Archive for February, 2013

All I Have To Do

All I have to do is close my eyes.


All I have to do is close my eyes and I can see the Pacific Ocean.

I can see the waves rolling off the offshore islands in Costa Rica.

I can feel the salt air on my skin, blowing

through the rustic hillsides right across my face.

I can smell the coconuts, the monkeys, the dust off the road.

All I have to do is close my eyes and I can see

the beaches of St. Thomas.

I see the snorkelers bobbing, lazily prone in the gentle water.

I hear the birds – left, right, and all around me sending kisses to the breeze.

I feel the sand on my ankles that didn’t get knocked off

from earlier this morning.

All I have to do is close my eyes and I can be in Key West.

I  taste the margaritas as the froth that

lingers around the rim slides out and past my lips.

I  smell the boat fuel as the ships come in and

the wharfies walk out to receive the fresh catch.

I hear the music all around me, vibrating my soul

to a higher level of conscious.

All I have to do is close my eyes and I can be in Anguilla.

I smell the smoke as the pork cooks on the beach grill.

I feel the stress evaporate off my shoulders as the sun rings me back to life.

I see the white sand fade easily into clear water

that disappears into the blue horizon.

All I have to do is close my eyes and I’m in Puerto Rico.

The vibrant colors beat into my eyes and spark thought in my mind.

The merengue from far off enters my ears and my heart picks up.

Memories of this place flood my being and age

drips off of me like the sweat down my back.

All I have to do is close my eyes and I’m a South Beach resident.

I close my eyes and I’m drinking a Carib in St. Maartin.

I taste the fish amok in Cambodia.

I see shooting stars smear across the sky of a Portuguese beach town.

I smell the sun tan lotion soaking into my t-shirt in the Bahamas.

I hear the Spanish pedal off my tongue in Belize.

I hear the boats travel down the Dutch canals.

I hear 3 generations playing marimbas in Cozumel.

I open my eyes to sip my tropical drink.

And I’m here.

On a rainy day.

Eating pizza at Bottom’s Up.

Or am I.

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Reflexive Voyage

These tracks keep winding down mountainous terrain.
Rocking nauseous for days, standing without a handle.
Trying to talk to the caboose about letting me off early.
I’m trying to survive this train.

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There’s no measure for survival along the most arid of planes.
Sunlight commands my skin to blister as it forces through glass.
I feel I’m inventory not a passenger.
I hope I can survive this train.


The skies cloudy and doubtful through the ceiling drops rain.
Link by link they trace down in spirals to my rusty anklette.
From heart strings to the break cord to the ties these times sever.
I don’t know if I can survive these chains.

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I grasp my chest as the feeling of pliers squeeze, my heart strains.
Lightning strikes the car’s metal casing.
The lights explode from old issues engineered in the design.
I’m trying to survive this train.

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Sweat and tears roll slowly to the drains.
I hear the squeal of iron as the handle is depressed.
We drift through a fog that is not what it seems.
I hope I can survive these chains.

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The rattle of this beast screams to me with no name.
I cannot turn to know what takes place behind me.
The windows turn dark with ash dusting across their clean surface.
I’m not sure I can survive this train.

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We continue with no rest and move forward without gain.
Mouths gasp for air but find no presence or peace.
The car has gone cold despite the heat bleeding from me.
I don’t know if I can survive this change.

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