The difference between agony and suffering is the subject of the pain.
Suffering is when you’re the one in pain.
Agony is when the one you love is suffering before your eyes

and you’re helpless to intervene.

my anger feeds off of your happiness
errant emotions you force into the moment
stupid unfinished lovesongs written to strangers
to every stranger you see, every day
whose frequency is innumerable
to which you profess, each is as important
nay i see entropy with each guffaw
i see desperation in the face of mediocrity
i see another dopamine junky
a sociopathic one, at that
licking the floor for happiness
in the form of laughter.

I found a truth in a bathroom stall

I cut corners and arrived in a cornerless position

I was left waiting once when the tide came in and everyone forgot I was drowning

My best friend is an animal

and if I’m lucky I’ll die in a plane crash before cancer eats me from the inside

But at least I am happy in my big blue hat

and now one brother
has been released and
the other remains under
devils thumb. and we wait
some more for an endless
coming, for our God who
doesn’t experience time
in the same way we do
(or so we’re told), for our
God who experiences agony
in much the same way we do
and we beat against the air
in a (hopefully) winning-but-
not-even-one-satisfying-blow
battle.

as i wait helplessly by for my
sons. to embrace and finally
not have to let go.

let the loneliness penetrate
i deserve it for the
mocking of the birds
which were chirping
i was
annoyed
damn me to loneliness
i deserve it for what
i said,
for the moments trapped
in selfishness
for the moments
which i strangle
the air
let the loneliness get me
like the cold
it’s what
ever.

say what you will
but i aint letting
go of this thing
which i’m slightly
abusing in the
name of freedom.

you think all
tobaccos are
created equal
because you
were taught
of the evils
of paper-wrapped
crap.

it is evil.

but briar wrapped
heaven is a gift
straight from
above.

it’s sad really
but that’s how he ended
up on the warm side
of luke,
(not to be confused with the dark side)

I knew a man that claimed
to swim with Dragon-kin,
to have met the lords of
all Creation

He was a tall man,
and broad,
but not so broad
to have trouble with doors,
nor so tall
to take issue with
tree-branches

He was an old man,
too.

His voice was strong,
yet rasping.
He wore fine boots
and his other clothes
were well cared-for.

He was wily.

And when he said
he had swum with legends
and supped with God,
though it could never
have been so,
I believed him.

They were metaphors,
I’m sure,
his old exalted friends,
and he was truly
just as great.

And all of his stories
were always the best,
anyway.

like a four year old getting their first brain freeze and thinking the ice cream has turned on them, you just don’t understand.

just a reminder:
i blame you for the splatter
of blood on my wall above
the dresser i cannot wash
off for the life of me.
the blood is mine, but the cause
was yours. and this limp
i’ll carry as a constant
reminder with me in addition
to the bottle of cleaner
i keep on said dresser
and the plaster of paris
creepy model of your head
you made for me in the drawer.
you told me to take it out
and hit it with a bat. a bat
to bring my anger out on a model
of your head.

how did we end up together in the
first place when your insanity
is bleeding through your teeth?

Stacking skipping-stones
on their round faces

try so hard to keep them up

exasperation with each collapse

eager second try
and third try too

Then only stubborn resolution

four stones stacked,
finally.

Five!

Collapse.

Such exasperation,
alas,
had been yet unknown.

—

So it is with life, sometimes,
as stacking skipping stones.

i was here for
8 hours for every
24 it took the sun
to go over my head
and come back again
and now we’re
closing up shop

the floors are cleaned
and silence pervades
this beast that time
gave a name

the pawn shop,
where you learn the absolutes
how to avoid them
and to spend your time
swimming in hyperbole

unchecked commerce
on the edge of the west
the dying fashion of
negotiation

and we’re closing up shop
and once the doors lock
a stranger to this womb
i will be,
but all the better for it.

when i eat deliciousness i cannot help
but worship the One who made
the chickens to eat the grass to soak
in this sauce, the sauce made of the
the grain fermented by the yeast of
heaven for beer to be boiled and
then chicken to be thrown in. i cannot
help but worship the One who made
the ground nutritious wherein the red pepper
can grow slowly more spicy to be chopped
and added to beer sauce for chicken to
soak in.

when i smoke deliciousness i cannot help
but worship the One who made
this Indian weed, and the ground where
the leaf can grow tall, strong, and be cut
down. the One who made the sun dry the leaves
and the One who made the ground perfect
for this tree to be cut down, for it’s wood to be
porous and cool, and light, to be perfectly clenched
between my teeth so i may worship while
my prayers are slowly carried to heaven
in clouds of smoke. something i know is unnecessary
but i like to imagine happening nonetheless.

when i smoke, and when i eat, and when i drink,
i cannot help but praise the Creator.

Jewelry adorned
every extremity
but she wanted more
so she took a diamond ring
and he could not afford
to feed his family.

He would toil
for months again
just to make back a half
of that stolen fortune,
and would pray that she
not wander by again,
and lustfully.

She only wanted more
than he could offer,
even if she said
she loved him.

He would suffer
nonetheless

Away we go away from Owego
And by the place where all’s well in Endwell—
To where perhaps there’s gold buried in Gouldsboro.
Further on, to where one wonders why
There’s such animosity towards vegetation in Bushkill Falls.
Of course, that’s nothing compared to Buttzville,
Which must be a terrible place to live, butt made a great rest stop.
There were others. They’re still there.
I imagine I’ll go back some time.

For Tara 

I’m going to be
the first man on the moon.
But you’ll be getting here soon.
In the meantime
I’ll try to stay on the side
that catches all the light.
You’ll see me
(just a speck)
I’ll be waving to you.
And when the day comes
that you don’t see me there
Don’t worry, I haven’t gone
anywhere.
I’m lowering you a ladder
the rope is made of silk
and you’ll climb it.
I know that you will.
That’s just what you do.
And will call it our own
when we’re both
on the moon.

when handled with care
and filled just so
she brings me calm for
some time in a way so
few others can.

Like trees left to their own devices
we grow until we run out of sun
and water

Unlike our leafy brothers, we
can kick and flail when the others come
to cut us down

Some are cut nonetheless
and sawn and made to boards
that are made to hold up
the others’ works.

Some cut back,
like me.

I am like a tree
with a chainsaw and a memory.

take my
face and dunk it in
chemicals you’ve “man-made”
in china.

water-board the amnesia
out of me and remind
me of life and what it was