an hour glass to slow the moments
as history before our eyes unfolds
one more scoop of sand here to
slow things up and one more
pile of crap here to swallow down
chew your grainy feces filled bite
get used to the grain, the taste, the fight
before night comes one more pile
goes down. up to your knees wearing
the presidential crown
Red and yellow, orange and green
the leaves blend together in the harmony
of coming death and future life
warning of the impending frost
hinting at the fore-told thaw
if i were a true
anarchist i’d make
some hideous connection
to comment on
our culture causing you
to recoil in disgust at
the systems you’ve
bought into
but
i’ve come
to the conclusion
i’d rather call it quits
and give up coffee, democracy,
and comments about either
altogether.
words are the bridges
we walk on to give
birth to the future
and put a steaming
knife in the past.
The new beginning of tomorrow
will also be an ending
in which I’ll no longer have a reason
towatchcnninthemorning
whilstmunchingoncereal
tolistentonpronthedrive
whilstavoidingawreck
towatchnbcnightlynews
whilsteatingmysupper
and while I’ll miss the chatter,
filling my life with incessant white noise,
I might welcome the peace
and the opportunity to wallow
in civil apathy once more.
sun gave way to mist
to missing your midst
wind up and made me cold
pictures of bitter tea, rice wine
gloves gripping my hands
unnecessarily warming digits
hopes lost to crashing dreams
but not without celebration
the crust gathering on my thoughts
thick like the ground peas dried
on your otherwise pristine forehead
moving hand to face so as to miss your
mouth
with your hand knit green and yellow
booties we’ll make this the best winter
ever
without end.
give me an extra
hour two cups of
coffee and stand back
i transform into
a domestic superhero
vanquishing tasks
that have been
delayed for weeks
i slept in
mowed the lawn
cleaned the house
washed both cars
bought groceries
and it’s only 3:30pm
give me one more
hour and the world
would be mine
(or at least there’d
be a clean toilet).
u strted 2 play pretnd
i look’d twards alkohal
we can pretnd i kept it downn
things on firre spun our fann
im not much fer pretend
no fun 2 b serrious all the time
can’t quite drive wit hifsting lines
until the wind stops blowing
and for fear of losing the hair
off the top of the back of my
legs to the mere force of the
breeze
i should lay off the beans
Perhaps i’ll watch a scary movie
and maybe hand out some candy;
I could always drink a brew
and even read a chapter of harry or two.
14.823 gallons
for $30.67.
avsind!
welyea
walhav.
jussasa
drestya
they make games as though
the things we say can be
bent and molded
our words valued
by the letter and formation
but somehow the L in
love is worth the same as the L in
loss
when i turned
my back.
they can’t even hear you
through the smoke and the
corn stalks
your stuck here
building walls out of
cd covers and garbage ideas
to hide your private stash
of different colored needles,
empty kool-aid packets,
and dead bugs
with your head in the clouds
screaming.
rabid, with your teeth
in a crooked smile
and your eyes protruding
from their homes
your skin brown like
leather
shiny
unplugging you is like
pulling the wire ten feet from the outlet
my father said it would shock me
turns out you do
walking around the garbage bins
i knew i was gonna find you here
lamping in the dim moon light
with street lamps and alley cats
i still pretend it’s on my way to
work and you still pretend like
your not gonna stay long
looking all confused and lost
and i hear rumor you left,
moved to a darker part of town
where the churches fall down
with all that fire on the ground
without all my unsent mixtapes
I die
everytime I see her
offal cry
dealing with the putrid rain
water on my pant cuffs
twelve noon might as well be dusk
here where only the clouds shine
the sieve and the sand 
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