pine street.

At the stoplight waiting for the light
hand upon hand
san francisco nine a.m.
we witness the rushed streets
coming to life
bright yellow garbage trucks
with garbagemen in fluorescent blazers
an elegant mercedes
with an elegant couple
remote controlled skateboards
and hip backpacks.

Across the whole world
in the ocean
of this democracy
I stand with you
and the red light for an instant
holding us all close together
in a gravitational composition.
I look at you
as if anything at all is possible.

back to the shore.

As if each kiss
is one more promise.
a little wish
carried by the waves
to the shore.
perhaps already
we’re summoned by the hand
which calls
to the inevitably youthful eyes.

As if each kiss
lingers like lilies
in the swamp.
you hold your breath
you also hold mine
and in the slow return
from the fire
we struggle to breathe.

the bent head
the curved neck
and the bell strikes again.

we make our way back
to the shore
bound together, the sum
of life.

$5 a poem

I cannot speak
because I’m feeling.
my voice belongs to another.
my feelings speak of her.

as I slowly climb the stairs
with my voice quietly settling back in its place
I notice the loneliness
of the paintings on the wall.
art can be vacant
like the inside of the shoe
while the humans howl
in the sun.

I walk into my room
and a tidy bed awaits.
it certainly wasn’t expecting me
this late
or my new habit
as I pour a glass of wine
and open up my journal.

I have my voice back
but I still cannot speak.
I’m feeling
the echoes in me
as I bring the glass
to the horizon of my eyes
and paint the walls residing
in my mind
on paper.

poetry is what happens when
nothing else can.

almost like a dream.

Almost like a dream in lost landscapes,
Behind the rickety gates of our past;
There rests a rose which resembles your shape,
Which transcends the beauty of the valley vast;

Always in the heart she loves,
And hears every whisper that weeps;
Her smile echoes in the sky above,
Below a forsaken forest lies asleep;

Each day the sun climbs up your lips,
To shamble in the tricks of lust and pride;
A song, like a wing, it eclipses,
The continuation of landscapes by your side;

        Almost like a dream these words will forever shine,
        In the summer skye where our fates intertwine.

written in the sand.

the wilderness and mystique
of the mountains
was a self-reflection.
it was my thoughts
that carried me afar
when the rotten roughness
in my muscles
gave its final verdict
on my breathing.
the end wasn’t near
but cleverly hidden by
the might and the quiet
of her earthly colors.

i dragged my feet
up the granular mix
of granite and wise roots
and mosquitoes
and their aerial routes.

eventually i became a
static existence
with the wind trying
to gush the spirit forward.

i rested my eyes
for an infinite minute
and found myself
next to your eyes
your hands
entangled in mine
right outside the wilderness
of the ocean
our lips
sharing the wine
from the same evening
when your smile
said it all
it is still the reason
why i did fall

and the wake up call
did push me
to look out for the end
i lost the paved path
but i ended up
finding a little more of myself
in your thoughts
written in the sand.

don’t know what to call this one.

I picked up my pen
last night
to tell you
why I still keep your
shampoo in my bath
but soon as the ink
started flowing
my body started to
drown in the bubbles
of our past
the time when I thought I knew
what love is
and then crossed
our paths.

and the time stopped
moving around, it got up
and set on a
straight line
it followed your lead
into your exploration of a new space
while I watched
helplessly, from behind.

and soon my pen
danced under the dim light
and drew the ink
from my heart
you took those moments
away, from me
and all I was left with
was some words on a page and
your shampoo, in my bath.

and the bird has flown

and it is
the mildly painted winds
and stacked streets

i walk among the laboring
shadows, the scent still clinging
to the holes in my jacket.
the feet have no known
destination, and
so do my eyes.

it is the light
in the sky, that cuts through
the vacuum of her presence
and wishes to fill
the void, the reminiscent of fall.

but the rain ticks
turning my body clockwise
to the next course
even though her feathers
still calmly lay on
my clothes, the bird
who chirped the songs
of summer, has left us both.

her faint feathers
and silky silhouette
dives in with the waves
and swim on, to where
her heart belongs
but cometh the fall
and once again
will sing the bird
loud in mid-summer
a singer everyone has heard.

you’re stepping on the ground.

every day i come home
and find myself
trying to stare through
those black + white walls
hoping to rent some colors
and moving thoughts
however mindless
they might seem
it’s better than
standing together
with no wishes or dreams

and then your face
slowly walks over
into my eyes
their lies fade away
into the colored canvas
of a dusky sky

but soon as a blink
i breathe in
and your eyes are gone
leaving my smile
halfway along
the way
where wishes and dreams
stay

and i see a cracked
faint voice over my ears
lingering around
“hey, you need to
keep walking
you’re stepping on the ground.”

same boy you’ve always known

I know you’re out there
and I want you to think
good of me,
but in recent years
time hasn’t been
what it promised to be,
you taught me all
about the good and the bad
when you yourself weren’t sure,
and despite all evidence
to the contrary
my life isn’t as pure

and now I’ve left
your ways, and grown
into something, of my own
I know how you feel
but I’m not the same
boy, you’ve always known.

I know you’re out there

and maybe even

wondering what went wrong,

although it might be true

but we are right

where, we actually belong,

the times we spent

doodling our lives

on the dried canvas of dead leaves,

love me or not

but it wasn’t something

that was meant to be

and now I’ve left

your side, and grown

into something of my own,

you might feel betrayed

but i’m not the same

friend, you’ve always known.

black and white sketches.

i drew some
black and white sketches
last night

sketches of coffee cups
and steamy words
with no sugar
and cream.

sketches of bearded moon
hanging with
falling fireflies
and coughing out toxic breaths.

sketches of smoke
and spirits
masking the true sound
of art.

sketches of a lady in
red, walking away
in the rain
under her cover

walking away
from the black and white
sounds, of despair
and pain
of broken heart

isn’t being alone together
better than
being apart?