The Bison

Written on Not quite October

2012-09-26T12:55:00.000-07:00

Drone on a phone,
drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.

I try to smile,
sometimes I say, "Hi,"
but all of the drones pass me by.

Do any of you drones care?
It's hard to see that you are aware,
when you sit and stare.

Drone on a phone,
drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.

You sit and stare,
and sometimes you buzz,
when I think I am alone.
I say, "Hey drone, you're not alone!"

And all I hear is a moan,
while they put away their phone.
And beware.

Drone on a phone.
Drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.

They say:
We don't know why.
Do you know why?
Must we all die?

We try to cry.
We try to cry.

And I think,
maybe I am alone.
I sit and I stare,
knowing that it isn't fair.

I don't know why.
Do you know why?
Must I die?

I try to cry.
I try to cry.

Because I know I will die,
and they will die
and we will die.

And I will become
a
drone on a phone.
Drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.
And you will become
a
drone on a phone.
Drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.
Beware.

Groan.

2012-08-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

(Groan.)

Nobody wants to keep trash inside
so they lock a box up outside
to dump the junk they find.
These boxes are collected
by big trash contractors
who carry keys for the excrement boxes.
They shoo away the Ones
who seek treasures with the tons
who can't afford fun.
The workers pretend to care.
The managers say, "it isn't fair!"
The CEO's stare.
And Stare.
The people of the world continue to dare
to steal underwear;
that was cast out blindly
by the hand of the worker mindfully
dreaming they had the money
for the nice, brand new panties
(defective-due-to-a-single-hole).
Tuck the panties away in the corner of the garbage
box that stays
locked.
Until the never-ending trucks come
to whisk it away
to
where more workers conspire
to set the system that captured them on fire.
But at night they're too tired. And;
in the morning they're worried that they will get fired.
So it goes.
And
So it goes.
And
So it goes.

(groan.)

I would rather melt

2012-07-20T17:29:00.001-07:00

I never get a moment to myself

when I am home.

Sometimes I lock myself up.

But when I do

There is always someone pounding on my door

Asking for more

(Of me?)

Often

I would rather melt

Than respond.

Surprise banana

2012-05-21T16:32:00.001-07:00

eyes focus

wide on the black screen as I smell my own dirty hair. I would like to properly wash it

But I don’t have access to the water temperature that I desire.

I am full of discomfort this morning. All I have is discomfort stacked tall up to the ceiling,

The roof of my brain.

I crack

And creak

As I sit and move my head from left

To right-

To left.

Somehow,

I woke up this morning;

I woke up and

I was naked,

Groggy,

Foggy

And disoriented.

I turned over to get used to the bright atmosphere fighting with my windows.

And There was a half-eaten banana perched on my pillow next to me.

I blinked

and opened my eyes to try to understand reality again.

I didn’t end up finishing this particular banana,

Though it did look fine

Still Mostly covered in rhine.

I moved the banana slowly from my pillow to

The table with a sigh.

I ate half of a grapefruit instead.

The banana is still half-consumed, and staring at me from my bed-side table.

I shudder when I look at it…

As it becomes blacker and blacker,

But instead I dream about toast covered in pesto,

Homemade-home-fries,

Epic Spinach-onion-mushroom-tomato-avocado-omelettes

And Big veggie benedicts covered in hollandaise sauce.

Mmmm, internal cry,

And Sigh

To My tired

eyes.

Formed into an addict

2012-05-04T12:26:00.002-07:00

He sucked a bit of my soul from my shoulders and then a bit more from my neck. I shivered at every thrust and every pump of myself into him.

I was formed into an addict after the orgasms ceased and I found reality again.

“Hey,” I whisper into the empty kitchen.

The sounds echo

And the waves vibrate my face.

I roll my neck, causing crackles to

Surge through my muscle strings.

I remember

And remember

And yearn

And remember.

I yawn, becoming annoyed with my own thoughts,

My own dreams.

Twisting my torso to relieve the stiffness.

Cringing my face.

Moaning strange, child-like sounds aloud

To the cat.

Patting my fat

Sitting

Down

Getting lost in false angst.

Need to go to the library

Want to go to the moon

Need to go to the bank

Want to leave the country soon

Need to wash my clothes

Want to make it June

Character Piece

2012-04-28T10:42:00.000-07:00

The sun and the moon have made me a fool.
I am merely a tool;
a character piece
with holes.

Sometimes the moon makes me a troll.
Sometimes the sun makes me a mole.

They both make me wonder about fame...
"what is it like to always be blamed?"
Says the trained
one.

The sun and the moon know I am a tool
because I am merely a fool
and so are you.
A character piece
with holes.
A drone on a phone,
trying not to feel alone,
made of bones
and moans.
So it goes.
and goes.

Tree Person

2012-04-23T17:03:00.000-07:00

Tree people

sultry, but sweet

2012-04-16T22:31:00.000-07:00

I have an Office-Depot-sexy-voice.

Now that I cannot be
over a sea
of safety
that I paid for-
with my
hard-earned fake money;
I do not feel
that I can do
as I please.
I must seek
my humor elsewhere,
subtly.

And so I just thought I should mention

that the sexy voice
you dreamed of,
sultry, but sweet
reminding you of jello...

well,
that was me
Tee-hee.

it takes time to understand

2012-03-04T18:56:00.000-08:00

It takes time to understand
That I cannot be like a man.
That most of my excursions
Include rude explosions
Erupting from the other cells
In the atmosphere.
I stare into space
Pretending to be another face.
Though I am still internally
Violated
Against
My
Will.
My neurons shall never be the same.
Never shall my anxiety be tame.
My wall-like face shall exude
“well-trained.”
Passivity
Symbolizes productivity?
Don’t you hate my up-speak?

I couldn't remember where my hand was

2012-02-14T23:57:00.000-08:00

I couldn’t remember where my hand was
While I immersed myself into the words
The honest
And beautiful woman said.
Though most of it sounded like a shriek to my ears.
Recovering old fears.

Interruption:
“What are you talking about!’
Read the back,
You silly man.”

uh huh,
silly man
indeed.

my eyes will not make it alone

2012-02-11T14:24:00.000-08:00

I like sleeping in my bed alone,
I stretch my body
make two new angles
warm
and cold at the same time

I flicker as I switch the bright
light bulb, brightening bed
and eyes.

I am so ready
to write
and yet I am so alone
supposedly trying to write a poem.
It is cold,
and bright
and my eyes will not make it alone.

I drift to different lands
I cringe at separate hands
and yet I am still perceived to be here

Am I really?
Am I really?

Who knows.

the orwellian man

2011-12-18T12:51:00.001-08:00

The Orwellian man hooked his arm, and forced his face into
A serious box.
He sought out a pencil with his long dainty fingers
But felt none.
He couldn’t see,
For he was not wearing his thick spectacles.
“standard”
“manage”
“product”
He thought.
He clenched his teeth as he continued to search
For a pencil.
Still in the dark.
Still without his spectacles.
He thought,
“standard,”
“manage,”
“product.”
He whispered
And contorted his mouth into
The words
“manage”
“standard”
“product.”
Still in the dark.
Still without his spectacles.
Still without a pencil.
He clenched his teeth
And cursed pencils everywhere.
He found a pen
instead.

rubber gloves?

2011-12-09T21:35:00.000-08:00

My body is a pretzel
because my mind is a stew.
I try to be careful
so I don't become a fool.

I suppose this could be stressful.
I suppose I could drool.
But I am only fearful
of those that are cruel.

The Fear

2011-11-05T19:03:00.000-07:00

The Fear-
A poem

I am eating peanut-butter from the jar
and I don’t like it.
Actually,
I sort-of hate it.
Peanut-butter makes me want to gag,
especially in spoonfuls.
I feel the same way about bureaucracy.
The way our system has been unconsciously sculpted
innately self-destructs.
But who wants to pay attention?
Here we are, “A human alarm system” and many of the T.V. People in our world
Still
tap
snooze.
They sometimes awake groggily,
Wide-eyed
And whisper: “oh, shut-up!”
And return to their favorite program.
.
We stand
with our signs, silently crying,
sometimes
even chanting intentionally, potentially
inspiring mantras
and not denying.
The curtains close.
The handkerchiefs are passed around.
We don’t make a sound.
We whisper
frustrated,
yet compassionate and
empathetic secrets.
Passing them, (our thoughts and feelings)
from ear to ear.
And suddenly!
Roaring again!
In our “idealistic” (somewhat realistic) cheer!
Attempting to awaken all from
The Fear.
Roaring:
We are here!
We are here!
We are here!
For you
And me
And we.
See?

There was once a man who was made for the moon

2011-09-15T15:31:00.001-07:00

There was once a man who was made for the moon,
who walked simply to a beat that was in itself his own "tune."
He had character,
he knew of despair,
he knew of everything
except the process of his own hair.

There was once a man who was made for the world,
who had the aura of travel in his mold.
He had freedom,
he knew of charm,
he knew of everything
except of people who choose to live on farms.

There was once a man who was made for the sun,
who experienced intense heat when he knew he was done.
He had passion,
he knew of hesitation,
he knew of everything
except the animation of his own great creation.

There was once a man who was made for himself,
who created everything and never asked for help.
He had knowledge,
he even had fact,
he knew of everything
except that it was all an act.

behold

2011-06-29T19:08:00.000-07:00

behold,
The envious creature weeps for you.
she cries out in fear
And anguish
Though she can’t finish
This state.
she wants to warn you
Of herself.
she often has nightmares of
Losing control.
Practice,
Be strong,
Envious creature.

No more words allowed

2011-06-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

“No more words allowed.”
My ears have been cut off.
Oh,
Don’t worry,
You can talk all you want.
I know that is what you desire,
So,
In order for me to save myself,
My brain,
My mind,
I have to stop being able to hear you.
Please,
Do not be offended.
It isn’t personal.
I know you don’t hear me either.

Patience

2011-06-28T08:53:00.000-07:00

“Patience,” Cries out the universe.
The creature stops in its tracks. It looks above, it looks to the left, it looks at the ground with a vicious smirk.
But Nothing.
Nothing.
I need to re-acquaint myself with sleep.
Which has been defeated by
So many people
In the last few days.
I trap myself from the world.
And I turn on music?
I turn on the lights?
I sit,
More. And more.
No,
I should be
sleeping

We were all seeking something

2011-06-16T17:22:00.001-07:00

We were all seeking something.
Hunched vagabonds in the mist.
All eyes,
perplexed stations of thought.
All eyes,
in awe.
All beings too busy,
too overwhelmed
to be violent.
Community.
Community.
Community.
How long will it last?

I am ridden with confusion

2011-05-09T12:29:00.001-07:00

I am ridden with confusion,
Universe.
Yes I am talking to you!
You satisfy my craving,
Of which I am left hating.
And you giggle,
At my suffering.
screw you,
Universe.
Yes I am talking to you!
And now you allow me to see the sun
As if I could have won.
And you redeem yourself
Tricking me into thinking you are done.
Damn it,
Universe.
Yes I am talking to you!

"What more do you want from me?"

2011-05-02T12:18:00.000-07:00

Here I am,
Not doing particularly much. I am and nothing, nothing will come. I am standing on a rock, with nothing to say. I am heard, nearly listened to from all around and I have nothing to gift to the empty ears. The empty ears of judgment. The empty ears that will always perceive me differently from I .
So

“What more do you want from me?”

I’ll tell ya.
Oh yeah, I’ll fucking tell ya!
Now sit down!
And Shut-the-fuck-up.
All I want from You,
Is
That You remove
That huge, gregarious,
GAUDY,
Ridiculous,
Obscene
Object, formerly known as “high-definition-television”
From my home.
Oh,
And please get out.

I was walking, and bouncing to the Pixies
When I came home, I had It in my mind to:
Put “I Love You” on my speakers,
Full blast
And
Sit. Or dance.
Mostly dance.
Kick my feet up, ankles
And all.

I was not privileged enough for that to happen, today.
Well,
Not until I called the police and had my home searched.
I called,
I waited,
They came,
Molested my home,
Degraded me in their questions,
Shouted at the silence,
Found nothing.
So why, oh why
Was my door found completely ajar?

And that is the kicker.
There are so many
options,
Ideas,
Theories to choose from.
And none of them
Will save me from that police-full, full-police experience.
The experience of being
Intimately patronized,
With a hand or finger beckoning.

I ventured out of my home

2011-05-02T12:11:00.000-07:00

I ventured out of my home
Due to the welcome extra light
that greeted me past five.
I stepped over my threshold
to meet the wonders of the cool breezes
they surrounded me.
I walked towards the swings.
That is what I wanted,
to swing and read,
Read and swing
as the daylight left this atmosphere.
I walked a block, or less
I stomped
I stepped
I crossed the asphalt, formerly known as “the street.”
Towards the swings,
to read and swing
and read and swing.
And suddenly what surrounded me,
But a quiet click, or tap
And my face was painted with water droplets.
I was surrounded.
I basked in it.
Although,
I did realize
That if I were to read
And swing,
Swing
And read
while the rain trickled around,
My book would become soaked
and I would drown.

alien

2011-03-09T13:11:00.001-08:00

(Whispering)
“What are you?”
“What are you?”
“What are you?”

Well…
I am not sure how it happened.
But somehow,
I was born into a divide
Between three socially constructed things, named “races.”
And now
I am eternally attached to socially constructed pain
And denial.
I am an alien, you know.
Yes,
I AM an alien,
An alien.

I know I am an alien, because
Of those boxes.
Those boxes on paperwork,
On standardized tests,
School application forms,
On background check forms,
On, on,
On,
Everything.
The boxes that encase other boxes
With these vague categories next to them:
African American (pause.)

Caucasian (pause.)

Native American (pause.)

As if
It was that simple.

Oh,
Oh.
I forgot
“Other.”
Other is for people who aren’t JUST
Caucasian (pause.)
Who aren’t JUST
Native American (pause.)
Who aren’t JUST
African American (pause.)

Strange,
When I fit all of the above criterion. I am
Caucasian (pause.)
I am
Native American (pause.)
And I am
African American (pause.)
But
To corporations, governments, and institutions I am still
“other.”
Other.
Other.
Other.
Other.
Other-
nothing.
Alien.

Thank you,
Corporations, governments and institutions
For not allowing me to have an identity
Outside of
other.

There was a “teacher,”
who told me to choose one.
Can you guess which one?
I lived with my white father (at the time)
So I chose: Caucasian.
I chose. She grimaced as she stared at my brown skin, and curly hair.
I cried.
I sighed.
I lied.

Sometimes I tried to see the boxes with humor.
I would choose “Hispanic,” because I knew I could pass as…
quickly turned into a rumor.
I speak no Spanish, and
Neither does my family.
There are no signs of Spain
Or South America in my ancestry.
There was a teacher,
Who told me that I couldn’t "lie,"
I had to choose the box that “truly” reflected I.
The Cortisol jumped in my blood,
And I wanted to hide
But I bent over, checked “other.”
And knew that I lied.
But it was an “ok” lie, according to the lady
Whom passed herself off as a
"teacher."
Who gave us packets of worksheets
and assigned seats.
Not her problem.
Not her problem.
Not her problem.

My lies,
My ancestry,
My life,
My pain.
My soul.
My identity.
My alien.
My other.
My alien.

So many years on this planet.

2011-02-21T13:47:00.001-08:00

So many years on this planet.

So many months on this planet.
So many weeks on this planet.
So many days on this planet.
I feel rather existential.

I thought: “I will try to write a poem, for once.”
I realized how much that statement
Made no sense.
So now,
I am writing a poem.

But all I could think,
As I urinated
Into a porcelain vase,
That leads to another space,
Was that I have lived
So many years on this planet.
So many months on this planet.
So many weeks on this planet.
So many days on this planet.
So many hours on this planet.
So many minutes on this planet.
So many seconds on this planet.
AND
I have only lived
Twenty-one of the first “thing.”

I am so poor

2010-10-13T17:03:00.000-07:00

I am so poor.

I am scary-poor.

It doesn’t feel that terrible…

I find my way around.

I am so fit.

I am very fit.

It doesn’t feel that difficult…

I enjoy it.

I am so quiet.

I am extremely quiet.

I don’t feel that silent…

It isn’t so silent in my brain.

I am so cold.

I am freezing cold.

It doesn’t feel that life threatening…

I put on more layers.

I am so young.

I am a child to the middle-aged.

I don’t feel that immature…

I like to learn.

I am so responsible.

I am ridiculously responsible.

It doesn’t feel that great…

I find it monotonously necessary.

I am so sustainable.

I am considered a “tree-hugger.”

It doesn’t feel that time consuming…

I look for the recycling bin.

I am so hungry.

Sometimes I am starving.

I can afford potatoes…

Yes, I do work. Don’t you?

I am so angry.

I hate the way the world is.

It feels hopeless.

I try.