the long day deserves
nay
demands
the levels of sugar you’re about
to pour through these veins
chased by butter and popcorn-topped
piles of salt
i’d stop you
but my lifeless limbs
no longer work
(save the channel changing
finger pointer of course)

an IV may be nil by mouth
but these years
where movies were my livelihood
made the entitlement
so much more
alcoholic

I forgot my belt today.
Reflected in the glass
I see a little boy,
can’t be more than 2,
in khakis and a tucked
blue checked shirt –
a beard, broad shoulders,
and no belt.

if i close my door
will i disappear,
carrying on just the same
inside of here,
with nothing to say
and nothing to do,
starring at the screen
only thinking of you.

i can’t watch this
suffering
let it scream into my consciousness
burning reality searing sorrow
i can’t read this

i can’t do a goddamn fucking thing

my life choices dictated
by a dedication to help others
render me helpless

i can’t fly there
i can’t donate
i can’t do anything

for anyone

the hopes of mine
waned
they say paint on modern cars will never
fade
the engine block may
rust
your feelings for me (like your ring) slowly
tarnish
and i’m left here
dying
knowing you were worth the
pain
but feeling for now perhaps this is
spring

I watch you shadow-boxing
and I wonder why you even
bothered
calling me up to spar with you.

I see you fighting yourself,
beating yourself,
overcoming every obstacle
except for the ones that
would really weigh you out

But that’s comfort, and them’s
the breaks for the rest of us,
waiting
hopefully
quietly
for someone that’s not afraid
to throw a punch and
maybe get his ass kicked.
Maybe.

i want to hide,
crouched behind doors,
cars, walls, trees,
waiting for the perfect chance
to jump up and shout,
scaring out the bejesus,
from deep inside you,
doing whatever it takes
to move things along.

rubbing my nose in
photos of endless mountains,
greenest pine trees, purple lakes,
cloudless blue skies, and old friends
reminding me

i’m living my life for the next
mine may now satisfy
but it’s ugly as hell

The measure of a man is immeasurable,
as it is the measure of his measure of
when to say ‘I ought to put some away’
and when to say ‘It’s only money.’

these cobble stones
underneath all their glory
began as mere bricks
flat and unloved
by tires and horseshoes

slowly over time
they were worn down
into something beautiful
despite gaps and bumps
weeds throughout

they began as mere bricks
flat and unloved

I wish there were a breathless maw
that I could clamor in to.
And with closed eyes and
thoughtful resignation I
could lay within the
belly of that beast.

I would liquefy and
digest, ending floating,
just the way I started
all those long years ago.
The aftermath would yield
my undoing as my self
was fully absorbed in to
my new something else.

This is for the rest of you.
For without that maw
to completely devour me,
I will have no way to change.
I have not found the beast.
Nor have I found a reason.

A soft breeze blows by an
old sales receipt. Coupons
on the back and complicated
jabber on the front, I’d wager.

It pulls the whole place into
perspective: Seedy men and
women wandering just behind
the seedless building fronts,
through back-alleys no-one
remembers and sharp turns
no-one takes for fear of
drowning.

I won’t pick up that sales
receipt, or walk through
any alleys, though. I won’t
be taking stunt-jumps at
an icy river’s crossing.

I will walk inside a shop
and throw my money
down. I will shout for
all the things I’d like
and receive only some
of the things I do
need. I’ll call for blood
and be denied, again
being forced out to
wander like just another
sales receipt

The truth is, I’ve nothing left to atone.
But it has very little to do with me,
And everything to do with a man named Jesus.
So I admit, I’m guilty on all counts,
And the penalty is death.
But don’t be so quick to condemn.
He’s absolved me of all crimes,
Taking the punishment for himself.
And I confess, I’ve never known such love.

Today,
I slid down an icy hill
in a van, with two
bald tires.

In that instant I
considered,
for just an instant,
the metaphor therein.

And then,
I thought of all those
people that I know,
you know?

Only come home once
in a great long while.
Though I suppose we
always
(always?)
(Always.)
have that common ground
to stand on,
Or slide down.

fried
at least
my mind
once crisp
delicious
now stale
soggy
not worthy
of your last
ketchup
packet

i sit here; you sit there
or perhaps we switch.
it matters not to this game we play
in which both recede,
towards the inside,
twiddling our thumbs,
touching our lips,
not speaking because there’s nothing to say
being both together
and so far away.