when you last saw me
i was a pretty carcass
wasn't i?

painted up for the funeral, you were
my pallbearer and up the stairs
you took me. i sat on your
shoulders because no
one else came to
my funeral.
just you
and
i.

when you last saw me
i was a pretty carcass,
covered in dirt and worms
and decomposing leaves.

in your arms you took me, your tears
washing the grime from my pale,
dead face. i remember how
it felt to watch you cry
for the first time and
i wished i was still
alive to tell you
not to. It was
just you
and
i.

when you last saw me,
i was a pretty carcass.
your love died with me that day.
and when you last saw me,
i was only a carcass
you wanted desperately to love.

they say dreams
are the garbage of your day.

i agree.

considering my life
consists entirely of
garbage,

there is nothing left
to do than to conclude
that yes,

my life is garbage
my dreams are garbage
therefore,
i am garbage.

but garbage gets taken out
and picked up by men
every week.
so I guess I can't be
garbage
after all.

cold sweats
heart pounding
wide awake
early morning
can't sleep

you decide
these nightmares need to end.

but your subconscious
disagrees
in its own
subtle-as-a-kick-in-the-teeth
sort of way.

tomorrow is another day,
another nightmare
to wake up from.

in class they all stare at you
because aren't you a little too
poor
to be in college?

that's when you wake up
and that's when you decide
these nightmares need to end
but dreams weren't meant for
dropouts
like you

so tomorrow it's back
to the

cold sweats
heart pounding
wide awake
early morning
can't sleep
won't sleep
ever again.

if you eat today
you won't eat
ever again.
understand?

i am a tank made of cardboard in the rain.

i
stopped sleeping
around the time
you
stopped loving
me.

the police station rioted
laughing so hard
tears poured down their ruddy faces

"hey listen to this!"
my face grew red in shame
i just wanted protection

i left, depressed
this was the fifth sleepless day
no sleep, no faces

though i tried to save face
at the police station,
they said "find a shrink."

i'm starting to hallucinate
because your face has become my own
and now i will never wake again.

hand lotion ready
twenty minutes going strong
zoloft's not worth it.

bring me to the land of green.

green trees
green seas
green me.

brand new,
cracking out of my shell with
the egg tooth that never
quite fell.

make me green again
please.
i've been old too long.

what is it like to take in the sun
in the mornings
where the temperature
reads centigrade instead of
farenheit?

green as the day i was born.
green as the sea whose salt air burns me.
green as the tree i was hatched in.

green as the day
the temperature read in
centigrade.

love poem!
me. you.
heartfelt! beautiful!

every day is a
a. golden sunbeam
b. cloudless morning
c. glorious beginning?

me. you. together!
precious! flawless!
we. us. them. they.
together!

love for you is like
a. strong cognac
b. fresh-cut grass
c. angels singing

me. you. us. we.
together!
contrived love poem/potion
number nine.

my first question is--
"would you let a girl peg you?"
uncertain nodding.

bring home man of dreams.
naked glares at the mirror--
should lose thirty pounds.

there is cholera in the time of love.
quarantined feelings
making sure this fever
will not spike to five hundred
sixty-one.

there is cholera in the time of love.
gas masks of affection
hazmat suits of admiration
latex gloves of love.

is it the cholera infecting
the love or the
love infecting the
cholera?

the back room.
nothing back here.
one guy, poor guy--no thoughts.
no feelings. but i gotta find my own
voice--who's is it? huh?
huh. huh. huh?

huh?

no one can tell me.
i wish i knew. dear
everyone, i give myself
to you.

i don't sle--ep some
days because it's fun. i don't worry
about the sun.
i hear the echoes and throes of what they say
hide the knives the guns the shit breaks out
time for fun and weed
stuff should be smoked stuff should be fucked stuff should be
free. wait--
i'm not useful for me or you. creativity is dead.

this is me.
are you sure? no.

i don't know but it could be.

life is cosmic like that
you know? everything
is just ...

on fire.

god makes me
happy in a way like if mommy and
daddy were getting back together. are you?

i'm still waiting. i am still three years old
in brazil mouth gaping open at the sight of my first
airplane. it changes my life. now i am here stoned talking
about it. god are you and mommy getting back together?

shit. god is a single dad.

so many kids. so many bad, bad kids.
i am so
sorry. but i am only three years old.

drooping like my ears and eyes
sadness
for holding
living things pressed to me.

come here. i want you here.
where are you?

i left before things got weird.
writing was always hard because
sometimes i forget to
breathe

between spaces.

what was life like on the
back burner? now i'm at everyone's
attention!

this won't look like anything.
you are gone.

i spared you all from this
well one could go mad in such a manner
--i don't recommend it
but i suppose i will see you in hell
after all?

things
coming from
things. i am
--trembling.