at the thought
of your touch,
slowly moving
from navel to nipple,
from knee to neck,
from the boundaries of me
into the borders of you.

and in those deep, dark advancements of time
we all tend to scream out that none
of us has done anything wrong.

The car won’t start. Nobody did anything
to it, but the car won’t start. Nevermind
the sand in the gas tank. The car wont’ start.
And nobody did anything to it.

It’s raining
so I pitched my tent
but all my stuff is
soaking wet.

well I suppose that’s
what I get
for doing too little
too late.

the question remains
do i get paid more
for leaving behind skid
marks as i pinch and squeeze
and struggle my way home
knowing i left my house
in far too loose a condition
to be running around with
these lubed up bowels

and making it home
on time?
*sort of?

I thought of something
witty that I’d try
to scratch down with
my pen but that
device is now
devoid of all the
stuff it used to give
so willingly.

All I needed was
but a few small
drops.

All I got was a
curly-cue in the corner
and a broken pen
cartridge on my
carpeted floor.

The ink, of course,
went everywhere

The new carpet is multicolored
Splashed and sprawled out fabric
Stringy hues overlapping each other
Rainbows knitted together
Weaving and winding
Held captive by the walls
Crawling and climbing
Like a bag of gummy worms
Slithering beneath my feet

oh life’s a
riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide
walkin’ around town
with you all day
drink till i’m drunk
or i’m sober again
pull of my skin
let it blow in the wind
oh life’s like a
riiiiiiiiiiiiiiide (ha
ha) ah
you speak in a language
so beautiful
i wish i could read it
my fragmented brain
my softspoken penis
whispers in my ear
“lets feel alive”
so i do, oh i do
how contrived
strapped in to this
riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide

flight brought tears
not to my eyes
but to an (interesting rhyming concept)

Thought I’d
try something different.
Well, not so different, so
much as classic. Well, not
so much classic, as just
old hat.

Get in to it.
Live it.
Breathe it.
Be it.

If you’re not panting
you’re doing it wrong.

never shoulda opened this door
never shoulda looked inside it
never shoulda walked in this room
never shoulda sat down

never shoulda opened this door
never shoulda looked inside it
never shoulda walked in this room
never shoulda sat down

never shoulda opened this door
never shoulda looked inside it
never shoulda walked in this room
never shoulda sat down

did you ever know that i eat gyros?
i’ve always been a fan of real greek food
i can get plenty at the foodcourt
’cause you are the one who buys me things

Standing erect and straight
Like statues
Their ranks spread out vastly
In every direction
Stone faced glares
Look onward towards combat
At the ready, guns upright
Commander’s bellows
And trumpeters lungs
Frozen
As the colossal enemy
Looms ahead
A shrieking cry
Proliferates the battlefield
Followed by the earth trembling
Charge of the monster
Crushing regiments like the impact
Of pennies on a train track
As she pounces to her food dish
Behind the plastic soldiers

Shh…
I think the Ford’s on fire
parked out on the open field
behind the Jones’ house.

Let’s watch and hope that it explodes
just like our favorite T.V. Shows
but no-one will get hurt,
that’s how it works.
Or at least, so I was told…