http://www.sendspace.com/file/qzc7bx

pleaseplease
please please
please
please please
don’t just tell me
what I want to hear.
I can not bear
to hear it

earwig sitting harmlessly
on speaker tops but how
I wish
it’d crawl under my skin
and make it’s way,
it’s harmless way,
directly in to the brain
where it would feast
just like the aliens
in some made-for-
T-V- Sc-Fi
movie.

I don’t wanna go home.
I don’t even know
where home
is.

all the
little white rocks under
my feet
sting as they stab
in to the skin with their
sharp edges and corners
and I walk funny
trying to pretend that I
don’t feel it

But you can still see me
walking funny
with the slight lean
and the slow roll
heel-to-toe
stepping so
gingerly,
carefully,

The only aim
to get off of these
little white rocks
as soon as possible
not because it hurts
but so you won’t
see me
walk funny

I don’t know what I’m expecting
I hardly know what to expect
when I
shift my body ever so slightly
to the right
and get just enough of a view
to see that point of interest
(At least a point of my interest)
off in the distance

Back and forth and back
and forth my gaze wanders
body twisting
left and right and back to where
I can see
but what? I do not know.
It is unexpected.

grease-blackened hands denote
either
recent hardship
or
rent paid
by the fingers that work
furiously
on those grease-blackened hands
to
the bolts and springs and
nuts
and parts that click and shake
when
everything is working properly.
but
goodness, it’s so hard
sometimes
to either wallow in despair, or
to
bring yourself to bear
against
the parts that always
cause
that mess in the bathroom.
Grease
permeates the situation.
That’s
that, sometimes. Now
get
to work.

The vastness of humanitiy’s opinions is staggering
and quite difficult to conceive, just as it is
similarly difficult to conceive an opinion
on the vastness of humanity

Are we what we say we are?
and who is we? Is it Science?
I didn’t vote for Science.

Was it God? Can he/she/it/we
give us another stab at
the definition? Oh goodness.

I hope we aren’t graded on spelling,
metaphorically speaking,
or I fear we might have failed this test.

We were not
invited.
So, sorely,
we exit,
and hope that
we entered
unnoticed

But next time,

we’ll knock down
the punch bowl,
shake up the
stereo
summon some
hell to break
loose, loose loose.

oh, then we’ll
smile. I’m
sure of it.

He requests the sound of her voice
to pacify him; there is no peace this winter.
She makes to speak but falters.
It is not her place, if you ask her,
to bring her love to bear against his demons.

Perhaps he will plead his case.
Perhaps her ears will be deaf.
There is no justice, they have both
come to know. There is only what
little they can scratch out
of the rocks and trees and dirt,
before the eyes of the universe,
and hope no-one is watching.

Once, they would share their scratchings.
Once is rarely always. In her eyes
there is no exception here. In her eyes
his are but a pittance. Hardly worth
the time to cast away.

He waits.
She will dismiss.
There is no peace in this winter.

If ‘expository’ is a shield of sorts
than I wish that I could
see you hold you feel you
every day every god damn day
with your smile (the real smile)
and your laugh (when you’re not
trying to make an ass of me)
and the strange sort of feeling
that plagues guys like me
about girls like you
but still behind a shield
they call ‘expository’,
so all things said and done
you’re not allowed to
know you know
even if you read it

Be it sunlight or stage light
(or stars for that matter)
when it’s in your eyes,
it’s hard to appreciate
the view

(and there’s always a view)

Sore to the touch
red skin stretched over
bones and hearts and
nervous systems
hoping against hope
they won’t be touched
just yet

Calm me down.

Grab my shoulders and
duck me under water
just long enough to
shock out the shock.

A slap in the face
A punch in the gut
Something
Anything
To slow the roll
(as they say on the streets)

Calm me down
or however
will we get this whole
mish-mashed
drunk-on-the-job
sort of thing
straightened out?

If I am ever to look sidelong again
I shall need a pair of glasses with
little mirrors on them, and a bit of
extra cash, as the word on the street is
the current administration
is not long from taxing these sidelong
glances of ours. But then, I’m all
for tax evasion in some regards,
so tell me,
Do these glasses make me look
sophisticated or
silly or
what?

it seems to wrap around the parts
that would best help to get away
the throat
the legs
the wrists
and covered eyes
but careful to avoid the teeth
people-bites can be pretty nasty

And so
the chance of self-exorcising slip
but if you don’t owe no money
you don’t need no money
and the tentacles loosen
just enough to move a wrist
and an eye peeks out
and a slip
and that people bite is pretty nasty

But it screams from anger
not from pain
escape is all it tried to stop
and there you go
but now you’re leaving
all the other folks behind

I can not fathom
Do you take short steps on your long walks?
How shallowly do you cut
when you cut the hairs on your scalp?
What of the grass out back?
or the weeds?

I scarcely hear a word in tune
but I’ve brought with, a pitchfork,
though perhaps better a tuning-pipe,
but that doesn’t make sense either

Walk faster

Summer sun and such searing
all the pavement beneath my feet
and the tops of my feet additionally
and all I smell is smoke and fire
and charcoal briquettes
and ooh, that smells oh so good
and yeah, I think I’ll have one
of those, but what you want to
charge is
un
be
leave
a
bull

I can taste the
apple juice
mixing with the sulfur
in the back of my throat
and it’s sweet enough,
I’m thinking,
for most of us to swallow down

But I’ve traveled
very recently.
I headed North, or
North-West, for those
that crave the particulars,
and tried to come to
settle in a place that’s
at least a bit more
sulfur-free

but alas,
the sulfur
is always free,
and that’s probably
the problem
to start with

The sweat that covers
forces truth:

You live,
You breathe,
You bleed,
and now you’re burning.

At least you’re burning alive.