I think it’s about time you step down
From that high horse of yours,
Or maybe you should jump.
And don’t say you’ll change tomorrow,
‘Cause you know you won’t.
poetry
overdone afternoon naps
poetryslowly returning to consciousness,
confusion reigns,
as my muddled mind tries to sift
through too many thoughts at once,
not coming to any answers
but only being left with
fuzziness, perplexity, and sweatiness,
having no idea how i slept this long
and no idea who i am even,
except that my head wants to explode,
and my eyes don’t seem to work,
and every sound is only white noise,
so that thinking just one thought
takes me nearly as long as it would
a person of normal intelligence.
ictc
poetryman’s unanswerable questions
burn holes in my
stomach, head,
appendages,
my glasses are a gateway
to a lonely world
pleasure coming only from pain
hugo is no doctor in this.
you and your hairdo
poetryyou gave it rhythm
to make the pain
bearable (or more)
but cher
(though technically music)
doesn’t fulfill
the drug dependance
like need
you have for
emo
(a genre named after
a word which we use
to mock the weaker sex)
Listen
poetryOnly real friends
call your phone
at 3 A.M.
and expect you
to listen,
So listen.
Just Before
poetryJust before the rain began
The sky darkened
Dismal pewter gray
Sheath of nimbus clouds
Wind chortled wistfully
Tossed leaves violently
Towards nameless destinations
Overgrown grass field
Crippled to will of gusts
An unseen screen door
Thrashed against frame
Oak and maple branches rippled
The air like invisible icicles
Sliced chilling bullets
And the world seemed
To inhale one last breath
Cops
poetryTurn that damn light
off so I can
concentrate on
creating one
cognizant thought
without your dumb
questions and your
inquisitions
tearing in to
the last bits of
my sanity
at this hour
Jesus Christ.
Just let me Think
for a fucking second.
tomorrow
poetryi step into the wild,
leaving my car at the entrance.
no more golden arches.
Haiku
poetryBeneath warm covers.
(this restless world never stops)
I could sleep forever.
Mexico
poetrydespite having the best time,
i find a strange ambivalence
thinking about the cost,
not to myself,
no, but to the onlookers,
the waiters and waitresses,
the bellboys and barkeeps,
the deckhands and drivers,
watching me drop in a weekend,,
casually and with unmistakeable style,
the earnings of their entire
month?
quarter?
year?
thinking about what they could do
if only they had the
luck,
chance,
fortune
of a middle-class American.
burn burn burn
poetrythese feelings
of things crawling
on me fighting
the burn of
sunlighting on me
smells just like aloe
a moist awkward fellow
people refuse to be
looking at me
deep sea fishing
poetryand he followed her
all the way to death,
coming in the form of a
bite sized fish,
cast from a stick
into the swirling ocean,
looking too good to pass up
despite the imminent death
of his wife (or perhaps girlfriend),
hooked through the jaw
and then through the gut,
to be tossed on the boat,
taking his last vengeance
by bloodying my shorts.
All Around
poetryWhistling aurora encases
Ears in a shuddering
Presence of imminence
Sound of sand spilling
From precipitous heights
Hissing as it treads closer
Surrounding every angle
Reaching coarse cement
Smashing liquid bullets
Leaping chaotic harmony
Shifting spectacle of pixels
Translucent humming static
Vibrating peacefully overhead
why do i try
poetryopen fields
chasing butterflies
city streets
chasing butterflies
staring at the clouds
floating in the sky
but every time i
catch them they
die.
Dreams By Necessity
poetryTo find yourself at home at night
wishing you were elsewhere
is to hope to sleep, to hope
to dream of another place
haiku
poetrywe wake up
bathed in muted light
rain tapping
Haiku
poetryDripped from exhaust
Oil shines a swirling rainbow
Along the wet driveway
brevity
poetryaint said bitch
Soaking Wet
poetryTo recall
for a moment
the absolute
Power
of a storm
the absolute
Terror
as it rips the sky
in half,
and it fools
the street-lights
into thinking that it’s
morning.
the absolute
Beauty
while the world,
for one split second,
is in perfect,
clarified
focus.
The absolute
Sense that,
as senseless as
it would be,
the thought of
dying
on the hood of
a ’91 Bronco
in the middle of a
school-yard,
with your best friend,
Doesn’t seem so bad
when you think about it
In my cave of a bedroom
poetryAbove my head
Clothes of varied colors hang
Nearly suffocating
the sieve and the sand 
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