a rain frog
sits on my window
and i wonder
if its me.

i sit and i wait
at the park of the dead
to remind my bones
to sit
and to rest.
but all i can do is stand
watching all the life
that surrounds me.

my lazy soul
looks comfortable here.

and it probably
looks at me
and wonders why
we don't do more
nice things
together

hospitals, for many people,
are the dividing line between them and death.
places of worship, for many,
is the dividing line between them and god.
people, are always,the diving line between them and people.

i am drunk
but who are you?

the only tool is your mind.
nothing is vivid.
your own suffering wants to leave you but you dont think you
can survive alone
so you stay.

junkies live in the garden below
a saint dies in the apartment above
theyed wish eachother love
if their paths had ever crossed
they find themselves dying lost

dont feel bad for the old man.
not because hes closer to
leaving this place,
he may not be after all.

after all,
the old man
may win
the fight
between
you and
his life.

the most intimate ive been
with anyone
in a long time
has been with my own hemorroid.

we didnt talk for hours,
though we did talk about time;
we talked for our own happiness.

My apartment purrs around me sometimes.

it takes a while to boil,
but it will.
it takes a while to ****,
so it toils.
it takes a while to rise,
so it stays.

i gave birth to a mother snake
who gave birth to a man like me.

it was a battle.

its never an edge.
its always an edge.

i know
im in
the middle of nowhere somewhere

if i could go there
maybe i could
find myself.

broken pieces on the floor

spit up dust

if i quieted my teeth
the music would have
nowhere to sleep.

fish swim.
their body floats.
their soul rises.

but fish swim.

and a human catches one,
but catches nothing.

what we want
swims
floats
rises
dies
within.

emotions are
freelance lions

they come and go
as they please

feeding on the free
*****
meat

an inhale is a thing so massive
you can not grab it in your head.
a venus-fly-trap
is the crack laughing
from your skull.
busy as bees
trying to meet its needs.
anything that you think,

it ***** itself;

you swallow the stink..

there is no water well enough
you're willing to drink,
you die instead.

you boil on the road
looking to walk
to the place you meet you
when you live nowhere to go.

given a prison
a hell that you sell
is the silence that saves you from
the inside of your soul.

you imagine a life so loud
it screams on through the path of
your life,
tearing the landscape from
black to alright
and, well, black was much better
cuz death was the light.

suffering is your enemy.
do not mourn your suffering.
love it while it is still here.

the burned down cafe
on the edge of the town
of the schizophrenic daydream.

customers are characters.
pour themselves into cups.

the liquid

shows the portrait

of the souls.

goodnight, noone.

i hope youre dead
in the morning
next to me.

finally i can melt into the glass
but must get passed
the two white linen
ghosts of women
who whisper their secrets to me.

its a nightmare
ill never wake up.

we cancer vive

lifes absentia passed me by.

it is not a set of lips.

but many,   many  lips.

but it is one
that i see.

it is one
that i try
to swallow

because she

has more than most,
hers are the only  delicacy.

hers are trains

coming in and out of
the station
all night.

the door,
the doorframe,
and everything locked inside.

hers are the wild dogs
running around the house.


and the forest

eating every lost thing in it.

what god spoke
first passed through its mind
but from its heart.
this is where we were born.

now humans
can take
their skin
and skeleton
and turn them
into a tent
and live in it
in the city.

a flower lives inside me
reaches past its peak
and im impaled.

they pay good money
to sing to me in the garden.
the statues try to walk towards me
to kiss me but they harden.
a hollowed out chest
with a nest for a heart.
the bones of baby birds
caged in the bones of old birds.

my hands now
are the chipped
and broken wings
of the giant moth
i held
when i
was a child.

a severed hand
walking around
looking for its
master to choke

every day
a small slice of skin
from you
to cloth
the family
of passed out skeletons
smoking and shooting drugs
in your home,
while you stay up all night
drying out
in your closet.

the humming in my chest,
the doctor said,
is rock-n-roll guitar.

i was terrible
and it cant be undone.
i will never be good.

maybe our matter is the anti-matter.

i feel
someone
in my skin
wondering
who this man is.

take you very away from me
when there are women
dancing in the curtians
and there are eyes..
everywhere looking into you.
to pull you from
who you are.

lay down the body
hide in the mind
lost in the heart

i was dead
but now im free

Hells the home for me.

endless souls
compose its sea

its but a drop in me.

those who speak their suffering
suffer in high degree

to speak of it it rips their minds
from quiet peace to screams -

- theres music in their screams..

to feed their flesh they feed on fruit
which falls from burning trees.

in their lives theyve relived
all the wicked things theyve seen -

- and theyve seen many things..

ive scanned every single atom
of your body
and each one says that there are more to find.
they dance and sing
and give birth to eachother
youre my lover
your my mind.

to make the water dance
because we ask it to dance.

we are gods.

absently witness
the afterlife of suns.

absently witness each other.

came all over
your broken heart.

killed you.

and ate you.

.

keep your eyes on
the horizon
for the rising sun

i dont write well when i drink
but i do drink well
when i write poorly.

all of the extra words are lies.
emotions are simple and true.
poetry is only free.
it is a glimpse
of the heart
to the heart.

decomposing roses
rose between my toes
and closing in on me
imposing on me
til i have chosen
the choice to flee

and the flowers
burst into bodies that flower

life is programming code
and all the good things that
come out of it
are a typo.