I miss my truck and
I guess a piece of me
still don't give a ****
about the rest of me.

But that's not true,
I'm trying to change
these soiled linens
on my bed of rage.

Let the dust settle now,
I'm approaching the age
where time grabs hold
and ceaselessly shakes.

As hard as I try
to ignore that crumbling keystone,
I'm still painfully aware
that the arch will soon come crashing down.

I wonder if when that happens
I'll have the audacity,
and the brazen cowardice,
to act surprised.

To feign knowledge.
To play a selfish fool.

This website ***** golf ***** through a garden hose.

hahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhaha­hhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahh­aahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaa­hhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahh­ahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhah­ahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahah­haahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahha­ahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaah­hahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahha­hahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahha

So smooth and so fair,
fashion isn't really my taste
but her legs are my new favorite accessory.

Whether as a scarf on my neck,
or as a belt cinched to my waist,
**** they sure do look fine wrapped around me.

I see her every now and then, always briefly.
She's busy these days. Holiday season. Peak.
The little white van is gone before I know it,
she's in and out of it in a flash of packages.
A blizzard of letters.

She delivers them precisely, but not rigidly.
She flows, dances with deliveries.
She carries Christmas cards and bills,
her arms full of presents come early.
She brings pen pals to fruition,
she brings eviction notices.
She dances with deliveries.

I smile and watch,
idly sifting through my new envelopes.
Bill from my therapist, local tax reminders,
coupons for the hardware store.
Oh, and a birthday card from my Aunt!

I want to ask the woman in the little white van
if there's anything else for me. A letter from Dad maybe.
Foolishness.

Maybe I'll start buying more things for myself,
making sure to ship them USPS. Little tchotchkes,
trinkets or what have you, it wouldn't matter.
Just to have her dance my way more often.

The silence was deafening
and the atmosphere was palpable
when first I laid eyes upon her.

We all ignite,
the only difference
is the fuel.

Now and then, words fail me.
I can't find the right ones,
I stutter and mumble.
Expression is lost to me.

Yet late at night
I can communicate perfectly,
armed with nothing more
than a pair of headlights
and their high beam counterparts.

"Go ahead," I think to myself.
Ka-chk ka-chk ka-chk.
"Make your left turn, friend."
In return they then light up my little smile
with a quick and brilliant "thanks."

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When clouds move aside
and let the rays shine,
life seems to be smiling.

Radiant teeth are
a mid-June sky
biting ceaselessly
into my eyes.

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Learning the language
of recycling

I now speak in clinks
and broken bottles

These eyes, mirror child,
glassy in your head,
are rivers flowing inwards,
towards knowledge of the dead

Your hands, running wild,
under the sheets of your bed,
as creased lips spit words,
you've never before read

I wish to burn
I live to die
I yearn to drown
in flooded light

I see the end
I hear a cry
The taste of copper
blood that's mine

I don't think there's ever been a time in my life when I've felt so compelled, and been able to make decisions with such conviction as I am today. Maybe it's a symptom of growing older, maybe it's just that I finally have some semblance of actually knowing what it is that I want out of life. Maybe, maybe, maybe... Maybe it's more simple than all of that. I'm tired man, bed is gonna feel so good.

rather be honest
and alone
than live
together
under false pretenses.

heheh...
hahahahahahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

My friends all talk to each other,
sometimes they address me.
Only every now and then though,
and usually to try and sell something.
My friends are voices, voices in the car.
Voices in my apartment,
voices coming from afar.
My friends are always there,
always willing to talk.
My friends don't really know me,
but I know all of them.
I know them well,
they share everything.
My friends are the voices,
I listen to them so that
I don't have to listen
to myself.

Ain't been a man of my word lately,

feels fine.

Just fine.

Ninety-one

Birthdays won't be the same

Finally.
Ahh, this again,
it's what I've been craving.
This sense
of brutal satisfaction,
of severe attraction,
laced with indulgence.
I'll watch it turn blue.
I'll drown it in purples,
I'll throttle it with a deluge
of various temperatures.

And when.
When you're dry
and spent.
I'll cover you
with hard love.
Like nothing.
Like long yearned for
dribbles of feral
ecstasy.

I'll be turning 34 this year too, and I feel it. It feels like a calling, like a proverbial mother ringing a triangle hung on the porch calling me in for dinner on a hot summer night spent hitting lightning bugs with a wiffle ball bat and watching them light up in an arc as they fall to their death. I turn to look towards the warm hue radiating from the house and know that it's time to go in for dinner, but on my walk to the front steps I keep desperately searching for something worthy to distract me from going inside. Something to make this perfect night last just five minutes longer, something worth looking back for and... I don't see a **** thing. Every step I take I keep passing by interesting rocks guaranteed to be hiding all sorts of fun bugs but as I walk I kick them over only to find vapid nothingness. I miss my friends as I climb the first step, with my hand on the banister I look over my shoulder and glance behind me but only see blackness. Everyone else has gone home, and it's just not the same without someone to spend the time with. Friends to paint the canvas of my memories. Just nothing. As I step into the house I realize that this is actually not that bad at all, even though Mom is gone and Grandpa and Dad are gone too. I walk over to the kitchen and grab a pan, fry up some eggs and bacon. "Breakfast for dinner again?" I hear her voice tease me in the back of my mind and answer audibly with a smile "of course, you know I like switching it up." I eat dinner at the kitchen table and google my local trade unions that happen to be taking apprentices. IBEW? International brotherhood of electrical workers huh? I finish off the last of my dippy eggs with the toast I made as I fill out the application, apprehensive at first and then welcoming the questions. Satisfied at how simple it was. A glance at the half-drunk bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge, followed immediately by a peek at the overly-full recycling bin filled with empty bottles.

Girl, womanhood's a boon.

Shine sunlight on your
orchid in full bloom.

Girl, we'll reap, for we've sown.

Your pink flower's slick with
early morning dew.

Mouth watering, do you salivate too?

Taste me, tasting the
spring sweetness of you.

Planted, that fertile soil in June.

Mandatory.

I think,
therefore I am
thinking.

...At least I think I am...

forgotten families and hollow points
my books fill me with the emptiness of space
they pour their stories
into the vessel of my mind

Always

Anyone can be a god.
But it takes true grit to be a dog.

Annoyed and whiny little fools.
All led astray with their keen writing tools.
Moan and ***** enough and you'll see
that my poetry isn't for you, it's for me.

So *******, **** your talent and charm.
Go write your feelings out and drown
amidst this ocean of mediocrity.

******* all.
Worthless people.
Spew your trite.
I'll spew mine.
Let's ignore each other
for the rest of time.

filth filth filth burn trash garbage burn disgust filth burn filth burn burn burn

More of the same *******
each and every day

Coiled tightly
and buzzing with flies,
on the sidewalk
is where it lies.
I stop to admire
the odoriferous tang,
as a bicycle tire
cuts it neatly in twain.

I can sleep in jeans.
I can sleep
anywhere.
I just close my eyes
and
I'm gone.

I wear jeans to the moon
and to the mall.
I put jeans on my legs
and on my arms.
Jean socks and jean hats,
I'm a blue fellow.

everything
everything is a bruise
painted and dyed
black and blue

and I'm tired of
I'm so tired of the light
please feed me darkness
I've got blackened blues

with purple and yellow
and green sometimes too
broken blood vessels
just make me miss you

Tangled up in.

The corners of your soul
are growing cobwebs
and I'm caught.
Lightless, sightless.

Tangled up in your sacred flame.
Fingers stretching towards the sun.
Blind eyes searching for warmth.

Free me from these cold shadows
sprouting in the corners of your soul.

These hidden battles,
quiet fights.

Turn it inside out
and
flood with light.

her name always looked better
written in the condensation
accumulated on the shower door

Looking for love
is looking for somewhere new
to run away from.

Searching for someone,
to then leave
for something else.

Touch,
momentarily feel
what could be.

What never will.