Cold hands are
no excuse.
Now
get
in
there
and
fight.

It’ll all be
over soon,
I
promise.

Just hit him
while his
back
is turned.

An over-reaching sense of
Verisimilitude has
fooled everybody.

But the truth remains static:
The grass is never greener
on the other side.

Why must all of the heroes
displayed on TV today
be not heroes at all
but merely humans
in the right place
at the right time
doing the right thing
for the wrong reason?

Where are the heroes of old,
men of renown and power,
unwavering in their ability
and in their integrity,
the supermen of society,
too good to be reality,
but who in their fictionality
showed the rest of humanity
a metaphor of what life could be.

and you run across
the field yelling
circle circle circle!
because you’re a liar

things are working like machines
inside my head these days
they come and finish and go
money is made and money is spent
by whoever is running them
and yeah i feel well so what
and yeah the days pass so what
by standing i am running
away from the future

somewhere i am happy.

I feel I should be forceful
as the matter is quite pressing
so just shut your mouth for
one damn second,
and things may be alright.

But these
mountains out of molehills
Have surpassed the point ‘depressing’
and I don’t see why
you do this to yourself
most every night.

I’ve said it
over and over
and over again.
But I’ll
say it one
more time,
for good
measure:

Don’t.
Fuck.
With.
Me.

what is this, the price we pay?
to wander through this wandering spot?
and to our every whim we play
and hope that we will not get caught.
But alas! I feel it’s all for naught:

there’s sirens on the way.

to purposely seek rejection,
as I am now,
must be the mark
of positively,
incorrigible,
mental illness,
worse even
than asking out
the most popular
girl in school.

The sun’s been out all
day today and the
wind is blowing cool but
it’s hard to care about
wind through a pane
glass window so
I’ll lean back and
watch someone watch
the Television and
make some light
conversation before
I reluctantly pass
out in someone
else’s armchair
only to be wakened
by the ringing of the
cell phone that I
never wanted on in
the first place.

Not that I meant
to take the nap,
but it was a damn
fine nap.

“Hello?”

don’t you see that i got i
don’t you see that i rock it
for fuck sakes i can’t stop it
i’m riding the top of a rocket
i fit these things into sockets
should i drop it?
or put the world in my pocket
should i shut
the door should i
open the window
should i jump out?
should i go outside
in my mind
or in time
wake up the piggies
and shout?
remember that time you
yelled at me but
you didn’t know a damn
thing and remember that
time i wish i were
someone else?
remember when we thought
god was gonna save us?

who cares about the insanity that
why would you turn on your tv?
when i am alone
and sober
none of my books have last
chapters
none of my maps have destinations
so devoid of the human condition
there are billions of us
and i am a poet
but there are billions of us
so it makes it hard for me
to say anything
because there are billions of us
separate worlds on the same earth

like a sieve blog about poetry
for which apparently very few people
care despite its impressive 1,129 posts
in under a year.

All respect to the man who
calls a quarter tank of gas
a twenty dollar bill
a travel-sized tool box
a length of rope
and an acoustic guitar
‘Being Prepared for Anything’

like a child in his new tree house
the sun refuses to come out
returning home only to wash its
hands before returning to whence
it came

leaving all those who enjoy its
presence

longing for better days