i know what i need 

I dont know what I want

whether its surface dwelling alone at the swamp
or an oak in a marsh, soul searching proverbial want
we’re more or less spawns of monsters nobody needs
you were my star spangled banner and I was taking a knee
subterranean breeze, vitamin pond, still smell your perfume
every once in a blue, Dahlia Divin creeps in the room
black lagoon creature. months of despondent malaise
never under the same moon, but always got in your way
every constant is change, every constant in chains
the sheriff to my merits, conversation warranted pain
follow the tunnel light or continue to walk amongst shade
politics, topic delay, boxer on the ropes
you taught me to love; but to love to be alone
a hundred teeth, sunk in deep, til’ they’re rusting at the bone
propaganda prone, post traumatic melodic drama
copacetic cathartic static, momentary sedative saga
mama said to me never mince words with misses karma
megabit verbage. sapient alma in the trenches of mock prison
velvet and soft linen, cotton henley makeshift pajama
couldnt figure you out…
kissed crevasses in your skin you were indifferent
about
you’re awkwardly distant to things that slipped through my mouth
look at you now..
Sinatra’s lovers glance, blood soaked sinful devout
the untolds dripping, gun smoke cigarette clouds
love grows thinner when sun strokes negligent doubt
what comes, goes.
hum low under floor boards or they’ll figure us out
self destruct sequence, count to zero with me
feel your feelings metamorph like metaphors in the breeze
i don’t know what i want, i just know what i need
better go home before I’m awoke and i see you
full of momentary passes focused entropy seams
beams of light bustling through cracks in the stream
pockets of time form like globules; we’d skip stones in ravine
everything’s too loud even when the volumes negative three
nothing we do can salvage this irreparable dream
que pena me da, que lo tienes sentir
shouted at you to leave, as i whispered the please

fötter day

you can hear the…

suburbia chime, zirconia vertebrae. pearly white spine
glass thrown in stone houses, regular suburbia night
whirring, rewind. chronicled childhood in olive drab paint
monocle glass. wormwood and bottles of shawshank.
dissolute solitude, wanderer who wallows in maze
en route. delay for tomorrow. never promised today
virgin diary. anne frank. marie curie disease
tinture of rainbow, even if the distance is blurry to me
he, who knows the way to zihuatenejo.
furlough father. demand you to die when i say so
26 pesos what’s left in your wallet
lint and mothball, merryland. experiment omelette.
laundromat arcade quarter exchange
2 o clock shadow of death and follicle strain
these boulders were supposed to be gone when i got here
you shouldered me off. sunday morning penny loafer with frost
social commentary gabriel-lucifer talk
metamucil, retrograde. jupiter star
bolivian roast, oblivion, and a toast goes to mars
you hold my hand; but i don’t even know who you are
shout at me when indoors, but whisper weak when afar
im so close to eroding, skin growth, barely a scar
in my house; the big wolf. lungs pulse til’ exhaustion
i read a suicide note from the ghost in my closet
i dont know, if he knows if this apartment is haunted
by patriarchal pettiness, reminiscent negligent heart
maleficent maligned distant/forgot insidious offspring
with ammunition in their lips, that keep you off guard
feel the metacarpal love letters til your fingers fall off
once you step out the door, you hear the wooden creak in the floor
fell asleep at the creek daydreaming before
everytime before bed i hear footsteps coming from deep
and i hide in my closet, until they delete
REM hits me while I’m counting my sheep
counting rosary beads for every step wolf takes towards me
like neighborhood freeze tag, counting to 3
dysfunctional beings, huffing in suburbia breeze
i know that i know nothing is in love when i speak
into denizens, the medicine cabinet creaks
when you close it and i haven’t heard it in weeks
form bourbon, to curtains burnt at the seams
I’m so close to being the opposite of perfect, i scream
what emerges, a bird sits perched in a tree
what alerts him is
suburbia breeze

Never give up Mr. Vodka

inept, and upset, it’s like nothing is mentioned. lifes a run on sentence, interconnecting. eclectic, electric, im a plug in the wall. A bit so perplexive, the occult of the psalms. the rejection. a song in the hall of this crazy asylum. Straitjacket is off, not restrained or assigned. Um, loudspeakers shouts weaken as i interrupt the connection. been seasons since I slept at the Suns dusky perception. Grayscale cuts. As lovely as ever. It’s only in fear where we love to project it. We learn to accept it, from function inflection to fucking intense. Influx of attention as if it’s up to respect. a muck, so abrupt you can barely hear it. Footsteps like eruptions, the thuds become searing. Conduct an experiment, lovers potion aside. Appearance in serum You took most of in stride. Locust, to low cost, you soaked up my pride. Denoting my time, with no focus adhered. Coast has been cleared, now come gears of the war. Read through your code words; without feeling remorse. Fleeting emotion that flees it’s discourse. From bleeding to grievance, your cheeks are like porcelain. Cus through weeping I see the streams aren’t coarse. and it, streamlined and warped. From counting sheeplings to sleep to beehives and wasps. Beaming and gleaming, seaside to waft. Sea salt aroma as sweet as its strong. Siege of despondence, Lethal with charm. gathered the sky parts, puzzle piece to my heart. Melding the winters. Acting dissimilar now. ousted. no syringes allowed. crowded to breathe, all cylinders loud. Went from counting to three to running out of fingers to count.

unfinished love gimmicky, smug grinning combustible bunch.

puncturing flows of buttery colors, exposed in
post and pre nuptial showmanship. Function control
amusing instrumental. effusive, ode to hold this angel to a centerpiece
basil, with cloves, of energy that exposed a masterful synergy
a weeded rustled drone, that tumblerode a the quietest depiction of the color blue on a petal
succulent. moss grows on my archers boot and a straw of my grass clenched by my jawbones
a flux of rusty trombones that exude music through it’s metal
I’ve heard poetry spoken in crux, bolded by a bellowing, bolstering
Underlined by a snake in the grass, it’s so mellow. Just hold me
Boisterous. soaked in droves of this sorceress satin
She spoke in a language obscurely molded in spanish
her lips curved, Sagittarius furor. Sandals & codeworded for passion
prescription for cures and an ailment aimed with her astrologers arrow
a hollow barrow, and a node i focused on with a ridiculously pure heart
Fluent in affluency, forehead kiss, and a bewitching allure
Potion and magic, with an inflection of sultry enchantment
I’ve met a beautiful queen that I spoke to in Latin
Aztec rituals, led to a madmans’ mystical matchmaker
with slurps of a spiritual flask, drank from a vase of snapdragon
curvy dress with cottony ripples at slightly past bony knees
impervious to the dogma your thighs created. your souls a speech
red in loud voice, in a cabin with a fireplace, abrupt.
where the fire grows irate everytime your feminine tone erupts
sensuous, cold, the scent is insane. I could hear your perfume luring me with incendiary handcuffs
had enough with the tempestuous cuckold.
where a icecold gloved gauntlet haunts your light toned marked garments
misses maestro lust. larva finds a crawlspace where it bugs my lifes’ oak carcass
i tithed to our religious cult-like chemistry
where memories like centipedes held life in its arms
so magnificent, mount me to a crucifix, slow
and show me the coloration of the sounds that i used to know
portugese picture-esqe beauty
whisking along with curly-haired brunette insouciance
where a degree of our separation, detonated my inner vignette of vesuvius..

guillotine lust

particle physics; radiation cusps at every speck and a grain
that didn’t mean infecting the inflections as your hypothetical claim
bite the bullet. swallowing the pistol. it shoots
harboring a hollow feeling. sipping miller to boot
coil gripped Corona, drowning out social persona
were evolving into moths, wallowing towards the
murky gray skies. yeah, the coffee! what’s next?
marvelous pillow talk over a body of sex
heel gone from the left side of my moccasin treads
in particular, inarticulate guy with philosophers breath
cotton linen robe; tonight i uncover the secrets you stashed
underneath the cardinal chasm embedded deep in the cracks
try to unfurl the english, through your lips on contours
christmas carolers scarf, closed captioned lyrics encore
wept for concourse, a few have witnessed my characters arc
behind the lighthouse, my sailors boat tried to signal off shore
shelf life of a dying love is only half of what you want it to be
being in love, and being in dumb. It doesn’t mean I’d just drop it and leave
singing the songs, for the markers. autumn leaves for the author
monastery blues. with the indents of my knees on the altar
statistician Jack Daniels keeping crop of my phobia lot
who woulda knew behind every letter is a quarter of scotch
a stench of me in the shirt i gave you ‘for the aroma in seams’
with 4 inches of your middle carpal on a mobile digital screen
a soul gazer, in trench-coat i remember the buttons with such reminiscence
forgetting how to speak to me, Landau-Kleffner expression
promises made by executioners fueled by the guillotine lust
soft lips, with a barbed tongue, said your farewells with a clean cut

…shoot me in the foot. sparing me any beamed blood

Freshly dressed tourniquet

Empyrean cosmos. This feeling I swallow; it’s real. It’s hollow, but there. I know it. It’s growing, a hole full of sorrow, it’s weird. Some sort of eery control. It’s sculpted out a grave in my heart, it’s six feet into my soul. Clay soldier statue that’s woven and wound up by fear. Wounded by perceptions and ousted by fear. I’m used to it, ruthless, I’m near it, I smell, it; I hear. And movements that veer into me, is getting boosted. It’s like every little thing is in motion for me. Emotionally, my blood pumps. it’s mundane humdrum. I’m so used to panic attacks when it happens, I’ve practiced drowning myself to get better at ‘em. Crusted bark falling off the sharp edges of trees. Hearts with initials were pleas for adjustments in romance. CG + your initials here. Or Your initials here, + CG, because ladies go first. It’s old. And when the heart breaks in half, my part of the heart looks like a parenthesis ). It’s funny, because you said I always kept everything a secret, like a sidenote, like parenthesis. I get it, see. I’m holding the keys that unlocks the deepest, boldest embarking trips to the depths of my soul. I don’t even know if it fits, homesick, if home is where the heart is, i don’t even know if my home fucking exists. Went for a doctor check-up and hugged him when he said I had 65 beats per minute. “really?!” I said, with a smug grin on my face. That’s 65 reasons a minute why I hated myself. Verbal vortex ripped in coercion. I’ve lived a minute for 23 years and, I’ve tasted helplessness in 65 different version. I’ve envisioned never being hurt and it’s never visioned. Feeling defeated every second, I sarcastically think ‘is that why its called beats per minute?????’. Overly saturated covert emasculation. Social emancipation, i’m vocally allocated. Totally placid. Manipulative dickhead. Owner of phallus castle, got my troops and took over ovary palace. Sensory sonar. Very elective, and deceptive. It’s no arms combat. I’ve learned to defeat you physically by waving a pistol made with the way my lips sway and turn words into bullets. It’s only defense. I’m the least offensive person alive. I’d totally offend you though. don’t hurt me, I’m ready to let you go. Let us go. In an emotionless scene, and ocean or sea, of developing flowing disease. I could kiss the wrists you executioned me with. Puckering kiss cracks like the whip that antagonized our failure. I apologize for action, that me, myself and I don’t acknowledge in real. I’m molded. Grown old and outsourced. It’s like the mold in a spore. Can barely afford to pay attention to myself, how would I know I was there for you.

IT’S 2 A.M

hello crickets. im sad. (the wonderful thing about crickets is they’ll keep chirping if you’re talking to them)The world is at a crossroads. It’s silent and heavy. The cultures the clashes. The cancer, the caving. The careers and consultations my mentors suggest. I look at beautiful woman and I want to tell them they’re beautiful. To smile. I look at men I have some interests with and I want to tell them “hey man, that’s cool.” the comment alone is enough for me as a interaction. sometimes It’s lonely. sometimes you want them to be interested in what you have to say. Sometimes you want a meaningful conversation. sometimes I don’t want to fantasize about sexual trysts. I just want to roll around in some grass and wiggle my toes and I want someone just opposite of me wiggling their toes in the dirt too,- and we notice each other doin it and we keep on wiggling our toes. I want to share that connection with someone else. I want someone to think the same exact thing as me for 5 minutes straight at least, and it’s unfortunate sex is probably the only time that’ll hold a true sentiment. but maybe not. at 2am I become myself. it’s for two things, nobody is up, it’s quiet and it’s dark. so you can be yourself, think and the darkness compels you to stay inside. preferably in a room alone. The leaves are slowyyy beginning to fall. I hear crunching in the grass more often when I walk everyday. the breeze has a scent to it. the sun hits you as if to say “prepare my child, I won’t embrace you like this for awhile” you’re on your own. Kids are back to school and yellow is a common theme. this summer was a thunderbolt and my life changes like the sea in a hurricane. It’s almost 2015 and I’ve barely known you 2014. I’m tired of trying to please people by lowering my standards. why do people leave me? Sometimes I feel if I’m nice to a girl she’ll think I want sexy or a relationship. And I’m categorized into this placer with a bunch of other men. I don’t feel like a man when I’m categorized, I feel like a dinger. I sigh when one of my questions turn into avoidance. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to confuse you. or if they think I’m suitable they’ll invite me further to chat. I just want a friend. sometimes I feel too smart and other days too dumb. sadness knocks on my door and says just this one time. I kiss you and think, “just.this.one.time” I lunge at the thought of having a friend. selfish to the fact I knew its hurt you more than me. loneliness makes you desperate. but it’s okay, alcohol and coffee make you new my dear. Sinatra on the record player just isn’t enough these days. his voice doesn’t make me smile enough these days. the glass stains with wine become a more repetitive thing. And I just can’t seem to put things together. God is looking more like a scapegoat. What about the times he let me down? Was he testing me then? this is the single most longest test and he’s the single most patient proctor. I’m starting to think the test doesn’t exist. actually I know it doesn’t. it’s 2am

HOT CHOCOLATE

HOT CHOCOLATE

I walked out in the cold today. Eyes lazy. Burning cause of my allergies. Dogs chain brushing against his collar. Night time. I don’t like looking at shadows that much, they make me dizzy. Something about the abnormal shape makes my head spin. And they’re so rigid. I smelled something. That ‘time of the year’ smell. It filled my soul with a plush, perfect painting. I like chimneys. Theres something so old about them. I used to look at christmas books with the oil santas drawn with his bushy jolly beard and cheeks. Snow scenario, red and green illuminating the tundras of decembers winter. There’s something so relaxing coming in from the cold, to a nice, warm inside, with nice warm cloth, cotton bedsheets wrapping around you. There’s something so perfect about the way it all makes me feel. The air even has a ring to it. Cars veering by on the veranda make a different noise, maybe because the air is colder. The rubber hits the pavement different. IT’s just that time of the year. The cold, dark tiny gusts of air brush against my face. My sinuses are a bit more clogged so everytime I breath I hear myself. This makes me feel closer to the earth. I feel vulnerable. I better rush in. The vivid pictures my mind slowly paints are ones I wish I could share with humanity. Cause it’s these moments where I think everything is absolutely perfect. I havent seen these images described in cinema, in books, anywhere really. I want to be the first to recreate it, somehow. My words, aren’t good enough. I can spend a day findingthe perfect exact words, only to fall short. It’s a hypnotic, leafy, perfect, intoxicating scent. When I use the word intoxicating, I mean it. It’s where all my five senses combine to create this perfect, integral part of my psyche. I can be seen as a bystander walking a dog, but no one on earth would think I’m in total bliss. I’m so happy. I want to walk through the snow in thick coating, and boots. I want some to get in my sock, just to bother me a bit. Then to melt as I seal my boot up. I want that wet spot to stay until I get home next to a roasting fire and shutting the windows just that centimeter tighter so that the howling wind persists. Spinning the record player. I’d hum to it too. It’d be peaceful, but there would be lots to do. A jigsaw puzzle everybody ignores would be the center of attention. A playful clamoring of friends and family, with hands jolting in and out – “that piece doesn’t go there damnit!” and laughter would erupt. I sit back and take it all in after I say a joke that makes everybody laugh. As they’re laughing I sit back with a puzzle piece in my hand. The scent hits me again. Sending an aromatic high. For these seconds everybodys laughter is in slow motion, the chimney crackles heighten immensely, though only I can hear it. A grin roars from my face. And everything is back in motion. The slow motion persists, and the laughter that ensued isn’t warped in the time shift. I crack my toes in some thick wool socks. Nobody knows I’m cracking them, cause the crackling of the firewood is louder and, theres laughter. It feels so good. If bad news hit right now, I feel we could solve it immediately. I go out to the porch. It isn’t 2014. It feels like the 1950s. A landrover pulling up reminds me that is isnt 1950. They didn’t exist. A scarf shields my long neck. I despise my long neck. The cold always affects it. But I guess scarves were made for me. It feels so good. Someone coughs, and I tell them, here have some chocolate and feel better. I know how it is to feel sick when everybodys having a good time. I should make everyone hot chocolate. With marshmellows. Pour some wine for the more daring. We should be happy. I take a tiny sip that wets the brim of my lips. My eyes arent burning. My allergies seem to have subsided. How much more of this ecstasy could I take.

Jigsaw Heart. Try to put it together

See. It’s retribution. It’s emblematic of your initial assessment. It’s been erratic. Every visceral session seems to be coming back to bite me in the ass. Are you pisces? I heard that some pisces were, pretty rad. clueless to the superfluous mix. clueless to what i’m doing or did. am i pursuing a gig. am i pursuing cause pursuing’s a bitch. It’s useless. Every mistake I make, or made is etched in razor blades in every thing i do’ed or i did. and everything i do’ed or i did, is the biggest, single most catastrophic thing on the planet. cristians feelings are an inchworm, nothing to get upset over; it happened. I’m supposed to forget. I’m supposed to act like it didnt even occur or had action. imagine a bird. yup, cerulean skies in the background, yup, not a single cloud in sight. yes, both wings flying at a height above it’s regular flight. zoom out of focus. blurry reach. Now imagine a second bird with one wing. trees clearly visible. altitude considerably low. sigh. gliding to get within wings reach with unbearable might. who’s the second bird? edit: and this idiomatic stone didnt kill the two birds, (it almost killed me). GOD damnit! Wish a comparison to birds wasnt suitable now. IS THERE A SUTURE? Like a symptomatic expression OF aerial gaze that didnt seem so arid today?. Like what the hell was I doing til now? It’s useless. You’re ruthless, Hardly keep it together. God. If I clasp my fists any tighter my hand is capable of squeezing an atom. Split it into till we’re wiped clean from the datum. I mean it. Solely wish it were true. Wish anger bits mixed in anew. Pistol chambers seem so apocalyptic to this inaugural world. When wind freezes your skin seeps an aura as the muteness hits pause. & we swirl. Dealt two blows, to the overbearing passive aggressive. so manic depressive. You told me what you wanted before you didnt want it to hit, and wanted me to understand that you wanted it without telling me all that you did. I tried to understand where you were going, but the manipulation was titillating. Indicative of  vindication where most of the passion was closed in. I’m tired of questioning. You were my boat, and by that I mean when I sailed along on the coast. Sure everything underneath me would stay down. Laid out a blueprint, that was slowly stained out with red. I hate headaches. But everyday, every morning I rubbed my eyes and the chest pain, just going over the argument the night before. Eye-sores a common occurrence. It cost as a person. Pits of flowery petals. Not of flowers, but of ice with a patternized crystal that maximizes the the colors of this slightly plaid sonnet, with a luminous missile that twinkles when light refracts off it. Coffee and liquor, sometimes I mix them and call it elixir. A brew of congested chestnut. Nothings better than driving in a convertible top 6 speed through a closed tunnel layoff where the temperatures below freezing at 4 in the mo’rning.