To write
I mean
to really write
again
or
at all
is
mmm…

I sat in front of a
mostly-empty notebook
and a pen
for twenty minutes

But
to write
again
I mean
to really
Write
is
just
so
mmm…

tickled with the scent
of
already ripe
bitter tea leaves
in preparation
of what still is probably not the last
class i’ll dread
weekly

I demand
Inspiration
not
explanations as to
why you can’t deliver
and no,
I don’t
understand Chinese.

So
just
read it to me slowly
because even if I could,
we all know I
can’t decipher
your fine print.

…But Goodness knows I’ve tried

Made in person and should by accompanied by
The presentation of this
Otherwise it cannot be removed without prior notification
Safekeeping is essential
Announcements should be immediate on discovery
As it has been agreed
By the regulations received upon conception.

We settled
near each-other
on the floor
– it was the best place –
near the door
in to the next room
that we hardly used at all

And we squeezed
of one another
and we laughed
and fought and kissed
until we nearly
fell asleep where
one ought not

And she smiled and
bit her lip
while we drove
all the way crosstown
to where she stayed
on weekdays

and what it was
I can not fathom

beautiful prose,

no i settle for worse

words written while

playing the ‘i dont care’ game

words i mean but must act like i don’t

words i scribbled with a knife in the slide

in that town that doesn’t mean anything to me

the one near the border of mexico

you remember
where we first discovered that people do illicit things in parks

then carve their names in the slides



mine said

roger was here

The baby’s crying
No
It’s the phone ringing
His neck is rung
The clothes are out to dry
The river runs
A marathon in the desert
With a cherry on top
It’s a spinning carousel
With horses and ponies
But then she grew up
And we’ll find out
I’d rather be in
Hotel or motel
Models?
With bodies
Of water by the bank
There’s a hold up
I’m stuck
I’m only two feet away
There are two feet
Walking to the phone
Four now
I am a cat
The cat?
Who let the cat out?
Eight legs
A spider
Spinning my web
And wait
There is a slumbering giant
Not sleeping
Awake
He is hunting
I am hiding
In the mouse hole
They are fighting a holy war
The mousetrap kills them all
In the kitchen underneath
The sink
The waters running
I am running
I am drowning
I can fly
I’m a fly
Must get out the window
Did you say widow?
She’s watching television
And hears the phone ringing
The phone has my feet
I have no feet
It’s still too far away

o, little flowers
drink the sun:
please don’t die.

The water seeped through the
top of his shoe, but
the slight wet did not
phase him, as he
strode so purposefully
towards the door.

He loved to have his
key to this, his
home and haven,
just the place to
hide away from
rain.

The lock unset, the
door swung wide, he
stepped inside, and
just as he would wipe
his head, a bolt of
lightening struck him dead.

Coincidentally, we
haven’t got a clue
what to do, but
we’ll do it. Or at least
try to get through this
fucked up bit.

Demonstrably, they
tear our side to pieces
caring less and less for
facts and more and more
for deeper and deeper
cuts in to our
collective consciousness
and,
possibly,
(and perhaps cliche’)
our collective soul.

But
I
Don’t
Want
To
Let
You
Pro
Tect
Me
From
My
Self.

And Anyway,
how do you know
what’s best for me
any god damned way?

but should you fail
know the poetry committee
will be coming to hunt you down
and you’ll never get that last
signature or graduate because
turns out there’s a whole math
class you haven’t attended this
whole year and there is no way
you’ll ever pass the final
so we laugh at you
because you are one test
perpetually in your dreams
away from a real
prepetually in your dreams
graduation

I refuse on all counts
to bill myself as
anything but
lighthearted.

I have not a grudging
bone in my whole
body.
Now come here, so I can
kick your a- er,
Show you.

And the end wasn’t
so much of a bang
as it was a whimper,
having already been
over long before
the end actually came,
wimpily whimpering out;
no one was sad
to have it done.

…Who has never been the
low man on the totem
who has never even deigned to see
these parts of space beholden
Who has whistled somewhat wearily
in work, in study, in play
who has tried to fulfill, jokingly,
his stature, come what may.

Who, perhaps, will finally put an end
to reckless, tired thought
who, perhaps, will end this existence
and build one that he wants
Who perhaps, and most importantly
will take back what he’s bought
and replace his standard typefaces
with much more awesome fonts

Early in morning
I can’t wait to sit in a plastic chair
Sweating under the hot sun
While people give me nickels

I swear that all my stories
are
good traveling stories
or
stories where I traveled
and
got too far for my own good.

I’m sorry I tell stories
where
the focal point is simply
that
we’re almost out gas this time
and
there’s still ten miles back
to
the nearest filling station.

But I think we’ll make it.

Brave, Hopeful, or Retarded,
I think we’ll make it.

i’ll never fully understand
but perhaps i see more clearly
than yesterday,last week,
last month, last year;
the anger is gone (mostly),
departing with the worry,
departing with the gloom,
departing with the doom,
and while i’m not calm
at least i see a glimmer
of understanding,
at least today.

say what you will
what you’re thinking is

boobs

p.s. take that noranoir