i marked the
inauguration with
feelings of trepidation
let’s remember that
“change” is not a magic
word made of sparkles
and dust, rather one
spelled with sleepless
nights, burning words,
and blood
let’s remember that
the “Dream” is not
a finish line to be
crossed, rather a reality
we must construct
first in our minds and in
our lives
and let’s remember that
our leaders cannot be God
sweeping down from the clouds
(or the White House) to pluck
you from your own troubles.
in a lifetime
you meet that one
who you lost
so shortly after finding
they were there
Sleepless days
call for
long, restful nights
In theory.
I love olympics…
Like how much it snowed back home
To one-up others.
the man who sees truth
sees it alone, hungover
in the television set
saturday morning. the
man who sees truth,
suddenly noticing it,
sees that it is something
still needing to be
noticed, as the world
turns antithetical to
it’s purpose. the
man who sees truth
will tear out his own
eyes if not given a
large enough heart
to contain it.
my lack of works surpassing
a single syllable seems consistently
to lead to poems with lines nearly
or at least visibly
unrelated
but the thoughts seem so tangible
when my fingers move and they spit themselves
out
before i manage to complete the thought
reminding me
i cannot think without these words
my thoughts do not form without me
speaking
farting
or writing
and button after button this
idea makes it into history.
something i’m writing
because i’m unable to simply
dwell on it
Love-acetone
the night sky wears
the layers of skin you sold for
a loaf of sympathy bread.
Hallelujah!
Grace is not welcome here
So long
So long friend
The river will not swallow your bitter tears
The ground will not touch your sullied bones
Farewell friend
Thank you for the smiles
Thank you for being the one
I shall spent my death with.
Go in peace
You’ll always be my bleeding star.
When you’ve idled for so long
It feels so good
to finally see your reflection
moving backwards.
It’s been dark
but sometimes you need darkness
It’s a place to hide from
something
Unless the dark
is what you’re really
afraid of
like they said it would be
weird
when all these dudes probably
should be wearing clothing
‘you’re proof weenies float’
oh the things brought on
by the flow of alcohol;
how interesting to sit back
to blend in, to soak it all in,
waiting for the moment
when the unsaid becomes said
and the secret so long kept
is spilled
splashing across everyone,
like a laxly held glass of wine;
it can not be taken back;
it can not become unsaid again,
leaving the only solace possible
that perhaps it won’t be remembered
come tomorrow
after the afterglow has worn off
and only the throbbing remains.
You know it’s
a good show when
you go out in the snow and
you trip and slip
and bite your lip
but hardly even feel it.
from the open mouth
of a green fire hydrant:
a frozen flow into the street.
“this is not all we are”
the familiar refrain rings;
“beyond the pale a new life awaits”
holds out hope for the hopeless,
but i find it harder these days
to look past the mere matter
and see what lies beyond
with my vision obscured
by beer/wine/whisky
and my desire hijacked
by greed/lust/pleasure;
so the beyond disappears
in its very invisibility,
and the present intrudes
by its extreme tangibility,
filling my senses to the max,
demanding my attention.
First times
razor blades
soft skin
loose red thread
overwhelming flow
white bathroom tiles
quiet fall
daisies bruising
at the edge of night
a neon sign
‘Merci d’avoir vécu’
waves crash near my
far to long removed shore
vacation under still black sky
She wasn’t the most beautiful thing too look at
but she could catch your eye
like a diamond speck floating in a snowdrift
on a frozen winter morning.
Her voice was not a singer’s voice
but it spoke so perfectly, so beautifully,
that a philistine such as I could
hardly comprehend her utterings.
But alas, her temerity opposed
my trepidation so extremely that I,
disheartened and forlorn, am left
on a frozen winter morning,
sifting through the snowbanks
for another diamond speck
Ah, to sing but a note
that I could play back again.
A tape to prove I sung it
A proof of lyrics past
Ah, to listen to my dying words
Forever.
i’m mad, baby
a scientist
i’m sick, man
watching the mice
chase after that
cheese you dig?
i lose my cool about it
these people are
like barbed wire
man i’m just all
caught up. with their
health foods and
terrorists and taking
all the man out of
men or taking all the
respect out of woman,
drives me in circles
like a cab in england,
baby. one never had
to try so hard to be
smooth.
stuck in the grind,
understand?
maybe it’s these formative
years or whatever,
living off of vicodin
and ms. jane.
Imagine a day spent
in pure, twisted agony
based completely on
perception.
Imagine the pain of
knives through hands when
there’s naught but a
sharpie drawing on knuckles
Imagine a flame burning
toes, burning tendons
when only a cat brushes
heavy on your feet
Imagine a morning
of crying for no one
when everyone’s out
in the living room, waiting
to say good morning to you.
Why do you torture yourself so?
Why do you always imagine?
the sieve and the sand 
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