I stand at the top of a mountain

A six month ascent has brought me here

I am cold and winded. I am alone

A six month trudge through Hell and up hard passes has brought me here

I feel as I have died a hundred times, only to be born again

Each new life shorter and crueler than the last, yet long enough to climb another hundred yards

(climb I did, though it killed me)

now I look over the great wide range

And in a moment of quiet respite, I stand at the top of a mountain

Only as I plan to climb another one

I can remind myself of the real reason for things
and preach to myself about where my value comes from

I’m comforted at the foolishness
of my breathing thinking fearing
and pleased with the vanity for a moment
till the smile fades and the reality of my 6am
hits me hard again

but that’s why I keep preaching.


January 22, 2016

at 12 am you notice the sound
of your own heart beating
teeth rotting out of your head
you decide not to sleep tonight
and get high instead

you’re in love with a dead horse
these glasses cost you a million dollars
what do you do with your own time
but say what’s all been said?

are you your own fucking body?
is your body fucking you?
are you going to waste our fucking time here?
do you know what means what to you?

you make me feel like the bad guy
like i’m not good enough
you want me to lick your shoes
it’s fucked up that you keep asking
you pretend that it’s not fucked up
that you keep asking
everyone knows it’s fucked up,
but you keep asking
like i’m not good enough
you make me feel like i’m the bad guy
like i’ve still got something to prove
like being a failure isn’t bad enough
you make me feel like the bad guy
and like i’m not up to your standards
but you couldn’t care less about me
and it’s fucked up that you keep asking
for me to lick your shoes
i know that i’m not good enough
to be a friendly fucking robot
and i wish i didn’t care
i wish i didn’t feel like the bad guy
and my life wasn’t all fucked up
i am building a home at the
base of the mountain
because i couldn’t make my way up
please don’t visit me there.

‘Please Talk To Me’

December 25, 2015

I would say at points
‘I want to make things right’,
I would always insist

Then I would proceed to
steam-roll and ignore;
beg you speak your mind
and then simply disregard

all the while getting annoyed
as you deigned to speak out less
and less

Now we hardly speak at all

and it’s all I can do to stop myself
from sitting and writing: Please

talk to me

please talk to me

please talk to me

please talk to me

please talk to me

please talk to me

please talk to me

please talk to me


Keeping Score

December 24, 2015

I could make a list
of everything you didn’t do
and I could set it next to
my own and I could assemble
a committee of fair and reasonable
unaffiliated parties who
with some deliberation
could assign point values
to each individual lack-of-movement
and when they tallied the score
I guarantee that those numbers
would be so damn close
it would come out in a wash
and Goodness knows we need
a good scrubing-down

maybe I can push aside these fears
and carry the weight of this more silently.

or maybe I can unload the weight
drop it on your shoulders instead of mine.

but letting go has never been one of my strengths
and then, succeeding hasn’t been either.

they’ll probably get along just fine without me

The Ceiling Fan Is On

December 22, 2015

As much as I love each waking day
there’s a laying night to match
often empty and these days
clouded with not a star to see

would that I could trade in
all these laying nights for
all the waking nights that
had come before instead

I think we’d both be happier
or I think we’d both be
a little less sad,
at least

But your smile and laugh
were as sweet as my memory
had ever over-exaggerated

You were the bullet-point
at the beginning of the word

You shined bright enough
for me to shade my eyes
but not so bright to blind me

And You were ready to say
what you had to say
when I did just the same

And I’m not sure
that I’ll ever be ready for you

yours is a selfish war

December 3, 2015

you rush forward
in simple straight lines
bayonets readied to
receive the deathly gasps
of your fellow country-men
of your enemy
and after
you close your eyes
and bury it sharply
into their chest
you look back
desperately for some type of
approval and see nothing
but a general
atop a horse

I can’t stop thinking about your eyes

I only want to stare at them forever

or at least until I am trapped inside of them

then I will rest easily and eternally

I will know what the word ‘peace’ really means

but I am toiling now for certain

I am only pausing some of the time

and in each of these fleeting stolen moments

I can’t stop thinking about your eyes

Lay Here, Thinking About Love

November 20, 2015

To stand on the cusp of a waking dream
is a dream all itself
and yet I stand coughing up
a bittersweet backwash
as I lay here, thinking about love
and I am tempered fully
because the adage is true;
you can’t have everything
and Pat Carroll was right, too
about everything, just like I feared
he may be

on wichita, ks

November 17, 2015

wichita is a pretty crack whore
who was cool in high school, once
but now an addict
selling her self and begging

as i sit with her on a street corner
before the winter when kansas
has warm fall breezes that travel
far across the empty plains
we talk sarcastically about
old inside jokes shared between
normal high school friends
but i won’t leave here without her crying
and begging me for change
and if i refuse
offering to sell me ass

it’s the oil running through
her veins that makes her cheap
and desperate


November 10, 2015

There is a monster inside of you
and inside of me, too
and it is the same monster
because this monster is omnipresent
like a God, or like an Elder God
with wrapping tentacles
with venomous teeth
and it does not feed so much as consume
and it poisons us with dark dreams
with horrible sadnesses and imagined perils
it’s toxin will teach us to fear everything we’ve ever loved
there is no medicine to bring us back to health
and even reason and good faith can do little to assuage its infection

This monster will go eventually
but only after feasting to it’s content
after we are left white and meek and beaten
We will lay in our own sick
and wretch over our hopes and dreams
but if we remain resolute
and only let our disease get the best of us sometimes
we will be able to stand eventually
and the tightness will leave our chest
the aches will leave our beleaguered muscles
and we will walk again nearly as assured as before

Then we will be as we have always been
but for the monster that we know to be lurking
everywhere and anywhere at once

Tuesday Dawn

November 3, 2015

I jumped at a shadow
And woke myself

My muscles tense as mid-crunch,
Sweat soaking brow as well

Soon I calmed and settled
In the dark of my bedroom

When the lights are out
There are no shadows, I noted

Or everything is shadows.
Perhaps it is the same.

The Sun is warm
as it reveals the world
to those who would discover it

It casts shadows, too;
it creates mirages
when it burns too bright

It blisters skin,
it boils out moistures,
it saps all fight from a man

And I am thankful for its light
And I am fearful of its shadows
And I wonder, is this what dying feels like?

Would that I could find an answer
But only the dead have it
And the dead I know don’t say a word

Shallow and Meaningless

November 1, 2015

Part 1 – Untitled

On my way to the airport my mother mentions that a Nigerian man will be coming to live with her. His brother, who is named after a day in the week, is constantly texting her.

“No one has ever said such nice things to me” she says, showing me one of his text messages.

The Nigerian is coming to go to college. “It feels nice to be able to change someone’s life” she says. I wonder why it can’t be her life, or my life, or my autistic brother’s life. She’s given up on us, I suppose.

It is a beautiful July Sunday in Southwest Michigan. The sun beats brilliant down upon the I-94 where the animals know to stay the fuck away.

We arrive at Gerald R. Ford Memorial Airport. An interstate hub. I’m going to visit my Grandmother.

I’m flying with with an airline named Allegiant which I am certain is being run by a couple of computers in a call center basement somewhere in India.

As I arrive to my gate I survey the other passengers. I think of the movie Final Destination but decide to fly anyway. I imagine us all getting sucked out of the pressurized cabin into the air. I think they are all looking around thinking the same thing.

Maybe I’m projecting.

They have the passengers split up into sections. I’m in group three, there is no group one or two, some of group four has window seats but they’re seated last.

I am sat next to an attractive young woman. Potentially younger than 18, although, in my 20s, it is hard now for me to call. She has deep dark red hair and is dressed in a black, laced dress. There’s a seat open still and I say “maybe we’ll get an extra seat, that would be nice.”

She says “yeah.”

A young family of four are to sit near us, a mother and three girls. One of the girls fills the window seat. She looks just like my ex-girlfriend’s younger sister, but thinner. Has the same name: Julie. She wears glasses. She, too, is probably under 18, though I still cannot tell.

Their skin is like porcelain. To my right is the smell of fruit, to my left is the smell of lavendar. I sneak glances at them on occasion, but I never say a word. I imagine fucking them both, and how disappointed we would all be about it; myself, each of them, those I love, damn near everybody. I decide it’s best to not say a word for almost the whole trip.

“The landing is the worst part” I finally say, as we begin to descend.

Read the rest of this entry »

Friday Morning

October 30, 2015

Now I travel South
Towards a break in the clouds,
Sun, with any luck

And I need you to remember
that even after the coldest,
darkest, rainiest days,
sometimes the clouds break
just enough for the stars
to shine through,
and sometimes the night
warms up enough for you
to take your coat off,
after all

So I
Guess I’ll
Float through


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