as i lay in bed
on a sunday
an oblong shape
of light moves
across the wall
through a small slit
in the shades
at first nearer
the arched doorway
and yellow
each time i stir
more golden, warm
closer to
the west wall
like a sun dial
Month: October 2019
in motion
an object
in motion
needs to stay
in motion
a machine
revving
for so long
might even
rev longer
if left to rev
rather than
stopped to rest
a fire
must burn
its fuel
to survive
it cannot
stop consuming
more fuel
nor can it
conserve the fuel
it already has
it must burn
until all
is burnt
because that is
what it is
for a fire
to be
rest
it all is
what it is
and will go
as it will
lying here
not there
trying to wonder
what i can do
while resting
there is nothing
and must rest
sometimes
and let go
metabolism
like a flame laying dormant unmoving needing to take in to burn and grow larger and larger given more fuel burning until all burnt and receding unable to stop even for self preservation to burn is to live for a flame no other way of going on so burning all the way to ember and eventually ashes once all is consumed
alley
how deep
dare you go
into the alley
deeper
into the middle
the way out
is farthest
from either side
ten minutes
ten minutes
seems like
an eternity
drinking coffee
and listening
to trance
reading
getting lost
checking my watch
to see
when i should
leave
for work
realizing then
it’s only been
ten minutes
random motivation
if you go to sleep with a clear and focused goal in mind, you will wake up with the ambition to achieve it
yellow orange
when it’s so hot there’s a yellow shimmer like the sun has bled into the air come nighttime that shimmer softens turning orange and utterly harmless
abstract telling
something as
abstract as
destiny
you will understand
only when
it occurs to you
and exclaim then
to one of those
whom you confide in
confused
asking why
can’t they understand
until realizing
you are more often
the one confided in
misunderstanding
meditation on subconsciousness
everything you think makes an impact. a thought is created when you think, and that thought does not go away just when you stop thinking it. the thought enters your subconscious and stays their in your mind, manifesting itself in dreams, body language, intuition, etc. influencing your thoughts and actions subconsciously.
the words in the music you hear, in the books you read, and from conversations you eavesdrop on; the things you see looking out the car window, on the television screen, in your own living space. all this enters your mind through your senses.
a dream, for example, causes a chain reaction, where you wake up with the feeling of the dream, whether that is horror from violence or fear from losing a loved one, or joy from achievement or love from a dream of passion. these dreams are grown from a seed planted in the subconscious by the once conscious mind.
radiator rain
listening to the rain
in a sheet metal gutter
on the side of the building
making a hollow sound
dropping from the top
to the bottom
then flowing
like a city stream
over sidewalk
and to sewer eventually
(turns out
this poem i wrote
laying, hearing, imagining
was a lie
or a fiction at least
as i discovered
getting out of bed
for a glass of water
that the sound
which i thought was rain
was actually the radiator)
checking
i check things
that have been checked
two or three times
already
sometimes
just moments before
zipping up my bag
just moments before
boarding my flight
and unzipping it
to check once more
that my laptop is there
or the front door at night
turning the knob
and pulling
to make sure
the bolt is latched
before bed
or opening and closing
my wallet
counting cards and ID
putting it in my pocket
then taking it back out
to open
and check again
opening the alarm app
on my phone
to ensure the alarm is set
for my early shift tomorrow
checking my schedule
over and over
to confirm the flight
is this week not next
can’t let the beauty go
sometimes
just laying here
there’s no art
to be gotten from it
necessarily
with a forearm
behind my head
laying on the couch
looking out the window
wishing i had a typewriter
on my lap
to write what i am feeling now
suddenly
not expecting to
or looking for
this tree that i can see
through the window screen
moving so slowly
in an imperceptibly
soft breeze
that catches me
here laying
not expecting anything
from this moment
that has become so beautiful
all of a sudden
that i am forced
to get up and grab my phone
and come back quickly
to the couch
back under the covers
to resume right into
what struck me suddenly
and tried to enjoy
alone and unwritten
but couldn’t
just too beautiful
and had to
start writing
robbing me
of these moments
just to be enjoyed
silently, wordlessly
i can’t
have to capture
something in me
can’t let the beauty go
and can’t see the value
in keeping it for myself
soft hills
from a distance
the hills look soft
until the hike
takes you there
in the thick of it
slipping on
jagged rocks
stepping over
spiny brush
passing by
things are passive
before you know
passing by
eyes unprepared
to appreciate
a sight gone by
this mountain sky
laying here
in the lawn
fingers laced
behind my head
just watching
what passes
short story about acting
there is a role that requires full devotion from the actor in order to act it well. the role is described brilliantly by a screenwriter. actors that read the script are moved by it and are both awe-struck and afraid at the same time of the role. they discuss it amongst themselves abstractly but they know that the role cannot be fully understood until they start undertaking the method acting for the role. they don’t know who the screenwriter is that wrote the role. they find out towards the end that the writer killed himself shortly after he completed the screenplay. it is clear that the character consumed the writer. the plot of the story itself was merely a background to the descriptions of this character. the small group of actors timidly discuss who will be the first to try the role. the main theme is contemplating what a personality can become …
off lately
a little off lately
after two
earthquakes
in san francisco
in the same week
now
taking off
and that moment
on a plane ride
when you float
just briefly
i pick up one foot
for a step
and set it down
just an
inch or two
below where i’d except
my world
shaking and flying
just a little
off lately
like i said
honesty
like seeing yourself in a mirror, not knowing it’s yourself, and judging your appearance objectively, thinking i am beautiful or i am not, and then realizing it is yourself, and also realizing what you truly are
poor fly
a fly
flies around
my face
i swat at it
trying to
stay focused
on my phone
but it
easily evades
having avoided
a thousand swats
to have lived
this long
as a fly
when i realize
these things
must be handled
deliberately
i stop looking
at my phone
long enough
to get up
and grab a shoe
and that
was the end
for the poor fly
when life gets good
it’s when life gets really good that i’m most afraid to lose it. other times i get drunk and couldn’t care less. the foolish part is thinking during the bad, that good times won’t come again; they always do.
haunted bathroom
like a loud scream from far away
whistling between gusts of wind
like you’ve stuck your head inside
a jet engine
coming audibly through
the half cracked bathroom window
that shows light from the neighbor’s
open window next door
and in the mirror
half torsos hanging from the shower rod
that are really just shirts hanging to dry after being washed
bad dream
I keep having this recurring dream that I have missed a flight that I have paid a lot of money for. It upsets me and I wake up in a bad mood. I think it is because I am so conscious of being frugal and saving my money recently. I want to make economic progress for myself and for my partner. I am also worried about my job. I have worked hard to get into this position and I don’t want to lose it. I feel conflict with my lifestyle outside of work, both my social life and my artistic life. I struggle to maintain these other lives that are important to me but could be detrimental to my professional reputation. Like my friend Lake said, everything seems to matter more now. There is more at stake and more going on at once, and everything has to be balanced in relation to one another.
lights on the ceiling from cars
Watching the lights like you haven’t before been smitten lying on my back on Saturday through the shades from light reflected off of car windows making shapes on the ceiling that entertain me before a nap between morning work and lunchtime
black coffee baby
baby playing
a dangerous game
with a cup
of black coffee
in bed
with white sheets
run around
i used to run
when i was young
to get out my energy
my mom would say
run around the house
but now
with bad knees
i have to find
new ways of tiring
enough in the day time
in order to sleep
come bed time
pink robe lady
the same old lady
in the pink robe
crouches every morning
in front of the yellow
metal newsstand
reading front page headlines
through the glass door
that you must pay a quarter
in order to open
crouching there reading
for a few minutes
the full front page
and then walking away
maybe to find a quarter
Making More of Mr. Seetner
Short story about a man who wonders on his bus rides home about making more of himself. Hands folded, elbows on his knees, hunched over, thinking as he usually was at this time—bumping along in the back of the bus.
shower thoughts
i stood here
and dripped
in my shower towel
writing
my wet hair
on my forehead
seeing as
i sprung from
the still spitting shower
with a thought in mind
and only now
with it down
realize i am standing
in a puddle
and the shower
still going
poetry muse
poetry i can write only
once
not before or after
that very moment
which gives birth
like a stubborn
truth-telling muse
refusing to repeat herself
and shaking her finger
for the ones i can’t remember
dead bird
seeing a dead bird
on the sidewalk
reminding me
that life-filled things
like this one
once flying
can suddenly
become lifeless
laying here
now dead
very dead
bus latch
standing
at the back
of the bus
looking through
the security latch
left open
getting a 6-inch view
of the city
(building tops
mostly)
wrong way rush hour
fighting the crowd
walking out of downtown
on the sidewalk
on the side of montgomery
making me wonder
if it is after work hours
like i thought
not used to
swimming upstream
when i thought everyone
was supposed to be
heading home
and making me think now
that i might have
mixed up the afternoon
with the morning
joyful face
watching the face
of one experiencing joy
as their eyes open
and a smile creeps
at the corners of their mouth
and their cheek muscles relax
when at first
immersed completely
in the joy
until the eyebrow creases
and the nostrils flare
now wondering
how long will this joy last
car shadows
shadow shapes
speed
across the ceiling
i see
laying in bed
as cars cast
their light
through the window
passing by
self-critique
if i can forget
quickly
that i am a writer
reading
my own work
i can almost
offer criticism
outside of
my fragile ego
bare wrist
pushing up
my sleeve cuff
to check the time
only to find
a bare wrist
telling me nothing
realizing both
that i forgot to wear
my watch today
and i didn’t really
need to know
the time anyway
going back
to what i was doing before
thinking i might
leave my watch at home
more often
rhyme scheme
night
rhymes with
light
which rhymes
with right
—such
is the profound
rhyme scheme
around which
all my poetry
revolves
both ways
standing
on the corner
when you have to
cross both ways
to get to
the corner
diagonal
and don’t
really care
if it is the left
or right light
that turns first
glare again
glare really gets me
gotten out of the bulb
and onto
something shiny
stinging
like the first light
in the morning
as demon hands
grab hold
of the pupil rim
and pull it tight
to shut out the light
walking
walking
a city block
you’ll see a red hand
come into view
at the intersection
up ahead
and maybe a number
beside it
counting down
or
if you’re lucky
a white man
telling you to walk
but the trick
is to time your steps
depending on when
you see the signal
slowing
if the red hand
is already counting down
and there’s no way
for you to make it
so as to reduce
your time
waiting at the corner
if arriving
just as the red hand
turns solid
or speeding up
if you see the white man
to catch it in time
and cross
playing this game
on mornings
you’ve decided to walk
instead of
taking a car or bus
sometimes
getting lucky
and catching the white man
for blocks in a row
hotel apartment
it feels like a hotel
to leave the room
in my socks
and close the door quietly
so as not to wake baby
and creep downstairs
to look out the window
at the dialog box
checking the times
to see if the bus
runs this early
bus wire
i want to jump up
and hang from that bus wire there,
holding on
just barely above traffic,
not so far away from the city,
but still safe for sure,
looking up from the sidewalk
corner at night,
waiting for the light to change
idle hand
after a while
wondering
what your hand
has been held by
hanging
off the wrist
waiting
weightless
for forearm
to strengthen
and grab hold
i wonder
i wonder about
optimizing
in the opposite direction,
for less
instead of more.
i wonder about
getting out of the city
and into the mountains.
i wonder about
tending to a garden
instead of
going to the grocery store.
i wonder about
spending my time
instead of
saving my money.
i wonder about
calculating how
to make a little last
instead of
how to make more.
i wonder if
i would get to the mountains,
and after a short period
of reprieve with less,
begin quickly again
to wonder about
having more.
such fastness
fast such
that it does not
gain much
going that way
quickly
even quicker than
what is required
of any
possible
on-time arrival
monday lunch (09/30/19)
I always have these thoughts walking to lunch on Monday after a hard morning having to reign in my weekend mind to work struggling to focus it first but eventually getting back into the routine and then finally at lunch getting back out when do you start Russian after just a brief period of being bottled