there comes time when the heroes die,

when those who stood for you will leave you

to fend for yourself, so prepare to take this long walk alone,

find the words to defend your visions,

your own faith is your only shield,

and once the heroes put away their helmets,

its not who knew you or who you knew

but how well you carried your own spirit without weapons.

you crawl closer to my heart, we walk along, nothing to say,

you have abandoned our hopes, we talk of smaller things,

its too loose, too cold, the only link we have are tensions,

im constantly scanning for another subject to cover,

i try to ease away as we smother our flames,

smoking soundlessly, wishes erased, future together bleached

you are as meaningful to me as the turn of a page of a magazine

in a doctors office, a watered down poison is all you offer

in the last meeting of a broken couple.

waking at 3pm, snow blowing thru the window, sheets on the floor,

a peeling blue room with redstained eyes, tears upon awakening,

a babbling piano, planets out of shape fall from the ceiling,

cheeks on palms, elbows on knees, surrendered equipment,

without heaven the clothes go back on, i plead to the blind

to release me from this pattern.

remember the time you called out for me, i pretended i didnt hear,

i was too scared to come,

i wouldnt know what to save your tears in,

who am i, i harbour the same fears, remember

when you held up your arms, i just ran away,

i wasnt headed anywhere, just a distance from you

to stand aside and watch you cry. remember the time

your tears fell on my face, i felt the warmth,

i saved the moment, punished myself for being so selfish,

and never returned the favors you gave me the time for.

deflating the balloon, cant rise off the ground, splintered glass,

off the shoulder, onto the mantleplace, whistled song about burying

small birds under large rocks. girl squeezing a ragged rabbit,

which kicks its cotton feet, shrinking self worth,

caving in upon oneself as a heaving pile of ribcage,

an unfocused hate, misdirected anger, lost love in translation,

all worst pains are the words never heard from one you love.

i must take my bracelet off,

it hasnt been off in years, but safety regulations

require all jewelry off in the hangar, you might

get it caught in an engine, i run it through my hands

like prayer beads, repeating that this is all i know,

its shared so much with me, each link brings a memory,

but now removed from me im empty as electrotherapy,

i feel so much less, existence becomes hazy,

people drop back in the fog,

self-preservation runs out of fuel,

and with removing my last item of identity

my ticking is harder to hear.

can you live without love,

cut the last connections of living,

the womb which beared you now tears at you,

the hand which fed you now swats at you,

pins you down in checkmate,

around the neck until all colors grow grey.

no love left in this house, no visions

except the television, the childhood

of leather belt and drunk struggles,

theres many other lives to be led,

but only one set of parents,

and when those backs turn

all else is fear.

offer a smile to the rest of the world,

hide the parts of the soul

which have grown deaf and blind,

can you live without the roots

and still bear sweet fruits.

i scanned thru the lines, i tried to feel the words,

do they penetrate like gunshots

or do they just blow hot air in no direction, back in 86

i wrote whatever filled the lines of my notebook,

tried to find rhymes, and in 87 a few more new words

to say the same old things, short quips

of lost loves and misunderstood pains,

and the last year of 88 i think i got closer

as if became easier to fly down the page with hints

of what might be my truer self.

still nothing id ever read twice.

the end of 89 is here now, and i think im getting closer

to my hearts fences, the more i write the less i speak,

and my hopes for 90 is that i dont need notebooks anymore

because ill be able to speak as i think and not have to write.

so much i have said, but how much of my words paint a picture of me,

words i speak without translation, the lines i write without contemplation,

my pen falling down the miles of scrolling hand movements, weak spots

return so quickly by habit, five minutes of meditation then its back

to dear old me, when i one day find peace, will it make anyone smile?

filling spare time, filling this somebody, a small part scooped out,

each year another bowl and notebook filled, writing is half the battle

when theres this conflict of tendencies and wishes tugging time in my head.

i found a pen under my bed, i had to dust it off

its working, a papermate, medium point, blue,

a small stick of salvation that allows me

to write out random thoughts, ive spent the whole night

searching every spot in this room, i didnt find much,

a flashlight under the mattress, it was broken

but i taped it together, and with it i climbed up

on the dressers and checked above the ceiling tiles,

nothing there, a bunch of dead flies.

all drawers were empty, under the sink was some foot powder,

i read the directions five times, a cybernetics bumper sticker

unused down there, a broken soap dish,

an october 88 issue of modern bride, i know now

that the average wedding today costs 8 to 12 thousand dollars,

i know what gown shops are in my hometown,

i know the differences in foods in a christain versus jewish wedding,

and that the poconos is the most popular honeymoon resort,

and they feature heart-shaped tubs for two. i tried to peer

as far out of my guillotine window as possible to see

my first snow in the distant mountaintops, but the window

comes down with a vengance, and i fear losing fingers

or shattering the glass, i can smell the snowstorm outside,

its different than the smell of a florida thunderstorm,

but the exhaust vent from the chowhall

overtakes the subtle smell.

3 stories up on a tuesday night, and all i have accomplished

is the smallest ways to pass the time, i found this pen,

a blue fuse to keep this dead man talking.

fire in the headdress, running thru the crowd,

madness ensues, she clings to me burning,

grabbing loudly, insisting for forgiveness,

hands wet, she pushes me back upon the bed,

the flint of love awaits to be rubbed,

a blue spark of hope, fire placed down

on the chisel awaiting the rain of friction.

the sound of an engine is always in the distance, warming up

on the runway, i bet half these guys

could tell you just what the engine is by the sound,

just like a mountain man can sense the difference

between deer and bear piss. a tire squeals, it echoes to silence,

and the engines return, the instructor today

said as we stood next to an f16 taking off-

'now some people consider that a loud noise,

but thats the sound of freedom',

and all the students gleem and scribble away in notebooks,

their pride heightening by getting to work

on the voice of freedom,

their thoughts deeply embedded in the gears as gears,

i feel as if im missing something,

because its all like a bad movie around me

everyone moves as a herd, and god forbid

that anything i should question is like im punching

lady liberty in the gut.

they brought me to the clouds today,

not the first time, actually the fourth,

they ask if im happy this way, i turn my head

and vomit,

i dont plan ahead one day,

until i sign those final papers.

they drove me to the curb today

'so this is what you really want?'

and i just nod yes yes yes,

but they still put me back in the box

and drive away, so here i am today

again praying for tomorrow,

my description to them grows daily

with so much paperwork and files to write me down,

in black and red my real worth unveils itself,

i came back for a day, lived moment to moment,

let colors breathe and explode, i found a discovery,

a love of life, i looked into the snowy grey skies

and smiled, with a heavy wallet on a sour sunday

i went off shopping and spent it well,

i bought clothes id wanted and even shoes,

400 dollars left my grasp, so many pennies

for so many minutes, but ill be gone again tomorrow,

ill forget the muscles to smile,

so much of me will go asleep again,

for id rather be free, back in the world, naked and poor,

then in this imposed constraint all dressed up and shiny.

you said happiness came in a capsule,

that i would love what you held,

so i paid the ten bucks,

took a glass of warm water, and swallowed

on an empty stomach.

you grinned and ten minutes later, asked me

'how do you feel', i said i didnt feel a thing,

you said i just needed to get out and walk,

so we paced around town what felt like a thousand numb miles,

and you kept saying 'how do you feel' and i felt

nothing.

you said oh you will you will, and you took my hand,

and we went for a burger and tea,

and after you said 'wasnt that the best'

and i asked what was?

you took me then to the beach and kissed me real hard,

you tried to put your hand

on something deep pocketed in me, you stopped

and asked me 'now isnt this the time',

but i just said im sorry, i really dont feel a thing,

and you got digusted, and left me in the park,

the only thing gained was the loss of ten dollars,

i never talked with you again,

i only saw you in classes after that.

ive listened to this tape so much

that i can hear both sides simultaneously,

ive slept so much in this bed

that i am always awake in my dreams, ive stared

out this window so long

that i see my own reflection from outside now, ive kept

the lights out since the beginning

that i dont even know where the switches are now,

ive undressed so much each day

that i sometimes try to peel back my own skin,

ive spent so many hours thinking just of you,

that i speak with your ghost and dance with your spirit,

whether i am here or not means so little, when repetition

means an action with or without me.

world relates in circles, people flow in waves,

we follow basic circuits, tend to precharted patterns,

a certain amount of predictability, the cycles

they swear off, they dont want to be chartable.

some people cannot recognize the spirit

of the inner perpetual, they fight and struggle

to live as original individuals, they swear off

any definition or bracket, they lose count

of all measurements that must be realized

to know we are all in one and one in all, keeping them victims of the tides.

you and me in this hanger, surrounded by the fuel of your dreams,

the bullets the bombs the jets the wings, your own war supplies,

enough to diffuse the worlds skies,

i have a job now to help keep your destruction

supplies in working order, the fuses the nuclear the chaff the target,

my hands of faith now shake with shared disease.

when i look in your eyes i see clouds,

i look in your mouth and see blood,

i look around the room and see everything

marked confidential and secret,

the direction we are headed, using force for freedom,

to impose upon others, and youll be the first to say our democracy

is the only way, it leaves me at night praying for more awareness,

praying for the future kids, praying

that we all stop using weapons as toys.

from childhood to adulthood they never knew the difference,

whether it was constructed of plastic or blood. i dont believe

destruction constructs freedom, but im seeing its something

you're willing to try, you know nothing of history and humanity,

you hide behind the excuse of top secret to achieve your aims,

your business, your games, your politics, your schematics,

i shun them all now, i will pretend to be this false type of patriot,

for the idea of harming others to achieve your goals

is not one that appeals to me, i cant surrender my conscience,

i will never wake up with those dreams,

i will never look at war as a first option.

its getting better, breaking through,

you cant see the sun because it shines through you,

its feeling better, shedding years, wet are the words

which dry your tears, a love which never leaves

for the joy never left, when you give what you recieve

you need never make a bet, the transparencies of love

which shine from inside, it gets better every day

once youve no more beliefs to hide.

you manage the strength to call

when youre in need of assistance,

but after the assurance, the very next day,

to fail to return my call,somehow

you manage to reach me for advice,

which i give in earnest, then again you disappear.

you got your goods, you know ill always deliver,

because i have this weakness, of giving too much

for too long, and its the only time we ever get along.

this struggle is not meant to be won,

there is noone to please nor take over,

it takes only one man to be deemed a loser,

so on an old limb i carve a new title,

i swear off keeping score on anything,

i define the apparitions that dance

on the outskirts of life,

this fishbowl of consciouseness, as i age,

all goes down with me,

the only curiousity is the struggle.

today was spent selling tomorrow, this reality

was not meant to be won, only managed,

so have a faith which still keeps your feet

firmly set on the ground, until they

are buried under.

i separate the inner me from the outer world,

so not to look so distraught, i play inside with music,

i keep a barrier from pains, the outer shell

absorbs all shocks, so the inner

need never be fearful. the confusions,

the conclusions, all the logic,

all motions to keep me moving around,

the outer gears mesh with inner,

the devotion, the emotions,

all can carry on without doubt,

continue with the broadsmiling amazements.

how much one person can travel

without even putting his feet forward,

yes always lost, but being forever found.

office, plaques, wood and brass 'best of' 'class of' 'award of'

framed shiny shapes of 'my children' 'my holiday' 'my god'

silk plants on the sill, unwatered and dusty, broken number 2 pencils

tossed to one corner, a coffeemug full of skilcraft black pens

a secretarys christmas gift, plastic chairs which inhale when you get up

the radio tuned to some distant watery fm lightrock station,

proclaiming the morning chance to win tickets.

telephone lines winking holdHOLDholdHOLD

'that paper has got to be here somewhere' you mutter,

shshshshsh of shuffling, the telephone books from last year

the official, and myself.

watching a man lean against a tree,

hes got the support but no shelter,

hes got the legs, but no forward movement,

a hundred years come and go.

i see two men on brick steps,

a bottle swinging around their necks,

its going to choke them we know,

and hundred years pass, its matters none.

a man across the street from me,

hes got a friend i cant see, he laughs

with the leaves, another hundred years

and noone to judge either of us.

so many people buying time,

so many killing away whats left,

time doesnt leave much for us

when its our turn to go on stage,

all these years of which

we never see the total sum till the end,

we pass during the equation, all too busy,

all gone deaf, all caught up in fear

which gets choked up in vices and habit.

at 19 what boys should be, in college, in an apartment,

sharing these years with friends, with experiences,

maybe a parttime job, maybe a girlfriend,

looking forward to christmas with family,

with stresses of homework, what theyll be doing this weekend,

what career choice and lovers they want to pursue.

i wish i felt 19, as i am holed away

in this claustrophobic room for two

which is polished and spotless for an hour each day,

with a 24 hour job which is always on my shoulders,

then marching to 9 hour classes sitting attentive,

i havent had a real conversation with a female for 10 months,

and this christmas ill be assigned to sweeping snow

off the front walk with a cast on my leg, wondering,

if anyone even thinks of me anymore.

i worry i sweat i dont sleep i take too many meds,

ripped tendons, crackling bones, and a weekend

pouring over books for monday tests,

ive no plans for tonight, tomorrow, this weekend,

next week, this month, and im to spend 4 years this way?

what is to drive me on if not myself,

i cant accept this as an acceptable life for me,

termites nightly remove random memories and hazy hopes,

all my dreams driven out like doves

and i know none of them will be coming back with a message.

tripped up by deceits again, velvet sleeves and slippers,

an open bag, catch the prize, she silently giggles for

the silly boy, not worth his own weight in smiles,

a queens clown, strung up with nerves, emotional

marionette, stifle the mouth, stifle the pride, forget

how a proper boy cries, forget the results of humiliation

when feeding her needs, her greeds with constant attention,

it hurts to laugh at the same bruises, smile at old scars,

stumble upon a midnight doorstep, in her kingdom all is fair,

love is war within oneself, the passions can blind faith.

the walls, earth-shattering silence, ring

i succomb to power, or lack thereof,

if i listen to the meditations, i can feel

the passage of time move without me,

the carpet below me, worn grey through tears,

soaked with living fatigue, a moist misery,

eyes tuned into humanity and ears tuned

to the insanity, of keeping attune

to both in and out and balancing it all on one edge.

im an outlet to your fears, slapping me to the shower,

you pull my whiskers one by one, to kick me

till i cower in the corner, you push my face

into the sink, scrub me plate clean,

toss my heart with salad forks, rattle

my holes and see what colors in me

come to bubble and bleed.

i want to lose my 9 lives with you,

i live to die in your pain,

i enjoy your discouraging words

as you shovel soiled words upon my grave.

DIARY, DENVER DOWNTOWN MALL, 01.20.90

tabor center, its the third floor of denvers largest mall. in the far corner where all the fastfood is, friers and registers in little hutches and roundabouts. the falafel hut has a radiant redhaired lady promoting the new pitaburgers, her voice is the highest pitch so it stands out over the white noise of lunchgoers. another lady has long black hair without any form or design, it streams like a lost waterfall down her faux bulky cranberry mink coat, she looks like a mongolian beet warrior from the rear, she walks like shes strutting her shit. it snowed 10 inches last night, its already been melting for hours and converted into freezing mudslush, every time a bus passes outside it sprays upon the pedestrians and they are always too late to guard themselves, the arms fly up so i cant make out their expressions. to my side are up/down escalators, the consumer heads rising up like moons, then i try to guess what theyre wearing before i get to their collarline. ive been fortunate to not see anyone i know in the military in here, as they usually show up in some peaceful part of the city and break my forgetfulness of the airforce. ill be gawking around wideyed and deep in thought, then BANG, two goofy loud servicemen come babbling along obnoxiously, in tight overpressed levis and izod collared shirts, newly polished cowboy boots, and the $80 air force nylon jacket which is unbuttoned, with god knows how many patches covering the sleeves.

people in love walk by, arm in arm, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, a constant underlying buzz of chatter, secrets, and bliss, i dont even know if they actually hear each other as much as they enjoy the tone and precense of one another, an aura which moves back and forth as a volley which perpetuates itself like pingpong, 'can we go in here mom' a childs voice closes in from behind, the mother comes into view with the weight of the world in her widehip jeans, steam coming out from the overstressed joints in her stuffed mechanisms. a flock of girls come by, they all have matching caked-on blush, baked on and cracking like hot spit on a cold summer sidewalk, as if to hide away some arterial diseases of the cheeks, they all unhinge clacking incessantly like squirrels chatter. behind them 3 guys in all black, i myself tend to wear all black when outside of the base, it saves me the decision process of matching and contrasting colors, theres already too much im overwhelmed with so all black takes away a small bite of the stress pie. theres two gay couples coming by, one in a business suit and the other in tshirt and jeans, they rib and jab each other elbow to elbow with cherubim faces all glassy wide eyed. a woman in sunglasses passes, now why wear them indoors i wonder, to hide bags under the eyes from a hangover, to hide the fact theyre on acid, or just because its just so cool to do, or to let their eyes wander without anyone knowing. a guy walked past with a girl in each arm, now how does he manage that, i cant even find one to hold my finger. a couple from the military walks past, a dating couple, they glance a couple quick shots over here to me, first i smile to acknowledge, then i move to nodding, and they dont respond. asses by design they are.

all these people who pass me, this time, this place, they are the everything in my moment, yet so insignificant in my total tapestry, i wish i even could make a funny face if just to give them something to remember in their day. i bought 3 cds today in the mall, and i bought 'electric koolaid acid test' and 'one flew over the cuckoos nest'. an oriental cowboy walks by, what a concept. i wonder how many decades before asia has more control of the us then we of ourselves, they just have to keep investing and watch us dissolve from the inside out. two guys in matching black leather jackets pass looking dead serious like exiled cowboy stars after their last concert at an auction. outside the window i can see the public transit buses in a row as people slosh on and off, and a homeless man at the back bus plays a 4 string guitar, he reaches in his shirt and what i thought was chapstick is actually a black magic marker which he applies to his upper lip reapplying his faded mustache. it makes me cry without eyes, some poof girls pass, their hair overly grown and blown up and out like sunflowers so their pale faces are just circles in the center of this frayed out hair. outside another homeless man in too-little denim for winter is searching the garbage cans for cigarettes and leftover snacks, he finds a mcdonalds cup and holds it upside down over his mouth, then drops it back in the garbage after a few drops had fallen in, then he stumbles out of view as the sun is low enough now to be directly in my face, it slants across my written pages as to make my ink look like deep engravings. a bunch of housewives slowly mull by, their jello mold jeans without shape and shopping bags aplenty. a 'who' member passes, a beard and red cold-burned nose, lost eyes and not seeming to know hes wearing a long trenchcoat made entirely of fur. this city closes early on saturday, at 5pm, and the bars close at 1am. at the bus stop this morning there was this random heap of clothes on the bench, with a cocked head on top of it all, it didnt seem possible for a human to be so contorted under all that, she was in her 60s with silver frazzled hair where there was so little hair left, deep wrinkles in the sunburned face and a crooked red swollen nose. i had almost the feeling to cry but repressed it so i could convert it to a deeper depression later. oh but who am i sad for anyways, me or her or somewhere lost in between. the bulge of pity distilled to guilt. the sun now defines the mountaintop peaks and in one minute will be gone behind them, the lights automatically come on outside, and my feet are hurting, so i will now return.

19 years to find my own clothes, an identity safe to share,

the goodness that i dont ride the tide of easy white lies,

my accountability of being me, proud of my embarrassment,

not fearful of my shame, the nakedness i encounter causes no blush,

for all i am, i am alone, and all i ask, i share.

wrapped in black in an empty room, responding to echoes,

making a fist just to keep the pen in hand, mentally

jumping in the backseat just to doze off, searching out

designs in the sky, connecting the dots to sanity.

a shrunken faith now, that the anger surrounding me will fade,

i but a silent witness to the demonstrations of drama,

wrapped myself around myself, to stay warm and stable,

taking in the food, the sleep, the work, praying for

the dreams, the nutrition, the salvation. a debris called life

down a silent tunnel, eaten away by parasites who

always take more than they need, always promise

more than they give. they lie, and get away with it,

i speak truth, and accept the punishments. all to return

to this room and write my nights away, for the days

arent lit by the sun. but something from nothing

must shine.

hate is curious, for i cannot understand its reasoning,

it never gives growth, it only breaks down, it consumes

without ever giving, the mind narrows, the skin flushes,

its only value is lost time, a deflated spirit, inflated ego,

an irritating blister which cant be scratched. why is time

not taken with pursuits which creates happiness,

why not be taken with the challenge of accepting

that which you detest with an equal patience

and dedication like of that which you pursue. hate

is only a signal, not a entity, it is a frequency

you made the choice to tune in to, and it digs itself

so deep in the ear that the roots dig down the throat

and becomes all that one consumes, the feeling of fullness

one gets when a persons own greatest threat is themselves.

i slap a hairy mosquito on my neck

throwing my headache into the next gear,

i hold my breath and lungs crackle

i go under the waters brow again,

my eyes closed

mud clothing my feet. i swim

through a stewy pond,

last i saw you amongst the cattails, counting lilypads

no more air, i surface, and four feet away

there you float, smiling on your back,

asking where ive been, i say nothing,

push the dark waters aside, find a way to embrace you,

your hair in my eyes,

a bird familiar back in tree, trying to find

a scent of you i havent tasted before

i wrap around you, the warmth of breasts,

muddy hands on your hips, i kiss your clean ear

before my mosquitos come biting again.

untold rules of the bus i have discovered-

...find out where the smoking section isnt.

...if anyone smells like a flooded vineyard, you will get purple phlegm on your arm should he finally fall asleep.

...if you sit next to a storyteller, not only will he loudly explain the last 15 years of his life, but those around you both will watch how you interact with this.

...the guy with a thin crown of hair is on his way to billings montana for his dead sisters funeral, so is 1/5th of the rear of the bus.

...when you have an empty seat next to you, at every stop make a most unwelcome contorted face so your empty spot becomes the last resort for the newcomers.

...dont choose a seat behind a broken one, for a big ole tennessee boy will end up resting back onto your lapt.

...if you sit above the engine, wear underwear so your balls dont rattle for hours.

...dont try to play the game of guess the stain, youre mind will wander too far.

...dont talk to older men about the military, theyll outdo you will a bullet wound under their corduroy.

...dont use the bathroom to pee, too dirty, use a blanket and soda bottle, then slide it under a sleeping guy.

...when the bus makes a midnight fuel stop and everyones sleeping, dont buy cornnuts, buy the quiet of cotton candy.

...how did a used condom wrapper get in the bathroom. dont think about it.

...dont freak out in the bathroom, noone can hear you struggle to find the latch for 3 minutes, so take your time finding your way out.

..sleep past kansas, nothing will be lost.

...let a sleeping bum lie.

am i -ing or -ed

will i -xp or -od

are there any open slots between -st and -st

and which ending is on his way to claim me.

close up shop, we're going home,

looking back how far we've come,

from sharing the greenery of eden,

to spiking each other on hardwood floor,

close your scowl, you need not speak,

this violence thing; its a past reaction,

the seeming eternal scene of hurt and hurt again,

it is now over.

i speak, you react, i react, you spit,

i spit, you hit, i push, and you've won.

so i leave you, let you kiss

the bones of another, let you burn the letters,

set aflame those vivid memories which

now burns the second and closing time,

now charred, the blaze,

the unanswered phonecall

during my contented solitary moments,

so burn as you lift yourself up as an ember,

so wash until the bruises come off,

without my hands, without my lips,

may your infertile soil find a seed which can grow in your rocky soul.

once a year i go in the streets to lose a little faith,

its costly, but mostly, i find what i was hoping to lose,

i leave my hole to show my face amongst the crowds,

like redwoods they rise and surround the bars,

the alcohol and the wandering eyes,

i only see a petrified forest

when im only hoping to find one green leaf.

the chance to control the future lies in accepting my past,

solid choices in maintaining happiness means a solid grip on reality,

if i cant accept people, i shouldnt complain, just leave,

if i cant find love within them, if i cant freely express myself,

its their ignorance and not my neglect,

ive reached out too many times, ive swung from old ropes,

theyve burned my hands as i slid, so its time to cut them away

my sense of accomplishments are limited by my doubts in faith,

life always swings from love to love, limb to limb,

and so many hopes one must gain, then cast off,

just to feel complete, and find the one which grips.