One of the most sublime and hazardous moments in human experience comes when two people lock eyes and realize that they are sexually attracted to one another.

-Roger Ebert (review of Damage)

type

Lisa couldn’t believe she was actually standing in her pajamas at 2:20 am--but even stranger, fielding questions from someone she hasn’t had at least one paragraph in their history, until now.
But she was drawn in to his words, his fit frame, his deep seated eyes and maybe now what he called his truth.
He spoke with passion about everything that came from his mouth, as if he could do the same describing a bowel movement.
She had to reject him. She had to pull back. She had no time or energy to see this play its way out. He was the desert that lay out in front of the great Baja race, and she would rather watch it on TV than participate.

Two years ago, Lisa sat next to Christopher. He was on his way to California, and they both waited as their relationship gathered itself in front of a firing squad. She stared out at the planes, the workers. He held tightly to a cup of coffee and read the Sun times. In the car over there,they exhausted themselves through closing arguments, and she resorted to fidgeting with the radio stations, as picked a spot through the windshield and focused.
They had met first in high school in a ceramics class. His coffee mug was not hallowed out well and exploded in the kiln destroying everyone’s midterm exams. He denied it to the hilt as if he was preparing himself for his future career in law, but the class had already discovered that he grossly lack artistic fingers.
She like him.
She like the fact he didn’t align himself with anyone

type

“I want to name my son Nasdaq.” This guy leaned over and said to me. I couldn’t help but glance down at his stomach, which appeared squeezed over his belt and poured underneath his T-shirt. It moved as if it was heading further to wards his knee as he let out a loud cough and recovered back into his chair. “That’s what this country is run on, but I just like the name.” He said while clearing his throat. I still wasn’t sure why he started talking to me. I made no indication that I was available. I knew I had properly concentrated my eyes on my magazine, leaving no pauses in my eyes, but yet there had to be a chink somewhere. Was it in my body language? I should have hunched over further creating more of a connection--a relationship with these words. But here I am possibly stuck with banality.

Leu Armada

I am the Rome of old.
The lightly falling terra cotta
is
not
fazing me.
Her great armada can come and go at will.
I
hear tales.
I hear of exhausted cities; subjugated and fallen ones.
Countries praying for just the Stone Age,
topography reversed.
I
hear
of paralyzed bodies
watching spectacular bombardments of the senses.
amazingly deflective, just to realign and mishape our essence.
I hear
of the borrowed and battered logic; one that imbalances our footing in the world.
And
I
need
to
hear no more.
I have seen
the great arsenal
in the distance;
Its
ominous presence
circling
my soft belly.
Understood--my cerebral cortex pulls at my pant leg.
and
I have
yet observed
terra
cotta
trimming my face.
But
I am
the Rome of old
and
I can
only hope
there are no signs of
cracks
in my
mind
and hope
that quake
is the earths.

The slow person in front of you allows you to contemplate your existence.

Listen to my brokenness, life will repair it.

Zen Calender

No one is injured but
by himself.

-Michel De Montaigne

Poet

"THE POET'S JOB is to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, in such a beautiful way that people cannot live without it; to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name .
The poet's job is to find a name for eveything to be a fearless finder of the names of things; to be an advocate for the beauty of language, the subtleties of language."

-Jane Kenyon, poet

TOLL

My mind takes a toll
My teeth took the
toll
and strange ingredients happily passed
hydrogenated
dextrose
yellow
5 lake
My mind deflected as commercial's dance,
my reading interrupted,
my body, a blind canidate;
a wild horse, a 8 year old who has piled up in my head with
the: taste buds--its leader,
making demands it can't contemplate.

My body takes a toll.
I
at the command center have enough problems staying out of cars
I don't need,
electronics I shouldn't buy,
false impressions I shouldn't embrace.
who's in charge anyway?
My
mind
has
taking
a toll.

Unleash the Dogs Of Love

...and watch as someone is snared in their enamel. What could be more beautiful than this?
Ah...only if they would stay still, and allow themsleves to be consumed.