Poetry

Here is where you'll find all my poems, and just my poems in the chronological order that I have posted them in, and that pretty much sums this page up.

You'll also notice that the poems here are in a different font than my usual posts.
The reason is because I know that with the 'Lucida Handwriting' font some things
can be lost or hard to read some times (But I'll keep using it cause it looks cool and that's what I use in all my poetry documents outside of the blog) so that's why I have made all the poems also accessible in an easy to read font.
Another note on my writing style:
The style and wording and rhyming will probably change just as I do.
It can be more or less flowery, clever word play and rhyming or not, some of them are very good some of them are less so, but they all represent something.

Sometimes my syntax and what not will be a little unconventional. If a poem is spaced or set up in a weird way more often than not there's a reason for that.  Also sometimes the setup will be weird because of the way the blog formats it, I'll try and keep it so it doesn't.

Also, if you do see any grammatical errors or anything along those lines that you think wasn't done in the name of fancy, fancy, art then feel free to let me know (via the "Contact Me" page) and if it's a mistake I shall thank you and correct it! If not I'll let you know and thank you anyways! 

___________________________________________________


                         *Last updated 3/6/2013*

The In-Laws

Want to watch the world fall

and think of ways to build it up,

know all the ways to cry?

What will you think when others die?

Hell fire & Skeletons.

Be my Helter Skelter.

Is there a line between eroticism & artistry?
Will you make both me?
Understand my hypocrisy

when I say this world needs to change

then stay home to watch TV.

Know I have a dozen tattoos

no intention of getting a single one.

Don’t watch while I air guitar

This world is my own,

know I can’t let you into all of it.

Can you follow that

I’d love nothing more

than a mattress on a loft floor.

but that hope carries a past.

“Awesome” is a phrase

from my Jesus-lovin’ days

and I’m not sure where they went

I had a family back then.

And to keep them happy
I’ll still go on Sundays.

I want to save this world

and I know so little beyond.

I don’t know what’s wrong

and I want superpowers.
And I’m telling you all this

because I know you don’t exist.

An Analyst

Chapter One:

Hemingway

Miller, Mamet or Hammett

never found themselves on the chaise

Cummings  & Eliot

Sylvia and Levy had their own way

but never needed to talk about Daddy

(No, yuck. I don’t even know that for sure.

plus there’s too many allusions. It’s like
Saturday
Night

Live

on Prozac.)

and I feel as though

if Franz should be the one they’re alluding

then with hard liquor &brooding

That’s the way to do it.

New Yorke tunes  & pathetic scrawl

I’ll publicize the worst, almost all

except I must stay (husshhhh )

cause that’s oh so (husshhhh)
Stalling till I kick it cause

post-mortem is where it’s at, man.

Leftovers

He hadn’t counted sheep for weeks

Until he heard your name

Two syllables bounced ear to ear

As he desperately tried to wrangle

Ewes turned black with fear

Over a section of wood fence

And they fell as his head tilted.

A hypothetical made possible for him,

He understood what he had done

And what he was doing as he looked through

Texts to exes

He only has one ex.

Less sex, more drunk sunken thoughts of flirtation

At occasions with women & boys where the main attraction

Isn’t a fraction of how hard he’s pressing his back against the wall.

Leaving smashed and paranoid for home so he won’t face the

potentiality of  understanding that acquaintances like

Dirty Dancing 2.

And friends can amend but they won’t tell him of their future

Because now he understands what he’s done.

It’s a slippery slope and he’s got his ski’s on.

Because he wants to get his fling on

A kiss with a girl he’ll never miss at the home of

A friend with a girl he adored a love requited then withdrawn

Breathing in smog from a bong in a toy house of a little sister

To forget two syllables

And start thinking about sisters and leftovers

Spit shining sloppy seconds to swap spit for seconds

At a showing of “Friends With Benefits” without any.

Taking the TP with him to the dining room seat.

In the basement there’s a VHS of “Titanic”

Playing and they watched the whole thing with no interruption

But I’ve never seen “Chocolat” the whole way through

And I don’t intend to. 

Rockwell

Again I shall call myself out.
Let it be on record & shitty reference:

Discretion be damned.

I can hold my drink,

that’s what I’m here to show.

Clever.

(like that

“habeas corpus” line.

which loses depth

when you truly know .)

Stoned,

you drew a tiny robot.

Drunk,

I drew one, worse

Handed a sharpie,

left my mark on your coffee table.

And yours are clearly better

Mine born hushed on a syllabus out of boredom

& transparent flirtation.

You’ll be defended in a diner

the next morning.

by a friend who wouldn’t be

if he found the page titled Her.

falling from my notebook.

This is my nocturnal admission

Before the fire station is a street sign

with your name that

precedes a second with a

misspelled music school

where another name I’d like to

have you etch out on my shoulder attends.

A phone full of

Unfinished Bettys

in this less than

Norman Rockwell life. 

Futon

I don't think you know what it is.
I think you know what sex is,
what movies,
pop,
&
paper-back grocery store novellas
have told you.

I've been trying to avoid
t y p i n g it because it's
just what a poet would say.

I guess that's it.

9:40am

please please

please  forget

                    when I spilled

              flat diet pepsi

                     in front

                    of you.
                I was late.

                   you are cute.

                     flustered.

on the floor of the lobby I must’ve seemed like such a little freshboy.

               stu    crazy                         straw        stupid stupid.

What               pid        a way               lid cup      to start the day

Felt Pen 

Take away the distractions and what am I?

Just a frightened little reference to something you can relate to.

When you get to brass tacks you find the log in your eye

and they’ve taken the spring from your step

stopping

at every ledge, place to lean to check the sheen of

Pushed in push pins in your sole &

walking on the heels of every

nice, decent, semi interesting, semi attractive girl who talks to me

or doesn’t.

And then I sit down and wait a year because then I can add

to the bad collection

of needles in my arch
I will see my own idiocy when someone’s coming after me

or at least it seems, whatever my vanity leads me to believe.
And on the days of the week I think

“I don’t want to be so weak, I want to be confident and honest

And sweep them on my feet.”

A stunning girl

I can’t have 
steps into

my home

and I shut up like a clam.

What do I say, with a glass of orange juice in hand?

I wish I could say interesting things.

And the universe, she likes to teach me things

And with each thing I think I’m an ass

Which I am.

Oh, what I am.

La Douleur Exquise, what a wonderful phrase.
Suspicion made certain would let the wide awake lie.

Your shoulder in my hand, with a man,

Could I have done something were the head with the man?

Return, I’ll clean up.
Until then

To sprint around with mason fisted jars

after every pixie & dame

who piques my gaze.
Perks of being a solitary coward

allow me to stare from a distance.

Your dress is so inviting.
Cut off my hands,

You can take them in a box.
to hold every now and then

I’d be luckier than most men. 

Reality

I tell you this,
my sometimes friends,
do not trust words written in pen.
Do not believe the sights you see

Or the things you hear from listening

Do not trust your art

And do not trust your friends

Your loved ones

And acquaintances

Do not trust anyone you can or cannot see

And most important,

Do not trust things said by me.

And even more important,

Do not trust yourself, never ever trust yourself.

For the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer

And who is closer to you than thee? 

14

We never made it to this day,

On it I felt awkward.

Obliged to meet you at your locker door

Now,

5 months till the day I worry.
I waited with baited breath

As all my school chums go steady

And I pin myself to that indulgent title of “Lonely”
“Little Miss Depression”.
To be pitied, how lovely.
I wanted to be wanted

& left alone. 

Sgt.

What a concert of a woman.
Commuters I’ve seen

a dozen on the street

But she’s

A patched burlap green girl

I want to understand what she does

Why she taps her foot to her songs

Is it the same reason I tap mine?
I want to strong arm to the front

For a meet-and-greet

Be impolite to get the best seat,

See front seated be up front

With her & know.
I like when my friends don’t understand

Staring.

Flailing, time signatures

Through hair whose name I have yet to have.

You seem nice

And I hope that’s not the case.
I hope you’re diabolical

And over mint chocolate chip

I can tell you my brave new world.

This used to be a discolored ballad

Let me show you waterworks for colours.

Let’s worry about nothing

and whisper sweet somethings

What is your name?

Infini-tea

Dressed to the toe

So people look

Let them look

Can’t tell if they’re impressed

Hope it turns you on.

All who wonder will lust

This wonder,

Of impending pressure

On a house of discontent

And the dress on your habeas corpus

Let the lost eyes wander until they're caught.

To not be charged till the touch.

Seconds are not choice

But one man’s treasure

Is another man with similar tastes venture.
Captial T, Treason

Any thing less wouldn’t be quite grammatical

Don’t mind my stuttering

It means you've tied my tongue

with the idea of yours. 

Just Vague Enough To Work

½ the time my clothes don’t

Even feel comfortable

But I think people will think
I have something.
Just jokes people want anymore.

Jokes & agreement & difference, they want me to seem

Cool.
When I say difference,

I mean difference agreeable

Comfortable.

Fitted, lookin’ sexy, difference.
Difference we can market at social gathering
You’ll be a hoot, you old night owl.

You old wordplay, sell out single.
I ran out of jokes and people got mad

And I got sad

So jokes, no more jokes it all feels so fake

We all say that. I’ve run out of originality.
I ain’t marketable any more

I’m vain, mental masturbating prophet without profit

And money managing skills

And the idea that rhyming will make the poems better.
I can’t even get mad at you for not respecting,

Understanding,

Not making fun of

Me cause I have no clue who I am.
It’s all defined by what I own and what I listen to.
What a sad life.

My death will be shitty at this rate.
I’m trying to be artsy,
I look up things to impress.
But there’s a method to these matchsticks

It’s not just a name I came up with.

Brilliant

I think I’ll be famous.
Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.
I will much dispensary income.
I dream of being rich, you know.
I want nice things, I want access to nice people.

Pretty people for proper pennies.
Has a nice ring to it.
Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.
I haven’t had much attention lately.

No, not much at all.
I will not tolerate such ridicule.
No, sir.
I think I’ll be famous.
Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.
Hmmm…
I want people to understand but think I’m mysterious.
Isn’t that sexy? That’s sexy, I hear.
I’ll write and talk in an accent. Isn’t that sexy?
Pretty people for proper pennies.
I want to lose weight and become a

Pretty person for the proper pennies

And the proper strive

And drive

And ambition

Words that don’t rhyme

Put apply

To the situation.
To be honest

And simple
No that won’t do
That isn’t very sexy, no not at all.
I think I want all the attention

Can you own a spotlight?
I think I want all the attention
I know, but thinking makes you seem like a nicer person

Plus it’s vague and you know how I love that.
That’s sexy, I hear.
Why suffer for my heart when I lie in the lap of luxury?
And forget about my own rules about poetry?

Write lines like essays and write so sloppily.

(Imaginary)

Day dreaming I’m the best at everything

And loved by everyone

Whilst talking to no one

Because my own doubts are more fun

Than a reality of my vanity

On my vanity is mirror

Obviously

It’s a vanity

Insanity

I must suffer for my art.
Because I want to be famous.
and wear nice clothes

And be called a genius

I like nice clothes

Cause then I look nice

Nice neat nice new clothes.
We all must suffer for my art

I must be different so different

Ideally ideals the retreat on opposition

Are best for the position

Of a famous, person yes well liked.
Liked by all the people,

No child left behind
I want people to wish they had a mind like mine.
Yes.
That’ll do nicely.

My Clothes

Smell of gasoline,
They cover me.
That’s obvious and when I rhyme

I’m thinking of songs

A beat that keeps my mind on one thing

Not you, or the past or my social faux pas

Or the failures in things,

Or the color of eyes and feel of skin

Or I miss it.
Sobering up would be a lot easier

If I had ever even been drunk

Which would be nice if I had no scruples
Can I have those?
Am I allowed while I’m living this life

Where it bothers me if I even have a thought

Of the thoughts that don’t exist that someone might

Have about me or my friends or my hair or my clothes?
Vanity.
I don’t know when I started caring so much about so little.
You know we used to be naked. 

Fodder

I’d rather be somewhere else

Since home is going to be just a firing squad.

Friends turned to enemies

And enemies stay the same.
How to save my mind & friendships with one fell talk?
I can’t be myself anymore.
I plot my escape and return.

When I predict how you’ll react

I play out fantastic nightmares in my own head.
Vanity,

Pride,
something.

Can’t tell if I’ve changed or all of us have.
I wish I could be straight forward.
More honest.
I’ve forgotten what a real friend is.
But I remember how to avoid them.
My anger rises,

Days I think I’m going to lose it

And other days I just think the same quieter.
Stagnant people

Strangling me

With jokes that aren’t funny

Times together when I feel like running

Cause these days we all need to something to aim at

More metaphors? So many, hand me the ipecac.
Cannon fodder for an igniting hatred.

See aren’t we having fun? We are
Now what is my mind doing?
Ruining with this vanity.
(TO BE CONTINUED) 

Taipei Realizations

If fortune is in my favor,

it's stuck in a cookie

in a neon, paper latern scene 

soaked in America, consumed by we.

Thomas Paine

I always forget

how much I hate

The common man.

You're average or rather

Less than.

For someone who wants

to entertain the masses,

a king among men

It sure does hate "people"

People plural are awful,

gross,

bitter cookie cutter,

unique beings.

People are not unique

works of art

Just sloppy finger paintings

by an omniscient

forget-me-not

toddler.

I’m So Very, Very Clever Aren’t I?

The poems I write are sad,
So sad and whiney.
It’s because I am sad and I have time.
And no one has stopped me.
No one has yelled at me and said
“EXCUSE ME SIR! BUT YOUR POEMS ARE TERRIBLY DREADFUL.”
How so?
“PATHETIC I MEAN, IT’S A PITY PARTY FOR THREE.”
Me, myself and-
“I, YES NOW YOU SEE. I CAN INSULT YOUR POETRY
BECAUSE I AM YOU AND YOU ARE ME.”
I see,
And the easiest criticisms to swallow are mine
So stop me,
Goddamnit someone stop me,

Stop me,

Stop me,

And promises, of mine even easier to break.
And I’m off track.
And repeating like a broken

Like a broken-

Cliché.
And even saying clichés are cliché is cliché. 

Here's Looking At You Kid

Why didn’t anyone jump in
like in the movies -

A heroic thing

- Like in the movies

To save me?
I didn’t want to swim back up

It was dirty

And grimy,

Tip toed feet know

I don’t want to keep sinking

Why is everyone on dry land yelling?
Why is everyone on the boat yelling?
Why am I not yelling.
It’s not the why but the how.
How is easy

Land,

Short, definitive
And it stops.
why is the water I’m sinking in

Water is like the thoughts

They don’t move with,

But around you.
How didn’t I swim back up?
Wh-…How do I shift the blame?
How can I move again?
Why don’t I just sink to the bottom.

It’s a calamity chaos,

And oyster, I’m a pearl

Looking for myself in the world that is mine.
Because the world ends with me doesn’t it?
It doesn’t

So that’s how I find out,
How I don’t end with me.
How I will continue with the world.

Red Wax Lips

They call me “Danger Tom”,
I’m unpredictable they say
I’m dangerous
A loose cannon
On the my Hot Wheels set.

I write love notes on the back of
Animal Cracker boxes

Buried in the mulch,

Not the good stuff

That hardly cut, gives ya splinters kind.
It’s a bitch.

I finger paint on my palms

And put googley eyes

On fake plastic plants.
My mum gives me Adderall
And my dad bad habits.
I put dresses on those
Green.
Plastic.

Army men.

And melt their guns with a magnifying glass.

If I’m good
I get a sip

A sip ‘ah So-Dee-Pawp.
And if you takes a fistful ‘o

Crayons

You get brown.
Robin’s egg is the prettiest. 

I put stickers on my table so my parents won’t take it away.I wrote my name, and they still haven’t today.

And Return To The Well 

A stubborn mule,

My hands, and my head and my heart

Warring, throughout it all

Each wants a chunk of this

Life

Which struggles for it's own turn.

Should hate,

Should run,

Should jump,

Should pull

And I had a reason to not

To not do a lot of things

And you vanished in a puff if smoke

Like my clarity.

So what's stopping me from never waking up?

I imagine it's my dreams.

But oh, here's another problem.

Pollution II: The Great Barrier Reef 

Cut down these trees,

Their overabundance of oxygen

Is blinding me.
To die drowning.
Might be a gorgeous end.
But not in your commercials

I want no cement grave

I want to be buried among

The fish

And the seaweed

And sunken ships.
Because if I wake up

I’ll just swim back to the top.

But it’s harder to wake

When you’re covered in filth
Muddied water so bright

It’s exhausting

It robs you of that night

But trying to catch up just dumps

More

And more

And more

And more on top of you.

We see it’s strange,
What I thought was a clear light

Clean,

To help rid the ugly

Was more trash

But trash that made me happy.
So I thought
“Do I go back to a dumpster,

Just to think it’s the local pool?”
But the question is

Will I be able to still dive in

Remembering what it is.

Hindsight is key in writing

Because the only thing more permanent than pen

(Which isn’t very permanent to begin with)

Are thoughts.
which can be erased rather easily.

Foresight

Bears a fruit,

Which is sweet

But someone stubborn bites of it

Some covered in trash bites into a piece of fruit.
Think of it like this

When a human is starving

And  really starving, not what we call starving

And they have some food, they vomit.
A broken body isn’t used to the sweet.

A broken body shakes the branch

And cuts the arms on thorns that aren’t even there.

Cause c’mon, who’s afraid of a tree? 

Charlie Brown Syndrome

If sundowning is for the elderly,

Psychotic or forgetful

Then explain why it is

When it’s dark

And I’m in my bed

I’m completely mental

Right
I’m psychotic

And forgetful

Fretful

Sleep is dangerous

Because I never want to get out

Charlie Brown syndrome

I used to disguise his ugly pout.
Check a mailbox

Valentines

Christ-mas

Birthday

Everyday

Your relentless flow of nothing

Means more to me than before

I realize

Or if I don’t

People forget me.
I wish we still wrote letters

I can blame a shitty postman

And I can blame a shitty good friend

But it’s hard, cause I really know them.
Simple words.

Simple mind.
Simple me.

It has changed.

We have changed.

LOOK.

I know I’m insane

I know I’ve changed for the worst

So I don’t know if what I’m spouting,

If there’s truth in these words.
Because I know a lot of things have died.
And my mind’s everywhere but condolences

At a funeral.
Because my mind wanders at night

When I die it’s just like my life

Attention whore.

WHORE.
WHORE.
I know these
It’s words like these I can avoid

I won’t be clever,
cause I’m a guy.
So now I’ll be blunt about it all.
It feels like I’ve been forgotten.

That’s mostly all. 

Oak Harbor

The ferry sets off

Your on my mind

Oh how I want to go back in time

And sea you.

Oh ill play with words,

My humor hurts

When your laugh is not heard,

Knots away.

Anchor on my heart.

But maritime puns & setting suns

Will bring me no closer to you.

As the dark crashes,

still young and brash

yet full of hope for you

he’s sent me signs,

time & time

that again I’ll see you.

But as my

Faith

& flesh

Come together.

One will win, other wither.

They say

All you need is love

But those I give

will loathe 

I’ll  live

another day wanting you.

These subtle hints

Shared moments

Oh why must all this rhyme?

But I digress, I want to impress

The one I cannot have.

Distant love song

Friday morning

Church bells ringing

Rays splinter against

Dew,

drops against

My shoes.

There’s a love song in the distance

Pulled the strings and played the notes

On my mind

Am I on yours?

Though I am doubtful

The boys keep on singin’

Do you hear the distant chords?

Our hearts are out there

Behind the dust.

I have lost hope, but not my faith

In you there is who I fell for

And I’ve looked and I know ill never find.

In time I wished for a different tune

But the theory is the same.

Snap of a snare.

She’ll never know,

Good.

My estranged faults

 I’m gone,
I’m sick and because of this

My mind
A wall of my own

You let your wall down

And I’m staying on mine

Way up, I can’t hear you

Above this atmosphere

And veil of desertion with a broken moon.

I’m hurting you,

Not helping, no solution
I must be the problem.
I’m sorry, this estrangement and

I’m letting my troops down

A general with quaking knees.
I’m sorry,
The war needs me now.

And I salute you soldier. 

Positively 8 Ball

On the house,

Beers with a failing marriage.

A sitcom tagline,

Bar room scrawling

On a napking you’re too drunk to carry.
And writers have tablets

Their minds and a head

That carries mistakes,
Love, words & a high back to bed.
Retail insomnia

Doesn’t replace

The remembrance of the

Pre, post war high

I was clean up until now

Which is yet another lie

I’ve been positively 8 ball

 A poet metaphorically high.

And self-aware,

Cynically, self-mocking a rhyme.
I’m forgettable

I pounded into my skull,

Until I used up what sanity made that so.
I’m ignored and useless
Selfish  poet,
Pity partier

Table for one

I said I was self-mocking

And self destructively

Introspectively stubborn

Inferiority

Superiority complex.
I look back at my first words.
And how much I’ve erased

Faith,

You put too much away

Into attics & trunks

And cliché hiding places,

I’ve become
Positively 8 ball
This poem has no ending.

Electronic Devices: Off
So here I am,
Back where it began.
The wheels will touch

Though I won’t remember much,

47 years from now
I’ll just have the ink on this page,
And recollections, just recollections

‘Cause I can’t blame an allergic reaction

To goodbyes, and I cry
GOODBYE RAINY CITY!
Street artists & strangers
Goddamnit Steel city
Strangers, that’s all.
Cold, but it’s all I know.
Fasten your seatbelts,

Said the oddly unattractive sign

Looking back,
At words I wrote a time ago,
I thought I made mistakes then

But all I did was make my bed,

Though now I’ve dealt with the
Crimes laid in it, the best of plans

But linen allusions can often go wrong.

“Ladies and Gentlemen we’ll be landing

Soon the curr-“

My turn to talk,
My plane,

My time,
it’s dark and it’s a city I don’t want anymore.

My stomach dropped, like a bad name and

The thoughts that come with you.
“Say your goodbyes already”
Why should I?
Maybe I should…
There’s a cute girl in front of me,
don’t know her but I care.
Goodbye mildly attractive girl.

I thought about writing you a note

But I’m far too socially awkward

I’ve even stopped rhyming

Back home.
If I even knew what lay ahead,
I think I would schedule another round trip.
But I don’t, so I turned my phone back on.
I shouldn’t have,

But no one told me.
Until now.

E.t.t.y.w.w.k.

My Lord are teens so horny

Drink, Fuck, Smoke.

It’ll kill you we said.

We lied.

Shucks;
Profanity, Sobriety, Society
We are all they know,

So who are they

Trying

To

Put

On

A

Show for?
Not like we’re watching.
Let me rephrase that,
Not like we’re entertained. 

Green Fields

The green grass against my toes,

I’m lost but nobody knows

Where I am.

Everyone so happy

Especially her,

I miss her smile

I miss her laugh

Secrets whispered

And knowing laughs

I rhyme words that are

well…the same.

But the ink from the quill

Will spill on these

Proper terms

And suave words,

These end rhymes are quite

Annoying

But where was I?

Oh her.

She thinks I don’t see

The way she looks at him,

Not at me.

Doesn’t think I hear her,

He’s got something I don’t

But I’ve still got my words,

Though seldom do those work.

Same old story of heartbreak

We relate to

On the radio.

Everyone deals with this

Not just me, in my flannel

My sandals

I’ll keep walking, my back turned

No knows

Not like it’s the first. 

Love Letter or How I Learned To Hate The Pretty girls

Dear Creator,
Benevolent stranger,
Bearded man in the sky,
Krishna,
Pot-bellied meditator,

Take a rib and my hubris

bring to me such a creator

bring forth someone to create for me.
I want a painter

a writer

and a music maker

I’ve created enough and I want to be read to.

I want to fall and

Remake this cliché sin.

I’m done with pleasing you
Just a moan,

closed doors behind me.

Pervert?
How dare you.
You have no right and I will not forgive you.
To sleep with is beautiful, a comfort

and love is what you aren’t.
I will not forgive you
Own your mistake

own what you took

own what was taken from you.

It’s a f*ck.
You’re a fling.
I hope this makes you remember
You don’t have a choice now
The rest of the poem lies is in your head.
You made your mistake, now lie with him.


Repression & Regression
It’s proof

This poem

It’s written

In an un-holy scrawl

God’s finger on the wall

I’ll find myself hanging

on the string that held the world
I’m done and gone

the devil’s got my lucid, lost mind.
checking a watch and my mind

full of a lusty loss
belief in where I’d end up

is a strange thing

to believe in the failure of yourself.
an undermining confidence

I’m not strong enough

Drifting
along a wine filled river

Towards a tree where I’ll make my decision. 

I’m terrified you’ll leave me
and you’re not even here yet.

I’m terrified you’ll leave me

And you’re not even here yet.
I said it again,
I think about it more than once,
It’s a common theme.
It’s almost happened.
A common dream,

See my dreams taunt me,

The give me what I can’t have

And stop me from getting what might be.
It’s a disease a sickness

Narcolepsy at its finest

Fall asleep mind conversation

Mid flirt

Wake up sad

Disappointed

Broken

Over a dream,

And a lucid one at that.

I drop names, and memories

Hoping to forget this

The title of this

Screaming sobbing

I babble about uncertainty

And I hate what I know is true

It’s gone

And it’s a dream now.
We shape it.
We taste it and it’s salty.

Like the way her tears taste.

Tough not to quote Panic!

They seem to get things right.

A far a thing

A insomniacs fling

With a girl with gorgeous eyes

Stuck in a world of my creation. 


Graveyard Billings
I took a step back.

If this is a ledge calling out
I pray.
They say two or three gathered

But I am one.

So it’s as none,

A robed man ignores the individual.            

Wake up.

Your baptism was lie.
Wake up.
It was just water.

Wake up.
I’m cynical.
Wake up.
You don’t know me.

Listen as your ears bleed
Watch your eyes fall out of your skull

Douse a monk and light a match

Generally surgery forewarnings.
You don’t smoke do you?
And sex? But of course, it’s a natural thing.
Oh no? And drinking? But you’re only 17

You see it’s a mad man’s world

But with a fake ID

It’s allowed

Permitted

Alcoholically acceptable

and clinically insane.

Drink to get drunk

For the fish it’s to breathe

And the smoke?

For your lungs and eyes for TV

Jump.
I can guarantee what’s on the other side

Is far more interesting than the concrete.

Refraction of Our Nights
You want to see a city

or that of it’s people?

Stand up on a ledge

Or walk,

2 or 3 am

With a benson and hedge

Either way you’ll kill yourself slowly.

I don’t want to have a

Reawakening,

A rebirth,

A reckoning everytime I break my heart over a girl.

It’s lasting,

Laying,

In a car,

Fogged

And warm.

That’s it.

These memories.

My words

Their short,

Because they’re….

A refraction of our nights.
Cold,

Faded,

Romantic,

Hurting,

Dim.

Broken

That’s where I end up.

2 am.

In a city that sleeps,

While the rest of the world is up

With someone,

If she is,

I don’t ever want to find out.

But I know I might. 


R.I.P. Innocence

2 a.m.

A desperate text

A cry for help.

distant.

Drowsy & a bit

Lost

I grab the flashing screen,

?

And all at once

The girl I cared for

Scarred for

Now sings the song,

The words I hear,

My stomach turns

My face pale,

But I still long to help her,

My friend

Her love

Betrayal I’d once see

Crushed

I can see her tears

Miles away

Only wise words,

Wise? Say’s who?

Can I give

I wish it was more,

I miss the ring of

A joy once innocent

It’s gone

She gave that up

To the boy she did adore. 

Gate D-2

The flash of tinged lights

LED glow of bad news &

Angry words,

Blankets our faces.

Jets dock and changing clocks

Bags running,

I forgot how stunning

I feel when I’m with you.

Fate’s missed the gate

She’s running late

Bu that’s alright

I’ll hold you tight

And drift away with you.

We’ll stay here,

These cramped chairs

laying next to you.

They called our plane,

We’ll take a train

I’m not moving away from you.

The lights blow out & gates crash

But here I am with you,

The attendant wakes me up

away,

Never will I leave this place

My head in the clouds,

halls rumble loud

Crack my eyes,

light shines bright

My eyes not used to your

light.

I shake you, wake you

You shudder and 

Look

I move your hair

We stare

Where were we even going? 

Trigger

Fitting it seems,

Coddling wet stage
an inappropriate place for a real life session
Wet? Rain the why,

And wet gunpowder never flares
But starts the thoughts

Oh trigger.

     The Title.

          Of scores and scores

                   Noble savagery poetry

          Bring forth my pain

Memories, fright

Heartache,
Sex,

& Blood.
Hate & you & us.
To never pick apart the sun again.

but I lied

          you see.

                   you’re seeing

                             proof. 

One for my fallen brother

Drops of rain resound

Check the ground

The lightning cracks and

All is gone.

Split second

The clouds are dark & grey,

My dreams fade away

find the bottle in my belt

Swirl the glass, taste the air

Let it’s drops take my cares

Tip the glass and I breathe in

Taste the wheat & sulfur sin

Sigh of pain & relief,

Grimace

And a moan breaks the silence.

The amber stirs & hits the ground

Crows hear my thoughts

“This was for my fallen brother,

I pray to god he’ll have another.”

The crimson drips the iron rust,

My coldest fate within my touch.

Pull  the trigger, tilt the glass

This drink, was our last. 

Pollution

Escape

For  a moment

The noise, the light

Un-spoken words

& lonely beds.

Throw down a thought

And lie in the grass.

Stare into the night

This place is clean, this place is pure

I thought…

I felt secure.

Stars speck the night,

Sleepless planes flight.

But I never wished to make light

The tears of a broken, starry night

I found my solace, but what’s the cause?

Planes fly by, I hear

But these birds I held so dear

I once was lost, I thought I found

My feet aren’t on solid ground

Now the page, too dark to see.

I lost some stars…

The nights are dreary.

Windmill 

Once I said this world’s polluted

Smog  $ greed, Sin’s deadly seed.

But now I hear a calming sound,

My feet freed up from this ground

The earth & I, our last goodbyes

No justice do these silly rhymes.

A sanctuary

The hands will run

through the clouds

My pen writes

But never in time.

Lose our part

rhymes. 

Over these stormy seas,

The windmill turns

My heart is free,

Until I find I land again

Waves of pain.

Cool Glass of Water

A list,

A potential nickel rich.

The miracle kiss,

I’ve seen a long line

Repeat,

Offended

A long list

Salt on the ice

Burning lovemakker’s kiss

Maker’s mark,

Short stuff

On their knees and yet a smile

Why?

Onward

These long words

Because all the tweed

And nice ties

Fine vests & tux

Can’t buy me love

Oh.

Honey get me flies

So it’s time to try vinegar & lies.

A Warmth

But there’s twist

A turn,

The reverse

A warmth.
It’s not infinite

Not without pain

But it is existent

Step back

Look

And lack, listen.
Hold hands,

There.
There it is.

Among the nutmeg

And the Maker’s mark. 

Organization Is For The Sane

You’ll learn I lose a lot of things
One of those being my mind,
But don’t worry, I mean I don’t, this happens all the time
Which I forget also, one being time and the fact of forgetfulness

I should get a filing cabinet

But I’ll leave the cabinet to my president,
And armoire for me,
And some filing for my secretary.

I lost my darker pen
So red will have to do
I’ll write these lines,
and wish for times
I didn’t write for you.
But that’s not true

All it was was for you, her, she

It’s a reoccurring theme.
But now I write of deeper things,

And I’ve unstitched my heart from my sleeve

But you can’t put it in a folder or such
You see,
I lost my mind for you.
But now,
I lose it for me.

Operator

Drumming,

a sound of songs

the last of my thoughts,

it’s singing to me the last of reigning FM tunes,

I want control,

I want a dial

and a thicker yellow pages,

A phone book for the ages.

You see a blackbook ain’t so little

when your legs, open as your heart

and all the pain you bring upon yourself,

your sex is like an art

and though I’ve never sold a masterpiece

I think I know few things,

and just to paint some happy little trees

it’s a thought but not just that, I want a hug, a squeeze.

The thought that from behind me someone cares

and I don’t have to worry

about who I am

or what Im wearing, except for you. A sappy song.

A radio and green grass fields

sad serenades of girl I hoped could feel,

the same and I know it’s only been

one in a thousand

but I’m stuck here in the million and

seems like if I look for just one needle

I’ll prick a finger, and dirty my knees.

Should innocence still be important to me?

It seems nobody’s a virgin cept for me and well mary.

The swaying palms of a sulfur paradise

Take a step and watch the break
the last of a long line of false swipes

and coffee breaks.

I’m running out of wit, what I’ve become,
It’s making me sick.

my muse and the hate, 

seem to be inspired by pain

but I already knew this…

but I never wanted to self-inflict

oh my muse where are you?

I miss you?

Make my heart and mind

A spiritual right again.

There’s a lost boy

on the top of a roof and he’s going to jump.

But I can’t save him, I just have to write…

I have to write about him.

Have I scared away all who will catch a fall?  

with a heart of the slip of a step

and a Freudian yell will never bring the back.

If anything I’m just digging my grave,

if anything I’m looking for praise

on a sinking ship of my own masterpiece design

it’s driving me to sink and swim a life of nonexistent whim

wishing, wanting and a wet dream of lost life, love?

It’s such a commonplace call and I never wanted it to collect like this

you see my clever thoughts are like this

Its just a round and a round and around

that s all there is to feel, a wind that shakes the window pane…

it’s like a bad memory, a mercenary with the last of my regrets…

But it’s on the highest floor?

So I guess I want to be the boy now,

to stop the personifying and become an ex persona.

A distraction from a line of loss and libertines,

I wish I could hold on to the last

The last of this life and long road since but the pavement is cracked

and
I’ve lost your tip.

So take a road so traveled it’s a cliché, with a twist,

I’m tired of all these fake loving sinner’s bullshit

I don’t know if hell is my possibility but if I can,

I might retire there early. 

Bedside Resolve

If entering the room

is a crime all on its own

call me a saint or a sinner.

In 3 year’s time I hope I’ll never know.
The last breath you take

should be one of resolved misogyny

and an ancient art of lunacy of  those

third party calls.

Whom hotel mattress floor symphonies

of that or my epiphanies could ever cry
“I’m Home!”
So far from those
The scarred olive arms, lost with my sensibility.
And these wayward songs seem like dreams to me,

for when I woke the slipped my mind
as I tripped, cracked my crown and bottle

of gasoline.
Of gasoline, the worst of queens

said “Leave it be.”
Just leave me be ,
I’ll never see

the world, a tall song,

will sound the same for we.

A universal,
end causality

could be the least of my worries.
If I could just say sorry so less about so much.
Because a petri dish

was an empty handed experiment

from a
Heavy handed instrument.
I watched a noble guise; I sought
just as Solomon, at least wise

slipped away.
It’s okay,
things will change.
But I think it for the worst,

for the ideas

this time may burst.

Death, the inevitable and reoccurring theme,
A eulogy, for a casket, an urn

only in my insomniatic dreams

during a child’s remembrance

and a box in my attic, cerebral contexts.

if I thought, would I stop
and if I wrote

would I choke, salty tears.
We drink therefore we are,
If we smoke then we die
And we no but we don’t care
“It’s a social experience”
A life of death reciprocate

a force of will,

limp and a kiss.

If you pass,

my words at last

might be yours to hear.

A reality.

A cataract melody
clouding my lack of sleep.
And abuse of these uniques.

it’s an innocence

or lack there of,
Whether wisdom gained

was worth,

and stains upon the page are

dark enough.

Don’t die before me.
or maybe you should.
I stopped being blunt for the greater good

of my sanity.
Let’s see if this god,
(in whom I believed)

and if I’m sure I know what is

good.
Is it another goose chase for 3?
Me, myself and thee

but you left.
So it’s we.
And what about we?
Gee,
Would THIS be your eulogy?
What a pity,
What a nuisance.
Wow, how selfish of thee. 

Muse

I doubt you wanted to me to write

About her, a righter in my past.

A path stuck in the dark,

Desires, sin within my heart.

Muse is there

I didn’t know her

But she decided to show her

Glowing face to me

She runs through my mind and down

With the ink, through fibers

Whispers in my ear

You’d think I want to date her

But I don’t think it’ll ever be that way

She’ll show me the way.

But I know she can’t come

She’s got her own bridges to burn

But I wish I could hold the match with her.

Soup of the day

I fear we’re living in tomorrow hurting nostalgia.

I see a correlation ;

The lack of salvation of our mortal muse souls,

stuck to a spinning wheel of lust

upon which I throw paint with flattering words

and they spit in my face …

because the truth won’t give me good looks,

and an ugly humor, or laughter never made anyone horny.

Because when scrap booking ceases to be a hobby but a hindrance

all the song birds with a swollen tongue

and falling feathers will be stuffed on my shelves,

next to my greasy, black trophies.

An undying homage to the bearskin rug life I live.

HA.

Ha.
ha.

My words sound like a flowery boys’ choir, with a fist full of ash

And eyes full of a naiveté flood.

Sight un-seen

Baby, the loss

of abundance, a lack of consideration
The thought of a chorus of virgins lost;

It stains my heart,

Curdles my blood and my hat winds up in the mud.

An archaic struggle, loss of blood                                                                           And the possibility of a “hold on tight.”

The last article of clothes,

a pair of panties on the ground

with a heart in the clouds, it seems like I wish I knew.

A song in my head, and my heart half dead;

That’s the least that god could do.

Just a deity of hope, that I’ve turn my back on

It seems we’ve given up on me.

The emotional sting of the loss of a ring

Stained with the blood of my tongue with the silver words so clean,

I worked so hard not to break your heart,

Have the respect to do the same thing for me.

A heart break kid, a red ink stain in the pocket protector of my brain.
That’s it.
I’m done.

I’m gone


Ashes In The Wind

The Never-ending Ink,

Gashes the paper, leaving grooves of

Angry words, emotions etched into the paper

Heart ready to break,

The pen stabbing slashing

Un-ending siege of internal conflict and written

Resolution.

Crackling, Crinkling 

Fills the winter air,

As the silence screams, yet there is

No resonance of the written.

Delicate, light as air

Ink still visible,

Darkened hands liberate

The ashes in the wind. 

Placebo

Sitting halfway

Such a weird day.

I'm still

Happy

still

Sad.

STOP.

This is useless,

and it's just meaningless ink

used on a page to help.

Clever phrase.

Chuckle.

She giggles.

Sigh.

Rata tat tat

Rata tat tat

And she's sitting there

tat tat

And i'm talking to them

tat tat

And she said "no"

tat

And she's saying "no"

stop...no, go.

Harmony

& we stop.

But you see

we end

they begin

and that's how it goes.

Ratatatatatatatatatatata

snap.

 Catchers Never Cry

Sitting in the beginning

Of an amazing thing,

Standing on the graves of

Buried people I thought

I would bring no more flowers,

Still can one weep for the lost,

When he’s found what he lost for?

Was it worth it?

And I never got an answer from the

Ghosts who never say a word

Left without a why

Yet I want to bring it back

Bring it back to where it was

Before I tried to lock fingers

To try and hold one here

Who never wanted to stay.

I’ve been inspired by the lost,

And they come back and move

These hands and the ink will

Run until I never lose.

Run until the fall.

To try and stop…

Can’t give up,

The playful girl burned her hand

Still touches that stove…

I see but…

A fire burned,

And there’s still a smolder.

To be used up and thrown away,

She doesn’t want to be caught,

Even though she was.

She never knew what it did.

And she never will.

STOP.

I can’t stand thinking about

Another.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

(Who will guard the guards themselves?)

I dove into the freezing water

to try and catch

the steamship leaving the

green waters.

My fingers,

black and gone

now to never learn.

This is a place I never wanted to be,

and I can’t save myself.

The bottom of the ocean isn’t

so cold if you don’t think about it.

Pills

Pills

Pills.

Drink the seawater and swallow what you can.

There was never a cure for it.

Crying in the rain, never knew which was which.

Stacking stones,

Praying.

Pills

Pills.

Love.

Pills.

Drowning was something I wanted

So I swam to the deep

And to find,

One cannot breath.

And you can’t float on

Or you’ll die unless you’re

trying to drown yourself.

Then you’ll live and die.

It’s cold.

And I’m lying

Drunk and on a coach.

The floor is cold

the buzz rings out and I lunge.

To see colder words.

To cry now would be such

A blessing unto a hotel floor.

Dirty and remembrance

To lose again and again

Leaves one thinking he’s not very thoughtful

Suddenly we all felt alone.

Lying in our jackets,

Wishing we would never find,

The end of the rope that tied me to

To all of you.

I flip through the pictures…

I’m so ashamed

I thought.

You’d never understand.

The pain is caused to those who care.

The unforgiving scars,

You sleep with them

That’s not who you are.

I left a dozen thoughts at your door

But I guess you find

Ways out of your back window.

I’d much rather break the glass,

Than to see you sneak out

Time and time

Again.

The last time I was there,

The stars were shining and you

You in my arms.

Though I don’t know what

Possessed me

To touch the thing

I hated most that night.

There was never…

Why do I write about this?

Why must the ones who inspire me

Be the ones who are gone?

Who caused the pain?

The ones I never wished

To think about ever again…

Lint.

Let's fret about all the little things,

Keep the past in our pockets and play around with it when were bored.

'Cause you see we'll die tomorrow,

And I've got no time to move on.

And the boy with the holes in his pockets

and wrist on his watch,

He's silly.

Where's he's going,

So busy dying.

No time for moving.