Three hours under hot lights does
funny things to your thought-process.
Soon it’s keys and notes and stops and
starts and ones and twos and threes and
fours and then it’s nothing.

Nothing but the melody.

(and, perhaps, a bit of rhythm)

i forgot how cold can permeate
every little layer of epidermis
making even the heart cold

just leaving room to be warmed
by the beauty of the communal
suffering making life epic as we
live it together hoping together
we’ll survive the night

all of us

The heat’s on high, the water starts
boiling,
boiling,
boiling,
boiling,
running over edges on to ranges
surely ain’t been cleaned off in ages
but not a lot to worry about:
Water stains always come out
of metal

life is an ouroboros
or: ouroouroouroorououro
ouroouroouroouroouro
ouroouroouroouroborus etc.
why? well,
love is blind! things of
that nature, like,
christian capitalists…
like, freedom.
like, how…youth is wasted
on us poor folk. spent endlessly
drudging through homework and
work at the minimum wage legally
allowed to pay a human being
and spent not experiencing
anything, unless, of course
you are a hippy,
drug-addict,
good-for-nothing,
hobo. of course.
in america, freedom is most
surely dead.
for if i were to sit in one
spot i would be sued or
some such legal rigmarole,
though, that is all i really
wanna do (to sit in one spot,
not to get sued).

I’ll never know her name
You’ll never tell me.
She’ll keep taunting me anonymously
Otherwise I would have a name to my hate.
Holding on to one last piece
And you want me to forgive you?
Let go then,
Stop protecting your sin.
What did you think would happen
When you drove a stake of betrayal
Into the heart of your family’s foundation?
Did you think we would welcome you back
With an open armed embrace?
Saying, ‘it’s okay, everyone’s fallible?’
How couldn’t you see the line
When you crossed it?
Don’t enter here
Believing you have a home anymore.
You and your guilt will sleep on the couch.

its true and you know it
humility would be a lie
our words bring you inspiration
to your knees you fall and beg
for more turning page after
page hoping for another letter
written as well as the last and
shocked you notice the hours
have passed and you’re not
writing that book they’re paying you
for instead you’re stuck in the sieve
in awe as each grain of sand
glides on through and you’re jealous
to be humble would be to lie
your hands aren’t here bringing
verse to those in need instead you’ve
dedicated yourself to money instead
of daily brilliance

(wish we had both sometimes)

but even though the bastards never
notice and i can call them that because
this isn’t some creating writing department
of a larger institution that’s going to reject
my request for the major simply because
i curse them out in four short poems
boasting of my invincible awesomeness
no this is our territory and if you don’t want
in then get the crap out because these
words aren’t for the faint of heart
they’re here to remind you that it is us
who paid the nearly ten dollars to own
this piece of web real estate and we’ll
write on it exactly what we mean
mistakes in all just to stick it you
(the man)

and one day when one of the twelve
of us however many there are actually
makes it somewhere big in this world
well he’ll look back and say it was there
and hopefully he’ll buy me lunch

i’d really love it if someone bought me lunch

It’s not always an
interesting last name
putting you at the bottom
of every list.

Just saying.

the same sins
back and bugging me
like hiccups

not terrible
just enough to keep me from
sleep

Careful words are normally
a careless waste of time,
so please, cut all the bullshit
and just say what’s on your mind.
(Well, odds are good you’ll
at least be surprised with what you find).

You’re leaving.
And standing in the threshold
Of the open doorway
Unraveling your umbrella
You enter into the rain.

I cannot follow
And nothing I can say
Will halt the deluge
Will seal the door
Will convince you to stay.

The door squeals on its hinges
Heels click on the pavement
Curtains of rain close behind you
And I’m left behind
With no further explanation.

When you’re used to breaking the
sound barrier, 165 miles per hour is
a safe and prudent speed.
So, despite the wing mirrors folding
and the windows shaking in their frames,
with four hot wheels balanced on the
rainslick pavement on the highway,
everything seems like it’s going to be
alright. And even if everything goes
terribly wrong, it won’t be that way
for very long.

poured like rubber into a mould
stretched and sewn together
like pigskin
you

never fit their expectations
no one really wanted you to

Slowly,
I think I’m fading away
And what’s gone is being replaced.
Replaced by all the things
I feared I would become.
But what’s left of me,
What hasn’t faded yet,
It’s still in there somewhere,
Only powerless to get out.

writing crap and
getting kudos
spur of the moment
inspiration-free words
inspiring others
and then

hours and hours
broken hearts and tears
poured into a single story
five pages of your one true
opus
and hearing
23 “i dont get it”s
and only 1
“holy crap this was the most
brilliant thing i’ve ever read”

which would have been enough
if you had been an editor
instead of a mere classmate

tears fears and joys
you brought when you
made 3 into 4
and promised 18 more
years of
adjustment/joy/patience
waiting/enjoying/thanking

your every imperfection
mine

having lost their leaves
these trees stand bare
and bronchial
inverted lungs invisibly inhaling
radio waves and other
slow moving atmospheric
molecules.