your voice

i mean
i dont care
i mean
honestly
i just want to hear your voice
i mean
it doesnt matter what you say
i mean
i dont mean
that it doesnt matter what you say
i mean
that i just want to hear your voice

i mean
i dont care
i mean
the words arent important
i mean
its the sound...
 ...the resonance...
  ...the lo-fi crackle of radio waves...
   ...the buzzing in the air...
    ...the humming fan...
     ...the deep sleep affair...
i mean
        ...youre there
and it soothes me
i mean
in the most selfish way imaginable
it soothes me
i mean
the plunging rush
i mean
the bird peeped early morning rustle
i mean
...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...

it soothes me
i need
that hustled peace
i mean
crush me
i mean
whisper dusk deceit
just lull me like a fool
i mean
seep into my skull
and crush me

i mean
i dont care
i mean
honestly
i mean
i just want to hear
your voice
i just want to hear
your voice
i just want to hear
you there
i mean
just talk to me
just talk
as long as i hear you
i dont care
i mean
i dont mean
that i dont care
i mean
i just want to hear your voice

the seasons never change

we were roped in
tokin refer
hopes ramblin
with intangible dreams
you, the free-wheelin gambler
me, heels diggin in

a softness to the spring
made our efforts all the more flowery
we produced the heart stuff
radiated billowy song
from rainbow bellows
to bloom out the sadness
and keep the dark at bay

cuz the seasons never change
and we ll never be cold
or alone again

you can wake me up like thunder
you can kiss me like the rain
you can strike me down like lightning
my love, i swear its all the same

we were enchanted
by dope spells
hexey incantations
motel exorcisms
body fluid baptisms
we drove the pope to tears
made mecca quake
and gave the holy lama wet dreams
resounding passions to the wind
never seeing heavy weather closing in

a rawness to the sting
when winter finally came and came
our loss all the more sorrowful
by hailin insults and frosty blame
and violins now pluck their strings
bass rumble bring the storm clouds in
as risin waves swell between us
and grey skies choke out the last resonatin rays

we ll be
washed ashore someday
all the heartache washed away
we ll hit
another whimsied score
and tap dance madly in the rain
we ll feel
that sun sent warm
and our hearts will burn again

cuz the seasons never change
my love, i swear its all the same

you can wake me up like thunder
you can kiss me like the rain
you can strike me down like lightning
my love, i swear its all the same

losing the battle

losing the battle

she asked

“why do you act like life is a battle?”

i was stuffing necessities in my sack

in preparation for another school day

but that statement made me stop

and think...

the first question was,

do i?

it was instinctual, a defense mechanism. i knew i did, but she was attacking me. so maybe there was no merit to her accusations. but there was. and she was right. i was in the very heart of a battle

the second question was,

why doesnt everyone else?

i had no idea

i said in my head to her,

“because, it feels like theres so much at stake. because, it feels like the obstacles are malicious. because, i dont know what im fighting for or whose interests im benefiting. because, all i see is life murdering itself. because, even though we hide behind civility, a little voice inside me says, ‘these are your enemies’. they smile, and shake your hand, and hold doors for you, but they would club your skull in with a femur bone under the right circumstances. because, i cant even look at a seemingly tranquil scene with butterflies, flowers and bees and not see the turmoil that is the very fabric of reality stretching and straining to keep everything in focus so the dream can feel real. because, i dont want to die. because, i want to win”

...i decided

looking at her glowing eyes and glowing soul

for tactical purposes it was better to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself

she saw butterflies, flowers and bees

and nothing more

i felt the hordes closing in

so i threw on my pack, grabbed her by the hand and said “lets go”

there was the disturbing feeling of seeping worlds and a tightening in our hold

at that moment

i think we both kind of felt sad for each other  

somewhere along the way

somewhere along the way
we changed
it shows up in this reflection
in this screen
straggly old man
projected
who’s eyes are guiltless
about all the things we felt guilty about
we enjoy aloneness
we guiltlessly enjoy aloneness
without even a recognizable reflection
for company

what happened?
well, i could list
a long list
of listlessly affected events
and an even longer list
of listful thoughts
that fought in the war of whether
or not

but, somewhere along the way
laughable and immanent
cards got dealt
cards got shuffled through arcanas
cards got played
through a fools incarnations
through rounds and rounds
and rounds and rounds
till the archetypes displayed
the flip-book smiles
of obliteration.

true lies

i will sell you
the air from my lungs
the nothing i hold in my hand
and the contemplations of a dead and buried man

if you had any sense
you would sell the farm
your stocks, your bonds
your children, your pets
your husband or your wife
along with the deed to your life
you would sell every goddamn thing
to buy the emptiness i bring

i will tell you
the secrets everybody knows
to get the cleanest
you must bathe with worms
to love the sinner
you must love the sin
your fanciest outfit
is your bare-naked skin
i will tell you
only the truest of lies

if you had any sense
you would cut down every tree
and mine the earth to an empty shell
to build a cage from the outside in
you would paint yourself into a corner
you would stay there for the rest of time

you would be the bear
caught in the trap
that the long-gone trapper forgot he set
your only desire
would be never ever getting free

i will sell you
your cell
with a countless-day, money-back guarantee

soul song

i was wandering the streets
like a fool without a plan
i was seeing god in everything
it was more than i could understand

and i tripped on good intentions
and i saw their lord
she said, there’s a limit to my dimensions
but many more than you’ve ignored

and i learned to hold my breath
and i saw their lord
and he looked a lot like death
and all our demons were his hord

and i climbed the highest peak
and i saw their lord
he said, i’m lying when i speak
and i’m out my fucking gourd

and i got down on my knees
and i saw their lord
and he was howling with the rest of us
screaming, wait till you get bored
just wait till you bored
oh, just wait till you get bored

and i opened up my heart
and i saw their lord
she said, you failed from the start
and there’s nothing left to be explored

i was wandering the streets
i felt the full extent of emptiness
like a singer with no soul
like a soul without a song
like a mirror without reflections
alone, to freeze in godless cold

snake bite

i’m a snake
coiled in the grass
yes, i’m a snake
as your barefoot feet run past
and i’m a snake
cold blood pumps through me
yes, i’m a snake
with poison circuitry


and i
feel the same sun
that warms your face
your pretty face


and i
feel the same breeze
that rustles through your hair
and brings your scent to me


and i
fear the same thing
that got your pa
and left him mumbling


and i
fear the same thing
that’s made you blue
and i’d shed one tear for you


but i
can never cry
so i guess
my skin will have to do.

a day in the life of a bigoted racist- a fill in the blank adventure!

i wake up
around 7:30.
if necessary,
i shower.
after dressing,
i sit down for breakfast,
Cinnamon Life.
i love Cinnamon Life.
the box says,
“you’ll love it!”
and i do.
i reach for the paper,
but what’s the point?
the __a__ is/are __b__ and is/are destroying __c__.
i hate __a__.

i go to my job.
i have lunch with my friends,
__l__, __m__, and __n__.
we eat McDonalds.
i’m loving it.
i love my friends.
my friends speak my language.
we talk about __a__
and about how much we hate them,
because they’re so __b__,
and we make jokes
about how much they suck at __c__.
i love making jokes.
it’s such a simple formula:
__a__+__b__=__c__
or
__a__ = __b__ + __c__.
although, i’ve never been great with numbers,
jokes are like math i understand.

i go home.
i drink __z__.
i love __z__.
my dad loved __z__.
so i love __z__.
i watch t.v.,
so i can have a few laughs.
i love the shows with the jokes.
i usually fall asleep with the t.v. on.


OPTION/S:
{[(a = other/s, b = evil,stupid, inferior, c = everything, l = lance, lamarr, lilith, m = mort, mustaffa, ming, n = nelly, NaCl, nebuchadnezzar, z = suffering) = c] = z} = c...  

exhausting

billion-time blinking
flickering fields
born into form
forming forms formed from former formulas
vast expansion outward
saturation or
the epithelium limits of respiration


the gloved hand
handing gas filled rooms
over to pointed-collision conclusions
the gloved hand
handing out doom
because there’re always things to be done
and always hands to do them


like handing out balloons
like balloon-headed councils
like bundled balloons vying for more space
like space invaders
like invasive species
like the turbulent storm system
that is my body
or the feedback loop
i call my mind
or the exhaust produced
the exhaust produced
exhaust produced.
ex-haust:
a substance,
oftentimes mistaken
for important thoughts.

the frosties

ever since they moved in
i can’t seem to
watch a movie i haven’t seen
visit somewhere i haven’t been
forget the violence of the shattered violin


artic howls


i don’t fear
anything
but i live with them
and the paralyzing truth they bring


compacted freezer-burning sounds


we walk downstairs and upstairs and down
the hall to his temporary coffin.
sometimes, we go to that store
with those familiar aisles
but i only see the treats i know


ice creamers


and raccoon piss runs down my walls
and if i had a voice i’d scream
and never stop


angel imprints


the little ones play it off
the old folks dance it off
snow falls
spheres get stacked
and men melt.

Moirai's play

it is a set up
the conspiracy of everything that has ever happened up to now
a door held open
an invitation
with a limo pick-up
a precariously placed object
atop stairs
a polypeptide
a paddywagon ride
parted lips
perfect fit


there is no decision
there is a condition
for a lock and a key


there is a play that might as well be
a movie
re-run for the 22nd time
at midnight
on t.v.


there is a heartless puppet
and a heartbroken script in the devil’s hand
with a heartfelt speech that is eternally banned
there is the way it is written
that ensures there is no other way
it is written


there are walls separating rooms
where spaces are filled


there is everything
but not everything
gets everything
there is a thing called love
there is love


there is a thing called love
that this fucked-up fluke is not allowed to have

here goes

i feel sick...
maybe it was too much
coffee
maybe it was that
flea powder i sprinkled on my floor or
maybe it’s the smell
of everything
decaying all around me


i’m on the train
taking deep breaths
to stifle the nausea
i’m being taken somewhere
against my will
but lately,
everything i do is
against my will


this is the last stop
before the final destination
i should get off now
but it’s too late
the train has started again.
here goes the passenger.


i feel sicker...
maybe it’s the poison
maybe it’s the poison
my black heart pumps, or
maybe it’s the poison


i’m in the car
poison pumping to a destination
somewhere
i don’t want to go
but lately,
everywhere is somewhere
i don’t want to go
and if free will exists
i can turn around
but i pass
exit after exit
imprisoned in my lane
so i can watch the loveless movie
that’s playing on the other side of town.
here goes the passenger.

unsatisfactory pencil drawing

 like all unsatisfactory pencil drawings,
this one began as a rough sketch,
more like a scribble, actually,
like some abstract impression of primordial noise.


more strokes were added
out of boredom, because
when there’s nothing to do,
doodle.


and thus the doodle evolved,
sometimes filling the page
with heavy handed lineage,
sometimes being erased
down to ghostlike graphite indentations.


always changing.
always unsatisfactory.


along the way, the doodle met
many photocopy machines
and was reproduced at differing stages,
momentary incarnations committed to inky permanence,
like an image chiseled into stone.


at some point, the doodle developed
self awareness and looked back
at all the hideous forms it had taken.
self loathing quickly followed.


the futility of it’s fickle future
combined with the mockery of it’s past imperfections
caused the doodle to begin entertaining
matchsticks, bunsen burners, and lighters
in hopes of being set ablaze.
but, just before the orgies of fire broke out,
a copy would always arrive
to extinguish all hope.
for the doodle knew that
even if it was reduced to ash,
it would live on
through the copies
and all those that had laid eyes on them.


so, the doodle resigned itself
to become a crumpled wad
in the back of a desk drawer
and patiently waited for the end of the world.
joining the rest of us,
who are too undefined to compose a better future
and lack the creativity to contrive
our own apocalypse.    

another one about salvation through brain damage

so sayeth the gospel of what’s good for me:


it’s not too late, although
you should have been sniffing
glue, goading angries for a punch
and six kicks to the skull, shooting
for the sake of confusion, skating
on the rails high above the grounds of gravity, driving
recklessly to Marwencol with Darger riding
shotgun, mixing meds, falling
out of beds. you should have cracked
this egg before the yoke solidified.


what would be the harm in freeing the beasties?


but freedom always builds a prison
to keep itself from exploring
all the goddamn possibilites:


all the fucks i could fuck
that i wouldn’t want to fuck.


all the toys i could buy
that require all the endless add-ons
to build the megazord that sits
on my shelf collecting worthless
dust.


 all the places i could go
so i can feel desperately alone
on the other side of the world.


all the people i could know
that will put me on their dusty
shelves, next to their collection
of megazords. (sorry about the power rangers
references, but as
a metaphor, it’s a formulaic fit.)


i could cut myself loose
from all the grasping, get my hands back
from the devils playground.
all it would take is one dented
head to leak my stagnant brain
cells, but i’m too much of a passive
pussy to break myself, to much
of a habitual creature to wander
into the shady part of town, so
will a friend please play natural selection
and beat the idiot into me?

brackish flow

my mind is still
with the flat-lined frozen echo
of a cold conversation
between me particles
on matters of me
metaphysical heart
and their indifference
to the rotting goop phenomenon, and


for a moment,
i smell my own decay and
feel useful and
natural,
for the first time since he was carbonized.
like one link in a conga line.
i’m not dancing alone.


this passes, and
i thank them
as the feeling turns
to a memory
of some bullshit cliche lesson about
going with the flow.

habitual friends

and you fall
you fall into
again
the pit of habitual
friends
floor of broken glass
and needles and walls of
wasp hives so you can't sit down
or lean weariness off
the hand of a great three-eyed beast
clamped around your ankle
there are stairs that lead up and
out, but you’ve grown accustomed
to standing, and become addicted to
stinger venom, plus the stairs seem so steep
and you really only have the strength to stand
plus there are no friends up there, outside this pit
and you have a beast that’s always here, always grasping
gripping tighter, holding faster, pulling harder and that’s how you know
you’re needed. down in this pit of suffering, this is what defines you. this is you;
a confused and forgotten dig. a classic case of getting carried away and another of
gone too far to turn back now

denthead

the accident was caused
by the thought
compounding iteration
a dented head
hood splayed
with that pounding head-
ache shattered on the wind-
shield scattered as in
wait wait wait wait
i lost my thought

to travel back and pause
to the moment ringing heavy
with a silent conversation
irrelatively heady
and repetitive
a moon echo repeated
as in the metered streaming
cars, white comets oncoming
two beams, two beams, two beams
shaken bead stimulation
as in the spray-can
or loosely bolted mufflers sprayed
primer grey, prime time
delay in the live feed
as in distraction
as in is as out
and we’re back
through filtered frames
shots of head break
on his back
on the front of a caddy

down that block
blockaded surprises
as in not there last night
free circulation barricades
where habit force veers
to the right, crowds
as in punctured clouds
with clear light clarity
empty stare witnesses
glaring constituents
as in is as out
an accident and then
a dent head
open wide with all the juicy bits
aired outing gawks
gaping excessive thoughts inside

the accident was caused
as in the axis jolted stone
with the comet crater
where water wells a hole
for the age of the beasties    

handle

thoughts flow like a river
goddamn
goddamn
let them go

i got a handle
i
i got a handle
i got a handle
on all the drugs
i got a handle on all the drugs
except you

days pass like a winter
godless cold
godless cold
let them go

a silver string
that’s all yours
that’s all yours
knit a heavy sweater
throw it round your neck
and sweat the look that’s good
that’s all yours

and you’re living
living for the score
you’re still living
living for the score
you’re a living man
with an automated core

like tunnels collecting wind
like waters and the pipes they fill
like the span of time
in a single line

i
i got a handle
i got a handle on all the drugs
i got a handle
i got a handle on all the drugs
except you

the complex riddle of mute mallorie and her operatic toes

tending towards tendrils
such as assorted
crops bending
on the lazy wind
bright light staged
in a window stream frame
and soft cream glow

one is missing
tucked under the blanket
of time

one is missing
and they all talk
the saccharine slander
sharing saw-toothed whispers
of how they all remember

a cellar
or the dock of a ship
a malign formation
or the rock and the slip
a birth deformation
or a brother that bit
a cellar
and the trauma
and a family writhe with loss

but you don’t look up
you can’t

tear away from the tail
tick tapped in
aphasiatic cadence
like a type writer missing it’s “a”
it w sn’t the pl y
it w s the w y they pl yed
 nd it w s th t p rt th t sc red you

but you don’t look up
because you did that once
now you can’t look up
because her eyes shout lazers
the same color as the paint
on her toes

like unto a pebble

 i broke down on I-
fifty five
i broke down the last wall
separating my bewildered drive
from the distance acquiesced
in the middle of
a crisis
in the middle of
a lifeless attempt
to act righteous
in the middle of
a retrovirus
spreading faster
than wheels can spin
i broke down
between the gravel gully
between two grains
between the gamut of my ability
to be
a speck between specks

i came to some crossroads
some crossed roads
they were such
cross roads
and i was angry too
at that black cat that
crossed my path, trailing dirt in the sign
of the cross
across the road

i got a ride
from michael claiming to be
kismet
and he said,
"pardon the drag,
but this is not a car,
you see..."
and the fields flew by
and i adjusted my air vent, blowing icy on my sunburnt face
and we enjoyed a moment of disco-ball refraction
and then he concluded,
"... and we are
merely a pebble
in the roller-skate
of allah."