part 4 in a series inspired by Shia LeBeouf’s tweets

tell me you think i’m beautiful
even if it is a lie
and let us not shy away from
the utility in fucking
the rent is paid now for sure
but i still feel homeless
i know you too well now to even
have a firm idea of
well i mean the relativity of it all
is the only solid thing
i can’t stop looking at my
phone and computer

even heaven seems really boring

i don’t know what i’m waiting for

this sinking feeling that is bottomless

you can’t talk your way out of this one

part 3 in a series inspired by Shia LeBeouf’s tweets

hold your breath, count to two
dive into the deep end

remember: you must get out
or you will dissolve eventually

close your eyes, count to two
don’t let your teeth fall out

remember: you need air to breath
grab the firm ground and pull

your limp body out
don’t go back until
you’ve learned to swim
dry off in
the light of a dying star
the summer sun
on the floor of a rounded
petri dish
floating like a soap bubble
through the void
it’s just like your mother
never taught you:
find what’s inside
while you still have time
and hold it with your breath
mark the moments
with your counting
open eyes and start anew
open eyes and start anew

davey and judi

May 14, 2015

she had no home but
that’s ok
davey had a fast car
and everybody knew it
and she thought she loved marky
but then when she got pregnant
marky just stayed with doretta
isn’t that messed up?
and when the pills didn’t work
(it was too late)
no one would come over
so she panicked,
and she kept it
and then built a home with ronnie
but she always was with davey,
in his fast car
always skinny
always young

you are scooping bowls of ice cream
it is 1978 and you are scooping 3 bowls
1 for you, your daughter, and your son
in the distance you hear them laughing
at the television as the bright spring
florida sunset beats down on your kitchen
you struggle to pick up the bowls and carry
them to the basement
but you make it just fine
and as you set the bowls down you forget
what or who you were getting them for
because you haven’t spoken to your children
in years
it’s 2016
and your wife is crying.

part 2 in a series inspired by Shia LeBeouf’s tweets

don’t let them see me like this

i am not who i am

i am so
fucking sorry

forgive me
for
i live with an ugly
stranger

i mean

i am sometimes
an ugly stranger

i don’t know from where
it comes
i don’t even know how i
got here

please help me with me

and just don’t
don’t let them see me
like this

part 1 in a series inspired by Shia LeBeouf’s tweets

your emotions have
locked you in a box

your life is your life
and your life is hate-fucking
a bad ex-lover
whenever they come around

i’ve no sympathy but to unlock
the door
you can’t hear me knocking,
anyhow

my turned back finds a dusty trail

to follow but wherever i go

it’s like the fucking

hate-fuck capital of the world and

it hurts most

when the faces are

familiar

what race are you?
how dark is your skin?

what genitals do you have?
which ones were you born with?
which ones do you wish you had?
who do you want to fuck?

how much does your father make?
and your mother?
and yourself?

what part of town are you from?
what part of town do you look like you’re from?
what color clothes are you wearing?
what style?

what is your dialect or accent?

do you have any children?
how many?

ok,
fill out the form below
and remember
racism, sexism, classism
and all other forms of phobias and isms
are strictly
prohibited.

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

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.

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
discernable
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
visage

the nothing and everything will
exist there, simultaneous

yet vehemently apposed

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
every
single
day

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

however

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

die.

wasting potential

October 2, 2014

i will leave you on the shelf
fresh and new in your wrapper
but i will shop here every day
and buy anything but you

every day i will scan the isles
just to catch a glimpse

sure, i could take you home
unwrap you and use you
find all the things that make you great
but also the shortcomings
of your design

i’ve come to hate my own tastes
anyhow
and i’m sure i would treat you
no better than i treat myself

even the illusion of you
deserves more than me

so i will leave you on the shelf
shiny and wrapped up
i will shop here every day
and the distance between us
will feel like miles, to me
just another nameless face
at the store.

the wolf on wall street 2

September 25, 2014

now i will tell you about
the wolf on raymond st

i had been holed up blissfuly
in my home for who knows how long

i heard you howling outside
caged by my spineless greed

and i hiding away from the
relentless cold wanted to check
to make sure you were still living
boxed and forgotten in my back yard

startled at the cold, yet the
only one willing to brave it

a child of maybe 12 wincing at
the truth of your morbid reality

you had always greeted me with warmth
even when in the most bitter cold

your water-bowl had been frozen over
for days, possibly weeks

i would refill it, only to forget
again and let it freeze over surely

and you were always a wolf, to me
wild as the virtue of nature

and in the dead quiet winter night
an unwilling accomplice to torture
i sat with you and tried my best
to beg forgiveness, crying

and one night i saw you
climb clear over the fence
and unflinchingly sprint
into the night

like the truth in world
full of liars.

on 26

September 17, 2014

he changed his surroundings and then
they changed him in a cycle that would
spit out each year for evaluation an
entirely unanticipated product

engineers could not figure out
this mechanism

“and here we see”
it was mused
“our 26th variant.
this organism which had built a hut
from dinosaur bones and aspired to
dominate its surroundings has since
put on considerable weight,
lost all appetite,
and lost all vision and drive.”

at what point
they wondered
do we cancel such an expirement?

never, said the boss
who colluded with the stars to
what ends no one could imagine

“let him stew in his own filth,
as he is doing now
and if he dies from it,
make note.”

“note down what?”
asked one of the engineers

“everything he ever thought and did”
said the boss.

“if we don’t get it right this time
at least we won’t have wasted data.”

the engineers scoffed at this idea

from their perspective,
this one organism had no worthwhile data
to note

the organism, however,
agreed with the boss
although neither of them
knew it. the 26th variant
would hear these things in
his sleep
every night
but could never remember
his dreams well enough
to break the endless cycle.

you don’t dare look your mother told you it is a monster when i open my chest wide to let out the pressure and in a moment i cannot feel the shame woah it is just me and the beast born in me which to me is an old, clever friend who licks at my face and wags its tail and jumps around on me, it’s negligent captor, only knowing of its cage and its surroundings and that i am never home with it or let it out to be pet glad to see me, like i am its father, and in the darkness it is a cruel beast with red eyes pretensed though that is i cannot disagree, much, and yeah maybe i admit that it is a bit monstrous and yeah maybe i admit it needs the cage, the malnutrition the snaps of anger i have when you walk into the room and it growls, and grumbles, and shakes its rusty cage, for the sake of civility and sanity and all of the rest but what i find to be curious and what i know to be true and what really drives me nuts and what really doesn’t seem fair is how the dark ages for me are like a renaissance for you and you parade your monsters all around town on thin leashes disregarding the damages done and it doesn’t seem fair, not one bit, for me to live in shame and hide this natural human-monster that wants only to eat and eat until it is full, and be carnivorous, and do all the bad things that your monsters secretly crave YES I WILL SAY IT your creature secretly craves this one to be let out, maybe only leashed, but even sometimes then let off growling and snorting and sniffing the dirt on your body looking for a place to lick clean of nutrients and then move right along to the next.

robin

August 12, 2014

you leave the angel in your bed for the street
afraid that she will wake up
and want more than light-beams for blankets

you know the rent is not due
and all-around people love your pictures
but they can’t love you
not even you love you

in your eyes are the shadows of 23,000 ghosts
give or take
and as the madness sets in
you don’t know what is more real

maybe my couch would not have been good enough
for you
even if we talked all night
maybe your back was crooked beyond the repair of
any doctor
maybe it is like that

for all of us, one day

and only those who like the pain
fight through it

but what you didn’t know, robin
is that you held the hope of the world
and if your eyes saw enough
well
what are mine good for?

i would reach into our mother’s womb
untagle your cords and
strangle the heavens

i would spend my time
not as a child
but a wise mentor

instead of tripping you
face-first into the table
i would catch you
in all manners of speaking
in every extensive metaphor
i would catch you

but i would give it to you straight
because i knew you could take it
because you’re fucking Jesse James
and in a past life

you were the baddest

i would show you how to lift the world as a whole
we would grow up together
and plot and scheme

good god would we plot and scheme

with our backs together

if i could make time travel backwards
and lift up all this rain
i would do it just for you,

my brother.

i thought if someone asked me right now
i would start over at that beach

and maybe i would do everything differently
or maybe i would try and keep it the same
but i would know if someone came to take me

back to floribama
instantly

my mind spends time there
sometimes
i freeze as i peer out
to the part of the beach that
curves around to just more
ocean on the other side
like we had reached the
end of the land
sun beating down my face
ocean breeze whipping around
right before the first love
that i had known since loss
crumbled in my hands

and maybe i would watch it crumble
or maybe i would stop to save it
i can’t know now
but i would know, instantly
if someone came
to take me.

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