Ending white awning
And nothing to conflict
Against the conjecture
Fresh windless
Nor a sparrow
Nor a falcon
Nor any geese
Nor contrasting mote
In any direction
Imperceptibly skimming
Pallid smoke clouds
Sighing to rupture
On skin like stone
Shaped smoothen
But refusal to break
A continuum of fault
Moving too fast
And fast forward
There is nothing here
But desolation

the worst part of living in
an apartment complex is that
when the man downstairs yells
you can hear him but scarcely
what it’s all really about
and, you can hear the man
upstairs at all times but
the more you listen his
words seem to mush around
into nothingness
(maybe his thoughts are
getting absorbed by the
carpet)
but the man in the middle
(this is me)
we all know what’s going
on with him as you can
hear his words thumping
through the apartment
complex like some sort of
heartbeat or something.
this is the conclusivity
of morally disapposed
positions lying on top
one another in direct
proportion to the sun
or the neuro-pathways in
the brain that they call
“timber creek”

appearantly my
sleight-of-mouth has
got me in some trouble, as
some people near this
atmosphere can’t
stomach me and mine
(oh my)
so given oppor
tunities I’ve
made my rash decisions
and I’m getting on out
so make sure you clearly
label all your mail to me:
I just might change my
forwarding address

All of my childhood memories
are getting a
fresh set of paint and
a new surveillance system

But Mr. Hugo remembers
when all us dumb punk kids
only lived six blocks from
the middle school,
and any given hour of
any given night, you could
probably see somebody
you knew, or who knew you.

Even going so far as to
dragging out a glow-
in-the-dark football and
charging it in the headlights
of someone’s beat up high-
school car so we could play
five-hundred for about four
minutes out between a
backstop and an old pink wall.

Well, they painted the pink
wall purple, and they
tore down the tennis courts
(that nobody had any
use for anyway, but
Damn it they looked cool)

But the field my old dog
ran through is still just
as big as ever. And the
hill I used to sled down
is a hill that can sled still,
so I suppose, all things
considered, the fresh paint,
it’s not so bad. Now we just
have to put up with Big
Brother.

and i talked
and talked
and talked;
i couldn’t stop,
lest everyone see
how incompetent
i felt myself to be,
covering it over
in misdirection
and subterfuge,
hoping to fool all of you.

But I really should be going now.
And as much as I’d like to stay
And have another cup
(It was a very rich blend)
At present,
I think we’ve exhausted our pleasantries
And it appears the receptions
Were much less hearty than we first perceived.
Which, I suppose,
Is all the more reason to depart.
Here’s my contact information,
But don’t feel obligated
As it’s only social etiquette and niceties.
Until, at least, the occasion
Is at once a vaguest of recollections
We’ll bump into each other
Declaring with zestful exuberance
That it’s been too long
And hey, would you like to meet for coffee?
I know a great place on Front Street.
To with boisterous affirmation
We’ll say absolutely!
And see you on Thursday.

Feel free to enlighten me
while burning all the worry
from my forearms with a
metal stick and just a couple
heavy disks. I’ve
got all day to listen
while you ramble
over the sound of
me and all this pumping iron
not giving a good god damn.

Satisfaction,
beyond your
apprehension.

when you wore your chester
the molester stache
we joked at your creepiness

why couldn’t you just leave it at
a joke

we all make mistakes
why did your’s have to be at their
expense

but when you scoff
and glory in ignorance,
do you not realize
how stupid you are?

doesn’t the earth swing back
and forth like a pendulum?
…well,
doesn’t it?
doesn’t it just say one
thing and another thing
and another?
and you tell it to shut up,
one hand on her thigh
thinking
am i spilling my fucking
guts?
if i sit on this couch long
enough will god damn me
for leaving the indention
of my ass alone
for
however
long or,
whatever?

i can make poop poetic
if given the time
and the will to rhyme it

Like listening to The Beatles
at a party,
and asking everyone to
SHUT UP,
or walking just ahead of
the conversation, and
con-stant-ly
turning back to ask
“what was that?”
or humming loudly,
coughing up phlegm,
forgetting someone’s name
but
refusing to admit it:
The parts of life that
keep us equal parts
annoyed and satisfied,
depending on our side
of the offense, at
any given occurrence,
are beautiful,
in their own disgusting way.

Now quiet down and
Listen up,
‘cuz this is my favorite part.

Y’know what sucks?
I shouldn’t say this but:
I want you.
I want you so bad.
But more than that,
I want it.
I want it so bad.
I should rephrase:
Y’know what sucks for you?

Stuck in a still framed
Photograph never changing
Realizing with uncanny disbelief
At how long it takes
To renew my license
At the &#$%ing DMV!

today is the day of
unnerving
inescapable
and totally necessary sadness
and today is the day
where the rain comes
and goes
and the sadness slides down
your throat like wet cement
and you wait for a long time
for it to harden in your
stomach
you are
off to see some place you sold
all of your belongings to go
without a hint as to
what your getting into
today is the day that you
wait at the train station,
whistles blowing,
none of them yours,
trains plowing through,
none of them yours,
sitting on a bench waiting
for the cement to harden
in your stomach,
whistles blow,
is that your train?
today is the day where you
don’t know if your train will
come
tomorrow is the day that you
realize you weren’t ready
to get on.