creationism

the act is over.

the girls,
the aggression,
the sport
has left me
for now.

i watch my hardon
pulsating
up
and down,
like it's out of breath,
as it slowly
fades away.

shower water scraps my back.

everything slowly leaves.
the proof slides down the drain,
and still,
some evidence is left
on my chest.

and no doubt
at some point,
either tonight
or tomorrow morning,
everything will come again.

our chords

all we are
are a series of knots
that never end.

we become them
while trying to get up
from the floor.

it's that easy

and we never pay any attention
to which chords
touch
those chords,
and before you know it,
we are tripping over this mess,
trying
to break our fall.

we reach for a hand
like handicapped babies.
and we expect
and demand that very hand
to untie us
at the center.

it's like we were never aware
of the capabilities
of those hands
connected
to our wrists.

a study of the storms at night

at night,
just after the storm hits,
it seems to just wash away
all of this neighborhood's inhabitants.

when you smell
that mixture of rain
and concrete,
it's like smelling a garden
of freshly birthed stone.

more reinforcements of lighning
march closer
in the distance.

not one person is walking their dog,
but there is a symphany
building
from every single window a/c unit
in this neighborhood,
and it never sounds bad.

you don't even question where
everybody has gone.
you just accept this stretch of concrete
for whatever mood
it has taken.

i remember those times
flying late at night,
somewhere over the belly
of the midwest.

i remember watching the lightning
show happening below.

i never thought of the people
protected by shelter,
underneath the noise
of those clouds,

and i suppose i still don't,
down here,
where gravity weighs the most.

that room

the energy
in the room
was a magnet
and i was only a fragment
of steel.

i never considered myself
weak.

they sat me down
in a chair,
kissed my forehead
and
before i knew it,
everything in that room
wore a halo.

i'm not a religious person.
but the beauty that reflected
off of every object
made me give thanks
to some higher power
that i
cannot even see.

they asked for my arms,
so i gave them each one
without any questions.

they plugged me in
with tiny tubes
burrowed into
each of my arms.

they turned on a switch
and then all of a sudden,
the energy from that room
slowly poured
underneath my skin.

i was convinced
this made me glow.

then,
they were standing right behind me
and i felt some light pings
on the top of my head.

what they whispered
in my ear
was delightful enough,
better than any fairytale.

i didn't even worry
about the tapping going on
behind my eyes.

i trusted everything.

the room would smile
and i ate it
without any apology,
ever.

i even made a statue
of the room,
hung it on the mantle
like it was some holy alter.

the room was so goddamn gorgeous
that when i closed my eyes,
everything revolved around my head
like it were in some orbit.

i left every single piece
of myself
in that room
without even thinking.

i didn't even have to sell myself.
i just gave it.

then,
out of nowhere,
that switch was flicked off.

the energy had stopped
and everything hurt.

i couldn't even see them
anymore.

i was drained
and that machine
with those tubes
sticking from my forearms
had sucked most everything
from inside me.

it was then
that i noticed
that the nail
they starting hammering
at the top of my head
had finally pierced my guts.

it was too late.
blood was growing
on the floor.

i looked around,
stunned,
studying every square inch
of that room
to see what went wrong.

i was weaker than i thought.

every single star crashed
and then it hit me,
that everything beautiful
about this room had vanished
into nowhere.

a pond by my parents house

it's just a pond
that somehow
has been collecting water
all these years.

it wasn't near much.

the neighbors
in the development
a few blocks away
would simply just walk
their dogs
or their spouse
around this very pond.

that's all
it was used for.

back then,
in highschool,
i worked at the grocery store,
in a strip mall
only a few blocks away.

mike and i would punch out
on break
and smoke weed
in one of our cars.

we were stoned
before we returned
to either facing shelves
or stocking
the dairy section.

i also had a girlfriend.
her
and i
would park right before that pond,
go underneath that tiny bridge
and smoke even more weed
and mess around.

after highschool
and after that girl,
i never even learned
how to live
in the same town
for more than four years.

i moved
from state to state,
out west,
city to city,
like it was some goddamn obligation
to my country.

i never thought twice
about this pond.
i hardly thought about the girl,
or even the weed, or mike
for that matter.

i was just moving.

then
about 18 years later
i'm at this wedding,
for one of my highschool friends.

i'm standing there,
on the patio of a six story
marriott hotel,
the same hotel
where all the out of town guests
and people in the wedding
are residing, for at least
that one night.

i notice that pond.
and it is it,
a time machine,
with the same grass,
with the same water,
and mud beneath
that water,
as it was before.

it's like nothing grew here
but the concrete buildings
that overshadow
this very pond,
since the time
of when there was highschool.

i grab the girl
whom i messed around with
on an earlier bridge,
where the bride and groom
exchanged their vows
in front an audience,
in front of a representative
of god.

that girl
was at the after party
at this hotel,
on the very shores
where i partly
grew up.

i grabbed her arm
and walked her down there.

i wanted to go underneath
that very same bridge
only 100 feet
in front of us
and smoke some of her
weed.

it didn't work out like that,
instead we talked
and only made out,

this is not how it used to be.
it never is.

sights and piano sounds

the piano plays
slow
and high,
in the tune
of every single
sad song
that has compelled you
to put it on repeat.

the ones that remind you
of her
and everyone else,

of all the good days
when something
or another made
sense.

you listen for a frequency
that is familiar,
a frequency that is true
to something
that was once
you.

at these times
you want to rip your guts out
and that thing
they call a heart.

you want to rip them out
because of how good they gripped you
then.

but now,
it's just you,
alone in this room,
lighting another cigarette
like it's your only friend.

the images
you see are color
but you know
they were once black
and white,
and a picture will always trump
what words cannot visualize.

the piano doesn't help
but
there's always
a new song
to hear about
tomorrow.

it

it
shouldn't be complex
but it is.

it's never a cure
but it helps

it doesn't need to have fangs
or poisen
that injects with those fangs.

if it's legit,
then there should be no excuses
for war.

you take care of it.
you craddle it like a baby bird
without a nest
because you are it.

never take from it,
ever.

you give to it,
you feed it without any thought
and then you can live with it.

because
if you don't care for it,
when you neglect it,
you scratch it with those talons
just because you can,
because you didn't win,
you make it that much more difficult
to accept it.

and when you take from it,
without returning it,
you ultimately start fires
inbetween the letters
of it,
the ones that give you it.

you leave
it in ashes,
never looking back.
and you will never understand it
as you search for it
again.

then,
just as you're blaming it,
the possibility is real
that you never deserved it.

diplomacy the size of a fist

after all the fucking.
after the happy promises are
flushed
and sent down the hell
of plumbing pipes,
just before the bed was made
for the final time,

you sit at the table
with her,
and this table already holds
too much tension
to begin with.

you want peace.

you want peace,
and sometimes
you want a piece of their throats.

but once you lock eyes,
the sentiment is reciprocated
in the form of a basket
made of sharp points.

from you,
from her,
every negotiating tactic
is a grenade that lands
on your
or her lap.

and you just have to accept
the fact
of explosions.

you're a vet though,
you've been through these before,
enough to at least know
the parameters
of a civil discussion.

but still,
too much blood
has been measured
in somebody's corner.

and this is the first time
she refuses to shake
your hand.

weather report

you're never really sure
when
the temperature rises.

it's too late
when
you are bathing
in your own sweat.

the a/c unit hanging in the window
is only enough to cool
the room it rescues.

heat makes steam
and this entire city
is choking
on the haze.

a hangover doesn't help,
but you believe
that the alcohol
from last night
is finally trying to escape
your skin.

you take a cold shower
but really
it's just an aspiran
that eventually goes
away.

even the streets
have been stripped of people
due
to the weather,

yet
it's a fine excuse
to forget the glow
of her face
that has
melted holes in you.

when you can't breath anymore

it changes, billy,
everything just keeps moving
into something we will never
be able to comprehend.

it never stops,
the thoughts rush through you
like a million haunted monsoons.

the faces,
those goddamn faces
come and go,
and sooner or later
you begin to lose track
as they settle
into a burning coating
over your chest.

eventually
we cry less,
but goddamn,
we remember each and every teardrop
bled
on that silly alter
that someone had the gall
to name love.

and this hurts even more
when nobody is looking,
when it's just you
in that room
where somebody left you.

they will never understand this, billy.
they were just born with better
survival skills.

sometimes
when i think of you,
i understand that thing
you had done.

the lopsidedness of grooming

in between
some of the cracks
and pores
of our very own
human skin,
there are still pockets of shit
that we never properly
learned
how to wipe.

this is when they point a
magnifying glass
very carefully
at the desperation
of our flesh.

you might be 85%
or 76% clean,
still,
to them,
it's like you're some monkey
flinging crap
at the metal bars
in some zoo.

they are superior to you,
or
at least to them, you are
a rung,
just a support beam
to validate their weight.

there isn't anything clean,
so
they'll flush
you, just as you're picking
the pieces of
dried up shit
inbetween the folds
of their skin.

red meat

what they do
is pretend
that the human heart
doesn't exist.

you can even offer them
yours,
on a silver tray,
and it's not even worth
an appetizer,
to them.

they'll never believe
in any sacrifice
you offer.

they'll only take this to be
a gospel
in the form
of a turd.

and even if they only believe
a moticum
of this sniff,
it's never enough.

and still,
here you are
pretending
that everybody
is a cardiologist.

desert mountains

these mountains
are only the remnants of the earth's
bones, that are stacked
like collections of fallen giants.

at night
and during lighting,
you can catch a glimpse
of these graves after
each and every strike
made by a bored
and angry sky.

the thunder speaks above us
like we are nothing but ants
in a world
built by the hands
of something we'll never comprehend.

everything is loud
but we hardly pay attention
to anything
up above us anymore.

the decaying bones
of these mountains
will continue to build
in the color of rust,

always,
as we move in closer
for a better look
the next day.

i'm really not photogenic

they are only perfect pictures,
of people,
and groups of people,
and everybody just seems so natural
and happy,
like they were born that way.

i see them
and then i look in the mirror,
and all i see are factions
of ghosts.

i just don't want to be here
at those moments.
i'm not big enough
or evolved enough
to comprehend any words
of a buddha,
or the actions of any artist who
has the balls
to lock themselves in their studio
apartment for days,
without phone,
protein,
or sex.

i'm smart enough to realize
how a thought causes avalanches,
and right now,
i've buried myself
once again,
in a past full of yellow snow.

people think i'm not afraid,
but i am.
i'm scared as fuck
that i'll die alone,
without one person understanding
at least
90% of my sum.

when i bleed,
i gush,
and my chest is covered
in these memorials
that already have roots beneath
my skin.

you love them,
then they are gone,
and you're gone.
you're lying on a bed,
alone,
wishing like hell
that every picture
ever shot
did not feel like bullets
festering
inside your chest.