black light

 b l a c k l i g h t \\

A white chair
next to the open window.
cold wood floors appreciate the warm sunlight.
Someone else's cat walks along your front porch
quietly observing. 
The trees shadow draped across its back.

Soft noises play with each other outside.
While you're cutting an orange in the kitchen,
I read the things on your desk.
They seem to be in another language;
I don't understand them. 
I grow bored and watch you through the doorway.

The trees are framed in the window by the sink.
Water runs soft against the porcelain.
The door is open.
and I smell the lilacs in the yard.

But I can't see very well.
Is this not really happening?



I've taken death into consideration.



a pool of anxiety
dirty after a Los Angeles party.
Bottles floating upside down
a tinge to the water.
A whore gathering her things
whiskey stains and sweat.
The sun is a blinding white against the grey sky.
Dust and fire.
Guns and cocaine.
The discomfort out-does itself.
The desperation of stale cigarettes 
and a violent understanding of progress.



My sons are bleeding from the eyes.



The water is mad
It moves aggressively in its mood.

In the bar 
old fishermen.
Their dry beards full of old stories.
The liquor beads up 
and dribbles off onto their shirts.
They look hurt.

'The sun keeps rising but the water is mad'
one says
he smashes his mug against the wall behind him
as he loses his footing and falls on the ground
laying still against it, the wood floor seems much kinder.
the bar hugs the fishermen.

It's dark outside
and all of the work has been done.



To clear away everything 
down to its fundamental core.
Necessary properties.
Baring resemblance to
historical structures;
mythological structures;
moral structures;
past, present, and future structures,
its supports are strategically flawed.
By design it produces warning signs.
Such warnings, as with the flaws,
can be acknowledged and taken into account,
or ignored and brushed to the side.
While it may seem, in this scenario, that each decision is crucial
the destination will remain, no matter the path.
As you view the fundamental core
it becomes easier to understand the pattern of consciousness.
It is clear, here, the distinction between man-made and natural.
It is clear, here, with all of the unanswerable questions we have ever asked,
that we were never trying to survive.



I was watching the birds.
But you were not.
They were dancing along the tree.
I thought for a moment you would have loved to see them
but I didn't tell you.
You were watching an ant crawl
from the window sill 
down the wall 
to the right of my neck and past my shoulder.
You watch it walk all the way down the pillow
onto the night stand and onto your book.
The birds had gone.
You decided to read
but didn't want to hurt the ant by moving the book.
So you waited for it to choose to leave.
One of the birds came back for a moment
but flew off to the east almost immediately.
I saw it zip passed the kitchen window
which looks out over the back yard.
Ms. Chelsea was out gardening.
The sun hadn't shown like this in days.
I could see her in the distance
through the kitchen window.
She seemed to be mending her winter crops.
The storm had been a nasty one.
You had fallen back to sleep
watching the ant move.
Ms. Chelsea said hello to Mr. Baumer.
He was headed to work. 
Something was happening somewhere else
but I wasn't there to see it.
The apple in the fruit bowl caught my eye.
It was the most wonderful color.
I was going to tell you, but you were still asleep.
You rolled over
dropped your hand off the side of the bed
and sighed.
I got up and opened the front door to get the paper.
I could smell the morning lingering on the porch.
It was crisp and the brown leaves in the corner were still cold.
The sun cast a warm curtain over the breakfast table
but the light made it hard to see the pages
so I just sat at the table.
I wondered if you were dreaming. 
The dog came over, sat at my feet, 
and slowly lowered himself to the ground.
He placed his head in his paws and closed his eyes.



I've been tricked.



The complications of chaos are many.
As one enters a new setting
they may find their perspective changing.

Chaos surrounds the self at different volumes.
The chaotic wavelength manipulates itself 
to properly dress the scenario.
At times it overwhelms
Hammers and nails
cars and alarms
cold steel
slammed into the shape of a building
steam and dirt
a black pit
your mothers death
freight trains screaming through the city
and big trucks
bang bang bang 
bang bang
down the highway
the sun burns
the smell of black tar and soot
frantic desperation.

But in moving one's self from
one moment to the next,
the environment will shift.
A moment with a completely unique chaotic level.
While one moment might pound,
another -- 
the air quieter.
You breathe
and can feel the space around you.
It can be appreciated now.
warm sincerity hangs on the drapes.
Soft lace, laid gently over the kitchen table.
A bird outside says something to someone else.
The worms hear him but are not worried.
The color of citrus
in a bowl
in the sunlight.
The cat sleeping in the chair.
Low to the ground, his tail sweeps the floor
carefully, yet with no effort.

And this is in stark contrast to the environment preceding;
although occupied in the same world, the same mind, even the same minute.
The complications of chaos are many.
To feel surrounded at all times.



I've burned buildings down.



The quiet alcoholic.