Ocean Water

i will keep you warm when cold waters flood the present with the past

I won’t let you freeze from the glaciers of pain I used to cause

but you’ll have to feel for me with all the empathy you can find

abandoned homes under the sea where tsunamis used to strike

don’t let your heart remember, you’re above water now

I didn’t know you, I didn’t mean to sink your trust again

I didn’t know myself, I didn’t mean to sink so low

there’s no oasis in the middle of the sea

no way to make it up to you but spend every day

steering us to shore.

I waited at the water’s edge, dried by the sun

seeing your shape on the horizon I began to focus

my vision and now my eyes only swim with memories

of the future.

Advertisements

Silent Day

Today I wish to be silent,

and hear only wind rustle over my ears.

My blood cannot handle voices

or it will boil through my skin

which trembles from the vastness

of the Void

which my dreams have become,

stained by reality’s harsh sunlight,

nothing like soft summer,

only jaded delights

and comfortable sadness.

I repose in this silent day,

bathe in the distance and melancholy

I’ve created.

Mountain breeze and car alarms

replace my hometown melodies,

my childhood dream security

becomes anxious tranquility.

I wish to exist outside of my heart,

which owns the broken nostalgia

of my soul

like waterfalls of sun

pouring through windowpanes

that I can never move beyond

or my spirit will burn to ash.

Say you understand me,

and lock me in your arms,

don’t let me go so easily

or I’ll believe you’ve barely wanted me.

I step on white hot pavement,

the road to Central Station,

paths in all directions,

I want to float into the sky.

you don’t know how to handle me,

or how to contain love,

the shortage deep inside of you

disintegrates my empathy.

I sense you walking far from me,

the Void between us widening,

tracing back our steps in time,

back to the lonely beginning.

Drifting Thoughts

One slim glass of coca-cola iceless on wood mueble by my pillow where I rest my skin in motionless tranquility so as not to sweat in summer afternoon

adobe tile room,

150 pesos rusty golden coins, a receipt for tomatos, and old Motorola accompany the dewy glass as I sit

and occasionally miss my city as she drifts through my head like breath or waves,

and sometimes her memory even pounds against my bones like veins of blood trembling with heartbeat,

she will always be fuera de la realidad, for her hospitality is rough like pavement and her heart a jungle of chaos;

but her Dream is like roses, an oasis to my soul’s reality.

her promise has fed me, no matter if I fulfill, for the wind has always pushed me where I need to be…

Deeper into the night

Home—an oasis

Unsure whether it’s where I started

or where I’m meant to end up;

if it’s warm during the winter,

or if it’s in my mother’s arms.

I am in the middle–

of the start and end,

my dreams and past,

his promises and her tears,

my two homes,

my doubts of each.

Soon I will be heading out,

for now I stay around this town

and hope and save and cry,

around the corner, the ride of my life.

as night grows deeper 

I begin to cry,

the sky darkens and I am more alone,

with the hum of the refridgerator

and nothing more.

Roommate Rant #2 Waking up Blues

I fell asleep at dawn, 7 a.m. pure sunshine 

when I lived alone this wouldn’t be a problem.

I work at night                                  

                                          yelled at by rich, loco, coked out managers

paid under the table, can’t report them or

get a credit card, 

making tips only when I don’t look tired,

when I’m able to hide the pissed-off vibe

from my I-hate-your-bullshit eyes,

wiping the tourists’

tables and telling them, when they ask,

that they can find weed (whispered elegantly over the cash register)

from just about any homeless person in Venice Beach,

during everyone’s 

saccharine sweet summer fun California vacation.

 

and suddenly I’m a mother again,

being woken up at 11:30 a.m. (which is daytime folk’s 3 a.m.)

to ask if I have change for the bus,

or if I could spare my laptop for a few minutes.

I don’t have change,

and my laptop is dead,

and you are 3 years older than me,

yet I am more self-sufficient than you,

and you cannot wake me up just to ask me things like this,

I am not your mother 

but while we’re at it, 

would you please move your piles of clothes

from the middle of our floor to the closet?

and wash your dishes, and pay the rent,

so they stop bugging me to make you pay

just because I’m your friend.

you’re not in Vermont anymore,

nor are you in the Hollywood Dream you thought 

life without a plan would become here in LA.

 

At the end of the road when I should be in the middle

my life now is wheels spinning,

roads coursing beneath me,

like I’m dreaming, flying in streetlight brilliant stoplight dark autumn streets Route 66 garage lawn dream life explosion firework sticky handed rushing wind pickup truck Heaven…

the problem is I live at the end of the Route and my feet are hungering to be dusty with the road again,

I’m not scared to be alone again in intense black LA lonely night,

instead my atmosphere is tranquilized

like nighttime breeze and blue moon silhuouettes

all the pain boiled in the past is steam to me now and glides off my skin as quickly as I can run around this city and I am fearful no longer, shadows shrink and

love grows.