The Portrait Artistimg_8617.jpg

I am jealous of the sunlight that

traces the contours of your body

it permeates your form

dematerializing you in the golden rays

and I want to hold you

at arm’s length

so I can take the angles of your face

and quantify your suchness

I want to draw you into my Fibonacci sequence

and capture you in spirals

I want to suspend you in ink and paints

to keep your infinities from dissipating

with the absconding sun into the blue expanse

Long walks on the beachimg_20150529_101252896-e1512764490169.jpg

I walk the beach looking for the perfect shells for you

every time I find one I think of the message that I will write in the sand for you

but instead instead I stop and swallow the shell

i am jingling like a wind chime in a hurricane

full of the unwritten things for you

the shells are breaking apart and carving messages on my insides

I can feel myself hemorrhaging with song and blood

I am the morning lark so let me sing to you my rising sun

my kindred spirit in the dark, cold morning

do you ever get tired of being worshiped for your beauty and warmth

do you hide yourself behind the clouds so no one can see your flaws

come down to me and take my hand

we could walk the world together

come down to me

my song is only born by the vital life-force of air in my tiny lungs

and I have used every breath to reach you

and I am suffocating

those broken shells affixed with love in the sand are being wiped away by the indifferent ocean

waterlogged red roses are tumbling impotently in the grey wash of waves

forgotten or abandoned by careless lovers with hands full of each other and mouths of sweet nothings

I am walking this gauntlet of the unrequited and I am running out of beach

the finish line is where there is a message written for me

I want to be more than just comrades (OR: You’re the reason I hate communists)

assangemy heart was gasoline

and I stood on kindling waiting to be set alight

all I needed was you to flick your rebel cigarette at me

and I was all ablaze

help me you whispered

lets start the Revolution

I would have burned down every strip mall

every mom and pop shop

hunted down every capitalist

for one of your smiles

you told me we could hobble the machine of the capitalists

with idleness and kisses

and poetry and drunkeness

and I was naive enough to believe you

and when we took to the streets

we were nameless comrades in the night

with teargas and chaos in our eyes

thunderstorms of glass shards

and trash cans on fire

We were going to war

with the capitalists

and going to battle the police

And you left me

I turned to look over my shoulder

and you left me at the barricade

with my heart in one hand

and a molotov cocktail in the other

both ready to ignite

You left me as

a burned out police cruiser

the broken windows of a Starbucks

the ashes of a discount furniture store

I wanted to be more than just comrades

you were my ride or die

I the bonnie to your clyde

we could have had a last stand in a glory of gunfire

under the star-crossed banner of the Lost Cause

My revolutionary zeal was martyred

my hopes faced the firing squad

my dreams the hangman

I was just another soldier in your war

you’re the reason I hate communists

Flirting With Death

horseskullI’ve always liked my lovers with million watt smiles

and the darkness of the void in their eyes

my hair is standing on end as

I feel his icy breath on my neck

and I am trembling from the caress of the ultimate Silence

Pressed against this abyss

is a heart pumping blood laced with desires

enough for a thousand lifetimes

I am the anti-Buddha caught up in the cycle of attachment and curiosity

my eternal recurrence is a child sticking the knife into the electric outlet

running with scissors without any more eyes to poke out

let me run with Amor Fati into the treacherous waves of destiny

I am the Lady of Shallot

grown weary of her mirrors and shadows

Join me as I throw my looking glass against the wall

and roll around in the shards of my grand spectacle

Here is my blood sacrifice

We’ve made an altar of ourselves

when we should have altered our perceptions

because if in this calvacade of distraction

and electrified Pantheon of selfies and the instafamous

we become numb to our own humanity and sense of wonder

we should sprout wings and become migratory

so we can find the Great Beauty chasing flamingoes

because I remember that icy breath on the back of my neck

that Silence will take our voices when we decide to be polite rather than honest

but it is not enough to see beauty I also want to destroy it

I want to lap up the destruction and ugliness of life

I no longer wish to be an artist

I want to be a piece of paper

Tattoo me with your sketchbook fantasies

and crumple me up when I’m boring or passe

I want to be the wayward knee through the million dollar Picasso

the balled fist through the Monet

I want to ring the neck of every damn flamingo in the world

it’s all a trick, an illusion

so let me reveal the illusionist’s secret

my darlings, we are on a wild flamingo chase

we are told beauty only exists in a particular three dimensional form,

a two dimensional screen, or a one dimensional lifestyle

when there is a spectrum of dancing light and color and musical vibrations

in and through us and everything that surrounds us

that we exist is magic

we are the multiverse experiencing itself through love and heartache

we are the great clamor against the Silence

let us never end our grand cacophony