fixed in parenthesis

history nourishes broken swings while lovers
bring gifts of cut-out, disposable

hearts to walk, scissors in hand with this army
to win the battle of love but

lovers never win and blue skies often rot into a
reprehensible burial ground of paper mached souls

from the funeral, weeping willows walk through
labyrinths, lanterns-lit, just enough to glow pale

flesh to hope, but leaving stomachs clenched for earth-
quakes. they shuffle with blistered palms

until two meet with incompatible motives in common
brows and begin to cook this raw creation. anchors

drop as they breath water into wordless cups
voices learn to drink the tears. trades made of

cleavers for touches, until time's stare brings
the slaughter,
bleeding the slits from each other's wrists

...to the shrimp...

here is my offering of an unpolished friendship
one that is serrated and can cut deep enough to scar...
but i will pour myself through this strainer
so these healthy pieces of me can fill you up
and use white-out on my imperfections
so that your story remains perfect
because we can never see past these bridges we've built
in order to block our horizons
but i'm alright when you're alright...
stomachs often hold on to hurt much longer
than hearts do
creating a corset wall to block out anything that means something
while in these grey skies we thrive
leaving shadows across our eyes...
sharp stings revive us
and we are never more alive then when we are damaged and departed...
the wind fills us up with negative space
while we draw our insecurities across our backs
and all float away separately...
even though i don't have the glue or strength to hold you,
shattered together,
with mountains and skyscrapers that keep you in your fortress...
i can build you a break
to free your somber branches
because you cant stop thinking
and bends eventually break when
your face is all wet from things i cant fix...
ill like your depression
and swollen wrists...
because we are all
helpless and withered at some point

interpersonal swimming pool: sections of the deep end

life is not the same now
smiles graze these sullen cheeks
like those who shine sunlight
but my being remains dark
like the shadows
i place myself
in

why stay?
in this place
frequent thoughts
speak with much
persuasion

i tend to feel best when my
eyes are closed
so i think just may stay
this way for
a while

and happiness is nothing
but a liar
it said it would always
be there
and being is nothing but a game
because it steals pieces of you
when you need them the
most

i feel like a stranger
in my most comfortable
skin
and while i watch these
eyes water to the top
i secretly ring them out
until they are dry...
so no one
sees

and for a moment,
i thought the world of
life
but the sun sank
and the oceans burned
dark...

i think ill roll my pants
and walk into this ocean
so that the water only graces my
feet

just to lick these wounds until
they are clean again
so they may be stitched and left
to heal without any noticeable
scars

because these photographs keep me
alive
but i for now remain
stale

tired corners and windows of aries.

i like the way you fit so nicely
into the corner of my heart
a place where it can't be taken
but won't ever be reached again

i have packed my bags
and while it is heavy on my shoulders
and hurts my heart to leave
i feel content to be traveling
away from something
i won't ever forget

so lend me a minute
lets make this right...
but right doesn't mean any more
than an ease of a heart
once broken...
and now content

now i build my profile out of glass,
one that easily shatters
but is even easier to see me inside
no more hiding
because it doesn't take much to get me
it just takes time to understand

i like your silhouette,
and everything that it interprets
but i am not done looking
so i'll stand here a little longer

because i am ok.
i am just fine
i have sewn pieces back together
and even though they have thicker thread
they have learned to let loose when needed

i now see
that metal hearts and armoral
aren't always safe
and clean dashboards are often unnecessary

i lend you this map of me
from minds to you
so keep it on your shelf
just in case you need reference...
a way out of corners and shadows

because far too often
light sheds light
in the most unexpected places

migration.

life lives
words speak
hearts bleed
leaving summer flesh bruised
with splotches of life cut too short,
and broken window fixes for those
who can't seem to find happiness...
so they steal others

my muscles hurt from too much work
and my veins are swollen from lost friendships
once placed on pedestals of california beginnings

spring brought full hearts,
but summer left one broken
and fast came health which shattered
into tubes of research i tend to sleep in
more often than my bed

true friendships reigned through
insecure others insecurities...
those who bring comfort and ease
with little effort

now,
the summer's blood rushes somewhere silent
while words with meaning disappear into memories

but,
fall is fragile and weak in the knees...
hearts and bodies freeze broken until spring
fills their pockets with new water

tonight,
i sit on this back porch and unravel everything
turning these days into old days,
days worth remembering

vacancy: the ballad of broken cigarettes

a justification for the broken hearted and wounded souls
i felt much better before it all
my heart was safe.

but with you
we can set our hearts on fire
and though they will eventually turn to ash...
watching them burn will make it worth it.

we will become fragments
of fingertips and motions of lips lost
in trains of irrationality and whirlwinds.

and while these statues of apollos wait with belated breaths
we will sit..
on this fresh cut grass
to graciously gasp each other in.

but one day our bodies will sit
in silence
even though our minds break words
only long enough to take a thought.

words that mean more than words
will never be let out
but much thought overtime
which will ultimately lead to our deterioration.

regardless for this time being
you ease my mind from left hands and achilles heels...
so i am content with the stories
these walls will never get to tell.

your architectural functioning
leaves me lost in equations
and for once..
simplicity feels nice.

my heart stopped beating a while ago
so i must apologize
but my veins still manage to pump enough blood to sustain me...
and keep me on this floor we sit on.

your lips don't compare..
and your feet are too clean...
i think that's what i like best about you.

the world is a place
where hearts are combined but
plagued with an overbearing sense of crumbling dysfunction.

insecurities mask unwanted hurts
and cold shoulders hide forbidden feelings
from once loved collarbones.

I like how
you like the way
i disintegrate.

lets crumble together.

no hearts included.

ivory

let's undress these street lights

while we crack to peel these stars from collision

and share thoughts formed from hand soap bubbles

repetition in a modern sewer...

limbs like oil
water like minds
we come together in perfect layers
and separate exceptionally

sepia

a snarl,
these feet stand alone
together on this rock bottom surface

gary bower knows best

arms and limbs tangled in wrists and knees
shape past perfection as a portrait shaped by elements all combine to form a picture
like the illusory semblance of a phantasmagoria
or
the mere creation of a distempered brain...

yet feelings never prevalent so much as when
embalmed in your fingertips and calculatedly configured legs...

and while these eases of the past
comforting and safe chemical equations...
shape the grounds of skyscrapers
your vibrantly vicious sunsets of rooftop worlds...set apart
hearts finally at ease but never
easily forgotten skies seemed blood orange until
your appendages painted my mindful cosmos trouble-hearted red and never pink

lovers entrapped into geometric forms
form simple equations i am yet to fully work through...
rain clouds burrow and set camp above my stars
as our clouds separate to disperse
once loved liked friends become always never forgotten memories

i seem to fade into you as water fades to grey
after too much black paint pollution...
but
one-sided feeling
only reflects onto
one-walled emotion
so i hold this choke in my throat
slowly sinking to the bottom of this with eyes and hearts wide shut...
what could have and will never again be

regardless of miscalculations and unequivocal conclusions
i have to feel blessed to study and interpret
outcomes unlike plausible outcomes proved
right answers aren't the only answers
they simply and accutely form accepted right ninety-degree ankles

i like our x and y's
so gracefully they created an equation unlike any other
and seemingly enough will never be executed
no matter how much the
past meets present
mathematicians effect or disprove our theories

so thank you.
and sweet dreams
to this
present
that makes me anxious to meet you in the
future
and for the moment...
keeps my shaky wrists
colorlessly at ease

the six:6 apostles

assembled disciples and rebuked views
drew intricate parallels in our course of trails
and formerly known
selves

the rhetoric of
you and me
can be only best described and illustrated by beating
heartache
a six year hungry
strike
that our bodies eventually broke from...

these easy discomforts and sullen eyes
left
me dehumanized,
and while i remained alive, i remain what i am,
an implicated prisoner in your past-dated cell so often referred to as
your heart

now i sit, concentrating on the concept of your
intentions,
you so graciously function as an instrument of
persuasion,
pushing and pulling as you play on my cello stained soul,
until my strings eventually break in the
map of your eyes,
which effortlessly and repeatedly
disintegrates
these walls you helped me build,
and slowly
crumbles
my newly constructed cities...

conclusions draw to such
analyses
that would prove
insufficient
in the help of closing these old torn pages of you and i

i studied them for
six,
forgot what i read for
one,
and re-opened them until
april
clearly, in the absence of my qualifications,
the epithet "us" does not fit in this de novo story...
and now it's ashes lay
charred
on the bottom of my once cleansed fireplace

i tried
we tried
you tried
...
but for some reason 2184 days holds no charm
like the third time
so now we resort to the past memories that lessen this inadequacy of what once never really
but
really was

while i peel my brain from your tightly gripped memories,
my infected heart still beats red from
sores now closed

this savage god we more than once named
love
is now nothing but my debilitating
facilitator

you
me
never
us

you no longer place
"our"
past sculpted obstacles in the way of my
ambitions and projections
to new minds and
partially opened hearts

and while you condemned me to death,
i chose when and how to
die

...
now we need feel no
compunction
in describing our end

so bury me,
like i now bury you

...
and let our frequently dug-up
graves
rest for good

electric bright

bleed these classical cases of cracked paint chips
and expressed translations of present generation theoretical speculations
that spin round in this mobile of sunset words

...and while sleeping pills and crooked days make for
dark circled eyes,
i sit and stare,

while my teeth chew these words that my throat wont let out

this wicker bag which holds me together is slowly ripping
apart at the seams
and now i wrap myself in cellophane so my heart and all it's ventricles
don't fall out into your blue pained fingertips
and past wrinkled palms

of raindrop days

from this tongue comes tin cups and electrical tape confessions,
and
emotions aren't emotionless just because tears don't
equal cries

these guitar strings pull tight, and my fingers can only play so fast...
but I tried,
I tried.

my coffee is stale, and my tongue no longer tastes...

so tell me the history of these pains made in your legs,

which inevitably inhibit you to run forward...

or at least walk at a steady pace

this beginning was the same as yesterday,

and this unusually sweet tempered disorganization of your mental matter

has mastered to ease my mental instability

so now I sit,

bone-framed in this over sized chair with nothing but pale lips to listen

to your throat cut through my bleak expression

You are the master writer

of paradoxes and insufficient poems, to defend any topic,

no matter how apparently indefensible it be...

but your blizzards give my snowflakes shape

and i only made it 90 pages into these selected papers, which were accompanied by the visiting ghosts to whom we name the past...
but three chapters are much better than never opening the cover at all...

and I am glad I met the author

while you speak these words,

they lack these translations of English,

but there is no need for understanding, because re-entering into what happened in the chapter belonging before

mine

is

yours....

Our observations we have investigated...

they were the ones which first provoked this phenomena...

but through unexpected accidental factors which play a much greater part than is generally known and recognized,

it proves to impossible to manifest this starting point from anything but history books

without eyelashes, this path is nothing...

but truth exists in bloodshot and blacked-out eyes... so bruise these eyelids and lend me

your red-wined lips

perhaps along the way, someone will make me a magician....

to make myself a fire-fly.. so that I can elucidate your crepuscular past,

because sometimes the light

secures secular insecurities


but for now, and last but not least,

i pay my debts to the shape of this bent willow tree,

which loaned me my heart when I thought i needed it

...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

scrabble at thiry-below

Horoscope: 5.15.2007: There are good possible outcomes to negative solutions, look at the big picture...

still, i throw paint thinner
across this already blurred canvas
just to see my self-portrait
smear.

I walk jacket less into the freezing
cold which will eventually make me emotionally
sterile

but at least now i feel
a bold sense of "self-inflicted"
pneumonia

this water in my lungs leaves
me drowning or better yet
floating

upside down
without a snorkelers
tube

these bubbles burn my eyes as i
try to draw distinctive parallels between
myself

and
who
i
am

assumed thoughts so neatly pressed
and scrabble boards make for tight
competition

one we secretly hope to lose
but more so want to
win

you lost your trust but
you'll never shed how in this wintered
hat

i lost my tears but
you'll never see how because icicles can't
run

and from this bullet proof vest i
pull strings from my
aorta

in tight-rope forms to your reach with
a fifty-fifty chance i'll loose my
balance

but i have good stability
and i am willing to
try

like soldiers who volunteer for
hazardous war-time
missions

and openly place
themselves in this perilous
circumstance

in this battlefield, together with a
foreseen knowledge of what we could
be

we step into this
freezer so our hearts stay
cold.

unintentional skydiving.

one-handed perspectives and interesting
parallels drawn across the parallels of your tired
wrists reveal bankrupt resolutions and ordinary images that secretly
do away with your motivated and intentional
motives and intentions

...and while you questionably broaden your concepts with
words from your covered eyes, I sit on the ground
and cough up my heart into the safeways of your configured legs.

lights melt as you and I watch the trees form.
we listen to words without sound so softly out
of soft lips, and without sure feelings
we quietly walk into blizzards of objections and new extensions

resolutions counter-act theories upon this unclear glass table,
it makes sense, it makes comfort and
while i lay up and you lay down,
I assemble myself accordingly to fit
your book of directions.

for now, in this abstracted canvas of distortion....
lets sit
lets stay
hip to hip on this broken fence of executed decisions,
and watch our worlds crumble around us.

"...with tired eyes and tired minds...we slept."

Casual chains and plausible accounts
act as interpretive deviations to your
significance of freedom.

With both feet stuck in this pragmatic ground
you draw clear representations
of cranes and linear skyscrapers
while laboring for your happiness
to rot the soil.

Personal preservation retires to miserable
existence and blurs important distinctions between
who and what you are.

Latitude
and
Longitude
stabling your stance.

You tilt your head back and sigh
as you escape
into exile.

Cross-eyed.

Considering the abstract questions,
You search for desperate definitions.

No regards to compliance, no belief in assumptions.
Directed towards directions of no critical consumptions.

Fine details aim discussions,
Underlying meanings hidden in downbeat percussion.

You point
and
I stare.

Templates Written for Geometry.

Strong intentions and implied definitions,
you sit in a head-hand curve
disposed.

You've arranged this
fatal accident
accordingly.

Disoriented, you sketch
circles around happiness,
but only have enough
to
freehand
triangles.

This is what we know about Slurpees.

Warm enough to be cold,
with accommodations to a heart...
which no longer works.

Your retractable arteries,
coil like snakes...
while I succumb to your venomous injections.

Self-portraits and desireless actions,
make temporary statements...
attractive and permanent.

Unravel your insecurities
...and infect me with your disease.

Garbage Can Accusations.

Sketches of
foreshadowed
perceived
conceptions.

Bend you in all of
the
wrong
directions.

Self-righteous sacrifices for the sake
of
not
being.

Holds no valid statements
of
an
underachieving.

Personal worth is the
worth
of
rejection.

Who am I to pose
a
divine
intervention.

Misinterpretations
of
underestimated
calculations.

Coincide with open minds irrelevant
to
educational
equations.

Done Spellchecking.

Draw a line... then erase it.
Experience just enough to taste it.
Not liked, no likes, who likes achievement?
Education is only good to people and how they receive it.

Sketch a circle... but don't let it close.
Experimentation essentials to the indisposed.
Hit this, drink that, Rat Race Execution.
Individuality given up to it's prosecution.

Form a square... four corners and all.
Make sure all outlooks are indoors and small.
Judge me, hate you, grade my personal worth.
Make sure all human texture is kept fully submersed.

...could've lived like skyscrapers.

Casual connections meet all the vague requirements
of intentional contributions.

Two-way streets have no meanings without
stoplights and road signs.

Who says the high speed chase
isn't any better.

sinking like a perhaps.

emotions foreseen
but unintended.
a doctrine
of double effects.
your definitions bind
weak promises to even weaker hearts.
not even this imaginary doctor
can save your cancerous contentions.

Both.You.Your.Squared.

Both.
a strong and weak sense.
You.
assume your basic correctness
to disguise intentional actions.
Your.
imaginary examples become
prerequisites to consequences.
Your.
head machine is empty and
the generator is out of life.

A Soldier Covers a Live Hand Grenade

an occupant of an overloaded lifeboat,
you burn yourself to death
to express all plausible
definitions.
and.
throw yourself overboard
in order to prevent yourself from sinking.

Box Set Tapes

With one eye open,
you squint to hide
irrelevance of the first consideration.

The variables and factors...
each set of me
acts as determinants of what ought to be.

YOU,
who finds himself in need of
a safe and painless route
recognize my failure to meet your definitions.

May.Fifth.Two.Thousand.and.Seven

Conveniently defined
your thoughts
meet your mouth
in the foreground of perspective
and
lateral decision.
The palms of your eyes make me easy and leave a bruise
while
you hang yourself from ropes
of broken propositions
and leave yourself to dangle
from speculated outcomes.

And This Sun Goes Dim.

these proposed definitions,
yielding to hypothetical results.

you carefully measure
lines through my defective heart.

Myles Hearts Math

Full Circles
circulate into
Squares.

Rectangular
ideas form
Triangles
in your mind...

your
Pentagon
of worldly views only shows attributes
to
five
sides

...operation in
Acute Angles
you manage to form a perfect
ninety degrees

Building Castles Out of Matchsticks.

You
have a striking paradigm,
Blindly assuming this sin you call fashion-
is more than just a trend.
Quality control and frequent exterminations-
weigh down
this kite
of present goals...
Dried aspirations and
decaying mentality
leave your soil rough and useless

Raftboats and Seagulls

Life is a value to be performed.
Eat human experimentation
...and with this token...
We will float above trees

Kitchen Motor Tour

Run.
through this field of "normality"
Transplant.
your individuality to it's secret box
Acceptance.
is now genetically infused

Ireland

feelings irrelevant.
we slide into this integrated
swamp of insecurity's hungry monsters.

deficient of love...

we swim towards the side
and grip safe ground.

Mounds of Clay

We wage our fight,
hungry for natural disintegration.
Forming parameters and parabolas
of enlightenment along the way.
Blindfolded,
we step off of our minds and into our
greatest insecurities

Morality Exists in the Minds of the Moral

With your positive euthanasia
you leave me indirectly willed.

Simultaneously...

With my will to end
I will the means.
Your inexorable dehumanization
operates
as
acts of commission to this tragic "crash"
you call yourself

Once a Shiny Morning...

Universalized or Absolutized.
you are a frequent diagnosis...
With your diseased super-ego
You rarely leave any record
...to explain my reflected response.

Impersonal Abstractions

this canard has lodged
itself deeply into the lonely crowd
and
typologies of merely impersonal abstraction
demoralized.
unnerved.
disoriented.
I throw in my remaining chips.

A False Turning Point

...and I am
a dying baptism of
your subversive property rights,
to deny this is to deny integrity.
reduce me to my appendages,
and in an invisible ignorance...
begin my consequential crucifixion.

Cardinal Richelieu

with these pages of our history,

hallowed yet somber
we dig our graves at the crossroads.
so free my persons of your dignity,
starve my heart of your thoughts
sign and date my prescription

to be alone.

"Everywhere and Nothing In Between"

Countless hours render tired eyes.
This is my life
The speedways make ways for ways that no one ever knows
The detours of the past tighten seat belts for the future
No armor goes unbolted.
This is my life, the sad and sullen sighs of
People as they sleep in uncomfortable predicaments and insecurities
The future didn’t warn us about grey skies and tired eyes
Hallucinations and mixed media cloud the brain with thoughts
Of hurt and misconceptions.
It rained today, but puddle hops and moons within the crevasse of buildings
weave our thoughts together. This is now
Banded hearts and unforgotten heartaches reap at the door of opportunity
Never coming in but enjoying the silhouette your body makes
On the window panes of foggy days.
This is my life, no past left for the present. No present left so the past tends to taint the future.
Stomach cramps and chocolate milk shields the insecurities of hungry groans,
This is my life, empty like dumpsters after consumptions erase memories
You circle and wave like the pendulum you get your height from
Making swings from my arteries that once connected to my heart,
But now are just too hard to pick up slack.
Armoral isn’t good for the dashboard, but it keeps it clean and spotless.

as we know it

Coarse gears grind quickly,
Humans, machines strain to death.
Economy blooms

Alexithmia

Words for the heart, no expression from the mouth
So many secrets needed to expel out.
Emotions rampant, concealed in a box
Too many late nights, induced insufficient talks.
A long run-away, trains meaningless goodbye,
This is the story of you and I
Righteous judgments, nothing too close
Heaven forbid we somehow make the most
Of this, of the now, and of where we will be
This is the story of you and me
Hardships. Trials, lets try it out
Succeed and conquer without a doubt
Alexithmia, I heard it today,
Two days before you went away.

And now you’re gone. Goodbye.

Ode

She never really thought about it,
Tonight it just seemed right.
She never really thought about it,
Cold hands gripped razors tight.
She never really though about it,
This would be the end.
She never really though about it,
The break and not the bend.
She never really thought about it,
White lights and golden gates.
She never really thought about it,
Who gets to come too late.
She never really thought about it,
The last day she took her breath
Today she really thought about it,
Today she reached her death.

Worries and sadness overcome happy hearts,
Like hands gripped around a wrench.
With each tightening of the screw,
Comes a blood much thicker than before.
Grey eyes grow tired and thoughts grow weak

Dodonda Research

Raw is what I want to be
Raw is what I am
Raw is how I want to live
Raw doesn’t give a damn

Raw is where I want to go
Raw is how I feel
Raw is what you see in me
When we both know it’s not real

Raw is how I rip my soul
Raw is what I like
Raw is nothing more to you
Then something you recite.

To be raw is controversial
To be raw is what we need
Raw is what is deep inside
When you make my heart bleed…

To be raw…

Alone.

Phlegmatic

Eat your heart out little one,
Disease comes in the morning.

The scale tips as your heart falls
Fingers push to purging

Eat your soul out little one
You’re much better when you’re dying

Beauty comes as bones protrude
Organs shrivel and your still crying

Eat perfection, dying one
Morning never comes