you just want to fall down wherever you like you think the tears from your bruised knee should stop traffic you think fair for you is fair for everyone you think your mental boulders are real you think it makes me cold-hearted that i think you’re wrong you are crushed beneath the weight of a boulder and you are lying there with no strength to lift it you will spend hours wondering whether your time being offended at other people’s lifestyles helped you in any way move that boulder but it has no feelings to manipulate and you are powerless to move the objective things with no subjective ones around you are an individual worm who all along felt it was more.
your backwards glassespoetry
I sat here to live unwittingly
to front only the inessential whims of my ego
and see if i could not waste away,
when i came to die,
discover that i had lived.
Upon realizing the lies will continuepoetry
The thought hit me like a
Fist to the neck
So I rolled over, gently
And let the sheet fall
From off one shoulder
A small wave, lapping at my side
Your lips met my back like
Little sea babies, drenched
And salty, pressing their
Bodies into the sand
To dry off
To cover something up
There are only so many words
Available to us now
And I’ve used them all up
They’re washed up on the
Rotting away like whales.
you are a big black monster that is
the color of a black hole and loud
as hell standing behind everyone in
some sort of transcendental fashion
but our ears are dulled to the point
to where your incessant sucking no
longer piques our interests.
but you, you are hiding everywhere
and your energy makes everything
it makes the engines turn with
heat your energy flows through
the veins of us all packaged in
pretty bows. but in all of those
pretty bows also is your loud
screaming and your lack-of-color.
and you, since you do all of these
things people will say that, when
confronted with your existence,
that this is reason enough for you
to still be alive.
sucking and poking and prodding and
demanding and taking and ripping up
the earth like slurping noodles or
pulling the fabric off of the top of
the table but all of the things on
top of it falling down. all of the
trees and buildings and things just
falling down and making the loudest
sound only comparable to the one
you make at all times that we,
as a people, under god, indivisible,
have decided to ignore with our
utmost and purely sincere American
you, nameless, horrible wretched
demon of the conscious or subconscious.
you are on the face of everyone at
all times, you are on the cusp of
every feeling, the tip of every tongue,
the parenthesis to every sentence,
you ooze and seep through cracks like
smoke or the oily-creature-thing from
the animated film fern gully.
you, it is not possible to kill you.
DO YOU REMEMBER THE RIDE TO CRAIGS CRUISERS
WHEN IT WAS REALLY SUNNY
AND WE WERE PLAYING THE RADIO LOUD
AND WE HAD ALL OF THOSE TRAMADOL
THAT YOUR GRANDMOTHER LEFT YOUR MOTHER?
WASN’T THE SUN LIKE GOD AND
THE CLOUDS LIKE ANGELS AND
THE BLUE SKY LIKE HEAVEN?
REMEMBER GETTING HIGH RIGHT BEFORE
WALKING INTO YOUR PARENT’S HOUSE?
BECAUSE SOMETIMES BAD IDEAS CAN
BE GOOD ONES, TOO.
DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU HAUNT
OR I HAUNT ME?
OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT?
YOU KNOW, IN REGARDS TO THESE THINGS
THE PAST FUCKING HAUNTS ME,
AND SONGS LIKE “SHOULD HAVE TAKEN
ACID WITH YOU” BY NEON INDIAN
MAKE ME WANT TO JUMP OFF OF
MY SECOND STORY BALCONY TO MAKE
A POINT TO MYSELF,
OR TO BE HONEST TO MYSELF.
BECAUSE THINKING OF YOU MAKES
love is a hamster wheelpoetry
all that wants you is my cock
an animal that says “go! go!”
rip through epidermis to find
pot of gold orgasm
from your silhouette
to your bone structure
to white blood cells
i want to hold you in my hands
cock aside, however, i will
let your breath titillate
my spine, and
keep a blueprint in my head
for darker times
i will name you stars
i will cement you in rhyme
i will not ask you to stay
lives in my spine nowpoetry
little city burning
backs gettin’ warm
pictures of men
that shoulda been me
so i never grew up
i’m glad i figured that out
and i torture myself
and i’m only alright sometimes
lighting up the glass
can’t stay off the ground
and i can’t remember
how nice it used to be
pictures of the moon
that’s where i’d like to be
that pond behind your house
where i go when i sleep
the people they just talk in their sleeppoetry
strap yourself in
you are in this for the long haul
your eyes can only see
ahead of you and your
legs can only jump so high
so tighten those straps,
it’s gonna be a long haul.
everyone else will be asleep
we suggest you do the same
let the ends
justify the means
get on that pole
with your mouth shut.
point and shootpoetry
catch memories on film
paint outlines on asphalt