olvera st. prayer...

scraped knees &training wheels

stubbedtoe naive &first love feel

doe-eyed first tries at cut/heal

spanish confession with candle kneel

an offering...

curled up in your handmedown pose

waiting for that finished case

w/uncut hair &the wants of time spent

not alone behind buildings but alone w/a purpose

&fresh set of ideals. dreaming over

unopened duffles topped with turning points &milestones. afraid

of becoming an ordinary thought

or a passing moment. you take the nearby rocks

&build yourself an altar in an attempt to

dryup soakedstones &have more than a square meal but

instead- a vision of…

well- just a vision.

you &me...

(no ones

jealous but wishes &waits for

better times to greet &join

the past. never remembrances.

just documented. this is just

the same. written polaroids…)

you find yourself sitting on a curb w/someone you should love &there are arm over the shoulder moments &you feel the ocean breeze lift her hair.

its not how i imagined.

if not not now- when?

its wideeyed fantastic.

if not now- when?

its catching a brick when your

city falls.

counting faces in a sea of

eyes when youve no need for

defense.

sunday morning best seen through

a shattered stainedglass window.

spilling your guts to a girl you

fucked but never loved…

they sat side by side. legs

touching. there

a high sense of anticipation

in their words as they braced

themselves for the 7th day

after creation. they knew this was

the birth of envious stares &

didnt care. in between

sounds of mechanical stress they stared &saw

themselves truly as

polaroids in negative…

hands clasped &out of

breath- they remembered to get

drunk.

effortless. effortless- they thought.

creation so instinctive. so

possible… whos hand did

God hold? moments under influence

on apt. floors &late nights

spent mastering those around

them &mastering life- itself

culminated into wonderful. there

was no such thing as wasted time

then. every hour spent in drug

induced silence or drunken

madness or even the midnight sober

kisses. one more philosophic

aspect- but not on purpose.

theyd proven themselves. within an

hour they knew theyd proven themselves

to themselves. fuck thoughts

on notoriety &especially friendship when

something happens…

(confessional of sorts through thinly

veiled poems.

or poems of sorts through thinly

veiled confessionals…)

the devil's son...

i wont try to take

any more than i can give

here is my heart to break

i dont need it baby anymore to live

&i know

im just runnin scared

&i know

lord i know

im just runnin scared

when its all said &done

im gonna leave you baby when the morning come

dont cry for the devils son

the devils son dont cry for no one

&i know

im just runnin scared

&i know

lord i know

im just runnin

myself into the ground

take my hand

&lets burn this fucker down

we've just got tonight

baby wont you

help me burn this town

a thin air

of 'i want to forget you'

lingering

on my lips

when you draw your face

from mine

when its all said &done

im gonna leave you baby when the morning come

dont cry for the devils son

the devils son dont cry for no one

beginning/end...

earth becomes sun.

mornings gaze on evenings charms

&beg for confessions.

night to makeway/ready for excess

&indulgence brought by days

labour.

hands to toil in daylight.

under moons: uncoil &reach for

what hands should.

for a time i looked tirelessly through words said &implications of some survived emotion. i now sit in a daze &carelessly sift through the ashes of previously held convictions &abandoned persuasions…

apt. #27

its a lake passing time in a southern boarder

expect to feel what memory cannot kill in forward motion soundscape

-finite in being &wheel after wheel letting go of morning after movement &expect…

soft touch morning

early whisper morning

prediscover short breaths between summer sweat

element of this everchanging turning

entertaining backtracing under slowmoving ceiling fan dreary/drowsy afternoon lull