like a drowning man
coming up for air i
step out of this building
and into winter’s sharp
wind dying to breathe
you in.

We assume it’s only damaged nerves
but there’s no good way to be dead sure
just stick your hand back in the fire
and tell me what you feel

So if it burns you’ll be alright
we’ll only keep you over night
but if you don’t feel anything
at least we’ll know the deal

But if all the things
you ever weather
end up less then
fair,
consider me your
foul-weather-friend.

And I’ll tie me to
the mast with you.

Scarcely do I find myself
volatile enough to spew
ichor from both my ends
at once.

Usually, it’s only one
or the other.

But recently, i’ve
been paying attention to
your technique.

Watch this.

and i’ll always be waiting waiting for you
wait a second
this has been done before

I can walk in to
the same damn
conversation
three days out of
the week,
but even after
hearing the same
stupid arguments
over and over and
over and over and
over again,
I still have no idea
what we’re yelling about.

Let’s look together for the crest of our youth
Helsinki’s crinel, neither green nor gray
dancing into the winter’s wind.
Our parched skins seeking barmaids and wine carafes
cheap and full.
Nailed to the bar, we consummed our moons
whirling in the night.
Shattered and lost among the familiar alleys
we jumped on the wet pavements
dredging for gold.

“I thought I heard an aeroplane
it must’ve been just the breeze”
And that
Thought
Worries me.

Just the breeze. Just the
single most inherently
powerful thing that
touches us every day, but
we don’t even know it.

In the breadth of a single
instant, it could simply
decide to knock a car off
a bridge.

It could blow me apart.
It could blow us apart.
It has blown us apart.

But why worry so much?
“It’s just the breeze.”

We strapped up
and headed out like Hell on wheels
and tore the whole damn city down
but never found
a reason Why we did it

but if we get another chance
We’ll strap up again and
break the whole damn thing one more time
Just to prove we can.

A fluke’s not a fluke until I say it is.

though unknowingly spaced out,
whilst driving unthinkingly
i somehow go straight

all else being equal
i’d prefer to die alone
without the hassle of knowing
without the hassle of being known
locked up in solitary simplicity
locked out of cooperative complicity
never having to say “hi my name is ____”
never having to shake a hand.

what is a dream
a thought, a desire
to be loved, or feared
which is a dream that is unattainable
the asinine fool has many
as does the wise hermit atop a hillside
do the experienced have only that has been
withered and dried up
and spoiled by the pestilence
that plagues the earth so old
what is the purpose of dreams
and what is the meaning of life
these questions are balanced and same
and those plagued with too many dreams
are they expected to be anything less than fatigued
with a lost hope of life, liberty, love and purpose to carry on

these are no butterflies
i am aware of what i lose
as i lose it every day
we talk about the end of
the world, tomorrow
as if it’s something
normal to see
but i know no matter
how far i stretch my
legs i will never feel
more at home.