just like johnny five
i feel that i’m alive
struck into being
by a bolt of lightning
constructed of metal
and feeling like a rental
and so I read
and so I feed
and so I drive
and so I thrive
but what is life
without a laser, a phaser, a taser
every day now,
another one comes
with smiling faces
shot in happy places
filled with happy couples
looking devoid of troubles.
but an honest card came today
obstaining from
pictures,
places,
smiling faces;
speaking of
illness,
pain,
divorce,
death
hurrying to get through the letter
hurrying to get through the holidays
looking for hope in a new year
with no reason to hope that
anything will ever be any different.
mumbled along numbered grids
filled and spaced till everything
matched perfectly like a complex
game of logic
and tripped we did
our feet through the cobble
stone
Face down
we faced off
but I didn’t see
much meaning
to the whole scenario.
the melodies rolling off your tongue
rhapsodical and fleeting
halfhearted lullabies
sung under your breath
the chemicals driving the motors
of your throat
ah, the whole worlds laughing
poet philosopher
sitting in your liars chair
humming your whiskey tunes
your face beaten by the roads
you’re already too tired
to travel.
jackets too tight for hats much too small
grey, brown, and black not
blue, red and green
for these are the times we struggle
more for food than we
do for love
as it is even harder to find
It was a strange place,
the Cul-de-sac.
I could hear the
echo of my scraping
steps on the
flash-froze
Ice,
a crisp wrinkle in the
sonic architecture of
the small valleyed place.
100 steps I counted
not including the
careful, measured
paces up the last of the
concrete stairs.
Wind picked up
and suddenly,
the car would be gone
if I looked for it.
Wind fell down
and suddenly,
the car was still gone,
because I didn’t quite care
enough to make sure
that I had a way
Out.
needles fallen
carpeting bare white tile
a tree with no lights
The red light makes the room seem warmer
than the furnace should allow
and coming in from such a storm
it’s welcome color on my frozen brow
I’ve feigned the Warrior, standing out
in freezing wind and stinging snow
but now that I’m upon my couch
in heated home, in candle glow
I don’t think I’ll keep up that show.
alas
Smells frostbitten.
Tastes like something
worse, but
I’ll bite.
I’ll probably be sick again.
A small price
to pay, though
for a good,
home-cooked
meal.
Right?
…I am an artistic and athletic nerd with a social conscience, who occasionally enjoys bubble baths, is organized to a superior degree, and reads poetry (admittedly, celebrity gossip on occasion) while defecating…
christmas lights left on
through the night radiate calm–
moments before you wake.
and all of these things in a bucket
to wrap and pull and laugh so full
pouring out languished thoughts
on fairytales and old car lots with
never painted old white doors greyer
than the wooden floors we sell
to folks who need them not and then
sit and laugh and watch them rot as
worm and moth destroy the dreams
the children hope they will employ
to tender moments in times to come
and slender frames to roll into a couplet
Turn your tired eyes
your tired eyes
your tired eyes
and find the will to rise
and ease your lies
perhaps prevent a
hard capsize
Though Goodness knows
we’ve need for a good
Dunking.
so i got stoned to proposition a prose
about you, i suppose
for who you do and don’t have ’round
while removing your clothes
and why it matters to me well
as we know i’m merely composed
of jealousy and rage and
freezing and cold;
so you take pictures and smile
and oh all the while
all of the past goes out like a style
like when god is disproved
and i’m still in denial
taking the scientists and athiest
to trial,
forgive me a bit
if i stutter and shit
speak with my fist
get red as a brick
my throat full of bile.
flower petal lost and found tub
filled with withering beauty
so fragile the color will change if you
touch your fingernail to its skin
and you think
we burned crayons to make them gray
when we were so small we didn’t yet
notice there were flowers
in this very box
Seven times I’ve rectified
what seven people came to call
a failure in reality
Though subjective that thought might be
But forced, my hands
and turned, my eyes
I found seven ways to make it right
Morning Glory
Sing all of our sad, sad songs away.
Every story
leaves a heavy lesson.
Let us pray!
Brings your books to bear
and listen while they
sing for you a
tune or two
you’ve heard before
you’ve heard before
you’ve heard before
you’ve heard before
But this time it’s important
like the last time, it’s important
so God Damn it,
Bring your books to bear
I’ve got a lot of shit to say
ah, to be the rock
off some unforgiving shore
with the knowledge of it all
or without knowledge at all
not to be moved by chemicals
or by any ill-thought plan
to be eternal and ephemeral
simoltaniously
no clever plot devices
nor clumsy accidents
nor seething animosity
or the acceptance that follows
to all that are wise
just what it is to be a rock
ah, to be the rock
for being human is so incomplete
happiness defined by it’s absence
the mind an ever growing
grey matter only shut-off
by will or unwilled haps
and the lies that turn it
on it’s self and twist
all of it’s senses into
some black hole that no
god could ever have
purpose for
ah, to be the rock
that i one day hope to be
that when my heart
throws it’s last fit
i will be taken by the
germs and decay into
dirt,
then put pressure upon
and am next to some
glacier that forms
some new ocean when
all of humanity has
either died or
left or survived
to something inconcievable
to me at this moment
and i will be on a shore
as a rock
at peace
the sieve and the sand 
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