a mile of sidewalk

Messiah is the blazon on my back,

which is where it leaves me.

Listening to the devil's music,

the speakers keep my ears warm from the wind.

Snow and leaves are falling at the same time.

Every house I pass has forgotten

each basement holds souls captive.

Shrines to death decorate porches

where people have become skeletons

waiting for salvation.

There is no time

All this car needs is a roof rack and a few fly rods. Then give me my waders, pipe, and a Guiness... riverside.



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ropes have ends.

ropes have ends

from which people hang

by their necks

or with their hands

over cliffs and above fiery

bonfires

at which others sit

and make merry

eating vile sugar pillows

with melted chocolate.

and crackers.

does impatience ever pay off? what if you are impatiently being patient. does it? i am not sure.

so i won't be

i feel like someone is forcing me to become an adult,
the kind of machine that works instead of plays,
that disciplines instead of dreams,

those who choose to rationalize instead of using their imaginations.
I don't like how it feels. to be this type of human.
so i won't be.

its mothers day

with each year that passes
July 25th is less and less about me and how long i've lasted
and more about how i've gotten where i am today
my birthday has become a bit like my personal mothers day

Gracias Mamita

2:30am haiku

sitting in the road

left over general tso

now i love my sleep.

they drive without their headlights

You must become a killer

you better deal and welcome pain

you have to run with your instincts

until you've disabled your brain.

You may have to take your chances

even sleep in the road

yes they drive without their headlights

and they only swerve for toads.

They say the city is full of mongrels

too mangy for a home

but they lick my wounds and protect me

from starvation and the cold.

I hope you will stay lovely

stay lovely on the road

I hope you will drop bread crumbs

that you may someday follow home.

i don't know

i don't know what to do when i am given too much.

it renders me off balance, i seem unable to reconcile blessing.

yet i continue to receive things that i do not deserve,

while deprived of the things most would say i do.

bits of unrest and now bewilderment.

i will do my best to be true. true to the soul.

and to those who still believe.

this year has been a blur

still i've seen things, i hope not to forget.

the glimmers

what is it about my memory that has sparkle?

is it embellished by endorphins, or

is it a perfectly functioning lens on reality?

because when I remember, I love what is, and what has been.

the glimmers that I see now, I didn't always see.

and when I stop to wonder, I do not squint.

I find myself smiling, and laughing,

understanding who I am, who they were

and sharing with fellow wanderers, what is.

sailing north 1700 S. to 1035 S.

It's one in the morning and my front porch is perfect. The wind blows gusts tonight, dust and leaves skitter down the urban streets of Salt Lake City. i am tired. So much more mentally than physically. Mostly because i've stopped for the first time in about a week. Even now i've not stopped so much as paused, before i wake to a new list of tasks and problems to solve. But i am sitting, and the armchair is soft, my army jacket and white t-shirt just warm enough to shield the billowing wind. my hair won't stay still which is fine, it feels good that way. So rare is this wind, in this valley, that it is something of a spectacle. Like a lightning storm on a summer night. Fresh air blowing across my face, while sitting in an armchair, is a treat. So i don't move for a while. Before going inside i head out to stand in the street, 400 E. The wind is stronger here and i lift my arms to feel the pressure of the gusts. I wish for a skateboard, a longboard, and my shoes. My body responds to this wish and i am back to the street in a flash. I point the board to the north and take a big push, lift my arms and wait... the wind is not as great now, but still it's there. I am coasting though, only slowly now, each tar seam slowing me down. My hands are in my pockets and i hope for wind. From behind me i hear it coming, swooshing through the trees, and around the bungalow houses that line the street it comes. I think i feel it start to move me, keeping my hands in my pockets i spread my coat to catch the breeze. The wind is subtle but it works and i am happy. Coasting slowly i continue. A half a block has passed. The wind picks up. My back is catching a great gust and the jacket is definitely helping. Its been two blocks. I am sailing a long board. But there are gaps in the gale and my progress slows, i wonder if i might stop. No im pretty sure i'm on my last 10 feet of continuous sailing. Wait no, it starts again, catches me and im off, rolling on. Up ahead a police car is parked aggressively in front of a house. I am still rolling, and the officer sees me on the longboard almost crawling now, canvas jacket spread wide, 1AM, hair blazing. "Not quite windy enough" he says, "Well i started at 1700 S," i inform him. "Good luck" comes his reply. But i'm inching as i pass and the road has stones on it now which are not helping very much. Maybe im through, the officer is probably right. I decide to keep positive. Almost immediately another gust picks up and i'm bouncing over the rocks. The wind is not parallel to the street though, so using my minute knowledge of sailing i make the effort to tack my way back to the smooth center of the road. tacking, i think thats what its called. using winds going in different directions than your destination to propel you toward that destination. 1300 S. is just ahead, thats four blocks and i'm not done. I look both ways and coast through the red light. A brief pause, then the strongest gust yet, and its as if i am running but with no effort flying down the street. The pavement is smooth and another block slides easily under my feet. Both feet at the front of the board i relax and coast, like the soul surfers on TV. Tip-toeing to the front of the boards I lean forward with outstretched arms. Up ahead i see the street sign that reads 1100 S. My legs are tired and so is the wind, i look back and cannot even focus on my starting point though the street is perfectly straight, it is six and a half blocks away. The road roughens and my board slows, I look at my watch it is 1:25AM. i continue to slow, i pass the 1000 S. street sign. hope for wind, but its done. My wheels are stopped in front of the alley marked 1035 S. I am going home to bed. The wind has blown much from a weary mind. Board under arm I walk the seven and a half blocks home, eat a bowl of shredded wheat, with whole milk, and hit the hay.

long needled pines

i spent the last four days in Spokane WA.
it is a nice place with many long needled pines.
three intense days of coaching at the Pacific Northwest Qualifier.
we left town at 4am on a plane home to Salt Lake City
Salt Lake City is my home. for now.
this coming week we will travel to Baltimore.
and i will be back in the east. for a week.
I will be home for a week.
I have found the saying "home is where the heart is"
to be false. my heart is where my family is.
where green trees overshadow low bushes and brush
where familiar rivers are close.
My home is where i live and the community which surrounds me.
I cannot leave the home i have found in utah. for now.
because this is the work i want to be doing,
the music i want to be writing,
the sunday dinner i hate missing.
But my heart is my family and when i visit Pennsylvania
i know this, even before i get there.
i feel my blood circulating more easily,
the oxygen of the lower, greener land saturates me.

i am tired

of being tired

and wanting. waiting.

its painful to move.

like the day after an accident.

smells make my stomach turn

like its mixing concrete.

maybe i can build a pier

then i could swim deeper without drowning.

and wave to the sail boats.

maybe catch the breeze myself.

Wild W. West

He goes by Wild Wild West

the steed he rides is the handsomest

his mantra is wild freedom

that is his one and only quest

so he rules the wild wild west.

I met mister Wild Wild West

and thought at first my luck had turned fresh

when my optimism was smitten

I found the gun strapped to my chest

I joined mister Wild Wild West.

I watch sir Wild Wild West

in his frustrated happiness

he kept his own till they were bitten

then let the vultures do the rest

this is the wild wild west.

I asked Wild Wild West

how he planned to win his endless quest

he said drink whiskey with your breakfast

and read your mother's letters less!

and you'll rule the wild wild west.

Damn that Wild Wild West

'cause I love my dear mother best

I then saw he was the devil in a wranglers neckerchief!

Damn that Wild Wild West.

if the sky were just lower

My father told me that i could be a flower

blooming by a jungle stream

but i've since moved far to the desert

and there are needles where the flowers might have been

if the jungle were just closer, then my fight might not be over

its a shame

a hell of a shame

that i'm wilting, and there has been no rain

My father said that i might be an eagle

raised with turkeys and fed down on the ground

well i know that i've been bathing in the dust bowls

roaming the edges of this sun bleached desert town

if the sky were just lower, it'd be so much easier to shoulder

its a shame

a hell of a shame

that i still gobble, to the call of my name

My mother showed me how the glories bloom in morning

then planted seeds deep down into my hands

but now the trowel that she so wisely gave me

is buried and lost somewhere down underground

if the earth weren't so big, then i'd sift for miles and dig

its a shame, oh what a shame

its a shame, oh what a shame

its a shame, oh such a shame

i'm a shame a hell of a shame

i'm a shame

God in my conscious

I feel comfortable with God, with the concept of God. I don't know what God thinks of my actions. I constantly wonder. I try to ask. If God's will was synonymous with my conscious then it would make things easier. Instead, my conscious has been molded by my surroundings and my parents. Which I do not regret. It has proved invaluable to my well-being. God cannot be synonymous with my conscious, unless there is no absolute truth. Environs shape a person’s conscious, we can be convinced of any number of “truths.” To maintain an identity of an incorruptible truth, God cannot be born perfectly present in our conscious because we are corruptible.

So we seek to perfect our conscious and at the same time hone our self control to its influence. As if self-control isn’t enough of a challenge. What good are efforts of self-control based on a faulty conscious? How disappointing this could be.

How then do I connect with a God who is not inherently present in my mind? How do I know when I have? If I could stop being just an image of God, and partake in the mind of my creator. If I could rid myself of my own corruptible conscious, and comprehend God’s. If God has a perfect conscious, can I have it too? It must rid questions of right and wrong, religion, sexuality, war and justice. God’s conscious would be a powerfully uniting force, instead of the divisive moral and theological complication that theology has become.

buzzing in my knees

i see the stars, they float, they flicker through the trees...

the traffic swells like the ocean, so at ease.

and i know this. this, wonder for my need.

this growing, growing hope for utter peace...

when windows they slide shut, doors slam close and freeze.

it seals me from the bluster and the breeze.

and i know this. this aching in my knees.

this buzzing, this buzzing that causes me to run... till i'm free

tar the roads

if by chance you have broken my window and stolen my things

then may God bless you. while i curse you. and try not to.

if you're the one who begs me for money in parking lots at night.

may God have mercy on you. and teach me to.

it's too much to have you picking my pockets

while i sweep up broken glass.

i want to punch you between the eyes.

and let you use your lying money

to fix the damage i could do to your nose.

because i sweat. to sleep in a basement.

i have been loaned. to learn what i couldn't otherwise.

i eat one meal a day because i can't afford more.

we should use you to tar the roads and fill potholes.

i am going to sleep well tonight. and i pity you. i am sorry.

because i know things could be worse. but you don't even know better.

both eyes wide.

I have never felt like a visitor in my own home,

nor as lonely in my hometown. until now.

It was never too hard leaving my family for an adventure,

never did it evoke a tear. until now.

I have become an individual for better or worse,

it makes me lonely. I miss home.

I miss the Pennsylvania creeks. the intense green of summer.

I miss knowing my family in the everyday details.

But I realize now that it is not solved by my return.

It makes me feel a bit like a stranger.

I am a different person visiting home environs.

So much of my history is carved in the dirt here.

Though now wheels have been lashed to my feet. and i roll on.

without brakes. over dirt that has hardened.

on toward what is uncertain and inconsistent.

my brakes are my bare hands, knees, and elbows.

no longer is a helmet provided.

I realize that I am the driver praying for traveling mercies,

both eyes wide.