if i spent time worrying
about the things that came
out of my mouth or the
people being killed in
distant lands or the
bums outside begging for
meals or the kids getting
beat in their beds by
their dads than i would
be crying all the damn
time like you and your
liberal friends so i
don’t.
and i don’t watch what
comes out of my mouth,
or who it offends.
and i don’t watch
where i put my p.eriods
because i’ve, never;
ended. a sente,nc;.,
probably in my life.,.;’\
and i don’t care about
my fellow man unless
he is one.

Have you ever tried to write a song
at 2pm with blinds undrawn
and lights and television on?
It isn’t that conducive

But 3am you find the time
to marry chords with merry rhymes
and pen another masterpiece:
the Great Opus Elusive

You score all of the hardest parts
and with great care, proof-play the charts
and hope you’ve made a work of art
Of which you can be proud

But your last movement doesn’t fit
the ending won’t come to you yet
You’ll just have to wait to finish
and put it in your desk for now.

It’s sometimes hard
to bring yourself
to do something
that you’ve already done.

But Slight imperfection asks
nay, demands
that you reiterate your actions.

Repeat them in full.
Complete another movement.
For your own peace of mind.

Sometimes it’s all we can do.
Sometimes,
we’re lucky for the luxury.

pink polka spots
on your otherwise disease free
perfectly clown feet

Simply put
this context is
unoriginal at best
and largely
under-appreciated,
given the circumstances.

Don’t let too much drain out
There’s not much left to strain if
you do that.

Or, at the very least,

plug the fucking sink.

because whether you are aware or not
people don’t think you are nearly as
cool as you think you are hot

Well I’m not interested
but I’ll buy it anyway
so just wrap it up
send it out
Oh, and bill me

I’ve listened to your jabber
and while I’m not impressed
I’ll hear one more,
because your strange accent
just thrills me

I’ve tried to think abstractly
as to why I buy your charm
but it seems to me
the concept simply
rings quite truly

So I’ll take what you can offer
and a bit more if I can
since I’m your biggest fan
you ought to keep me smiling
Or it kills me

But if I ask too much this time
don’t forget to bill me

Let me tell you
I always keep one foot on the outside
I hate crowds, teams, groups and constellations
What the hell is the cosmos?
More than 2 people together, it’s a conspiracy,
it’s a fracken world order.
Where is my earthly exit?

I know where the bees go
when the honey gets too much
( after all, the queen will always have her nectar)
They are exactly like him, in all the wrong way,
moving in a pack, following lead.
Sometimes, he shakes his head maybe hoping
to fill the gap between my teeth, and I wonder what if
I had been a one-of-the-guys sort of gal.
Would I be … ?
Hell, two people can become a crowd or a dead end
Yet I somehow bet it all on the three-legged horse relationship
I striked big: the fusion of two souls never to be apart,etc…
an instant, a page drawn out of the book of some dead poet

Now having been a butterfly,
I have to turn back into a catterpillar.
and this time, unlike the bees, I will not stray from my flight path
Exactly like him, I will entice/buy/steal a soul for less, strip it into little parts
and sell them for more;
My love will be entirely capitalistic
I will join the crowd so I can better feed on them
I will wriggle my green caterpillar bottom at the top of the food chain,
and you, my love, I will show you spite and rage
I’ll show you how it feels to walk alone in the dark

Schmurpose
Burpuse

That’s what I’ve thought lately
about finding my identity
where i’m supposed to be
and in what capacity,
what i’m supposed to do
and how best to please you.

The only conclusion then to reach
is that i’d rather just be on the beach,
sipping from a strong drink
and trying my best not to sink
into the quicksand of oblivion
brought on by my suffocating boredom.

as a child learns for the first time to
lick his fingers and pinch the candle
wick, he cant stop it’s so amusing,

you’ve stifled my excitement

i enter each room in this house
and over the course of perhaps a month
i spend what it takes to claw at the barren
walls and i claw scratch until my fingers
ache, my nails scrape free and i burn
art into these walls often so ugly
it falls short of poetic but the artistry
is still there

feeling sick of hope i move across the
hall and claw at pride only to find
my fingers can take no more and the
walls are nearly crimson instead of white

the art has passed from room to room
for these five months and i’m beginning to wonder
if there are any empty spaces on walls
in rooms i’ve already visited or

if there are any rooms i’ve yet to step into
perhaps another den, another kitchen,
i’d kill for living room to bleed on for a while

i’m afraid most of the restrooms are now free
of dry wall and standing mere skeletons of
wood and electrical wire

leaking out with bars through the neck
so strong… in stench as though sewn
together from other dead entities
clearing the room with its horrifying
scream

my pride in my creation

Prop open your
favorite pair of
tired, drooping
eyelids and
hope you won’t
need to let them
rest at all
too soon.

There’s been a lot of
talk that there’s been
trouble at the mill
and you can bet
it’s all your problem
so enjoy your last
sit-still.