Bully

What is there to argue?
You already think you've won.
No sense in wasting breath,
Except you won't stop your bulldozer,
And you seem to be mistaken
On the definition of consent.

Why do you need to argue?
You already know you're right,
Although your statements are untrue
And your morals don't seem good.
Are you hearing what the world is saying?
Are you open to some change?

It's said to “be the change you want to see.”
Is what you want to see just more disharmony?

Cold Pint

Eggs and cream frozen into confection
Eliciting confession in flavored bliss
Mint presents cool but not that fake green kind
Which lies and says that anything green must be good

The mint is balanced by the crunch of
Cookies
Chocolate
Creamy
Feeling a bit forbidden
Perhaps even salty amongst the sugary sweet
The frozen feast

I am eaten in one directly from the container
Forcing warm tear-covered hands to ice over
Providing comfort where others have failed

Perhaps I can be their one true friend

Scene on a Set of Stairs

She in her red dress.
She in her black top.
She and she sharing space and
Atoms.

She with her energy.
She with her strength.
She and she in each other and
The world.

She in her insecurity.
She in her apology.
She and she politely living and
In love.

Antipathy

We washed and dried the last full load
As night washed out the day.
Our silence felt like warmth between
The walls of green and grey.
We danced there once among the stars,
Two fire lights at play.
Between the curtains, books, and keys,
None knew you would betray.

These longed-for nights of quiet bliss,
The moonlight on the bay,
The shelves I built and gave to you,
The candles in the tray,
The hopeful days before the storm
That caused you once to stray—
All these things could not have known
That you would walk away.

How could that silence feel so right
When all we knew would fray?
You strayed again and more again
Until you would not stay.
You snuffed the flames that fed our love.
Was that the only way?
How could we dance then? How could we
Have nothing left to say?

Electric Blue

The electric-blue-haired goddess smiled yellow sunbeams down,
Down on wherever she looked: on
The ruddy-bearded men in cloth hats,
Tirelessly working; on
The fair and dark children in summer dresses and overalls,
Fearlessly laughing; on
The mothers and fathers leaning on tree trunks,
Whispering, knowing; on
The young lovers tripping through the forest paths,
Breathless, gay; on
The grey-headed elders with their canes and candies,
Humming, waiting.
All these, she smiled on, giving blessing to thought and comfort to pain,
Granting wishes and hoping for change,
Singing silently and praying earnestly.
All these she smiled to, she lifted up beyond the heavens,
Where human minds only hope to wander.
All these she lifted up in joy and harmony,
Electric-blue hair, and love.

Star Maps

Counting the stars from my Los Angeles balcony—
Nine, I think, tonight;
Just enough for one constellation or
Two, if you're creative.
There are one or two stars
Only seen if you
Remember where they might be.

There is the off-chance you're hallucinating.

Tonight's constellation is Poodle,
After the canine god of Beverly Hills—
Ferociously pouffy.

Remember planets shouldn't twinkle.
Horizon is misleading—
There are towers upon the unseen mountains.
A tribe in Costa Rica saw a postcard from New York and said
They lined up all the stars in
Neat little rows:
Their understanding of cities.

Remember the moving lights are airplanes.

From where I am those stars of Poodle
Point south toward those hollow hills
Where fame and fortune fashion
Empty lives.
After all,
The poodle without fur is just another dog.

Remember stargazing as a youngster—
Backs upon the dewy lawn;
Cool summer nights,
Carefree and wistful,
In the woods away from cities,
Far from pollution—a purer place;
Imagining why ancients thought that
Dippers looked like bears;
Hoping that the bears would know to stay away,
Excited that they might not;
Hoping that a girl you liked would
Like to stargaze too.

Remember that you're hoping still.

An empty person is just waiting to be filled.


22aug15

F*** Off

Geraldine Taylor told Rex Carrington to fuck off, and he did. He fucked right off the planet. As he fucked off, he held a sign in the porthole that said “G.T.—THAT DRESS DID MAKE YOU LOOK FAT,” which the news cameras were unfortunate not to have gotten. The rocket ship Rex fucked off in was state-of-the-art, as they say, though the making of rocket ships is more of a science than an art. The press told him to say something cliché before he left, so his last radio communication was “So long, fuckers,” though they heard the thing they wanted to instead.

As Rex left the fiery atmosphere of the planet, he felt truly free for the first time in his life. He was almost grateful to Geraldine for telling him to fuck off. It had taken years for him to finally fuck off in this manner. First he simply left the apartment, but he felt it wasn't enough. He went to other cities, other countries; still, it wasn't enough. One night, having fucked off to a bar, an ad on the t.v. caught his eye. “Always wanted to really get away from it all?” Rex had. “Ever thought about travelling to space?” Rex hadn't. But it intrigued him.

For some reason, Rex was just what they were looking for. He studied long and hard everything he would need to know to operate a rocket ship, even though they told him he wouldn't need to do much of anything. Rex had decided he would play along, but when the moment came, he would cut communications and hijack the craft. They would never see it coming.

He laughed as he floated around the ship, free to do whatever pleased him. He was free from laws and rules, free from anything that would hold him down, and certainly free from Geraldine.

Settling in at the controls, he gave himself commands: “Straight on to Venus. Full speed. Steady as she goes.” The green-blue orb floated away.

Then he waited. Hours ticked by. This is what fucking off feels like, he told himself.

He slept and had an awful dream that he would see Geraldine on Venus. Not just Geraldine, but a whole planetful of Geraldines. He awoke feeling achey and decided to change course to Mercury instead. He dreamt about cars and ice cream trucks after that.

After some time, a fellow named George joined Rex in the ship. George seemed well aware of his being a hallucination, but that didn't bother Rex all too much. George was apologetic about it. Rex just liked the company. Then one day George was replaced by his much more attractive sister, Maggie, who disappeared every time Rex went to touch her. It was during one of these futile exercises that a bell went off, like a school bell. He looked out the window and was surprised to see a very familiar orb mightily looking back at him.

He had made a miscalculation. He pulled at the controls, but the rocket ship was powerless against gravity, one of those laws from which Rex hadn't actually been able to free himself. He hadn't fucked off after all.

Uh oh, he thought as he ventured towards the heat death of the sun. I fucked up.