Three poems. Written between patent claims and 3 AM and rented mountain houses and a half-dead phone. They are not about the company. The company is about them.
Beginning. Middle. End. Read them in order or read them backward. Both directions pass through the same center.
This is a piece about motion. How thoughts drift, loop, and come back. Some parts are clear, some are blurred on purpose. It is meant to be felt, not explained.
Admittedly, I never wanted normal days Never wanted normal jobs Couldn't stand the thought of nine to five Watching good years get soft Wake up, go to work Come home, go to bed Same damn desk, same town Same things stuck in my head
I always felt a pull somewhere Didn't know why, didn't care Just knew standing still too long Was something I couldn't bear I wanted miles I couldn't count Pressure that holds sleep Granola bars full of sand And matchsticks, just to watch things bleed
One, two, three, four Strings beat on like drums Felt the fire before I saw it You can sometimes hear it hum I don't know what I'm headed toward I just know what's in my rearview Something in review I shake it off and keep moving forward Life only matters once And it doesn't, too So I don't stop to figure it out I just keep moving through deja-vu
Rosewater, ivy in the air Silence learned the hard way Ran with people headed forward Never talked about yesterday I learned how to read a room Without ever saying shit Learned when to hold the door Learned when to not let people in They never really knew my past Or where I'd been before Just said there's something calm in me Like I've seen this all once more
That version's behind me now Smaller in my mirror view Not regret, just distance Like fainting at a church pew
I don't know what I'm building yet I just know I won't stay still Something in review Rearview mirror, downhill Life only matters once And it doesn't too So I don't stop to figure it out I just keep moving through
When that chapter finally closed I thought I'd take the easy road College halls and business plans Trying to carry a lighter load But comfort started talking loud And fear got real damn quiet then That's when I know it's time to move Before I settle in
So I changed it, business to theater Didn't stress much, scared to say Wasn't scared of work or failing Just scared of being seen that way Not perfect, not in control Somewhere stuck in-between But once that fear ran out of run-way It's la la land and sun-rays Life's now, one big, parlay
There's a switch in me Restraint, asceticism, and delusion Work gets done Then it's sex, drugs, and cheap conclusions
Blue Tacoma, tan leather seats Burr in a rented coat Nose-gray flowers on the dash Zach Bryan too loud on the radio
Sixty-degree California night Warm air off the headers blow No rules, no stress, no real damn plan Just seeing how far this thing can go Cigarettes, burning slow
I don't know what I'm chasing now I just know what I refuse Something in review Rear-view fading blue Life only matters once And it doesn't, too So I shrug my shoulders And imagine life with you Deja-Vu
Polaroid clicks Vinyls spin La-la-land, still trying to win Three black horses on a white page Two stay grazing, one runs away Not heroic, just curious Running toward it anyway That's the key Curiosity Something in review Rear-view Fading blue Deja-Vu...
The first poem is motion. The pull before the word existed. Before the mirror, before the patent, before the architecture, there was a kid who couldn't stand still and couldn't explain why. This is the engine that everything was built on. Not a thesis. A feeling.
Home's so fucking far. Build it here with you, sitting in your car. While you babbling-on, home's half-way gone. Swimming in champaign pools. Take a trip down burr berry lane only to find rains bring change. Snow chains shaking, clanking, starts thinking, what's happening down under the manifold? How's this whole thing un-fold?
When I reach the top of Mt. Pinos, what way will the wind blow the snow flurries home?
You, a girl, maybe 22? Perspective-burnt-through Thinking of all the times he said Quilt's more pretty weathered-red So close-your-eyes, calm-your-mind, imagine-somethin'-pretty Your-silly-little potato-head Shirley-Temple's, pretty-until-noon Your west-ward, out-ahead-bet-attitude welcome-back, quick-recap, rushed-timeline, no-sidelines You're waiting for pain, causing it too, queue and cue So-carry-on, move along, open-your-blinds, only-then-you'll-find A queue of ill-will A cue of ill-will, stitched by you Perspective-burnt-through ... Never-felt-her-fog Treats-threw, like-a-damn sheltered-dog Waiting, bleeding, needing-rescue Daydreaming, feeling, presence-beneath-you Steady-Ready, Happy-Healthy Sunlight-seeping-through Imagine-life-with-you Silly-little-potato-head Avoid-the-reality A distant-memory of faltered-dawn Coming back and warming The beginnings of some new remedy Like-binding-twine Steady-fraying, praying Siphoning-gas-from-a seemingly-dead-end-thing Ill-will-built A queue of ill-will Pain seeping through A cue of ill-will Designed by you Two-left-in-shelter Safe, need-to take some risks-too All-the-blame isn't-on-you, twenty-two Often waiting on the too-soons, bad-news, half-truths and bad-attitudes Trying-to-disprove the perspective-burnt-through Testing your kindness softly Half-believing-it's-true turn-around Slow-down Try'n smile 'n Peek through the rear-view imagine the future that's waiting for you, twenty-two... A queue of ill will In rear-view A cue of ill will, ready-to-use A morning ritual, iced-venti-brew Side-mirrors keep blind-spots-framed-true Fixing tension in what you sew Sometimes un-done, frayed, is better, anyways Sip your coffee, you'll be fine, grab your seam and un-do that bind get-that-toxic-shit-out-your-mind N' see it through. Go-n-do what you're meant too- Twenty-two...
The second poem is the middle. The palindrome was born here. Queue and cue, same sound, opposite directions. A line of damage waiting and a trigger stitched by you. The hyphenated compounds. The half-truths. The architecture of the voice before it had a name. This is where the mirror learned to speak.
Ohio women. Hate to see you leave. Tryna plant a seed. Wishing you'd believe in me. See through the evil he left in you.
The american dream's broke sideways, hangin' from a tree, swayin' in the wind. Prayin' there's still time left in the end. Beginning and end, let the middle fill in, then begin again.
She loves happy-sad songs, I can't wait to see you's, and it's been too long's.
An-uh... de-familiar-tale of thin-margins, blurred bargains n' shut-off n' restart again's
Paper-pen-an-a-page with no middle only beginnings and end So draw a truth that's equal both ways Like a-N-a
An-uh?
AirBnB, Asana, Sierra-Lakes-Parkway An old western farm with a fair share of snakes, preys, bee stings and high-off- high-neighs. Lowe's down the road, blue grays and a smell of warm asphalt petrichor fades away.
Cloud rains change, a scent of sweet suet, while Sierra wheys away, savory but gray. Things seemed balanced perfectly, Like 2-gut punches to a seemingly heart-less thing Waiting Three weak calves on a dead end road headed toward half a day's pay and eat more chicken, chic-fil-a holidays. Wishing more sunlight seeping through, meets the other side of the shade-we-drew. In Fontanna day-dreaming, watching redstarts flying high. Sitting with you n' moving memories, fountain of youth attitude, early morning dew.
Thought maybe I had half-of-somethin', ana, maybe that's the same as havin' half-of-nothin', and a Blurred bargain, Watchin' restarts... are gettin' hard within. Paper-pen-an-a-page with no middle only, beginning's and end. Fontanna, draw your truth that's equal both ways, can't half ass Tuesday and expect to win Sunday's parlay. Heir of an era, hates flat-bill hats, hot-wings, and Saturday's. Exploring, Etiwanda Falls Trail, Mount Rubidoux, Mary Vagle, Cherry-Valley-Valentines, lavender fields, Ana's soft-pink glow, listening to Moana's notes, how far I'll go, Rubidoux drive-in-theater, curiosity
Grab a coffee and cruise, Foothill boulevard, The mother road. Fog makes roads slow, things grow, and the whole life-cycle thing flow. Unbalanced but seemingly equal both ways. Half-an-hour, not long for the morning's dew to move through the hour-glass carried in the quiet that follows you. Can a light bulb heat up enough to half-way heat a room? Maybe that's why they make lamp shades, champagne and those waxed holiday charades. Fontanna Draw your truth that's equal both ways, even if it might not be enough to half-way heat your's too.
Thought maybe I had half-of-somethin', ana, maybe that's the same as havin' half-of- nothin' Neither bad or good, equal both ways. Just know who to pay when the turning-hand preys. Fontanna Al-Capone House, Tamarind Ave, old brick hush, private estate, deep local lore about tunnels to nearby churches, rugged steel-town history and refined hidden gems, but usually an equally not so pretty flip-side, 87-75 Tamarind... Where the stories split, I learned what silence costs. Tinnitus clicks with a script of snow-peeked mountain-tops. The paper with no middle teared through, a watermark of how it remembers you. Fontanna Draw your truths that equal both ways, even when your candles start to fade-away.
Fontanna What's your half-truth that's equal both ways?
Got a paper and-a-pen an-a-page with no middle, a paper with no middle, teared through, a watermark of how it remembers you
Fontanna An-uh... de-familiar-tale of thin-margins Blurred bargains N' shut-off N' restart again's, Watchin' restarts... are gettin' hard within. Nerve's paper-thin. So go and find your tune and I'll Let the silence-win.
These were written before the company existed. Before the patent. Before the mirror. Before the palindrome had a name.
The company was built to answer the question these poems keep asking.
Paper-pen and a page with no middle, only beginning and end. Draw a truth that's equal both ways.
That's the whole thesis. It was a poem before it was a patent.
Art first. Always.