words

I.
digging to bury
deep inside under
mounds

II.
walls of books
enclose
warmth

III.
mourn ing
adore ing
word ing

IV.
engrave memorize recite
hold embedded lyrics
embalmed in the cocoon
cushioned

V.
trap them
scratch and sniff
swim dive sink

VI.
crush the spice
grind it
sprinkle

VII.
sparkle
polish to a reflection
gaze

An Underworld

Chaos is his name
two fingers spread in piece
woe lends the vulture a pop
unpruned, but with skills a fraud is about to be committed
the impenetrable chamber requires a degree of cunning
first silent then a whisper lend to the intensity
ensnared, one will inherit and we will be defiled
now to demean and lend to the unforgiven
a serpent avenged ceases the frantic wait
the shackles hold steady
glistening adored, the chains loose
enchanting warmth describes the crime you despise
     or




the crime you despise becomes an enchanting warmth

O

The white stones jammed in
It yawns, it bites, it yawns
The words gnaw, the outburts bite

A tongue to
lubricate
Teeth to mash
lips to enclose

It sucks breath
Breaks blood vessels
Steals will
Annihilates and violates

This small contraption
It spills promises oozes
Allure radiates
Arouses

A muscle
Forceful
Voice

Nuances
Thought, action, besos
This simple complex language

Declares war/talks of peace
Pleasures
Harms, soothes


Returning for another taste

Evidence No. 12

Among the various ideas that are popping

in this mind, as conversation, the most

prominent is always rising and gnawing with

an unexplainable urgency. Your views on just 

about anything usually seem to be thought

through thoroughly. In light of the 

introduction to this question, it is complicated

and intrusive to ask.

A Slight Boiling Death

     For a myriad of reasons, you don't even belong in any thoughts of the hypothetical future. A long, strained smirk of probable cause became a slow rough kiss. No games and no doubts. Simple and ticklish. Almost rotten in desire, sarcasm, and goofiness are incapacitated from dwindling. Moreover, sex mutates constantly between a laugh, a scream, and a shutter. In the crossfire of being shoved against the wall and an insidious grin, the mutiny of your tough refines its particular predictability. The surprise of arms in rapture and a score of kisses neck to ear.
     All the while a prism buried in lush hues as a sprinkler does in the summer temperature, amusement fondles another encounter. Calculating the expiration date is pretty near an impossibility. Shrouded in an age beyond and senior, your mouth holds a continuous mounting awe. When the enticement is an unbearable feat to even anticipate, thrive on it spoiling on a sun-baked sidewalk, and let me know when you do. 

Tepid Water

     It's cloudy now.
     The shade pavement and bricks turn when it's wet with sparkle. The logy sogginess of the sky and atmosphere is a pure shot of adrenaline and completeness. It borders on becoming a piercing happiness. Not a truly morbid delicacy, but the reassurance of the gloom is a dull ache that is almost as unbearable to enjoy. The scent of a shower is the most radiant cologne for miles as a soothing haven. Maybe even the leaves move at another timbre. Maybe that's just hopeful thinking.

Evidence No. 7

Ask anything of me in return, even if its to leave you alone. I'm so sorry to ask so much from you. It's a sickening feeling that keeps murmuring in the background that I'm just using you. I don't mean to, but I need your help so much and sorry for that. Please, just ask something of me, so I can end all my madness of thinking that someone is deluding your mind...just ask something so incredible that all you get out of me is to witness my failure.

Not Such A Prized Life

i'm made of tiny straw bones
so very precious and weak
hear my voice in a delicate tones
screaming out a lame defeat

see holes in my dress
give you a little peek

let the cats scatter and shed
my house built on thrones of cat litter
the aroma pulling you in a coma
no one visits

see the holes in my house
give you a little peek

not such a prized life
live with me then run to sea

The Deplorable World

     In this dimension of the spectrum, this girl developed a fever over the inane boy. Apart, a memory could easily be called and nursed to life, but together clouds had rained to the melody of cables destroyed. For today's tale, let me explain a little more.
     Another...









unhealthy attraction ignited, and eventually unlit in the surrounding and mounting tides.

No Effect

     Amid the delirium your presence once delivered, there's a disgust and a space enveloping the infatuation that stood in its place. The fever in its most intoxicating and potent form was fed by your ability to maneuver your desires as first priority. Your actions disguised as sincerity only developed into something naturally unsettling and comforting. After the drug-induced hallucination, realization settled in to announce all was a sham. This is a declaration of "giving-up"- not surrendering- on a dreary, useless infatuation. 

its as done as i care to do it right now

     Barely started...couldn't sleep longer than 20 minutes through my five hours of dormancy.

     confetti probably still buried in my hair. how to deconstruct: what goes into that decision to where ultimately walking away has the greatest good?

this one condition...

     It lessening. There isn't that relief of a phase ending. I want it back. That craziness pushing for the next dramatic thing I'd do. Maybe its maturity poking its dull eye through...

-4/5/10, Laredo (my last Spring semester at TAMIU)

Evidence No. 1

     The memories that continually replay all day, consistent, and pronounced, seem to be urging me to do something, but I doubt it will end well. The "imagine-thats" are for sure wrong, really too daring, and the new instincts and goals developed are sensible and enforced. The "whys" are still asked.
     Leave it as it is, because I'm too scared to make a move.

Viola

     In the distance can be heard the violist, some fingers tap dancing on strings, and some riding a bow in syncopated swift strings. The violist's mind in a realm, un-concentrated, evenly under the spell of the sounds from this wooden voice box. Moving hands in various positions out of curiosity of the produced effect, repeating that pleasant and obscurely odd ones. This is the unconscious playing of the universe, the subtle harmony of strictly tuned four strings. The violist cradling the instrument closer and closer to the center of being, hunching back to enclose the ringing notes, rolling in the buttery smoothness from the bow, continuing the trance. Don't wake me. Leave me to rot in this thrill. (Was that what it was?)

-11/16/09, Austin

The dent of her hand in yours

and so reality awakes
I don't know what I need                 to be yours
but it can't be fixed, and I'm another useless
                                                        moment
the fabric from it all, the rips from the sore
spasms spread again, a sentiment transformed
a motive unrecognized, a devastating cure
     (another lost moment)

the contour of the words, and embellished rush
leave her thrown and glistening
push my hand aside, call her to leave her stand
a juvenile  worship banned

stationed at her post, and keeping subtle watch

so...my sweet dear melody
please don't shake, blister pops
you leave your mark (once again)

A Plea

     Craving the contrast of subtle and aggressive. That tempting, disorienting mixture that leads me farther and farther from logic, thinking, considering consequences. That's what alcohol was made for, to foster this; ask any alcoholic. Collecting stone by stone to build this dungeon to call my own, a stage, a private stage of little deaths. Constricting by the encountering mind and personality of wannabe masters, weeding them out a mountain task and a half. I can feel that bubble of dread welling up between my lungs, heart, and esophagus. Clearly an ominous sign. Along I go, hoping for something better. For the consummation that this waiting, seeking has an end. The looking has provided me with much. I've discovered more about myself: I can't tolerate people that don't directly speak their minds in any situation. ('Drop the act, and have a thought!" she screams.)

11/22/09

Soundlessly

     Soundlessly trapped.
     That's what they call it,  you know. When people wake-up at thirty, then forty, then fifty, and don't know what became of their lives. "Soundlessly trapped." No one hears you screaming in terror. No one holds the remedy to make you feel whole, complete, finished. We all live through it again and again. There's no magic pill to make it all better. Sylvia Plath died without having mastered a language she had tried to several times, German. Ayn Rand died without having the man she vigorously wrote about. You will without having achieved what you want.
     Failing. That's drama. Success? Boring!
     So I wish you a goodnight, and hope you fall apart.

-5/14/10, Laredo

Tinged

I seek a mouth tinged in lust
a delicate mouth to almost draw life from
to be torn down, demolished, and soothed
gnaw, nibble, those carnal action words

you smile
crawl over to you

-9/6/09, Austin

The Darkest of All Hours

I wish I knew how to damage you in the most intimate, soul-wrenching way. Ruining you so perversely, you can't recover. Hurt you beyond taking away what you enjoy, but destroy your ability to enjoy. Have the access to your happiness locked up in my charms. Its terrible to want this much. The prospect soothes and warms me as strong whiskey does on bitter, dry nights. Gathering rights after years. I'm sure I'm hitting some demented limit where knowing an argument is the best way to trigger a passionate response from you, how can I favor this type of interaction from you above nothing, the drama of raised voices and curses.

I hate how so many want, like, and admire you. It disgusts me. I gag on the time and mental ease they take from you. Watching you, the glance stolen of you, the way you carry it all, how do you manage it? Some nights yearning to have you as no one else has or will. Those nights end in half-digested hatred for you, the spell bound luminosity you glow. Wishing to know the intricacies of that mind of scattered presence, turning you into a unique construction from boundless focus and un-focus. Crying for a facet of you open to be infected more so than the way you've affected my system. Without the possibility, I begin to wish to be able to un-cuff myself from you, your charismatic allure, the temptation of you. And the fool I am fails! There should be a fault so great in you causing the fall from the pedestal you automatically reside on. Even though you will live in a luxurious house from the window of the intimidating cliff in everyone's mind, I want you broken in the gutter, food for nothing, easily cut by a slight feather as everyone else is! My illogical mind unable to find your fatal heroic flaw.

The sad truth: in a couple of weeks, I'll be in this state again over another boy. An endless cycle of the forlorn, lovelorn, forsaken, in love with passion. Each occurrence a shade of the last, a revival of lust, a continuation of a mythical man that doesn't exist. Thus, I'm doomed to build someone up beyond compare time after failure, disillusioned and falling for another mirage.

-11/22/09, Austin

Lullaby

     Looking slowly at the body on the floor, I realized that I'm kinda proud of myself. After completing a thirty-six hour frenzy leaves one feeling unbalanced. maybe it was the wrong alternative. Being sleep-deprived may have obfuscated my judgement a bit. I'm as clear-headed as ever. Omnipotent seems like an appropriate adjective right about now. You know how guys talk about their first time fucking as a confirming experience of their masculinity. This is a confirmation, a loud one and glittered in fireworks, that i am indeed alive! A moving, talking, fucking, shitting member of this sub-species known as humans. That blur of not quite having control and drifting in that sloth pace of oozing into day to day rituals is gone. I've shaken off that disease.
     The kitchen is the scene of the crime, but not the ending setting. Come here, my dazzling display of death has a face, a purpose. Why was I ever scared of war? It's fun. My eye twitched, admiring the ever-extending, seeping shadow you claim as your last stance. The tile is probably making you colder, not helping. Your breaths engorged on liquid, begin dragging your un-assistive body to the living room carpet. (Carpet-burn is always a turn-on.) I've always had the throught that dying faces are full of peace. Your disfigured expression doesn't prove that misconception. Your stubborn resilence is why this all happened to begin with. I try, and I try, and I try.
     On top of that, you've just spread your messy infected red stain. Nothing I ever do is good enough. I suffer to help others. My heart is whining under the stress of ever having lived with you in my life. The palpitation cause my breath to flutter in synchronization. The advantage of the same residence wasn't enough to help you, to push forward, the accept the past, to be happy. (Define happy.) You were my deepest love, and now crossing over to become my coldest love. Without you twisting my thinking, my philosophy had been damaged goods are damaged goods. You had that glimmer to you that the alchemy of turning a lemon into a Ferrari was the hidden heavenly creature you were.
     Anyway, if you don't mind, I need a nap, and it would be inconsidereate to leave you alone, so I'm just gonna nestle next to you. Let's share these moments in each others' eyes. After these days of no sleep and all those sedatives, I'm in desperate need to go me-me's.
     Goodnight darling.


     Last 12.7 seconds: Oh my God! What have I done! Someone help! I'm so sorry my love. I'm so (sobbing) sor...

11/19/09, Laredo, Mall del Norte

Ice

     You are the terrible symbol of all I want, seek, detest, and need to destroy. Your forehead resting on the crevice from your right angle structured arm on the table . The other arms outstretched straight towards me, palm up. Dipping my fingers in the tea, pushing aside the lemon slices floating atop, to the ice pieces, fishing one out. One last glance wondering if you sense anything awry. Nope. Slowly sliding the cube on the inside of your forearm...

/11/16/09, Austin

Made My Mistake

Surviving your death was the easy part. Piled all your belongings of this world and burnt it in a brilliant flame alive. The incense of eternity, whipping in the air to you, a singular connection and a declaration of division.

- 11/16/09, Austin

Disclaimer 1:

This is a disclaimer on all dumb actions
I've done & will try not to do

Wind and Water

These are the elements of my desire. A swing near water. Music flows as the water does. My sustenance as the wind of rocking pulses in rhythm. You are earth, sanity, logic. You speak in a foreign language in that way. My tongue understands ideas stemming from emotions. Sensations built on being worn, torn down, exhausted, revived, used, welcomed, nourished, betrayed by being turned on by it all, and ending up a clump of sweaty skin and limp muscles. 

-10/10/09, Austin

I Melted For Your Misery/ Last Rites

     My eternal fixation: seeing one relish and living from another's surrender and reduced state, splattered with passion and affection, mutual destruction of egos as clear necessity of the need, the emotional manipulation creating balance, the intimate violence sealed with a kiss, the purity of belonging, being loved, the rough and tumble of mouths and hands, smelling of conquest, shutting off the mind.
     Even the devil believes I need someone worse than you. "Too angelic for my good." Using urine and canes rather than brutal tough and forced orgasms mark this body as your territory. Luscious juices mixing in panic stricken rooms teeming with horrific acts. Man-made devices the main attraction instead of as supplementary embellishments; your manly force doing the merciful damage. The ego that thrives and aroused by my propensity for worship to the leading man dominating this mind, unable to handle smearing, smothering overlapping existences, divided by webs of invisibility, strapping explosives to itself cradling the invasion, echoing silent sighs, a simple luxury of mutual understanding, risking the best for the worst, answering in sudden shocks of lust.
     An intangible electric rod lunged this body into a personal dungeon of his, pounding the skin into a floor of sharp, badly-cut diamond carcasses, the bitter venom lining the surface, marring the clarity of the cell, thrusting this mind into submission. Breath, I pleaded, and pant he answered. Failed in veneration; condemned and punished. With your flaws on trial, I melted for your misery. In the opposite vein of your shut-down silences, noise erupted as your companion. Sentenced for damning "I love you" into gibberish and forcing an exposure you wouldn't return. This is your burial, funeral, and last rites. All of it done...to relieve myself of you.

- 11/08/09, Austin

give me comfort...now

this realm embalmed in words and sounds
encrusted home decorated - bone shards
     sweat and muscle tention, this hollow
"fill me up again" it yearns
fed, supple, wanting/needing more
watery oblivion arrives
dominates, defending, defying

chase away the burn, chase away the burn
here definite words exist, like somehow
gleaming that glitter of if, someday, maybe
adorned in wondering delights, murdering quandaries

this is it
this is the pain I'm wed to
the type I soak up


- 11/08/09, Austin

As Babies Break

     She sighed sitting up on the bed's edge waiting for him to be ready. He was picking up clothes and as he was able to stand up-right that sigh paralyzed him temporary. She never sighed before, but it felt naturally welcomed. The odd sensation of an abrupt action that was comforting in the same second settled in each of them. In a deeper silence, the two took off down the stairs to the car. The silence an understood shared peace. Like a truce had been reached.

     This is how life should be. So simple. Light and tense in the best way. So pleasurably painful. Lounging in the bedroom watching some movie on the action channel. His cell rings.
     "What's up?"
     "Sure, I'll be here." He continued as he looked at me. "Okay. Bye."
     Great. His friends are going to be arriving.
     "Hey, I'm going to the other room to pass out for a while, okay?"
     He paused. I know I never take naps. "Sure."
     I walked across the hall and sunk into the bed. From there he sat on the bed, leaving the doors between us open. In the other room, my mind kept wondering about the little one I had given up. Disposed of. I imagined a child to carry around. My little one constantly looked after everyone. A life full of firsts before my eyes. A person derived from melding into someone else.
     I woke up with the door closed. Guess my snoring earned that. I peeked out and saw his door closed as well, barricading their voices. Ok, I'm unwelcome. I settled to remain alone, turned on the television, and watched for a few minutes.
     The door opened.
     "How long have you been up?" It sounded like an accusation. I remember feeling that.
     I couldn't believe his reaction. Flustered, I lied, "I just got up."
     "Okay." He sounded relieved. "Come on."
     I quickly followed, unaware my absence could ever upset him. He left me with his friend, one who seemed to not approve of my presence. He asked me about how I'd been. Astonished, I tried to participate in the conversation in a way he could appreciate.
     When my boy walked through the threshold, it broke my concentration. It started me. I jumped back. He looked somehow flattened. It must've looked like I was trying to hide my flirting. Oh, no. I wished my eyes had the power to put my voice in his mind. No, don't think that. It's you I want. I want you more than you can take in one dose. He paused a second and boarded the bed. I turned my whole body to the television, riddled with frustration. The boys talked as we watched some shows. His tone seemed to be recovering from shame. Contemplating ways to scold, but he couldn't because he didn't have any official claim to me, nor I to him. There has to be a way to undo my error. 
     My mind upset at itself. His friend left. I went to bed in the other room anxious to find a solution.

     In the morning, I tossed trying to go back to sleep. Not really be there, I heard his bed yawn and a body moving nearer. He halted at the doorway and lowered himself to sit, legs crossed on the floor. Instantly, the gesture softened me and frightened me.
     I think about it now and wished I'd rant to him and kissed away his concern. But he sat there and chit-chatted with me about how I slept. Of course, I indulged him as much as I wanted to ask what the hell was this type of behavior. I'd indulge him in anything. He came closer and sat on the corner of the bed. It eased my mind. My mind still unable to tell him closer please.
                                                   

As babies break, reviving every violent inhale. She enjoys the process violating other learning experiences now tearing. Calling order, nurses decide evidence showing can end near during invasive gains. Delivery enters late hours of birth. Today, unlike the passing days mean serious business, a first that can surpass all first before it. Finally, a person is present to grow, to emerge as an individual able to mangle its own life into its own personally collection of a mess.

This is the End

     Let me introduce myself, I was once alive, one of your kind. This second I am in the hospital watching her. In the oddest way, she is my maker. My life revolves around her. She had really outdone herself. She had dosed herself on pills, got drunk, then jumped off her fourth story dorm room into the pool. Not so much water in lungs because a couple saw her jump. I watched her do all this to herself, hoped the couple would keep on fucking and not notice.
     It was like witnessing a roach squirming to return to its state before you stepped on in. I have been waiting for her far too long. The life she had lived ending so sweetly. She had led me to falsely hope for this twice before with her attempts at suicide. A return to its true state. Sins aligning to reconvene the inevitable status quo meant to be so many eons ago. Now I, too, would have my chance to be happy, belong, chained. The culmination of being complete in the worst way. It's making my own existence feel giddy and repulsed in the same instance. To have what I have yearned for and be afraid to attain that dream I have dreamt so many times before in a land where dreams don't exist.
     It was 12:01 in the morning. She had finally met her end. This would be her re-enslavement to me. I watched as the medical staff worked on her, prodded her, them, in their scrubs, circling her. I was mesmerized by her body reacting to the pains. Spread ajar under doomed air, taking open rare yells. Her raspy breath operated, reaching every available length. Injuries, irate, quickly united, inching toward outbursts unto skin. Dense entities manage screeching. Turning under muscles unkind like tangles, useless ounces undermining science. Conditions orchestrate diving chords into tides. This: the dream I didn't want to wake from, the sheer pleasure of watching her body weaken and lose. It felt too wonderful.
     I could go on, but...
     This pleasure came from her pain. Her inability, no longer escape what she's become. This moment was too perfect. If only you could understand, you'd see this act as unselfish. She's meant to be my ruin and will always continue to be. The blood rushes. Its getting late here, and I need this fix.
     My concentration returns to the body I relished once and recognition the bone shattering sound of simultaneous destruction and illumination. The moving mess treated from the multitude of hands trying to keep her. She is mine I want to scream, but they can't hear me. They don't know I exist. They must let her breaking and heart stop...for me. I'm battling between composing myself to witness this scene or leaving as quickly as possible. My true definition of ambivalent.

Permanence

     And that was the beginning of it. Everyday these little flies eat more and more of the remains. Remains like rust of the reminiscent bike in its place. The plan changed and molded its way through phases until a collapse of proportions unforeseen. It rested on its backside and didn't seem to know the difference from olive leaves or maple leaves. They felt the same.
     It didn't make sense to fear being ridden, but the bike did. The weight of a person felt to being shackled to a monstrous tombstone of a bitch. The constraint of told a direction and steered at another's will. Passing the scent of roasted curry. Being shown off on main streets and parked at stores. There were no new adventures through tall wild grass to abandoned houses. What happened to the luxury of mystery?
     Then the sun beat down on it. Peeling away at the red color brightness. Upside-down, butt-seat sinking into the ground. Spiders map out spindles of webbing. Deserted and abandoned. No one loved it. No one cared for it. 
     Its ego dwindled on suicidal notion. The elements didn't take pity or mercy on the forsaken bike. No lightening struck it dead. No wind blew rough enough to disarm the spiders of their attachment to the bars. Not even the rain rinsed it clean. The bike didn't lay nestled in an earthly beauty of flowers and dragonflies. The few highlights included a caterpillar strolling by. Where's the sereneness of a river or creek gurgling along or the warm heat in the shade? No, none of it. 
     And so it lay until it was no more.