7 cups of coffee, never been so tired.
7 hours 'til the weekend
          I'm a garbage human.
Crawling on my belly through the ******* bars.
Kick a couple empty cups and join the trashcan stars.

Monday morning, can't believe still at a job like this,
I'm a ******* nematode behind a ******* desk.
Got a mouth full of fangs and a vinegar gut
Got my hands *******
          got an empty wallet.

Empty out my guts on the concrete night,
pour the contents of my chest on the headache morning.
Chisel clear sight out of my crusted eyes
just in time to read a bright orange low fuel warning.

**** these stupid weekends and this ******* space.
**** my empty-heart excuses and my dishpit face.
Clean the plate and wipe the slate clean.
          Leave this place.
Maybe try and settle down.
One more cup of coffee.

I fell apart.
my art isn’t what I want it to be and I found your shirt in the wash.
i’ve been crying into clean laundry and I keep wondering if you’re feeling a heart break this strong.
I know you’re not.
but god can I pray to the universe that there is some sign of your emotion.
you always thought you were like your father
always leaving and cycling back
again
and again.
i will wash your shirt a million times
but memories don’t clean off.
please don’t coat your feelings in steel
why am I writing this?
why is this the way my brain cycles
around and around and around
why am I the over dramatic poet and you the cold hearted artist?
is art and poetry hand in hand?
or are they as different as the sky and the sea
don’t they meet?
but also stretch aimlessly on and on and on.
you be the sky
and I’ll be the sea.
we will always touch
though we stretch on and on and on.
i’ve been crying into clean laundry
and watching it cycle
again and again and again

Once felt in the lonely, identical corridors
of hotels, hostels, hallways of homeless flatblocks;
The urge,
The urge to move the moment,
Move the momentum of the meandering life
From work to shop to sleep to work to shop to sleep,
Supplanted by the unattainable mental utopia,
Supplanted by delusions in the colour of dreams,
Supplanted by 10,000 madman notes on the nature of daylight,
Tender sounds accelerated into screams,
Lost in the pylon forest,
Trapped by Tendonitis, Tinnitus, and terrestrial TV,
Stifling the electoral laugh,
Deafened by D-beat, Dubstep, and Democratic conventions,
Bled to death in Bosnia,
Died in Damascus,
Executed in Entebbe,
Murdered in Mogadishu,
Born in Berlin,
Lived in London,
Carried in Copenhagen,
And again in Amsterdam,
Until tomorrow’s endless oceans
Forecast nothing of their waves,
Until tomorrow’s endless oceans
Safely say their real names.

You used to call me Starshine
I used to wonder why.
I used to call you Moonshine, now I
See the reason I

Got so drunk off words you spoke I
nearly went blind.
Now and then see you pretend
through misty foggy eyes

That time the wind and us the dust
swept up away and off.
Nothing left where nothing was
swept up away and off.

(you know)
I could never lie when I was
staring at your curls.
Cashing in those empty bottles
just to buy you pearls.

I drank 'em first but there's no thirst
quite like the one you left me with.
Always parched, and never quenched until
I find you in a fifth.

I used to call you Moonshine
Now you're whiskey, bourbon, rye.
You used to call me Starshine
and I still wonder why.

you are your heart
you are the art you hang on your walls
you are your 2pm thoughts and your 2am sulks
you are the whole and you are the parts
you are your heart,
beating-
reminding you
what it means
to be and to breathe

sting of the slap and salt from the tears,
our knees grazed and our hearty laughs,
ringing, resonant. the smoke from our
cigarettes, overwhelming, customary,
the spill of a drink and the shake of a head,
we retire; another night, parting,
left to our fears.