Friday, November 30, 2007


Your mosh-pit is silent now.The crowd has polluted and left an empty lot letting the fires that wove to a metal song burn to the ground. I walk through the soot and ash of a short lived chaos high off the toxins in the air and playing with the devil.

A hallow tree

Warm November leaves color the breeze and brush the door.
The hallow room whistles to the lonely mattress on the floor.

The emptiness incubates in here, grows on furniture, and creeps up my arms.
A moldy isolation makes memories out of the fungus that bubbles over my white paint.

Over my notebook I draft the hours, cut each minute down to seconds, reclaiming time lost. A hallow tree peers into my window as if it were watching an art exhibit.


Your guitar lyrics wore turtlenecks in my presence as my deep eyes stood naked watching you stand with your arms crossed waiting for the poetry to seep from every crevice of my body until I was dehydrated.

Nude November

The trees undress
allowing the moonlight
to penetrate through
the curtains,
color my face,
and put a spotlight
on my secrets,
and questions
that can no longer
hide in the foliage
when I whisper
them into the dark wind.

The branches look weak now
And so do I-
Bare and skinny arms
reaching out to the sky,
giving it all to autumn-
awaiting winter

I remember
many Novembers
in slow motion,
and isolated
playing over again-
The shivering,
As I mimicked,
the shaking trees,
still posing,
through the fall,
as the crispy
colored leaves
are loosened
and taken.

stripped already,
I strip some more
in between blank walls
And now I am but a
transparent sentence.

I hate my name
from beginning to end.
I write it down,
peal and tear
off each letter,
shake them up,
spell other words,
and try to say it backwards.
It is an empty word
that only disappears
in an empty time
when there is little to fill
the barren spaces
on the clock
in a month that passes
slower each time.