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

When I was 14 there were
a few small pieces of paper
that were everything and
it was phone numbers mostly
and one of them had those ideas
for that film I’d like to make
and then a list of singles
that I would try to download
as time allowed
through one of three peer-
to-peer file sharing networks
(fingers crossed they were clean)
and now it’s almost a decade
and almost the same amount of paper
but instead of folded neatly in
a corner of my wallet or wedged
in the back of a spiral notebook,
they’re all tucked away in Washington
and Goodness willing they’ll
stay that way and Goodness willing
this time next decade they’ll still
mean
something

bitter
sour
rotten
like your breath
like your skin
like your attitude
towards your friends
towards your family
towards your partners
in business
in school projects
in crime
against your neighbors
against your enemies
against
humanity
a concept you misunderstood
years ago.

in the midst of the air
being sucked out
of the room, i dropped a pin
just to see if we could hear it.

lain and folded
a plaid without a home
bends in all the wrong places.
and creases. oh how it creases,
though lain, and folded.
a plaid, void of a home.

And I say to you,
with the cloths tied in your unkempt hair
and your smug smile and your foul lips
and the swagger you seem to reserve for
every waking momen
and the lack of cash to fund you
and the lack of food to feed you
and the fact that these two truths stem
from a lacking in other parts,
I say,
What gives you the right?

i have a warm bed
but my feet hang off the edge
sometimes i hear the distance cry
like some tainted lullaby
and it hurts.

i’m at a train station
playing tug-of-war with impatience
sometimes i hear it coming
but it’s probably just storming
and it hurts.

December 13th, 2007 at 02:23:06 PM

This murder sits as a beggar’s banquet
waiting to be fed by those
who would give all of their love
If they had it to give

But I have fed these foul crows before
and though my coffers are full
These will get no charity from me;

My coffers are full but my patience
for animals,
for simpletons alike,
Has run as dry as Giza,
In it’s later years

i’m so vain
i totally wrote this whole
song about me.
i’m so vaaaaiiiiin…..

there’s a sad song playing on the
radio in my head, and it unfortunately
does not fit the mood.

in fact it’s ruining my experience
here at the pub entirely. the sports
on the television would be great if this
dumb violin would stop being so effing
brilliant. and the beer in my hand
would taste much better if that trumpet
could just shut up for a while, why
must he jam so long, so righteously?

why must the music that never shuts
up play so clearly? so beautifully? so
wonderfully in all the right ways, but at
all the wrong times?