midnight accepts my presence
i have a plan
and belong here
away in a mirrorless cabinet
until someone imagines my purpose
births and raises me
as if i were their poem
a collection of metaphors
and something implied
a holy text for the blind
patient and self described
but not tonight
because i am what cannot be said
in literal language
and i'm not alone
i'm only a momentary stream of light
from a far away star
among others who set the night ablaze
because it is in meditation and closed eyes
that we become self-appointed gods
willing the structures of language to bend
in imagination
letting go of what confines words
and defines our hesitation
we exist as new meaning
free of any sen—tence
or pre—tense
existing in all forms:
past, present and future tense
all now
finally fit to ex—ist
and be not—iced

I seek guidance in moonshine
making love to blissful moments
too fleeting for definition

"who would like to join me,"
I ask myself in solitude
knowing deafening silence awaits

i'm stunned at the ways
an ironic evening can define
the night
one that's yet to come

and we notice in slumber
those summer moments
when newly minted
leaves chime
to the memory of something that has
yet to occur

and i
like you
concur

i
like you
unaware
like awakening to
new foliage shading
a living room window
and
appreciating its
presence

like remaining an innocent bystander
to your most difficult
breaths
knowing it's not only
air that fills your
lungs

knowing
rather feeling
the effects of energy
waiting for the
time when everything's
captured in song
in poetry

knowing
rather feeling
that the cooling effects
of your favorite
breeze
often tickles your
senses
and fades
before
you notice it

somehow
we've become a unified body
together like language
in raw forms
able to organize
utterance
yet still undefined

somehow
i realize this now
and without you
i refuse to exist
refuse to take
a conscious form
in my own mind
like knowing you can blink
in awe
of the fine motor functions
outside your control
like when a song
invades the deepest
part of memory
and suddenly
defines everything
you are
and were
and never knew
you could be

somehow in your
absence i've become
more complete
like that moment
when fear helps you realize
your own frailty
somehow i've known this all along
because
i want to know you
but don't want to know you're there
because
in my clumsiness
i will destroy you
and lose me

resistance
is an eye
traced in bright color
afterwaves
seeking a host
open enough
to
accept ambient pulses
of blindness--
the ability to let
soundwaves
carry ambition
to undisclosed places
to no where

though it's lonely
it's a place
of
absence
like midnight alleyways
and all you want to
do is avoid home
at all costs
and find yourself alone
screaming
finally free of
predetermined
thoughts
finally able to
resist
and find comfort in
consequence

he needs a moment of inspiration
to feather down from a partly cloudy sky
until it is somewhat in reach and able to be seen and understood

that is when he will realize that
like cognitive dissonance
routine isn't something immeditately visible and assured

rather it is something meant to trouble the mind like wildfires clearing the way for new growth

rather something meant to be be seen in invisible silence

Something Resembling an Introduction

Greetings:

This blog is part of a new project that I hope can do two things: keep me sane and urge me to write more. As any writer knows you need an audience and purpose to fuel your writing -- that is assuming you intend your writing to know eyes beyond yours.

I've noticed that a lot of my writing mentions silence. Not sure why, but when I first noticed I became frustrated with myself because I kept seeing too many of the same images and thoughts reexpressed. My first urge is to bury those poems like well-intentioned gold fish and feature only ones that are vastly different than the others. But that brings more frustration because then when you're writing you become obsessed with finding new words and images, and that prevents you from writing all together. At least me anyway.

So I've decided to let it go a bit because I've noticed that most people don't notice (or care), and because often there's a reason. The most likely reason is you're still in that creative space and haven't exhausted that feeling or idea. If something hasn't completely expressed itself, then let it be is my new philosophy. Besides, over time your writing will evolve. Patience is indeed a virtue, especially when centered in the creative process.

So what I've done with this blog is post writing that seems connected to this notion of silence. My concept hasn't matured past that, though it might -- or might not! Over time, I plan to sequence and create a paper published version (most likely a zine) for anyone who cares to read it while crapping. Obviously, a sequence is tough here because posts order when posted and some come later than others and some of these are poems that I've written a while back. But I will see what I can do. I might decide sequence doesn't matter because I embrace the beauty of the random.

I also plan on posting an earlier sequence called Valencia (on valenciapoem.blogspot.com). I will create as many sequences as blogger allows, and I will network them all together for interested readers, which I don't imagine are many at this point.

Moreover, I won't speak much about myself or anything like that because I don't want vanity to get in the way of what I am trying to say in the writing. However, having said that I recognize that statement itself is an exercise in vanity, so is most everything else we do citing vanity or trying to escape it. So fuck it!

I hope you like what you read, and I would love feedback. I don't plan on editing comments or anything unless people abuse basic respect principles -- the most basic being don't be a mindless asshole.

Cheers and enjoy
~vince

Now he believes

humankind's most divine creation

He's listening

Americans want willfully ineffective government

WAR OF WORDS

the nector of immortality

symbolically cleansed by the flames
the most favorable time for ritual bathing

SCORCHING SUN casts long shadows
Rift escarpments in the distance, now heavily eroded, once adjoined

Four drops of amrit fell to the earth,
making four sacred places.

i silently seek you
like song at the bed of inspiration

gazing out my apartment window I stare into a maturing midnight,
my half reflection and many more things undefined

i passively watch light fill the city streets like thin yellow razors
and absorb into the scenery

in what's become a ritual,
i sit here slightly isolated
looking up at a full moon centered against a starless sky

through small cracks in the window pane
i hear the winter wind whisper like traffic,
and i wonder over my final physical form
because these moments have usually been kind
and i'm renewed at my flirtation with self pity

i'm alone
and it's been years since i've known your presence
i can hardly remember what it feels like

but in small traces i can recapture you
like in the clouding sky and light snow that begins to accumulate on rooftops
we never liked the cold but we have to admit it carries our history
and nothing can take that away from me
even when remaining light retreats like a recovering wave
and we're left to accept this
and escape into our blurred serenity
assured
complicated
unsettled

let me form new memories
from mundane moments
as usual
unaware
spiraling like foam in a warming beer
as my eyes fixate on still objects while life swirls colorfully at the margins
a moment alone
stale like the taste of nostalgia
and i pondering imaginary movement
still reflection
street lights glistening off wet pavements
cigarette smoke winding up cold air
something i relive in isolation
nights bashful and impartial

i sit alone among voices
muted conversations oblivious to my curious ear
as though i'm the center of attention in my own mind
and nothing realizes my presence
and the only kind thought is that i'll never
see us here again
or that i've transformed into the cool breeze
i've longed to escape

i apologize for all of this
we're both victor and victim to its magnificence
both prisoners to forces that long existed
and plagued the bedsheets of lovers and wayward hearts
since god suggested sex and lust
and called it something else
since we learned to play games that implied rules

we die like all things
and lament circumstance
like a comfortable morning sky regrets the sun
the milky skies of burning red renewal
an epiphany that in death
arrives and begins anew

i promise i'll fade like this morning fog
because it is the last time we'll be at this moment
together
it is the last time our words will carry weight
because we've moved on
to a place where words die like vapor
and good intensions burn like promises we knew we'd break