car park friend

i feel empty and alone—
full and together—
at the same time
with you;

perhaps—
the anticipation as a numbness
the love like a full belly
together makes
for lots of fouls
and felt mistakes.

i feel,
i grasp,
i want for more,
for the everything,
for the everything which certainly definitely positively not you,
for the what you stand for and what i’m still enraged i’ve
yet to find and hold and keep
and stare into and pray and love and fastly in my sleep.

you are a rugged boy,
a limp and a side step and a smile boy,
and you mean nothing to me
(stay a little while)

fill me up while you empty me out
empty boy,
thin boy,
thin boy,
frail boy,
frail frail music mind,
frail frail left behind,

minimize
any urge to
briefly kiss your eyes,
for i do not love you,
but i wished
that i do
(oh how i miss
u,
o what sur-
rpise).

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

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Heaven Looks a Little Like Death to Me Sometimes

I relive life off the screen because the one I lead right now isn’t that hollywood-worthy. It’s pretty dull. (See how you like it!)

x x x x x x x x x x

What I want is the picture window picturesquely placed perfectly by the
Purple window, facing an autumnal breeze of pale lavender.
Do you see the words exiting my mouth?
Or are they just whhhhisps of air?
It’s too warm for that. The air will only crystallize when you tell it to.
Yes,
That’s the advantage
Of living on this mountaintop,
Where the seasons
Change inexplicably,
But only because you said it,
You said it so it must be so,
It must be so,
It must be so.

I ran into the little red car that you own and I took a sledgehammer and tore it apart.
Yes,
That’s what heaven looks like.

What I want is the daybreak coming up after the afternoon, not before.
And that’s too much to ask now, no
“The air and the wind and the rain and the sun were my devising,
Really only some chemicals up in the sky really only some weather manipulation—
Or am I a magician?
Don’t you love to see my face
When it smiles,
Once in a while?”

Isn’t that the same as when you opened the door,
And slammed it shut,
And left me outside,
Past freezing,
The stomping foot,
The stomping foot,
The stomping foot.

I ran into your motor vehicle that is ten days past expiring from the exhaust pipe’s
Feeble running, running running I ran into it with a sledgehammer but
That was a complication because there are ten
Motor vehicle repairmen in the greater citywide area who say they can fix it and
Have solved the problem so that it is still running.
It’s still running, huh?
Your skull looks kind of shiny.
Want me to take a swack?
That’s the heaven,
When it all fades to–

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

Gattlin’ Gun

After realizing I am getting ahead of myself again for the third time this year

x x x x x x x

The gattlin’ gun
Was invented to protect your young
Blood,
Flesh of your flesh,
Salt of the earth folk,
Y’understand?

The gattlin’ gun
Was invented to protect your son
Your dear thicker-than water
Son,
Settin’ on a heartless plane of Africa
Where nobody knows a goddamn thing
Least of all his name.

You should know by now
Each round they fire
Is heaven sent
Is god-inspired

You should feel by know
The fear I felt
When I took to hearing
The first plain shot
Like a plank of wood
Being struck
Inside the bones of tut
Split wide shut

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

A Death in the Family

i was on the bus and it hit me like a bullet that he could never love me back

in the way i loved him

and i cried like i was mourning;

not  in the bittersweet way or in the melancholy way that

yearns and lusts after and has room for hope.

it was the kind of crying that realized all hope was lost, and there was no coming back.

a death.

a hole inside me that would never be filled again.

for once in a blue moon i did not enjoy crying.

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

Things you Need to Become Invisible:

note: I swear on my sock drawer I’m 100% fine. this is a character.

x x x x x x

a knife (but be sure a poisonous tip)
a mallet (to play rhythms with up like your heart too hard too scared to do this,)
a tangerine (to counteract the taste of blood)
murky water (filled with soap. you’ll want to sterilize yourself first.)
old photos (the ones you almost burned before)
a lighter (to burn the photos. chickening out isn’t an option anymore.
they need to know you don’t care about them. let them rot from your temporal lobe)
a mirror
(to see what you’ve done.)

I’ve done it;
now you
reach into the pool,
and pull out dead bodies.
which one is yours?
nobody is born with the same face,
but yet they all look just like you.

turn over your shoulder:
you’ve got company tonight.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Almost Gone (A Long Way From Home)

(pastoral scenes from this
farmer’s farm on the
stretch of grass that is really cultivated
date palm:

i rise to greet the morning again
and there is a smile on my lips
i do not know if the sun is rising
so i rest your faith in this:
my arms are trembling, forswear
because of mother’s love
the kind you leave posessions all
and cradle in the dust,
i shun your words that made me small
i damn your muddy shores,
i huddle in a seagull’s nest
and pray i don’t loose more.
for,
where there’s a rook there’s a cragg and
somewhere nestled deep,
i will help you up atop the cliffs
if it means you’ll kiss my cheek–

or if not for me,
do it for my growing baby,
the one i have breathing on the other side of the valley)

No One Can See Thru My BulletProof Eyes, Least of All You

I without feeling,
And you least of all.
This is how I like to draw it;
Smooth and small.
No spill bigger than a pin,
And blood without the vinegar in.

If we hold our eyes like that I’m
Afraid to stall and spin,
If we keep our grip you’re bound to say
“You’ve got her grin”
As if there even was a begging to begin
Where the mask started and the skin of the scalp ended,
And whether you were looking at me or
If you just pretended

Tomorow is always a mile long high
Trying to get you to smile,
On a fifteen minute ride
Of fake goodbyes and fake goodnights
And made up kiss and falsifieds
One short connection and you die.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Yes, it’s Nice to Know

the way in which
we sat,
and how the day on the sun dial cement
against the shadow umbrella
i spoke the first words of clarity,
as my cheek began to burn.
(was i lying?)
we walked, and we walked, and we walked,
slightly paranoid,
feeling stalked.
thrill as how my hand slipped through your fingers,
deep as how my chin rested on your shoulder,
and i finally felt twenty years older,
but held longer than you held on me.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry 

Listfull

do you know that
at half price
I could watch men drown in the kiddie pool
bare naked to the last bone–
moan?
or that
last winter
the ice melted so fast my brothers had pneumonia
from drowning in the snow?

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Diminuto

miles and miles of green
and the monks meditate
watching the green,
the single drip from a leaky faucet
or a continuous stream of music,
sans-pause.
can we believe?
can we relate to these statues and
long dead saints that
children begged candy from
and who now rest,
unknown in their stone sets
like the cut grass on the
lawn,
each inch cut growing back
with less and less of
itself,
and how,
now,
the only way I can remember
you is how you sat on the bench
crumpling into yourself
into yourself?

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry