if i could get rich today

i’d send this all away;
i’d walk right out the door
and never look for more.

i’d grow my hair long,
my beard would be fit for song,
and all anyone would see
would be the slightest resemblance of me.

i’d turn into a bum,
and shut myself in from the sun,
only coming out at night,
to protect my eyes from the light.

and no one would give me a thought,
i’d let me reputation rot,
glad to have finally disappeared,
glad to have finally repaired.

running off the edge

but the edge keeps moving,
keeping pace with my every step,
refusing to submit to my ardent desire:
to throw myself off,
to fall off the edge,
to see the end of it all
as it begins again
and again,
each and every day.

the art dealer

sat there, lonely
in the flow of the crowd,
watching the passers-by
and all of the drug-store connoisseurs,
waiting for the real buyer
that he knew would never come.
but still he waits.
and is there even now,
silently judging the drug-store connoisseurs.

if i were a killer

i’d never let you know.
i’d look you in the eye
and laugh at all your jokes,
while disarming all your fears.

i’d stand up straight.
i’d dress just right,
and always tuck in my shirt,
while never forgeting my belt.

i’d hold a respectable job.
i’d talk about it all the time,
and rub elbows with the elite,
while winning over your mom.

i’d be everything you wanted.
i’d be everything you needed,
and when you least expected,
i’d gladly slit your throat.

the garden

regularly spaced
and free of weeds;
full of potential,
full of hope;
but potential has been squandered,
and hope has been crushed;
so what will it be this time?
what will you be this time?
and what will i?

and he grew

and grew
until he was unrecognizable,
and even more so to himself,
doing things never before conceived
just six months before,
becoming something new
with every passing day,
unsure of what he would be;
surprisingly unconcerned.


running into friends,
or something like that,
who have not been seen
for at least two years,
and yet there is a connection;
and yet there is a collection;
of shared feelingshopesdreamsloves
that is not easily lost,
even by the passing of time;
even by the passing.


breathe in.
breathe out.
but it’s still the same.
now shut the eyes
and plug the headphones,
while dialing up some mates.
and maybe things will be better
by the song’s end…

like a bad grape

you are slightly deformed
and while I consider eating you,
the thought of your strange projection,
bursting in my mouth,
is slightly sickening;
and though I know that in a dark room
i would never notice,
in the light, i just can’t do it.

so i will zip you up,
and lock you away from the outer air;
then i will forget you;
and in a few weeks, purely by accident,
perhaps i will find you,
and perhaps I will marvel,
and perhaps my curiosity will lead me
to take a long overdue bite.

“what will it take”?

looking up,
that’s all there was;
and as the question hung,
what answer could there be?

and that’s when we turned,
and walked away.
never looking back.
never holding on.
never regretting.


i’ve got to shake this feeling
but it won’t be shaken,
sneaking up again,
catching me at unawares,
just when I look away





clawing my shoulders,
scrabbling to hold on,
slowly burrowing;
forcing its head
into my head;
forcing my head
out of its head;
until soon,
all that I was
will be gone
and all that I will be
is parasitic.

day-time TV

watching train wrecks,
in two minute segments,
each piling up
behind the one before,
progressively blocking from mind
any hope that my train will arrive
safe, secure, and on time.

stagnation: damnation

it’s been a while,
and i have whiled
sweet time away
with little to say
for three months;
six months.
nine months;
twelve months:
that makes a year,
and that is a dear
thing to waste,
in want of haste,
with lack of foresight,
and too much hindsight.

the wind-down

despite the loaded bases,
i’ll throw one more,
checking the first
and the second,
finally the third,
hoping to close it out
and get the save,
but this is the end,
no matter what happens,
and in that freedom,
i’ll wind myself up,
hoping to not let you down.

what happens when i watch scott pilgrim…

let me first preface,
with an acknowledgment
of the total geek out,
shortly to follow,
but sometimes it’s necessary
to hear the songs of zelda
playing in one’s head,
as strength develops,
to the sound of my hearts,
and i’ll face another boss
and shoot my master sword,
then round out the game
by saving my lady’s day,
sending ganon back
to the dark world from which he came,
all metaphorically of course.

October is over

and once again I’m alive,
seeing the waning light
at the end of the fall;
gaining strength
from rotting leaves,
dying grass,
general decay;
hoping that i’ll survive
while watching everything else die.