wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
I can speak your language of fearlessness
If I purse my lips just right
And hold onto all truths I’ve tossed
To winds of closeness tainted

It’s easy for me to lie with you
It’s easy for me to lie on you
It’s easy for me to lie to you

And so complicated to distill a distinction
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Angels Can Sing, But Choose Not To


Sweet footfalls
Like pearls
And passing time
Flow under
Almost as if they were not of me

But not quite

I walk this road connected
It is as I am
And loves just as fiercely

I’ll tear it all open willingly
And expose my every ending
And walk on broken tatters
Just to prove to you I can

I’ll show to you every flower
That blooms inside my head
To have you pull the petals
And leave them fall to ground

With destruction, you divine intention
With laughter, you define your everything
And leave my nothing wanting

That you take my mouth in wordlessness
That you touch my chest in passing
That you can remember to be tender
That you can remember I like it mean
That you talk like you are ruler
That you fawn like you are chattel
That you cry out my name

When all you want is to forget me
When all you want is to walk alone
When all you want is simplicity

I can almost believe it is for me

But not quite
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
These Hands


These hands of mine craft starlights
And fountains of youth
In waterfalls and trails and forests eternal

These hands can sing and pray
And they can lead and teach
Of abundance and grace

These hands of mine fly strong like birds
Of prides and passions
In darkened places made light with you

These hands can grasp the truths
Of hundreds of childhoods and years of elders
Passing traditions bland or brilliant

These hands of mine can reach, and plead
And they can strike at the heart of it all
And the more they reach

The emptier they become.
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
I believe in unicorns
Myths of me fall into wells
And the depths of your eyes

I believe in devils
Torments for me rise up in nerves
Enraged by allies who promised protection

I believe in salvation
Hopes in me spring eternal
I just wish they were not of you

Tamalpais

Dec. 22nd, 2006 10:06 am
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Memories pad in on siamese feet
That heralded the arrival of ghastly heirs

And oh, the mountain that sits on my shoulder, fog shrouded and majestic
It reigns in a land pubescent and past
Verdant and static and rolling with the silent thunder of trees and brined air

This is not a poem of regret

The fortune found by leaving this Cannan
Is a history made in bright shadows
I have served well my monarch of memory

And so blessed I return
As blessed I took leave

This is not a poem of homecoming

Passing through, the new seems as ghost
And that which is now the missing is what seems tangible

And to my lips springs a tune of cobblers
And to my nose the smells of golden wet dog and brown shingled mornings in grey wet light

This is not a poem of remembrance

I know if I were to touch this place
Through this glass that spares me its chill
This exile would prove to be of my making
The mountain always forgives
And welcomes its princes home
In glory or in failure, the fog embraces all

But I keep my seat in passing
And instead a smile in quiet acceptance

For this is not a poem of futures
But an ode to gracious present

Voudon

Nov. 9th, 2006 11:34 pm
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Voudon


Grave dusted feet
Pound

Rhythms

Pound

History

Into bloodied soil
Made holy with rope on branches
Made sacred with whips on flesh

Can gods follow
Those followers stolen
And become

Revenge

Cry out

Ride bodies spitting spirits
Distilled from cane grown
By hands enslaved

Sweet spirits to sip
Share pleasure, ancestors
Share now
What was denied you in flesh

Freedom found in a grave
Is vengeance found in a curse
Is faith founded on a justice

That has been as elusive as Heaven itself
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
A Dream Revisited



The windows shatter vertical
A dream?
(perchance to sleep)
This house constructed
Cerebral and concrete

He stands at a view
Disrupted
By lines disaster
And needs of new
Forming webs connected
To pasts and futures
But never presents

The mind is a terrible thing to visit
When it governs in darkness
And breathing regular
Would you like to play a game?

I’ll bleed into these walls for you
I’ll sacrifice my will for you
I’ll tire of all that soon, my love
And return to you surrendered
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Of boys and Trains


I bring to you traditions of train rides
Romances have traversed these tracks
Long before I come along
All aboard to rock this long cradle
To a breast well drawn
With sigils standing stead
For principles cherished
And hopes for the future.

I add to these tracks my own
Rhythmic wheels laying down the bass line
Of my heart's strings
Tangled merrily around you
Binding desires and skin
With sweat and joy

This train rocks gods
Of sciences comforting
In logic superstitious
And steeped in pining traditions
Of lovers riding to futures as long as these rails.
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
It falls
Like life itself
When beds are tussled
And sighs cut like blades

Liberating

Manumission in your eyes
Wisdom in your nails
And salvation in your mouth

Again

Because this Mobius strip
Can never be enough

I'll take you in every meaning
Of the words
That you scream in
Unconsciousness
And breath
Rapid and strained

I mark you
*mine*

The same way you marked me
*yours*


Only visible

--In blood

----That falls

------Like life itself
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
OZ


This chest grinds out
Breaths of steaming flowers
Table jarred and drooping
Happily fragrant and stalked green

This ink of you draws truth in etched lines
Of stories lazy and comfortable
Flesh aesthetic is meaning enough
Fables can be left for others

These blue grey pools shine mirth with hunger
And joy with bloodlust and verve
For as you know tyrants are not born
But cultivated with eyes for color
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Somos Todos Hijas


We cannot pay enough
Clothing for a few dollars
Electronics for pittance
Made in neighbor’s towns
With their children
Starving for Walmart
And blue light specials

The maquiladoras call you
Women of Mexico
Come to earn your travesty in desperation
Hope for a better life

And disappear
To be found
In the desert by boys
Who search for cans to trade for food
But instead find the discarded price tags
Of our rollbacks and sales

Or worse, do not be found
400 souls are lost in Mexico
But we have our products for which
We cannot pay enough



Please... Learn
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Sister Sociopath


She balances poorly, always she was
Teetering: treacherously tripping ‘tween me and truth

Somehow, I existed in the shadow cast by her
Wrath: wanton welts of withered wisdom

Bleeding is never enough, blood cannot pay the
Debt: daily doses of doubt dealt to distance

So instead I play along

Pretending pity to
Seemingly sympathize with her
Raped reality, her
Perverse past, her
Horrifying history that
Never
Really
Happened.
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
EVERY TWO MINUTES


A chance, perhaps a dreamed encounter
A sea of meetings random

They fall upon these swords sublime
And words echo wounded

To bleed for men, after all
Is a divine suffering to boast

And fractured pasts can be plastered
But memories cannot be broken

Only drowned

On dunking poles or ponds of no salvation
Or something a wee bit stronger

Perhaps this summer’s day you’ll see
Or perhaps you will remain unsighted

The choice is really up to you
But given to the mother

And fathers wash their hands so young
Yet strive to become uncles

For sisters sacred fall so hard
Upon knees already battered

Because damage can never be prevented
Only explained, dismissed and pitied

Where clothing has the power
To speak words forbidden by the wearer

That only predators can hear
But all men see in hindsight

To justify the horror
To absolve the ones who cower

And yes, I feel it in my bones
Even though they are not me

Because I cannot ignore where I came from
Nor to whom I shall return


The horrible inspiration
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
History falls like red leaves
And childhoods shine like starlight
Painted on a backdrop of my making

This stage is set for babies and bitterness creeping
Into spotlights chased and embattled
This applause for you is not what you think

It’s hard to be robbed of an innocence you never possessed
Even when you thrust it on others so you can demand it back
In packages of roller skates and kittens
Bloodied foreheads and wounds less seen

This house of ours is not glass
But mirrors reflecting
My truth is shortened and fattened
And yours is stretched thin
So throw your stones at walls and windows
May they find something new to break
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Name me


I wish I could talk like you
What you name is what there is
Those things you call me, I become
Lover
Brother
Boy
Fucker

We all have the power of words
In varying degrees of certainty
What I name sometimes is
And words are mine as well
I trade them, with aching hands
For these named foods I carry home
While you sing to me
With cold rain
On my shaved head

But your cold words of rain are benevolent and kind
They leave my head feeling alive
And ignore the paper sacks
Leaving them named whole to see me home
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Fiddle strings, my thoughts and feelings
To pluck and bow with stanzas reeling

Decorate me with roses red
Give me phrases turned and fed

Like words of cake upon my tounge
And rhymes not only for the young

Of LOVE: a subject matter dear
Or ancient Gods to please and fear

Where ravens speak words of dread
Or epic heroes save the dead

It matters not your skill or age
Just write your words upon the page

For April is, I’m sure you know it
The month to show your inner poet
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Not sure if I am done with this one, but this month offers such pressure..LOL


Carry Me, Ancestors



My memories are stored
Cells made to contain the skinned knees and Sunday ice creams

And more than me comes before

My cells carry you
The burned and heretical, the sainted and blessed

And sins are not my own

My memories are seeds
Spilled with Onan

And history is wide

My past is physical
It is measured in width and depth

And time is ahead of me

My glances behind
Show nothing but salted pillars
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
I am not sure I can (or am willing to even try) to do one a day for a month, but here is an older one that I never posted:



Witching hours of tossing hope and turning salvations
Wrinkled sheets at binding feet

Check it once too many

Racing dogs and bone chewed worry
And repetitious breathing
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Blank pages and old buildings
Haunt me in my visions
Butterflies in cocoons
Paint drying on pallets

Creativity is a sadistic mistress
I must
I can’t
I will
I bleed

Still, forever is a long time
And names tagged on walls will fade
But not before Persian cities fall
The world again a safe and stagnate idea

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WheelieTerp

February 2011

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