Author: David X. Hugo

i’m losing my mind

poetry

these things sit very
firmly like the earth:
money
institutions
the thoughtless
american dream.
you cannot budge them
they do not need to be
emphasized
we’ve already bought in
we are no longer
on earth, we are
in a country. we are no
longer a human being,
we are a caucasian male
american. we are no longer
singular. you walk outside
and you’re not a human
standing on the earth
breathing in the air
your standing in the middle
of property, names, buildings,
commerce, shit.
but it’s fact
and
anything else
would
be
crazy.

i’z

poetry

my eyes alone
my eyes are alone
i see through them
as does no one
else
i see through them
and am solitary
yet a person
like everyone else
but i don’t know
what everyone else
sees because i
can only see through
my eyes alone
you know me?
how could you
know anyone else?
you didn’t exist
until i saw you
through my eyes
alone.

carbon

poetry

my pen can trace itself
these white lines symbolize
empty
what should you do with
your eyes?
who killed surprise?
this, our world, is like
a rock in itself
mid-flight
must you be taught
what’s a lie?
or sink till you
drown till you die.
(but, for a moment
i wish i could walk through
walls like a ghost
just to get what i’m
here for and leave.)

a life giving one’s death reason

poetry

9:30
8:18
schoolcraft michigan
mount pleasant michigan
citgo parking lot,
my girlfriend’s apartment
the suns symphony
other people’s words
begins it’s finale
vibrate my bones
falling below the horizon
shaking my brittle
leaving traces of deep blue
spine
peppered behind dark clouds
remembering the time
once white
when i used to
billowy
talk loud
now ominous next to the moon,
and would kill
i save a fly
angels.

special

poetry

put the towel on the rack
let the steam create him
as a mold
contemplate space and time
and how he can never get
it back
wishes he could go back
just to watch or give
advice
wishes he could sieze
the day and practice what
he preaches.

:0

poetry

all of you can rot in hell
‘cuz i know i’m right
about how little potential
really matters in the end

yeah i’m on top of the fucking
world and i aint comin’ down
for shit

all of you can keep throwing
your bricks about the height
of grass, we don’t need
any more carbon dioxide

yeah i dropped the box
and can see circles and
triangles

lovebitch why don’t you come over here and set me free i don’t want your sister’s disease i just want to kill kill kill kill kill
i just want to kill kill kill

truth is fleeting

poetry

why would you kill yourself
over the same thing again?
those smiles look so good
from a distance, just like
everything else. there’s
nowhere you can get where
you wont be and there’s
nothing you can see that
you can’t see and there’s
no one you’ve met that
you haven’t torn to pieces.
and if you take the pill
it will just dissolve
in your stomach like
all the rest. just
like
all
the
rest. and you know how
much you hate all the rest.

the ground has something to say

poetry

they told me it’s rules
you have to
and slapped it on my face
it’s not my fault
i’ve been crawling in it
and still don’t quite get it
but you, you seem fine
with everything constrained
you make it work
she makes it roll off
her shoulders
and i’d like to know how
she keeps the soldiers
at bay–
with lips
like that;
and the subtlest breeze
knocks me down
where i walk upside down
and you, well
you’re oh so small
in this wonderland.

song of a sad liberation

poetry

maybe i’m weird because
i don’t believe in stories
or i’m probably a complicated
asshole or something worse
and if i had all the money
you know good god i’d spend it
and ride some epic binges
all the way into a herse
i think you can point fingers
and throw mud on the canvas
keep sticking your ideas
in the sky made of brick
but i intend to be open
fields of green and digging
at the truth beneath all
of you institutionalists

you are a member of society

poetry

you are alive
and you are real
and you have feelings
because you’re real
and all these people
they are real
and they are breathing
because they’re real
you see buildings
they are real
they have windows,
which are real
you’re stealing words
which aren’t real
from real artists,
your ideal
the wind is blowing
it is real
on this planet
which is real
slowly spinning
like a wheel
through a void
a void is real
all these people
they are real
and they are walking
on a wheel.

mtp

poetry

in this barren wasteland,
wherein we selfishly
keep each other for ourselves
and the only constant
is the uneasy juxtaposition
of the worst of society,
i dig my feet into the
ground and keep my head
into the clouds.
the natives now perform
the hunt of the white
man, trailing dollar
bills like bait through
the streets. tiny bits
of data containing complaints
from the scholastic elite
on instructors, classes,
how they are totally lost
and confused swimming through
the mediocre course lessons
that hold two car garages
and mini vans above their
heads, and plans to consume
alcohol to throw their bodies
around with,
fly from metal tower to metal tower.
i am unlearned in the artistry of
the vapid.
similarly, the frozen tundra sits
in the distance
teaming up with the
sun’s hard unforgiving rays
to suck whatever life you
had in you into the dead
grass and plants where
young tribal humans used to
live and die. now a backdrop
for the disgusting play of the
American day.