Excuse me

I excuse myself to the bathroom
And study the grey hairs
That strike like lightning
In the midst of my beard

debt

Every one of these seems to start out the same way

with a great idea, an oath to hope. 

A promise we make to ourselves

to do and to be better, bigger than we are

“I’m sure it will work this time...”

Until that surety has trailed off

And you’re left with quick fixes.

Minimum payments, selling off your things.

“I really did think it was a good idea…”

Still you point and click

and post your goods

on Amazon

“If someone will just buy it from me, I’ll make a payment…”

It’s troublesome when you realize you aren’t special.

That you can’t be anything big.

Disappointed when you have to accept mediocrity

Especially when all your life you thought (and were told) you were special.

But special don’t pay the bills.

American Express doesn’t care if you’re a deep person,

or can cook, or write, or love like no other.

Because none of that adds up to their minimum payment.

So point and click and list yourself, your things.

Make whatever little cash you can.

Pray it’s enough.

Pray you can make it enough.

Maybe you will find a crutch to make it a little easier:

A temporary lover, a drinking problem, a powder problem.

Every one of these crutches seems to start out the same way

An idea, a hope

A permissive lapse we allow ourselves in order to:

feel bigger than who we are

We are all so small.

We are tiny-

Just forgettable flecks,

in the fabric of a dollar bill

Fired.

When they called me in,
I knew what was coming.
The corporate bigwigs
The white people,
who don't understand struggle-
who ask my opinion
but do not speak street.
It was all ceremonial
their words dripping with policy
smiles laced with procedure.
my opinion is wasted on them.
The fat white lady, who reviews my audits
sits across from me and says she can tell how hard I tried
as she pours the weight of her belly onto her lap.
She is shaped like a balloon animal
and I can smell the processed consumerism
that pools around her arteries.
She stares at me like a painting she hates.
Unfortunately we do not feel
you meet the minimum requirements...
I stop listening to her HR 101 rhetoric
and a calm smile settles across my face.
Its like an out of body experience,
the moment you confirm to yourself
you are not a part of the establishment.

01.29.16

it is the moment you realize
they may be fond but they aren't in love
it is the panic that a silent phone brings.
It is the gray skies of January
it is the stomach ache, the double-checking
the wondering who he's with
the wishing he was an intellect
someone well-read, someone who
understands to suffer is to exist
it is the waiting for him
the wanting for him to change
it is the desperate sex
you perform to hold his attention
the vacous looks you cannot relate to
the wanting to be loved for your mind
the realization he can only admire it.
It is the rushed decisions,
the poorly planned choices.
the lack of consequence.
It is him wanting someone deep
because his arms cannot reach.
It is the moment he says he's selfish
like its a reason, to be excused.
It is when you realize that
everything around you is expiring.

Everyday Angel

I am an everyday angel.
Sometimes, I forget I am divine
I look over my shoulder
and do not see my wings.
But maybe that is my humility
Maybe it is how I earned them.
Because I don't rely on them
I could so easily take flight
But I stay grounded-
I remember my mission
I am to inspire others,
to push them higher
on wings of their own.

humility

I have the most comfortable blanket.

I almost threw it out a couple weeks ago, 

but I am glad I didn't 

I turn on the air conditioner in summer so I can still use it. 

I am afraid to let it go. 

I told it goodbye before I left for work this morning. 

In my heart I knew I'd miss it. 

Felt bad for leaving it behind. 

Still I closed the door and went to work.

I thought about it on my commute to the office

so soft, sincere, so quiet 

qualities I treasure in that which comforts me. 

It will be the last thing I feel as I drift off to sleep tonight

It will be the first thing I smell, when I wake in the morning.

It will always be there, just waiting

never needing or requiring or considering 

just comforting just existing to keep me warm

and to make sure my resting is better with it 

than it is without it. 

Tonight I spilled beer and cracker crumbs 

right across its spread. 

No judgement, it still held me 

and was fluffy and warm. 

I should learn to be more like my comforter...

who would of thought I would learn humility from a blanket. 

He took me with him

I removed my face mask as I entered the room

He knew he was sick, I knew he was dying

So I removed my face mask, so he might see me smile for him. 

He always loved the way my lips would rest like Cupid's bow

when he made me blush or told me a funny story. 

And now he lay there; so tired, confused at times. 

Asking me the date, about current events, or if I tried any new recipes. 

His appetite had diminished months ago, 

but I still brought him homemade pastries, all his favorite stews
and soft casseroles. 

He knew he was sick and
I hated feeling him dying in that lonely room, 

That clearinghouse for the nearly dead. 

I removed my face mask because his hearing was weakening

and it helped if he could see my lips moving when I spoke to him.

When I moved in closer he saw it in my eyes, 

he knew this would be the last visit 

I held him close and felt what was left of him

the 110 lbs that life hadn't managed to eat away. 

He was crisp like rice paper- He was just an envelope filled with bones.

And I cried for him, in his arms, I cried for both of us. 

And in his finale moments he comforted me. 

He sacrificed his remaining breathes to tell me it would all be alright

there in those final moments,
when his cloudy eyes went blank, I knew he was gone

and he had taken my heart with him

03.15.16

When my heart is deflated
it folds like origami
a delicate paper
with endless edges
to hide its center.
I light a joint,
Chopin plays
and the fury I feel
this fury that fills
will only reveal itself
in the words of poetry
that will probably go unread-
that no man may cherish.
But I keep recording
the details of my insanity.
Monitor the venom
that could easily decay.
Experience says to
remain as stoic as an iceberg
and be content when set adrift
and are left to battle rough seas.
So I remain as silent as my telephone
on any given evening
and prefer to let Chopin
speak on my behalf.
It is Tuesday night
and the lonely poet
tries to recall the moment
hesitation outweighed love

9:46

It is the moment I cling to
in an act of desperation
to take him any way,
that he is willing to give himself
it is the stomach cramps
that his absence will bring
it is the void I will fall into

It is grasping at straws
a resolve to bargain
if it means I wont be alone
It is the look in my eyes
as I pass the mirror
it is the revelation of self doubt

It is the analysis of my worth
the sliding scales of love
and attraction.
It is the wasted flowers,
the unanswered questions
the yearning to be loved
if just for a moment

It is the paralysis of rejection
the poison dart
that marries my vein
it is me,
it is me,
once again,
it is just me.

likes

and ultimately
it comes down
to wanting to be
liked.
which can mean so many things
its a confirmation that we are OK
that we've done something right
that on some level who we are
or what we can do-the very things
that set us apart from each other
are the very things others will like...
so its a cycle,
vicious at times
and mostly self-fulfilling
its like gambling
and winning
its being naked and adored
to feel important
to feel relevant
to matter
to be understood.
click this box, and brighten my day
confirm that I am worth it.
Taste my food
tell me if you like it.
I've made a career
out of being validated.
its all a chef really is.
a guy seeking admiration
and it never matters,
how many likes you get
if there always lingers
the inevitable thought
that just one more like
would be enough
to reach nirvana
to lasso the hope
that we are not as incomplete
as this poem

Everything Expires

Milk
Eggs
Newspaper
Marriage
Patience
Houseplants
Jim Franco
Tolerance
Registration
My passport
My Dog
Sound sleep
Cherry blossoms
sounds of laughter
Coupons
Job offers
Newness
This Love
Shock Value
winter snow
the dinosaur
friendships
medication
Childhood
Forgiveness

It is

Love is in the eyes isn't it?
sure, it is right there
where all those flecks of brown
meet.
where the Iris meets the soul.

Love is in the touching of the limbs
the connection of mental intimacy
but too, it is in words
in actions, inaction
in deeds, Indeed.

Love is in the immediate falling,
the uncanny incomprehension
of reality
the not-caring, the willingness
to be completely vulnerable.  

Love is in an intangible place,
it is in the heart, the mind
the soul, it is in the small of the back
it is in your blushed cheeks when you smile

Prelude to Love's Confirmation

And oh how I want to remember you
in that one perfect moment
when your eyes became glassy
and your top lip
wrestled with your bottom lip

I want to capture the moment
I struck a chord
somewhere in your heart & mind
& you gave in to me

I want to revive the instant
when the levee broke
and the combination of
Nina Simone,
good Cognac
and great conversation
were enough to make you say it

I want to live in the blink of an eye
where your words
wanted to put me in my place
but instead your spirit
put you in yours.

I want to rest
right there;
right before you said it
in that heartbeat of a time
when I was shocked but aware
that you would love me
for the rest of my life

when the song begins,
its so pronounced and clear
the timing-the silence in between the notes
if only I could learn to be so succinct
but it will not be...
I lack the training,
the discipline,
the talent.
But oh, to love the rise and fall
of these moments.
To study them as details
like brush strokes:
such a perfect canvas.
Did you hear that?
the stymied staccato
like me it is shortened and detached...
This is what it means to be ugly
and surrounded by beauty
that is the joy of this evening.
To have goose bumps rise
to have tears gather
It is winter in every song
I grow colder with every chord.
And yet we are drawn into the sounds
moths to flames,
turtles into the sea
hearts into darkness
and yet it is so perfect
so obvious in grandeur.
So enticing in leverage
that we become hypnotized
by the sirens intent.
each note is like the fallen snow
delicate, virgin, singular
until we look up
and realize we cannot discern
the flake from the storm .

uniquely nostalgic

I don't need
the memory
leave those moments
at my door.
whats the use
of yesterday
when I've already
counted the score?
So don't give me hope
when I know
Today's dreams
are tomorrow's
sorrows.
so today's task
is to forget the past
& all the things
that we regret.
to forgive the sins
that drew us in
& all the cold secrets
we've kept.

bent arms

the clock giggles at me
reminds me with every tick,
that time is passing.
And where are you,
As I argue with the inevitable
as my dog tries to figure where that smell is coming from
I too sniff the air..
The clock giggles louder
and I am jealous to not have a laugh of my own.
futile, it is all so frivolous;
saving flowers, to plant in the desert
I hope they'll grow
before my time runs out.
There is an orange apron
lying on my bedroom floor
and I cant seem to recall what project it was for
tick, tick, tick...
time keeps laughing at me-
he thinks my tasks are hilarious.
But I'll show him,
I can build a bridge
to carry me to you.
and then time will do the unthinkable
it will bow to us
it will allow us this moment forever,
time will stand still.

I was so torn,
my bones had been broken

and it may have been the way
the afternoon snow,
reflected light rays across your brow

It could have been the tightening
of your posture
as we were carried across
mountain crags perched highly,
where man was never meant to go

per chance it was the moment
my eyes slipped on the curve or your lips,
while you trimmed my beard
I felt safe, and relevant.
It was winter and I was warm

I've tried to pin point the exact moment
when I knew I loved you completely
and now, I feel foolish because I realize
I loved you from the moment you said
"you have an amazing smile. When we
hang out I'll make you smile the whole time"

12.02.15

I am not an extraordinary man
my hands will not inspire the future
I will not create great change.
I accept it.
I am an every-man
I cannot lift the largest weights,
I struggle with the crossword puzzle.
I am not satisfied until it hurts.

I am a man who bathes in desperate love.

I get impatient at traffic lights,
grocery store lines, customer service desks.
I have trouble concentrating
and I can feel my stamina melting
like the winter ice in spring time.

But inside me,
there is this great love
waiting to be connected
to another's great love.
a love that carries poetry through the winds
to land on another's soul
a love that is prideful
and boasts of what it has discovered

I am not an extraordinary man
but I keep going on
willing to accept the hand I am dealt
all the while wishing, for a moment
where just I alone may be enough.

scared to say it...

I am writing to you from a worn out mattress
in a makeshift bedroom where my dog sleeps
on an old couch cushion next to my bottle of rum.
It seems like a good idea to tell you
To tell you I want to devote myself to you,
take you up as my cause
to wear you proudly as my flag.
and it may be the rum or the late night hour, but
I would be willing to sacrifice my job,
my fancy car and all my french cologne
to be able to glance over and observe your birthmark
rise and fall as I watch you next to me.
And it may sound like a desperate plea
a cry for your affection, but really its the truth.
But for now its just me and my computer,
composing sweet nothings that you may never see.
Just a poem about a man a great man.
An I cant sleep at night...poem
because you don't know how I see you
and it isn't a demand for intimacy or a call for reason
no...
It is the birthright of my poetry:
that all these words over the years,
have been an intricate spell
cast to bring you near to me.
I hold you let you melt into my chest
until you become one with my blood and you understand
why I call you heartbeat.

10.04.2015

nights like this:
the first rain of autumn,
the clouds unfurl over the mountain range
The thunder shakes through the earth
just like tension through my restless legs.
I stop writing and rub my scalp
I have a beer, chase it with whiskey
I have some whiskey,chase it with tears.
I get back to writing as the clouds get back
to raining.
I exhale and taste the liquor lingering on my breath.
and what I wouldn't give to quiet my legs
and feel the warmth of my lovers embrace.

nights like this:
the reemergence of a tightly wound heart
is all I can feel.
Waiting for your fingertips to rest on my shoulder blades
for your hands to comfort me.
so that I dont need the writing and the whiskey
to calm my shaky legs
when the first rain of autumn
lets the clouds unfurl
until the mountains were embraced
in a thicket of fog.

nights like this:
when the clouds rain with whiskey,
and my heart unfurls with beats like thunder
that shake my legs like a dog's tail.
I think of you; made in the South
where the rains envy my tears,
where the whiskey is always sweet.
exhausted,  I exhale and think of the safety
of falling asleep to the rhythm of your heartbeat.