convexed-lensed-belly
veins like limbs sprawled out as a slightly melt
ed s
t a
neck tucked close to the centered dark pupil heart that's let so little light in in twenty-two years
although it seems they've seen so much in the dark while walking the border between dreaming and reality.

diverged golden boughs
a limb lifted, bowing to its Goddess
a hunch backed shimmering-shady ruffled robe
limp with strength
leaning toward its mothers hand
balancing red balls on every edge-
of every piece of perfect plumage
while holding a silk sewn doyle in it's hand
you could see every thread shining,
breathing with the breeze.
A fly landed on it's shoulder
crawled around for a moment
and was lifted by the breathing