Two Step, Twirl and Fade

The room is tiny but clean
despite dust passing through rays of light like dancers in a waltz;
individual specks disappearing,
invisible,
as others gracefully cross the threshold
creating a seemingly endless, silent choreographed number.

I step outside and take in all isolation has to offer;
dwarfed by nature
illusions of grandeur erode with every degree of horizon,
the universe leans in close to whisper
"there is no light dancing inside you, you are dancing in light"

But Aren't We All Tourists?

There is life down here;
a teeming, delicate microcosm.
I move like a leaf blowing across an empty street
to my always transient destination
with the hot, thick air in my lungs
as I toy with perfecting that New York walk.
you know the one,
no contact
weaving through the walking dead
like a needle which desires the finished stitch
more than the hand pushing it through fabric;
yet I'm tethered to nothing
unchained
until my fucking blackberry catches a signal.

Like Flesh

Her fibers engorged
drinking deep the flowing emotions
moving gently with the rhythm of his hand
scratching ink and metal
turns the desert into an oasis
words, shift back and forth,
feverishly scrawled until
the poet is spent
the paper's thirst subsides;
in the quiet moments thereafter
they stare and embrace
letting go the moment
until their passion again swells

Lessons in pyrotechnics and botany

I came upon a flower
In an otherwise barren field
Pushing through the snowy ash of
My journey's countless firestorms.
Her beauty, overwhelming;
The contrast of white petals on a black earth.

The air, once filled with the pungent scent of burning flesh and lies,
now is clear.

The journey takes a new turn

This path shall no longer be forsaken as I breathe deep and
begin to build my kingdom along side her,
intertwining our roots.

Urban Transfusion

This evening,
The people flow like breath from lungs riddled with stab wounds;
Slow and labored.
Through the veins and arteries
Of this great city
The blood is tired as it circulates
Another cycle.

oh snap! first post in like 2 years!

Streetfare.


Parting the crowd like a heated, rusty blade
through pristine snow
his aching blistered feet carry him as if in a dream to the place housing his destruction.
Each day his mouth empties of pleas for change;
each passerby a silent ear to his suicide note of incoherent ramblings,
his tounge arid and trembling for another sip
so he may sleep peacefully beside the demons
who brought him here
to spend his days a wreck as a broken statute of a man among the millions of perfect china dolls.