turning it off like a faucet
is possible and almost just as easy.
however the sudden lack of
flooding in my mind is not
nearly so black-and-white
desirable
as an un-flooded kitchen.

sure things would be clearer,
cleaner, and less work to keep
mold-free.
but shutting out the chaos
just sounds so damn boring.

I recall,
and vividly,
wresting you in a slumped position
with your head cushioned carefully
and your back curved
by the wight of yet another
bad decision

We slept for just about an hour
and rested for an hour more
and in between fits of consciousness
you swore that you’d be alright
once the fading passed

I find you now and again
these days,
and drinking and smoking and
all the other ings you do
are still a collected pass-time
but your back
is a little straighter,
at least

a morning to contemplate
to dwell
on truth for a change
and seek something
of worth
a morning to spend
not uselessly in bed
for a change.

I hung from the mirror
one of those smelly pine trees
where you’re supposed
to trim the wrapper
and slide it down bit
by bit
so that the air is freshened
gently and bit
by bit
but I am not one to be gentle
on the matter of pine trees
and though the thing was
labeled ‘black forest’
the Bonneville now smells
like Heaven I tell you

i pissed myself laughing
and broke my ribs and
turned blue-close to
asphyxiation
and the tremor giggles
were painful for days
and i shit my pants
and oh my legs quivered
at the all-holy
and wept at its feet
and then i went to work
and came home and ate
some food and then i
saw another one and

I cover myself with cuts
and scratches
as I stride or stalk
from point to point in time
and rotation

and I hardly complain at all

But sometimes a needle
will nick just so
or a bramble will sink deep
or paper cuts
(Paper Cuts!)
will stop my stride
(or stalking)

and sometimes in mid-step

and though these wounds
sting mercilessly now and then
they are but cuts
and scratches

and I swear I will not pick at them
(most of the time)

There were whisps of cloud in the sky
if I recall correctly
and the paint on my car hood
was dull as ever
and we went on like we always did

I learned to walk once
and haven’t stopped since
and I’ve spoken good English
for some time now and
I’ve had seven cars in
just as many years
but the first one is always
such a thing, you know?

and we went on like we always did
except for the part where I
finally got to see you play
and it was just such a thing.

i recall youth
and fields where i asked my father
to explain the minutiae of the
grain my family called ‘wheat’.
i’d run through with broken
shoes on skinny paths past
harmless snakes and burst past
sandstone while chomping straw
freshly picked and void of
grain as it’d already been chewed.

i recall smiling as the skies were so
bright my mother feared for sunburn;
that and my father’s smile of delight
on his boy and his utter obliviousness
to the complex world around him.

i was there when snow fell and filled
the dirty fields with redemptive white
long before i understood any symbolism
i appreciated the beauty, even the cold.

and the mountains i took for granted?
now i regret my lack of understanding.
regret my granted taking
my youth leaving
and my lack of picturesque memory keeping.

in my youth i used to
disconnect our family’s
home telephone and
run a line up to my
bedroom and call
girls or prank
call businesses

i was on the
internet
giving out my credentials

chatting
and
sometimes even
recieving phone calls
from california
or ann arbor
or iowa

even after punishment
i would run this wire
in the night
like a spy

i never knew
you were dying for that
and
i’ll be turning
24 this year.

Some days I find a box of pocky on the desk
and that’s all I really need in an evening.

my most brilliant yet
wait till july to resolve
and change things half a year.

long term is overrated hence
my most brilliant yet

For Tara

I am moss
growing slowly
and climbing up
rocks at catatonic
crawl. You are lightning
Splitting the ground with
proud movements. I’ve
always been ashamed
of the moments
when my subtle
is too much but
When you touch me

I explode to grow into
the whole forest. This
is like a million years
of sunlight
condensed in to a single second
like a magnifying glass airplane
right over me
like the ground is covered
in broken bottles
refracting and acting like diamonds
I’ve been

rough.
I’ve been the moss
and the rock
I’ve been sand on the bottom of a lake
been driftwood
been dead leaf been
mulch
It’s never been like this. Listen

there’s never been a painting
like
your light
through my leaves. Please
keep
shining. That’s
all I need to
Stop
being moss
To start
climbing up
It’s never been like this
Trees were never ladders until
I had somewhere to meet you between
the canopy
and the sun. I’m
running up now
for the first time
and this time
It’s permanent, so
keep your light on me. Please
Listen

I never did know eyes could glisten like
yours. Like
the whole sky
in half an inch
I used to be moss
but you
the sun and moon and
the in between
have made me
Greener
than I thought I could be
You
have realized
the forest inside of me.

your model is broken
but we’ve got a fix for you
a tweak here and change
in philosophy there and
you’ll be on the road to success
in no time
having hopped over from
the road to nowhere
(where you’ve been for
a while now).

and boy, have we got a fix
for you.

oh child today may be warm
but the night is not so forgiving
and if it makes me sleep well
you can call me foul
but those of you who spend
their whole day smiling
will freeze in the night
for truthful men
know no conceit.

My arms numb, my chest
collapsing, my head
sinking. I am alone-
why wouldn’t I be? Here
I am, left aside-
rot and wonder all
I’ve left in this.
Wishful thinking never gets ya
anywhere, and I’m done
with all the plausible reasonings
I had stored in my artillery crate.
No defense is good enough, for
I’ve clearly met my match.

I still look at the sky
when I get out of the car
most nights
and it still takes my breath
away
seventy percent of the time
and this is going on
for years now.

And sometimes it’s nice
with the balance how it is
but when you say Good Morning
all I want is saxophones
and when you say it again
I shouldn’t hear nothin’
except for
damn

I spoke with a Deacon

I said

‘Deek,
Why, my whole world can be summarized
in this pocket. And there’s some money
in it, and there’s some lint and hair
and other things to interest me barely.

‘A couple more folks jive in this pocket
too and they hear me. Every once in a while
it opens up and we get the daylight and
all’s well and good, except sometimes
here comes this hand to take one of us out.

‘And there’s a hole somewhere, though I
can’t ever find it for the life of me,
but now and again things get dropped and
runs straight down the leg in to some
beat up old tennis shoe.

‘So Deek,
my whole world is a torn pair of jeans
and some cat won’t take the time to patch
or stitch ’em, and grabs us out and
shakes us up, and so how am I supposed
to have any good reason to pay him
any mind at all?’

The Deacon spoke back.

He said

‘My boy,
you can disregard the man what wears
these Holy Cloths, but just you wait
until Laundry Day. Then we’ll see what
comes out in the wash!’

I replied to the Deacon

I said

‘That’s cool, Deek.’

And now I don’t pay him any mind either.

These arms they throb
and sometimes they get away and sometimes
they are permanent fixtures
and sometimes they are strong enough to
tear a door down and others
they are just strong enough
to keep it steady while the pins are pulled
and it’s a difficult throb
to keep up with when
it’s so far out of your head
and so dissimilar to your heart
but they throb nonetheless
and they get away sometimes and sometimes
they never leave

The air-pressure changes
(you can feel it in your gut)
All your hairs stand up
and I know you like your guitar
electrified, baby,
there’s nothing you can say
about a big brass sound
except for
Damn