if i had a paintbrush
i make splotches on your
face and claim i used
a sponge but it wouldn’t
have been a sponge. instead
it would have just been
a paintbrush because thats
how i feel about you.
i feel like defacing you,
defaming you, and then lying
about it.

no matter what generation we disavow
youth is a terrifying tide of a thousand light years of turpitude
prowling and laughing
crying and whining

from pier to anchor
electric lamps to small towns
we’re full of imperfect ideas
into a tunnel we stare at shadows
dreaming of the day, we’ll wake up into
a light, worship and be true

Out of harms way
we’ll empty our cups and welcome the flow of the universe
we’ll not settle scores and further spread ourselves thin
or thicken ourselves with selfish pursuits

The world will not grate on our spirits or oversee our minds-
we’ll not revere in delusion
we’ll reach out to the love watering our roots

We’re ageing children, the feathers on our wings keep falling out
but we’ll be what we were meant to be
at the end of our lines
we will billow into the sky and soak up the warm light

staring at the wall
paralyzed

some people call it
second-guessing

i feel disinterest
in even moving

there’s a leap of
faith in walking
like you’ve got
somewhere to go to
but that place is
just a different one
to repeat the same
tradition in

until you’re staring
at a wall

infinitely second-
guessing

wondering what you
should do.

There are mountaintops
that I am sure I’ll never even consider
summiting. Vast oceans
I may never cross. I have yet
to see a Tundra, let alone
wander it as hopelessly
as so many have before me,
and I know not how it feels
to be a tiny yapping dog
in ‘Gator country
in the spring. What I do, though,
I do with fervor, and when
the day is done and all
the money has been counted,
it will be clear as a silver bell:
the saxophones, I don’t just own
for decoration

the calm
before the chaos
settled by
almonds
and eggs
because protein
somehow eases
he nerves
before the
crazy crazy.

Amidst increasing hordes
of number faced suits who
can calculate at the speed
of sound and are ticker taken
by the handful and swallowed
or rejected by monolithic
buildings stacked on top of
each other, stacked on top of
each other in cities that more
and more look like and function
as circuit boards only
lighting up less and dimming down
more and more until each
city becomes another defunct
gigantic ATM, it has become
increasingly important to notice
rabbit tracks, and wonder
if snow hurts when it falls.

So I stepped by
and scarcely had I drawn out
my pocket knife
(for to carve a simple glyph
for to find my way again)
than did a Disciple come forth
with black cloths waving
and a smile on
and a great, firey sword
and when he spake,
it was of heresies and
how-dare-Is and
when he hefted his blade aloft
it was slow and unwieldly
and with naught but a pocket knife
I struck with speed,
and the disciple –
black cloths and all –
fell face down and expired,
for even the biggest
firey sword has no business
being hefted
by an idiot

sometimes smoke
perfectly thickens
drainage at the back
of my throat to a
pleasing consistency
removable by
cough.

can’t live like
the guy passing
me here on my
left as i give
my all climbing
this mountain at
full speed with
the fanciest gear
and the new app
which tells me my
speed down to the
second because
it may be true
he ain’t dressed
right and he looks
a bit funny
but i cant live
like this guy
who gives his
friggin all
every moment
of every day.

sometimes folks say things
they don’t mean and they can
be hurtful things that those
folks say. sometimes.

but then there are times
people say things they really
do mean and those things can
be hurtful too when people
say things like that and really
mean it.

and lets not forget those
friends who say the things we
know we need to hear but weren’t
able to convince ourselves of
because of our own foolishness
and lack of courage to face what
would have been edifying truth
because those are the kinds of friends
that really edify us when speaking
truth in the midst of our lack
of courage to cut through our foolishness
and convince us of what weren’t
able to convince ourselves. it’s
precisely those friends are
not to be forgotten.

He left some years past
and with all the craft and skill he had
he parsed existence ceaselessly
pausing only to enjoy it’s wonders

He loved a woman who did not love him
and so he had no reason to visit
nor scarcely a reason to write back home

He crewed a small vessel and
he loved it, too.
It never did fail him, so he knew
it loved him back

And though he wandered so,
his mind never did, astoundingly

He was locked to the confines of space
and finding that it was big enough,
decided to let sleeping dogs lie

He’s there now,
I imagine,
though without a letter home
I guess I’ll never know.

i retract what i said previously
about wanting to scream or shout
or cry out upon my demise some notable
phrase that might get etched somewhere
so people could say “oh he was so” this
or whatever because i realized one day
that i hate almost every last other
human being i have ever met and would
prefer not even a tombstone to be
remembered by because you would all just
fuck it up somehow anyway.

I dreamed of you that evening;
all of the luster and intoxicating scent
and every smile was a subway token
and every story was a beautiful potted plant
on a windowsill,
halfway up a tall, tall mountain

So what if the last ten years seem like a waste
to the onlooking eyes, i know what i’ve gained
i have gained a life worth living
perhaps not in a concrete worldly way
but i know now that life is a blessing not a right
I was lost and unbirthed to the world for some time
but I have come to, and even though occasionally
I drift in and out of light,
shapeless and hurting, I somehow feel like I’m unfurling
and growing.

it’s kind of funny to watch
everyone misspell his name
and say he was with them while
they were hunting or doing their
laundry or just thinking of him

all because they want him to be
there

all because if it was their way
he would be

all because people are supposed
to understand that death is unfair
and that he should be there still
because humans are used to imposing
their will on unwilling surroundings

but sometimes we fall absolutely
short

and blatantly lie about the truth and
claim our will
imposes on
even if nothing happens.

And the ground opened up before me
and a Djinn appeared
and it stared in to my Immortal soul
and said not a word
and though it frightened
it did not deter
and I was stalwart when it bellowed
and I was unyielding when it clawed
and though it’s malevolence was immeasurable
and it’s breath too hot to bear
I did not flee or startle
for I knew that a Djinn,
powerful though he was,
was not a match at all
for reality

you are waiting for
a miracle to happen
as you look in the mirror
your body decomposing

the blood will turn purple
then black

energy will ebb and flow

until left standing alone
in a field full of corn
is you with just the crickets
mocking you and you are
waiting for a miracle
to happen

i’m telling you that
statistically speaking
you will turn to dust
waiting for a miracle
to happen

your beautiful face will
be lined across
and the tears of regret
and the pangs of nostalgia
may bring you to your knees
waiting for a miracle
to happen

the building and mirror will
disintegrate

the president’s plane will
circle around

tons will be moved here and there
in metric and standard
humans imposing their will
and you will be just waiting.

I cast my jacket to the ground
and walked on in the warmth
of the setting sun

When his thermometer read
each of those seventy-four degrees
it was disparity

His man had sworn it
not a notch past sixty-five;
his universe shattered