In with the old
and out with the new
I’m looking forward to
trying something crude,
trying something old
that’s never been tried before;

perhaps for this year,
the thing to do
will be to resolve
to not do anything new,
to hold on to the things of yore
not caring if they are a bore.

No rest for the righteous
as we defend our keep and country
while the Queen attempts to castle
even though that move is against the rules
and frankly, doesn’t make any
God
Damn
Sense

No rest for the righteous
while the meek jaywalk for miles
across country not familiar too them,
hoping that the cops don’t stop
poor men with torn shoes
but a penchant for outdoor dancing

No rest for the righteous
while the wicked never
seem to sleep
anyway.

No rest for the righteous
until they Clock
Out.

Walking through each other’s dreams,

The tattered streets will let you know I was there

first

No matter how hard he tries

He cannot see himself as real as you do you

You and your pure mornings

The heavens will not call out for you

Do you think crows dream about the color of their feathers ?

The immigrant’s dream sits on your front porch

hopeful

Your smile brings tidings of a victory

for a moment he feels like he can bask in the glow of

your sweet delusions

Like a sudden powerful jolt

he feels his youth

millions of little fireworks shooting through his veins

all his tomorrows pigmented with soft pastels

He would like to stay there with you

but, it is only a beautiful lie

Fie! Fie!
Unmask the short injustices you’ve come to find
Fie! Fie!
Show the world the lies that it has got behind!
Fie! Fie!
Fall with the house of Usher, Die with Mr. Poe
Fie!
Even if it changed anything,
we’d never know.

hucker and pucker
and haggly hock
flicker and twitter
and elephant stop

the songs in kids books have gone
downhill – ever since suess passed on
the rhymes just don’t do

Note To Self:
When playing music,
don’t forget to play
the important parts:

and your wine-
kissed lips supplied
the rest.

i want to r
ip yo
ur
skin into pi
eces and
i
want
to
squee
ze
you until our
mole
cules
bond
and
we
or
gasm
and o
ur
he
ar
t
s
st
op

He told me that he saw himself on fire
I never understood the things he’d say
But never once did I call him a liar
When there’s no sense, what sense would that make?

He’d always come inside the Chevy freezing
He never seemed to know just what to wear
His T-shirt to his coat, a mere allusion
His blue skin could make a Martian stop and stare

He talked as grand as one could ever wager
High-minded as any man you’d ever find
And when he walked, he always walked un-faltered
as if he was someone you should get behind

I heard he died a week ago this evening
I heard he was high-minded ’till the end
With a book of poems in hand, he found his calling
he caught a bumper for someone he hardly called ‘friend’

He told me that he saw himself on fire
I never understood the things he’d say
But never once did I call him a liar
When there’s no sense, what sense would that make?
And after all, he set himself on fire
saving someone else for someone else’s mistake

The beautiful bastard

if i spent time worrying
about the things that came
out of my mouth or the
people being killed in
distant lands or the
bums outside begging for
meals or the kids getting
beat in their beds by
their dads than i would
be crying all the damn
time like you and your
liberal friends so i
don’t.
and i don’t watch what
comes out of my mouth,
or who it offends.
and i don’t watch
where i put my p.eriods
because i’ve, never;
ended. a sente,nc;.,
probably in my life.,.;’\
and i don’t care about
my fellow man unless
he is one.

Have you ever tried to write a song
at 2pm with blinds undrawn
and lights and television on?
It isn’t that conducive

But 3am you find the time
to marry chords with merry rhymes
and pen another masterpiece:
the Great Opus Elusive

You score all of the hardest parts
and with great care, proof-play the charts
and hope you’ve made a work of art
Of which you can be proud

But your last movement doesn’t fit
the ending won’t come to you yet
You’ll just have to wait to finish
and put it in your desk for now.

It’s sometimes hard
to bring yourself
to do something
that you’ve already done.

But Slight imperfection asks
nay, demands
that you reiterate your actions.

Repeat them in full.
Complete another movement.
For your own peace of mind.

Sometimes it’s all we can do.
Sometimes,
we’re lucky for the luxury.

pink polka spots
on your otherwise disease free
perfectly clown feet

Simply put
this context is
unoriginal at best
and largely
under-appreciated,
given the circumstances.

Don’t let too much drain out
There’s not much left to strain if
you do that.

Or, at the very least,

plug the fucking sink.