because sometimes i feel like a little kid again.

poetry

its night and so
in a bit we’ll go
to places we
would never see
without dreams of
the things we love
the hopes we live
and things we give

its night and so
in a bit we’ll go
to places we
tonight will see
in dreams of blue
with me
with you

its night and so
to dreams i go

Why wave the white flag now ?

poetry

You have pined up all your hopes on me

you have nailed me to the cross

Do you actually think that I will resurrect for you?

On my way out, you cheerfully threw at me your

“Work Hard” pet phrase.

Hell, I have aged at the touch of you

my joints hurts in the open air

my back responds to well to the gravity’s pull

only this snow so white on the ground

keeps me from hurrying to the devil’s mouth

not homesick. just proud of where i’m from.

poetry

soft – like carpet you can lay on
delectable – like a fresh glazed cake donut
exciting – like week one of football season
soothing – like a shower with the right water pressure
clean – like bare feet you don’t have to wipe off to come inside
diverse – like “smothered burrito or cajun mahi mahi?”
comfortable – like your own car with your own loud music
relaxing – like sunday driving
bright – like needing sunglasses after the snow
clear – like crisp air turning mist after a snow
pretty – like an afternoon walk around the lake
roomy – like the width of the isles at the grocery store
spicy – like the mustard on your beer brats
better – like america

fragmented

poetry

i remember 16 as loud as
a gunshot, yet as
boring as cornfeilds in the
summer

it was permanent, then
the insanity
that is
that comes along with
knowing just how long
your
arms
are
exactly
and
not being precisely
sure
not being exactly
perfectly
fucking
sure
of how to use them

i remember 16 as dead as
a cemetary yet as frantic
as hanging to the side of
the earth
(with your nails)

it was all so fragmented, then
love
that is
and now looking back i seem
to miss
every
single
breath
i
took
of
every
day
and the rain that dripped outside
my windows on some stolen night
with the fruition of my higschool
fantasies and the bane of my
young-adult
ones

i remember 16 as well as i remember
anything else these days:
most often when i’d like not to.

the teeth in the smile of the corporation

poetry

when you need them they make sure
that you fit into the square
whether your a circle or a triangle
and that you never have stolen
or curse
or lied
and that you love to listen to people
talk about themselves
and you’ve never lost your temper
and you think about others before yourself
they make sure that you are
a perfect
square
with
all
your
sides
the
same
length
so when the customer walks in
your smile is as shiny and warm
and deft and dead as
the red colored vest you wear