Day by day, I’ll grow new leaves
I’ll change into a
a sturdy existence for someone else to lean on
As I sit on my bed, I am barely dreaming
my blood mounts, but my face has changed
I was unhappy as a child
I was unhappy as a teenager
as an adult, all I have left is potential
for unhappiness, I have grown up
joy hits me with the 3rd bottle of wine

the way i remember it
we sure as hell were not thankful
that first november

ah but the gravy
you got that part right

how many questions must arrive
who upon the earliest to rise
found no falling leaves or scents of such
but the sweet odors of nights dewly dust
the spring has returned with no flower
but beautiful none the less

as we adjust to our new bodies and in
feeling for friends,
grope around in the dark
backs of neglected cupboards

distinctions like these make you a racist
(with a shockingly large vocabulary
for differences in the color spectrum)

naked
altogether
not bored

reading

There are still dirt driveways
in our fair city,
and when it rains these
driveways turn to mud.

Just beyond the parts where
drunk twenty-somethings
climb in to their girlfriend’s cars
to drive past twenty-five shops
that they’ve never seen, only
heard of, there are Dead Tracks.

Foundry coke liters the lines,
the detritus of the pinnacles of
modern achievement
fifty years ago. Meanwhile,
all-but abandoned, mostly-
forgotten two-story buildings
set a frame for unused, overgrown
infrastructure to cut through.

I felt like an Aberration,
ghosting through the unused
parts and counting railroad ties.
Kicking the coke and rubbing
my chilled hands together.
Setting a pace over uneven ground.
Breathing deep the decay of
seemingly ancient modernization.

There are still dirt driveways
in our fair city,
and when it rains these
driveways turn to mud.
I shudder to think
what happens to
the rest of it.

nights like these used to be so romantic
there was always something better
that could be
the food was terrible and the weather
just right
our hope for what was to come
probably in a chair nearby
and we hoped and dreamed
that this was misery we were experiencing

somehow making each moment more
worthwhile
telling ourselves this was suffering
and perhaps it was compared to the ecstasy
that was to follow

i cant help but wonder
whats it called when everyday is
exactly as wonderful as it should be?

when my job is to think about
furthering your kingdom
and here from another part of the world
living in another part of the world
doing another altogether similar thing
one more rejoicing over similar confusion
at just how lucky we are

will it end?

A restaraunt
on Michigan.
people eat there
now and then.
Heard it’s good,
but never been.
Driven by but
not stopped in

Handsome shop
from what’s been seen.
Giant windows,
quite serene.
Menu prices,
though, obscene,
and not enough
to split between.

Fast food joint
on Portage road.
Pizza’s cheap,
the wings, so-so.
Not the best,
though not most low,
So grab a slice.
We gotta go.

The sun rose again
I called on the Bodhisattva to carry my weight
the fanfare sickened my heart
with its volatile emotions
and I forgot my name.

Bathroom’s scribbles
Jena has got siphillis
Alice h.e.a.r.t.s Jack
L is a fat lying b#&*
politik suks.
Incontinent unhygienic bastards
with their pink blue black ink
let their minds defecate over bathroom walls and doors
The stench of the 21rst century emotional discharge
permeated my skin
and I lost my mind

Puppies scrambling for existence
their blood growing thinner and toxic
screaming at each other
fucking looser
retard
fag

The sun hid again
the Matryoshka doll sounded out my soul,
and called me shallow
real flowers lie low, she said,
true worms rage down below the trash can
and I broke the mold.

when in doubt the answer is yes
but then again, the doubt usually arises because the topic is alcohol
if in doubt
and the topic is not alcohol
the answer is no.

you said it’d be 100
i talked you to 50
given the way you drive
we’ll make it 30

pizza goes so well with
turkey melt sandwiches
you’d forget and forgive all (most)
woes

Something is not right
about the state of affairs

Something must be done.

Hire a new hitman to
kill the old hitman
and let’s be done with
the whole charade.

I’ve seen far too many Bond films
to die like this.

doesn’t mean it’s not happening
and I’d appreciate
if you could give me the benefit of the doubt
lest you should end up in the same position

put on your shorts
here’s one more
day of summer.

stress relievers
come at the end of flights
not in pill shaped form
(although if the hallucination was strong enough)
and when i test you
i know all the more
you were what i needed

sun at my back
hope for a future
and healthcare
i trust

hospitals without
piss and blood on the floors

its here i belong

for now

The best way
to prepare for
a busy day
(or so I’ve found)
is staying up far,
far too late
and reading up
on History
(and on guitars
specifically)
while two loads
of laundry
bang around
conspicuously
with washer and dryer
doing all the work of
two good housewives of
yesteryear,and
in half the time,
I might add (though
one would think it goes
without saying, but
then, not a lot of
people take the time
to realize that something
as mundane as an
electric washer
would get you either
burned at the stake
or drowned at the river
only a few hundred
years ago),
But I digress:
the buzzer buzzed:
I think I can finally sleep.