and thats how you found yourself
awake at 5:30 in the morning
freezing to a shake in your shoes
wondering if you have what it takes
to find joy in the sleep deprivation
and the strenuous endlessness of the
road ahead as you ignore red lights
and head for the hills hoping to
return before the sunrise.

I long in private
to know humility.
Something you suffered in full
at the moment of your birth.

Choosing us at the cost of
stepping from paradise to our
filthy rags. Our filthy skin.
Our filthy thoughts, ways, and
friends. Settling for deny-ers,
liars, and betrayers

he’s clothed in grey and hangs
with death until death waves his
scythe in disgust trying to wave
away the scent he carries.

like a Pig-Pen floating in the sky
the dirt moves around with him
carrying a scent he loves to
bring to children and men of all ages.

he had a brief visit with my mother
who claimed he smelled of perfume
when with her. a lie i believed until
i was much too old.

on dates in high school he’d visit and
torment me to hassle me through the
evening laughing in mockery as i consumed
linguine with my date. till the moment
i dropped her off at night, loosened my pants
and sighed a sigh of relief as he
finally
slowly
left me
sputtering
out
screaming. “see you tomorrow!”

an injury induced break
brought to mind the difficulty
of finding endorphines (or something like them)
legally in this day in age.

today we took flight for an hour
to see what our bodies could
still do.

roads to grass to steps to history
to hills past zoos and along rivers
we weaved through crowds and
jumped over folk just to
watch them squirm with fear
and something like joy.

flight for an hour and we returned
home because the time was too
short for a two hour flight when
family is at home counting on you
doing something other than soaking
in endorphines.

bluffage brought roughage
to the cliff ridge

we held hands
and jumped

my words melt you like laser beams.
my rhymes nuke you like nuclear bombs.
my metre rocks you like a boat in waves.
this poem torments you like something
else that torments you.

today i felt myself slowly melt
as i drank a tea worth throwing
and not drinking then threw it
but poorly and nearly broke through
metal as my cake of horror shattered
in pieces and rained down on the
neighbors below red staining
glorious tea.

oh and i worked myself into a hole
yesterday with eight solid hours of nothing
but clicking and copying and pasting
my life into an oblivion (aka 239 footnotes).

but then on inspiration from a book
the library definitely should have had
i sprinted home and mined google books
for sections to quote to fill in the void
and in a burst of brilliance completed
the journey my soul has singularly
(not so much)
pursued for the last six months.

tonight i shall sip wine (for scotch is
celebratory but I lack any in the house at
the moment) and dream grand dreams
of someday graduating from this misery
of a hole i’ve dug myself by enrolling in
higher education. again. and then a third
time. as though i like to poke myself in
the eye with needles.

all of it hoping. praying. someday people
will sit in rows and look to me as authoritative
not because they want to or actually believe it

but because they’re told to.

when the speare no longer needs a shield
i plan to step in and oh how i’ll wield
a pen of greatest portions
denying the smallest doubting notions

a couple of cups of oolong
perfectly suit the minutes we prolong

几杯乌龙
配种让长

Holy crap my English inspiration has actually been outpaced. I suppose it was time. This is effing brilliant in Chinese by the way.

my thumb pulls off to show my child
the world is not how we perceive
for when we find the real is mild
our hearts are slow to this receive.

sweet little child it’s you i love
i break your heart to loose your mind
your hand i hold, your arms i hug
and pray the truth you’ll someday find.

the need we have for our friends,
seems a high value and then,
one of them foots
in small enclosed room
and we take our clubs and beat them

I came in here to you alone
you sat, you frowned, at your cell phone.
A message on the screen was clear
your wife has left. She’s nowhere near.
So taking you for burritos
we talked, you sobbed, you blew your nose.
Beans, and rice, pico, and fat
I’d think could solve any lover’s spat.
But…
The truth is mexican can’t solve
Issues like two missing balls.

dreams
(like poetry)
dont always make sense.
i’ve written enough to know
random symbols tied together
does not symbolism make.

metaphor followed by allegory
does not deep meaning create.

words in order randomized
does not a sage produce.

i’ll express vulnerabilities
as the rest has been
torn away through a slow
peeling as though dipped
in a lemon butter sauce
and pulled – each bite – slowly
through the teeth
filtering the meat from the
leaf.

lets just sit
and allow water
to feel our curves
and wrinkles (as they may be)
and iron them out
or add to them
until we can no longer
stand the sand between
our toes
creeping up between
our ‘lower cheeks’

then lets stand,
run like children,
and body surf until the morning comes.

progress.
forward movement
with or without
momentum
moves me from
one step back
to one step forward

you know when
setting out for a run
you feel like vomiting
until a mile in
when your system
gives in and stops
fighting and overheats
and then enjoys it

progress.
forward movement
momentum-independent
until the moment i can
stop.

and brakes will do their
thing.
lazy boys on porches
with a bloodhound loud
and lazy as we scream
at children for being too
loud and the weather for
being too tough on our
knees.

yea.

progress. until we
stop.

up on the rooftop i hear this
dude in red walking round
stroking his beard and twinkling
his nose

our chimney is small to say the least
and the man can only be described
as “girthy”
so i sit and drink some christmas
flavored schnapps
(something about schnapps says christmas)
christmas schnapps
awaiting the round man.

i’ve got a new game you see
and i hear this guy can get down for a fat guy.

i cant beat my family
but maybe against a round guy with a reputation
for dance moves
i can stand a chance.

i look forward to it.
with my christmas schnapps
and wait for roundy to slip through these
here ashes.

sometimes you pack up
your bags and you head for softer ground
made by god not man hands thousands
of years ago when He decided these mountains
should make a baseball glove
(because He’s God and He knew about
baseball long before folks cheered
when the yankees lost)
that would catch sand and then
catch snow on sides and sun
on others to create a perfect

place for us to run and fall
and crash face first into pain and sand
and forget all about that thing we came
to forget about.

and sand in our socks to give us memories
that aren’t the thing we came to forget about

a hankie is just a way
to carry your snot around
with you and slowly
crust up your pocket

repetition-tition
brings those things that
you claim you never
never needed or wanted
or hoped for.

those things that
like rhyme
like reason
like the phantom in that
phone booth
can handle words yous
cant otherwise use

like that and take that
and smoke that
and

with a beat or two
and a white rapper
you could be something
if you only had words that
you could throw down
in a pinch that
make people twitch that
scratch people’s itch that

um….
yea like that.