Fingerprints

the friction ridges on his fingers
are different than most

where there are usually arches
there are the shapes of broken hearts
and laughing faces
in his

where commonly you find loops
instead you will find tracings of teardrops
and tornadoes
and trees
and suns
and even
a moon

houses with gardens
and flowers in the gardens
and bees in the flowers
and people in the houses
spreading honey and peanut butter on
pieces of toast

some of the people are dancing
making love
making dinner
and making music

others are making messes
they can never seem to clean up
or making choices they will only regret

there are towns and cities
and universes full of comedy
tragedy
and magic

angels smoking cigarettes and drinking vodka
criminals with wings and halos

man
animal
and monster
all alike in his prints

where typically you would see a whorl
in his you can see a world

upon each finger of the writer
there are thousands of places
each with thousands of lives
waiting to be born

waiting to begin

waiting for that first line

if only he could put his finger on it

[strangulating dreams]

strangulating dreams
wrap around my sleeping neck
i wake up choking

When Flowers Slight the Sun

some petals

never know their place

or how good they got it

blooming entitlements

as if each solar ray should

shine gratefully upon them

spoiled with photosynthesis

the occurance of a cloudy day

is taken as insult to the very stem

daft to the knowledge that

they are only as much a part of this

as each blade of grass

ignorant to the idea that even a weed

can be beautiful

and so full of themselves

they see themselves

as large as the trees

Poised Against a Backdrop of Complete Chaos

she sips at a cup of coffee
pondering the schemes of philosophers
and admiring her own reflection
in each ripple of the black water

it is without fanfare
she thinks
that the greatest moments are
accomplished

without company
or even aplomb
that a grand relationship is forged

as everything continues breaking down
she pieces together little mysteries
and calmly claims her senses

everything waiting to be nothing
and right now nothing is more
or less important than this cup
of coffee

She's Even Beautiful to Napkins

the next one in the holder on the table
can barely contain itself

part of it is already protruding
anticipating that when she finishes
her burrito
she will pull it
the rest of the way
out

that it gets to be the one
to wipe the salsa verde
from the corners
of her mouth

Journeys vs. Destinations

only those
who never looked at a map
are heading in the right direction

[she kept waiting there]

she kept waiting there
the other side of his phone
but he never looked

I Am the Bird Crawling from Its Wings

at odds with the sky
i have rid myself of every feather
and with my beak i have chewed off both
of my wings

if i am to see my dreams die
it will be upon a trail of blood in the grass
and not at the cold hands of the heavens

one can only fly
so high
so often
before realizing
you cannot land on a cloud

Disbelief Is Water

thirsts will not be quenched
sipping from the well of doubt
but it does keep a mind hydrated

[scales tip to reason]

scales tip to reason
there is weight in foolery
but less than logic

[lazy is the square]

lazy is the square
that tries to be a circle
by cutting corners

The Meaning of Life

the bathroom in my one bedroom pad
is small

not cramped
but far from spacious

yet
in the smallest room in this apartment
i have some of my most grand ideas
and entertain my biggest woes

i have written poems
brushing my teeth in the mirror

i have written songs
scrubbing my balls in the shower

and as i stare
at all the little chest hairs
and butt hairs on the tile
every time i take a shit
i can't help but wonder
what it's all about

Where the Wolf Last Wept

the moon's reflection glistened
in a damp patch of grass on the hill
glinting wet blades

anguish howled through the dirt
with rancorous echoes of bloodthirst
hunter's remorse
and teeth

during each of night's passing minutes
the earth peacefully accepted its duty
to be a home
a haven
and a hell
for killers

now
the land waits with virtue
until the beast returns

because
it always does

after tears have swam deep into the soil
winds have brushed over each piece of grass
and the moon has completed another orbit
a wolf will come pacing back
through the forest

climbing the hillside
with a new litter of crimes bred
and dripping at its jaws

never willing
but always seeking
to change its nature

and the land knows
this is how it is going to be

where the wolf last wept
it weeps again tomorrow

on
and on
until the wolf is no more

Before the Sun Comes Back Out

most raindrops don't know they're falling

until they hit the ground

a few of them loathe the storm so much

they cannot wait for their part in it

to come splashing to an end

and then there are those that know

this is it

all they have is this fleeting clouded life
accentuated by brief flashes

and steady rumbles

no greater purpose than to wet the air
before the sun comes back out

and evaporates all evidence

they ever existed

slightly terrified 

but determined

in spite of fear

to enjoy some

falling

Getting It Right for Once

a majority of the details
he worked out days before

the time
the room
the chair he would be sitting in

it was his favorite chair
a baby blue sofa chair he stumbled upon
sitting in front of a duplex down the street
years ago

he didn't drive
so when he found it
he called a cab service to transport it
the five blocks back to his apartment

he fondly remembered having sex
with all of his last three girlfriends
in that chair

good memories
until he kept thinking about them

picking a song proved more difficult

the first one that came to his head was
Love Will Tear Us Apart
by Joy Division

he actually laughed
at how cliché that would be
and decided he was going to have to do
a great deal more thinking

he couldn't pick any song that correlated
with any of those past relationships
or any particular person
or event

this wasn't "a fucking statement"

he finally decided on
We Have All The Time In The World
by Louis Armstrong

it seemed a bit ironic
which is not what he was going for
but ultimately
it was a beautiful song

the perfect song

then
came the hardest part

the glass

looking in his cupboards
he was embarrassed to realize
he had mostly plastic cups

what actual glassware he did have
were pints with brewery logos on them

just more evidence that
he really didn't have his shit together

he made a last minute run
to the Target a quarter-mile away
and there he found the right glass

a short
clear
rocks glass

classy

after returning home from Target
he ordered his favorite pizza delivery
smoked a cigarette
and listened to
npr

the pizza came
he tipped the driver a twenty
ate just enough slices to feel full
and put the rest in the fridge for...

for whoever

he poured a bottle of still water
into his perfect glass
put in the Louis Armstrong cd
and pressed the Repeat 1 button

he sat down in his baby blue sofa chair
and felt relieved

like he was doing the right thing

[Jazz has no nightmares]

Jazz has no nightmares
when trumpets sleep with monsters
the rhythm adapts

[never would they meet]

never would they meet
without the hands of labor
a hammer and nails

Perspective

if you still have your fingers
push them deep into the dirt

if you still have your arms
with all your might
pull yourself up

if you still have your legs
use them

and if you still have your heart
let that motherfucker
beat

because the only difference
between a grave and a hole depends
on whether you have the strength to climb out