March 22, 2015

Fill me up a cup,
Cause it’s been a long day.
And I’d love to say
That I’ve been out on the range.
Ropin’ the cattle,
And cuttin’ off their balls,
Brandin’ my mark,
Coverin’ it all.
But, I think you know me,
Know me enough to say
That all I’ve been doin’,
Doin’ the live-long day,
Is playin’ some video games
And watchin’ some TV.
But even so, I feel the need,
The need to get some whisky in me.

The Lecture Hall

March 17, 2015

Tans abound, bathed in
reflecting, radiating, vibrating
softly, glowing fluorescent light.

Worn carpet rests under;
never-in-style patterns surround
as ideas are tossed lazily about.

Some have merit,
some do not.
Some are young and vibrant,
most are not.

Reflected, radiated, vibrated
in lifeless fluorescent light,
surrounded by worn tans,
trying not to stand out.

a poem for today

March 17, 2015

ignorance is meaningless bliss and
the self-aware piece of the larger machine
lives in agony
as it sucks in death and pumps out life
like the ticking of an ageless clock
ceaseless and maddening

the precisely timed moments of
silence have been defined as freedom

in this time the self-aware piece of the
larger machine tends to its surroundings
and reflects and
tries to make a smile and
clasps its hands together and with all the
hope of a hopeless world prays and wishes
for there to be some other place

a place not made out of a machine
a place where self-aware pieces can be a part
of a larger nothing
and can identify as such
and can give freedom a new meaning

where there would be no product or good
no machination and
no life and
no death and

that hope is so fucking strong
it makes the loathing of ticks and the tocks
and the siren that calls you back to work
just palatable enough to stomach

this poem is for you, today
the same as ever yet infinitely unique
just like everything else


March 13, 2015

I used to be better at this,

but no matter, for still I go

up and down, down and up.

And as I climb, I see you there,

over the fence, laying in the sun.

Then all I see is wood, on the descent,

until yet again, there you are,

smiling as you see me.

And too late, I return an awkward smile,

only to have it blocked by the downward fall.

But just as gravity sucks me down,

so also will it spit me up again,

and perhaps you’ll see me smile back.

On his way to Taco Bell he smoked a bowl that he had hidden his glove compartment that morning. He wanted to say “I’d like some dog food wrapped in a tortilla” at the drive-thru but instead he just ordered a #6. On his way back to work he plotted and schemed at ways to make more money. “That is what growing up is about,” he thought. He liked to get really high and think about great things to do and then not do them.

His car was a mess. He pulled up to the office where he works, which is an elementary school converted into an office building. You could tell that his mid-adult sedentary lifestyle had caught up with him when he got out of his car. After having put on a substantial amount of weight relatively recently, his wardrobe suffered immensely. His wrinkled beige dress-pants barely covered his ankles. He was wearing a winter coat covered in cat hair on a 50 degree day in March whose sleeves would pull back passed his wrists at certain angles.

He waddled into his office and put his Taco Bell down on his desk. A large pepsi, two tacos, and a “mexican pizza.” Although no worthwhile food critic would call this a mexican lunch, that’s what it was marketed to him as. He sat down and opened a text editor and began to write a scathing critique of himself from a 3rd person perspective.

He felt that anyone looking at him could understand the jist of it.

Spring Break

March 12, 2015

If holidays were ranked,

first of course would be

the holiday of holidays,

the everythingakidcouldwantallrolledintoone extravaganza!

Of course I’m talking about Christmas.

And I can see the argument, of course,

to rank Thanksgiving next,

with the food and the leaves,

and the food and the family,

and, of course, the food and the, did I say food?

But up there somewhere is the break of spring,

which trades presents for getaways

and trades family for lazy days.

And, yes, the food may not be as nice,

but I’d trade it for sleeping late twice.

my eyes see only inside

March 12, 2015

i’ve grown appropriately concerned
with the way my head has turned inward
on itself,
my eyes see only inside.
i’m entirely incapable of looking at others,
neither noticing nor acknowledging their existence.
my eyes see only inside.
my ears hear the world
around me. the very one my vision ignores
and the signals in my brain are confused.
at once aware of the world, and blind to it at the very same time.
inward facing, while certainly more familiar,
only gives me front row seats to watch
my heart harden.

hey dude

March 9, 2015

(to the tune of Hey Jude)
Hey dude, don’t get that backpack
Take a side bag, and add a strap to it
Remember, to save a sport for your fart
Then you can try, to save it for later

Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey dude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey dude

A Heart of Flesh

March 8, 2015

A heart of flesh

is a dangerous thing

because it causes so much pain.

How much easier I always find it to be

to live with a heart of stone

inside of me.

Because a stone does not feel.

Because a stone has no need to heal.

Instead, it just chips away,

weathered and ripped apart

by the wind and the rain.

And flesh is just so weak,

able to be stabbedtornbroken

by the hands of man.

And it hurts so much to feel,

because every piece that breaks

causes so much ache.

So the temptation is so strong

to be a stone that rolls along

without feeling,

without touching,

without purpose.

But that life is not for me,

not since I looked at that tree.

And that life is not for me,

because even through the pain

a heart of flesh can find joy in the rain.

there is no clarity in this cloud
where schizophrenic whispers argue
semtantics and extort logical
fallacies and emotional pleas
until you cannot even remember your name

in the solvent mist of the cloud
that slowly turns you into it

with my head up this high i have learned
many things but also nothing at all

as what i think i know blurs at the edges
and dissolves down until each of it’s
individual particles is separate and alone

the cloud is insanity
and every moment of life is viewed
through the prism of a raindrop
and the only
edges are the ones of each atom

and these edges are the stiffest to be known

these particles bounce around endlessly
with nothing to hold onto

within the cloud

melting and assimilating all that come near
and reality is an infinite multitude of entirely
different viewpoints on the same

the nothing and everything will
exist there, simultaneous

yet vehemently apposed


March 4, 2015

I’m tired of being defined
by circumstance
by apathy
by me

So moving forward, this is the plan
to be brave
to be tough
to be what I want

And I am quite sure
that I’ll slip
that I’ll fail
that I’ll fall

But I can live with that
just as long
as I keep on
being who I want to be.

ponderings on pot

March 3, 2015

toilet design was taught in college
completely void of training in the field of acoustics.

hey na. hey na na na na.

i’m pooping in my in-laws
considering this clear omission

hey na. hey na na na na.

befuddled at the human race.

hey na. hey na na na na.

unrelated: too many bathrooms are designed in to houses too close to kitchens or dining rooms.

hey na. hey na na na na na na.

March 2, 2015

they’re out now
looking around the corners
and digging in our back yards
for our secrets
to hide them away
all winter long
where we will never
find them.

they use our secrets to keep
warm, and call it hibernation.

they’re out now
and digging around, looking for
buried skeletons.

Not about a walkabout skeleton
in a black robe, with a threshing blade
or a plague or a sickness
or a rock-and-roll band

This is about the feeling
that washes over you
as you stand in a room
while another human being
struggles to keep blood pumping
through their veins
even though everyone knows
they should be gone by now

This is that stone in your gut
as you hang up the phone
from hearing the news: someone
whom you loved very dearly
had wrapped a strong rope
about their neck and throat
and tightened it somehow
until they were no longer breathing

Here, now, the dizziness that comes
when you remind yourself
that the phone number you were dialing
no longer connects

Here, the pain of knowing that
nothing you can do can
bring somebody back,
so it’s too late for some things
and all the apologies you owe
will have to go unsaid

This is a poem about death
and it is not romantic
because there is no romance in death

It is not beautiful,
there is no beauty in it either

it is dark and cold
and it is sad

poem writin’ time

February 23, 2015

i done downright forgot to get me round
these parts the days
done gone and valued other things
o’er my old values
and i’ll prolly forget again
here in no time

what with the chaos and all.

but if any time is poem writin’ time
seems like unemployment ought be it

what with the chaos and all

This time will be different

Just like every other time was

The screws are to me, now

I can feel them on my forehead

and my finger-tops

and just in to my spirit

so I will try to erase a decade of knowing better

I will understand that late is better than never

but I will know that late is failure, too

These screws will make sure I don’t forget

harness your dreams

December 18, 2014

the lighting of a candle
starts with the intensity
of a spark born of friction

and when this spark finds
a body for flame, it eats
and eats and eats and eats
because that is what flames do

but the candle’s body, by design
slowly kills the flame

there is no more intensity
only a slow diet of the same shit

when at first the flame was eating
with the passion of the spark
given to it by the friction and destruction
and even a type of devastation on a
molecular level it now,
distant from such an event,
eats only to stay lit

each day it dims with it’s steady diet
and lives in it’s own shit
and one day won’t even be able to breath

about midway through its journey
the flame dreams of the spark

if only it were a human
and not a lit candle
and could harness
it’s own dreams.

i am the third
the unwanted
the abortion surviving fetus turned
useless member of society
raised by a cocaine fueled ignorant
party girl on a steady diet of
denial, abuse, and lies

and yet i press on

cum on my boxers
tears in my dress-pants
business-casualty sitting all day
affront a magical light box connected
to under and above and beside ground
wires piping information for money

my consciousness is like
a genius newborn
or a confused world-weary old man

my illusions of grandeur now reduced
to simplistic forms of survival
like a bourgeoisie upperclass boy
turned homeless and unto the
streets comitting depraved
acts of crime and violence just to
stay alive

i have nothing left but to suck the
hours out of my body in a
self-serving fashion

i sent a letter in a bottle
onto the sea once

it is probably stuck on that
man-made plastic island
floating through the ocean

that letter is some type of metaphor
for self-validation

i don’t fucking know.

a poem for Xu Lizhi

November 5, 2014

all meaning is found
scraping the dirt off the feet
of the blind giants that
stumble around crushing
what is left of natural beauty


malnourished is the mind and thin
and childish and tired of we
who truly do live the land
and i could not begruge you
for picking your own last sunrise

who could?

every soul-filled puss-bag groans
at the sound of the rumbling giants
first thing in the morning
and only the calloused want to watch
the last sunrise, the last beautiful thing


losing battle

October 27, 2014

wrestled today with the things
I was unsure I wanted or needed
the feelings I had about where to go,
how to get there, or even where to start

stopped wrestling

found I was being pinned down in
a losing battle as the referee
hit his hand to mat and said I was out


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