the agony is where you are

the agony is where you are
not, the empty spaces, the
hallway, where your spirit
pervaded and how i was
happy to be knocked down
over and over, dismantled
in your presence because
you were whole and you were
flesh and near; never have
i become so fragmented,
sensing now only your
vapors emitted from walls as
your hands graced outlets
with cords, tapping energy…
i search for you, but your
proximity blinds me and i repeat
the same mistakes overlooking
your footsteps… clearly
too fast for me and i loose
you altogether in the density,
the fork of destiny leading
us separately, and fear somehow
seizes me, soon the inability
to breathe takes over me

poem©mrg 3/30/17

each dollar slips away

each dollar slips away,
faster than i can seize and hold;
even if i can get a grip on it,
it rushes from my pockets like
it can’t wait to run away, loose
itself among the millions duped
inside some name brand store
where i didn’t care for the
purchase itself, only i believed
the tales they told, how much
i needed it and how better my
life would be if i had the
sixth item in the newest color.
this is how money shrinks, and
how i shrink after everything
liquidates in one irrational
moment to buy into a temporary
high of nothingness which
reflects me and leaves me
lost and abandoned, regretting
the aftermath of following
a trend, which never was so
welcoming, only i participated
over and over like it would
make some difference because
i too dared to fit into places
where i thought i might belong…
i just wish it didn’t cost me
an arm and a leg to stand this
close to your perimeter, to
access the inner parts of you

poem©mrg 3/30/17

When Love Spirals…

When love spirals, a feeling of being slighted kicks in and resentment follows. That used to be the flow of things, but something about that doesn’t feel quite right anymore. Feeling hurt, feeling slighted somehow doesn’t compliment the spiritually evolving consciousness. For however much we want to just withdraw and forget about the whole relationship, or the beginning of one, there lies that bit of conscience, that intuition whispering it’s not the answer, this is not the end. That despite the hurt or the slight we feel, perhaps it is best to stand aside and let love run its course. Because love is understanding; it is equipped with self-healing properties that, if we trust enough, will mend what is pierced, what is broken. Perhaps, it will heal the person whose pain trickles over to us. If we don’t give in and simply allow love in, maybe there’s a chance for survival… to soar instead of spiraling down.

your love
i’ve searched
beneath the murky
waters where i once
found gold. a nugget,
like early settlers
whose trace of
opportunity lies
in a motherlode.
cake, not. but gold.
necklace, gold. watch.
solid gold time never
runs out, never
depletes, how infinite
energy sometimes when
there is enough light
reserved in one
vessel, a light bulb,
you on a lamp i want
to turn on if you’ll
only let me twist
the switch

mrg©poem 3/27/17

no flashlight, no spotlight

no flashlight, no spotlight—
i wish it were that easy.
the cosmos did not pull
you towards me only to
witness the smoke from
your cigarettes or the
ends of your butts, smashed
in a trail leading towards
the bathroom door, behind
where you hide, fundamentally
capable of more needles,
more spoon with a lighter
underneath striking, sparking
a lighter mirrored upon rows
of tiny bruises against your
left arm, where i know
the hallucination pierces
through. and for a moment
you think you are kind
to the universe and the
universe is kind to you—
until the reckless sets in
and this becomes more of
an addiction than it is
recreation because it no
longer impresses anybody
and i can’t stand to watch
anymore, scoop you over
and over to revive and
hope i can have you
return to the beginning
when i wish it wasn’t too late
to have you feed into a
different kind of addiction…
love i’ll inject myself over
and over into your veins
if it means to save
you from yourself

poem©mrg 2/16/17

because poetry will criticize

because poetry will criticize
the legacy of my hands,
the erratic way it repressed,
undocumented a people
brown and proud— shame
crowns my head. my failure
to commit, neglected children
without milk and cookies,
left outside without blanket
or shelter… i pray for you
who dismembered the character
i embodied from head to toe;
you left entrails of my passion
scattered on the freeway, bumper
to bumper traffic, where i inched
forward endlessly to gather divine
inspiration as the heavens yield
it for its black birds circling
above me, waiting for my soul
to abandon completely the
tenderest of meats with a heart
still throbbing underneath
and make true the prophecy —
i shall feed before the enemy’s feet

poem©mrg 2/16/17