So many matches

I can feel the headlights approaching too,

                        quickly, like in the books.

I can feel the heat on the back of my neck,

from the sun and from the headlights,

I am as sure of the headlights just as I am sure of the voices that echo throughout the caves,

singing voices,

raspy voices,

voices buried so deep inside,

under glacial  craters and  smoldering funeral pyres,

buried within the  blowing meadows and cowlicks of your hair,

your beautiful hair,

The voices buried so deep you cant barely make out the  original motives,

ulterior or otherwise…

Everyone is pointing at everyone,

even the voices on the radio,

especially  the voices on the radio,

Coming up to the surface now,

like a bubbling muck,

or an emerging tick,

like mountains not yet born,

not  far from where the fireworks are,

not far at all.

And in these moments,

and in these cages, 

and when I am caught in thunderstorms,

I have to slow down.

Catch my tongue   and my breath and my mind too,

collect them in a net with other  tadpoles  and tidbits and let them free in water that is not their own.

                                               I take on more water like a sinking ship,

so that I will melt away quicker.

The rain may wash me away but I’ll be better for it.

I will explode like the sunrise,

and like those far away fireworks.

I will roll out like a red carpet, for  only you to walk on,

walk all over me, so that  your feet don’t touch the ground.

I will be laid out for eons,

and the stars will be over me and the dust will collect on me,

and when I roll over to get more comfortable,

I will become a precursor to myself, until a I roll over again in my sleep.

                           walk all over me,

so that I know you are with me.

That final book of matches, purchased so long ago,

still light when struck,

But now we are on our final book of matches, and they still strike if we try

if we wish hard enough,

 but the matches are running out,

and we are running out of uses for the remaining  matches,  and we are running out of time, and out of  the matches themselves.

I cant stand to see the candles around the house not lit,

                                      I cant stand to see the cupboard empty,

I cant stand to see you empty

                                           I cant stand to see all these lights going out at once,

We only have so many matches left,

please leave the light on, there are only so many matches left.

please water the plants,  they are dying too.












You can sit up now,

you have landed,

                                                                       in someone else’s  arms or in a net I am not sure,

and now you can feel the rattle of your bones.

             You were a human cannonball,

full of gunpower and shrapnel,

We all waited with our ears covered,

                                                                             and all you gave us was a  small splash,

and virtually no reason to clap.

You didn’t stick the landing, but you still had something we didn’t,

no one did,,,

your bones.

your bones

your bones

Read over the bones, and feel better now that you know what’s in them,

Rip out pages and diagrams of them and stick them on your walls,

know them like your know your favorite sports drink,

or  the layout of your favorite buffet.

Study them under a microscope,

                    and name them after yourself.

                                                                                                       your foot was here first,

your flag was here first,

you found them first and they are your bones.

When you sleep they are still your bones.

When you were  young and were fired out of that cannon they were still your bones,

even when they break into a million cosmic pieces,

and are swept under the rug,

              they  are after all,

still your bones.

still your bones.

still your bones.

                                                                                your foot was still here first,

your flag was still  here first…


Waking up in the air

And to be carried away like that,

                                                                     first thing in the morning,

is really something.

 On the wings of angels, or in the grasp of talons,

                                               without first having checked the local weather,

without first brushing your teeth so hard your gums began to bleed,

just so you didn’t have to floss, 

just so you could lie to the dentist and tell them that  you do floss.

Without first having stuck your toe in the water,

Without first checking to see if it was quicksand or regular sand.

The waiter hasn’t even stopped by your table yet, you haven’t even seen a menu,

and you never will,



not at this height.

to be carried away, in such a way,

                                                   is flightless,

                                                 is fruitless…


                     Hold on to your treasure, tightly.

Secure it and put it on trial, litigate for and against your treasure,

                    Bind it’s legs and arms,

It will fight like a champion, but you’ll secure it.

And you can try and carry it back to your colony,

back to the church service and everyone is waiting for a baptism and everyone is dressed in pinks and greens and yellows.

Roll the stone away, you will need to wait your turn.

Roll the stone away and be careful not to get any dirt on your pants.

Don’t ask me or any of the watching animals with flashlight eyes to help.

Our faces will tell you all you need to know;

Our hands are tied and we are busy learning about what makes up a waterfall.

There are instruction manuals for that kind of thing,

you should know, you wrote  most of them.

                     The clock is ticking slower now, it must be running out of batteries,

Don’t worry I left some in the nightstand I think,

they may or may not be dead,,,,,

you may or may not be dead,,,,

Leave them in the nightstand,

trap the lighting and the thunder in there too, if you can.

                                  The clock is  practically saying nothing now,

Next to boisterous  masks and other important pictures  that never got their place in the sun,

although they had some pretty great speaking parts,

I loved that one where everyone was over weekend drinking wine and laughing

 and laughing

 and laughing.

Your treasure is what is important here,

Your soft treasure feels like a heart, and it’s beating rapidly

Sink your teeth into it, like a vampire,

(like a parasite)

and leave it behind,

(unlike a parasite)

                        but after you do you must get out of sight,

hideaway for the night,

hideaway from the night.

Morning will break and you’ll be better for it.

Stretch your arms out across the universe and remember your treasure,

remember where you left it to die.

                        It will still be there, like the rest of  them,

the rest of everything, the treasures and the tombstones and the autographs, and the car wash tokens, the laundry all over the floor.

It is especially hard to differentiate the quarters from all the car wash tokens.

They all end up in the same place anyways,

plastered in newspapers and written in the sky and under vending machines,

                             take it with you over the hills,

in broad daylight let them see you carrying your treasure with long legs like springs and the sun breaking on your back,

they will know you are the champion.

They will see you sidestepping landmines and broken lightbulbs to get to the coast,

to get to the edge and peek over, throw a stone down there and see if you hear it drop.

You have made it to the high dive,

and you wont even hesitate,

even with everyone watching,

                    and  you’ll break into a swim,

leaving the cities behind,

leaving the fanfare behind,

leaving a trail of blood behind.

It is here you’ll become young again, spraying water from your mouth like a dolphin,

spray it into the face of your treasure and it will open its eyes,

if only slightly and know that it is safe.

Talk to your treasure as you float on your back,

talk to your treasure as you begin to sink,

                                                           you  are sinking because of your treasure,

the label didn’t say anything about  that though,

and there were plenty of spelling errors, too.

But you knew how heavy that treasure was,

your back is sore from it, and the water in which you sink  lets you forget that,

as you descend,  slowly like a jellyfish,

                                        slower then your used to,

You are leaving your spine and your halo and your wings behind,

                             your luggage too,

and the airbags never  even deployed.

Your treasure is already out of sight, probably resting  somewhere at the bottom,

waiting for you, with it’s elbows on the table,

waiting for you to blow out the candles,

                                         waiting for a head on collision.









I am no longer seventy percent water,

                               The oceans no longer run through me,

I am no longer a chess piece lost in the sand,

                    and I am perfect in the sun,

                                                                   in the sun I am perfect

and barefoot and can feel all my bones, too.

I can feel the wind and you should, too.

I can hear that clicking sound,

It could be an airplane, or fingers clicking tirelessly on a keyboard,

I know where words come from and I watch them walk into caves with their heads down,

I don’t know what that sound is, and I wont pretend to either.

I’ll hear it and catch it and I will watch it intently in the confines of a jar,

                                       Let it grow or die before my eyes,

before I lose interest in something as trivial as a phonebooth with no phone attached.

                       This obsession with ghosts wont get you very far,

stand idle and grow with the weeds!

 Be apart of the concrete, or the quicksand or the mountain.

Your surrounded by a fortress built by someone else, for someone else,

                             someone who was here before you were here.

Stand in the middle of all of it,

and hear the plates crash on the kitchen floor, someone will have to sweep it up,

but it wont be you,

it wont be you.

Standing in the middle of eternity with your arms out,

under a lush canopy of stars and gravity and other space junk.

Petting sleeping dogs, and watching fountains erupt like volcanoes.

You can try to hide upstairs,  but those heights aren’t  yours, either.

 And those heavens aren’t yours either,

                                                         What’s in the cupboard, isn’t your either.

You’ll lose your breath, but you’ll get it back.

I’ll give it back to you.

                        your heirlooms too, but for now they are locked away..

Here is some water so you can be fluid again,

but only so I can see my  own reflection in you.

You are my mirror, and  now I can see everything that goes on behind me.

                This is for the houses built next to the highways,

It is for you too, I didn’t forget.

and for  the sleeping dragons also,

and  for the fountains that erupt like volcanoes.

May  you  all get some sleep  among the passing cars and circling buzzards,

may you all find a way to climb up  and over those walls,,,,,






Someone tell me

Someone tell me I’m wrong,

someone tell me I’ve blossomed.

Burn me at the stake, and my effigy too.

Burn me at the stake, and leave the ashes to simmer,

There is no need for water, I will burn out all on my own,

There is no need for water, I will cross the desert on my own.

I will continue to expand and retract, like a dying star,

like a rubber band pulled between fingers,

cats in the cradle and I can finally


until the rubber band breaks and  whips your fingers.

Red with fury now,

red with fight in them.

Mad enough to bang your fists,

mad enough to blow right through that red light,

into oncoming traffic,

into someone else’s eyes.

Clinch your fists, grit your teeth and tell anyone who will listen how mad you are,

howl at the moon and then some,

tell the moon how tired you are and how you can no longer look at the documents flayed out on your desk;

The moon will understand, I will understand.

Give up on those reports and

wipe away your milk moustache, it looks  really ridiculous.

Dig your feet out of the beach sand, the ocean wont wash you away that easily,

although it may try.

 You look ridiculous.,

I look ridiculous,

I have escaped the boxing ring before, and I can do it again, there is other beatings I would rather take.

I stand where the horses once stood,

I can feel their mane between my fingers,

I can hear their hooves and it sounds like a locomotive,

I wish I could be where the horses are now,

wherever the horses may be…

There aren’t many more places left to stand, even though the sign says standing room only,

many people are sitting,

many people have begun to build their nests.

They hide their luggage so well, I cant see it and neither can anyone else.

This room is full of nesting birds and apex predators,

And I didn’t bring a camera with me,

I only brought what I could carry, and I still spilled some on the way in.

I am sleeping like a camera over in the corner now,

shut down, but still recording.

My red light is blinking, and no one is really sure how to charge me, or where an outlet even is.

Dreaming about whatever it is cameras dream about,

but still rrrrrrrrrrrecording, still ddddddddddddreaming…

That is me, the camera,

I am on delay.

That is me, the audience.

I am on display.




A place to hide the keys

Like  idle columns,

Like times new roman,

They are there and that is where they will stay,

two pillars,

two potted plants,

 at the front door, on either side,

A light from above, looking right through them,

Looking down on them like an older brother,

flickering now,

flickering always,

Because  immediate oxygen is required to cross this threshold,

And they will provide that,

A breath of fresh air,

and a place to hide the keys

You’ll have to watch your step, too.

Lay down your pack and your alchemy,  and all your well-laid plans.

And wipe your paws

wipe your feet-

Lay your words down, too.

I don’t know how to get through this cave,

your chapped lips are not saying what you think they are saying;

                                        But I can hear you in the dark.

You came from the river, that’s why your feet are covered in mud,

You came from the fields, that’s why your feet are covered in dust,

But I can still hear you in the dark.

You went and got when the getting was good, and I missed out.

and still your feet are dirtier then mine.

Still your eyesight is worse then mine.

But you got all the good sales,

I cant believe I missed all the good sales,,,,,,,

Repetition isn’t always what it seems, and even when you think your cologne doesn’t smell anymore, you end up  giving yourself away.

I passed you at the market, you must have seen me,

You must have smelled me,

You must have heard me dragging my feet.

I smelled me,

I felt my feet dragging,

Vicious hands tugging at my shoelaces and my legs, trying to pull me down and make me burn with them,

I felt as though I was walking through cement, the same cement where you left your footprint, and I wanted to leave one, too.

But you were too busy handling fruit, shiny fruit as bright as gemstones,

Now you are here at the my doorstep, and   where are the gemstones?

Where is the fruit?

You came with brochures and wide open eyes, ready to absorb;

ready to burn me with x-ray vision;

Ready to blow the lid off of the whole thing-

Taking with it, with you, the entire laboratory,  all the important  papers, all the black holes;

The entire plane is depending on you and you  would still  put a blindfold over the pilot’s eyes;

It wont work, I bring the radioactivity.

I will hold onto the wings,

I will circle the drain, and I will grab you by your ankles, and I will take you down there with me,

So we can swim together,

So we will always be swimming together,

and they will talk about us during meetings,

Every meeting and during lunch too.

and painters will paint us,

Remember when we float under the bridge, remember all the rock formations.

be cryptic,

be tentative,

We will stumble upon the fruit eventually, while we swim,

while we float,

Don’t worry, we will stumble upon the gemstones, too,

while we float.