It begins on those humble mornings,
Where wispy clouds linger in the sky
the color of white oak.
When the leaves collect in the gutters
and are soggy like corn flakes
and their color is markedly indistinct.
A morning for the birds to make
their shrill calls
And enhance the feeling that
you are at a low, cold altitude.
If the coffee is hot, burnt, and stale,
then it is a coronation of this morning.
On the highways
People listen to news radio with the windows cracked
and a ribbon of cold air and sweat on their faces
and know that soon
They will be home.
A quiet kid,
Lonely in the rain,
Fingers the nickels and pennies
In his pockets, waiting for the bus
To splash around the corner,
So he can get to work.
He lives with a demon of a roommate
And shares snores with the roaches,
Bathing in the shower of their incontinence.
After college, he lost it and wrecked his mind
In a haze of liquor so foggy it
swallowed the moon for awhile.
And he stumbled through pitch black nights
with an ugly soul and redemption in his mind.
The worst kinds of late night wanderers.
Coffee and sugar keep him alive
Just like war and famine are the black angel's wives,
Bringing him back into this liquid reality.
in the mornings he breathed in this world.
it tasted like sourness
and the milk of pussy entrapped in blue jeans in 100 degree weather all day.
It was the worst kind of sobriety.
All the horrors of birth.
He lives many lives:
One for his mother, Where he plants fruitless kisses
on her cheeks. Little wreaths of future disappointment.
She hugs him so warmly.
It makes him want to suckle his .45.
One at work, all smiles
And plumb Submission.
And if he's lucky
12-4 on saturdays.
All this in 5 dollar clothes
And a rumplestiltskin attitude;
trying to weave his own ugliness
One for his girl,
The one who'd hurl her tongue at appollo,
Puke up her month's sugar intake,
And curl her fingers so tight that she cut the cappillaries,
and made a fist like a christmas cinnabon:
All red and white,
If he ever told her who he really was.
His love for her is secret.
One for himself,
To keep the mirror happy.
This kid. He's all or nothing.
In the alcoves I hunt for mystery
and pleasure. Seeking your joy. I hope
to break you to the core,
and make you crumble to all my love.
Id hope your days are perforated silences,
my voice a trickle of whiskey.
I treasure your absence,
thinking to myself, with a cigarette.
I sip down evan williams
Pretending not to hurt,
but with a hurricane
your surge through me.
It is not enough
to stomp on our hearts;
It is worse to stomp
on the ground we find beautiful.
Hectic breakneck of the chopped up music.
beautiful wilt and hungry wither of the hips.
Drunken fingers grasping a drink and shaking so feverishly,
its like the adrenaline of war.
Knowing there is something past the moon,
past darkness. The freshness of sweat.
A black skirted woman dances.
The fabric squirming up her hips
as she drives her thighs,
whipping them back and forth.
Dreams bellow out of hollow bellies,
the bottom of the roar,
The bouncers in bowties and charcoal suits
The opaque lights and streamers of brilliantly lit people and huge parade of bodies
washing and bouncing inside are like fruits in the dryer,
Tumbling and tumbling until they are fully juiced and induced.
But you can never find a willing partner
For good rough sex. Or even
love: the canary in the mine.
A pink, throaty croak
Emanating from its black lungs.
I miss the drunks. The y3lling.
The inhalation of beer and cigarettes
Chased down by ego and godlessness.
How many times
hqve I written to this song,
and never heard beauty once?
Like the sweet pinch of a grapefruit,
before the sunset of sweat,
the same sunset that hailed warfare for boys.
I loved you so much once,
I still do, but you are like mist,
and I am blind.
I miss backstabbers, creeps, catfish,
When I was young I would screech down the hill
in my toy truck,
plastic chassis a powerhouse,
canary and howling,
I'd crash into the same cherry tree a million times.
Call me Avalanche.
Call me Indisputable.
Call me the Powerhouse.
I missed you.
be the body of grace.
horrible grace uttered over
and over a
you and i told lies for fear.
we were never really there
but now we're here.
prayer can't stop a thing,
I try bending a knee
or a wish.
I ain't to religious; so talking to god
becomes addictive too quick.
you have found something new,
I've found the old foundry.
all night pouring cauldrons of liquid hot into a bad cast.
sparks so sexy and comforting,
i see them jumping from the window of my belly button.
there's hell in me.
i'm being disposed of as i watch
a new lava
being poured in an old way.
i'd suggest you go now.
"You on a path to get shot."
In the form of a bullet,
straight through my head,
pink mist and all.
How much is a life worth?
or how much does lead weigh?
In forms underlayed with venom,
I have perpetrated goodness.
In ways misunderstood
I have appeared evil,
and maybe this is so.
it's no good,
No good for tomorrows,
where coffee's been cold,
tastes like battery acid,
kicks nervous systems up into highest gear--range = infinite.
It's no good.
No good for saturday afternoons,
lonely as clear blue sky
on open highway
hurtling through ferocious air.
Definitely not a monday morning thought:
A day for hangovers,
and linoleum stained as an old man's scalp.
It's no good for that time.
It's good for moments:
the window open, the tune of hurled air humbling your eardrums. Music loud, but not unbearable.
someone laughing in the back, kicking up their feet on the headrest
and taking the last sip of Wild Turkey.
Asleep in a securely blue bar;
laying your head on the wood paneling;
feeling the hum-drum earthworm of puke
on your tongue: Tasting guacamole and seared steak.
When the cop hurls around, cuts the lights, and hops out the squad
like a monster with a conscience.
You know you're drunk,
but fear doesn't hit you
until everyone involved
has peeled off.
Fear lingers, like shaking a dead man's hand,
but there are other things that wash well.
you and her.
It's good for moments perplexing,
It's good for moments of fear,
it throttles you into sanity.
It's good for moments of confidence,
It's good for clarity,
I can’t really tell you
I’m interested in fucking
Till I’m raw, and holding
You like the universe you
Sometimes I go around
Smoking blunts till we fume
And sing and laugh
And start getting handsy.
Sometimes they have their kids in the other room,
And they yelp and laugh; when I look into these hoes
Eyes, all I see is aggression. I’m not seeing myself.
I’m not saying these things
The way I want them to be sung.
Most of my money
Runs out the door. Like a bandit,
Trouble likes to peep me when I’m at my worst.
The cops have never been so horny
As when they see me, and they fondle
I go alone a lot. To a lot of places.
Hoes, Money, Depression, Debt,
Bad Credit, All kinds of Addiction,
Porn, Alcohol, Weed, Codeine, Nicotine,
My brain is a Chemical Frenzy,
Most days I’m hovering like a mote.
Look at my degree: Fuck Me.
I have come home to a confining place,
A spit-swallowing place, full of half-breathed people
And tight-lipped sorrows.
I can only
when it’s convenient
I can only
when it’s part of a digression,
Food tastes like paper,
I’ve taken a likening.
Lights are fastened to the sky,
The glue wears, washes my eyes in milk,
The jewels drop,
The world ends.
Then it all snaps back into place, eerily,
So clean I never saw it.
Ask me if I can tell you about love,
When I can remember your body
It’s casual thump,
Clothed or not,
Drunk or sober,
Speaking or silent.
Ask me if I can drive home and peel back the sky with my left hand, while steering Earth into oblivion,
As I lean across wind-swept galaxies of dust, ash, and settled nicotine
To kiss Florida Orange lips, sip the nectar of insanity, and
Swerve on universe eyes.
Across town, there’s no across. It’s just the town.
The dogs being fed by master, master toys,
Makes dogs bend, cower, quiver, then shoots dog
Out of the bow. Dog gnaws air through gritted fangs,
Finalizes his stupidity, gives up on his own self-confidence,
And lets it roar with a hand up his ass.
The pigeons coo, cluck, fuck, fly,
Coo, cluck, fuck, fly,
Coo, cluck, fuck, fly.
Foxes run around the yard chasing tails,
Motives based in circles,
Saving slowing down and puking for death
as they Yap like pups.
Master watches from a high gallery
of Windexed windows so clean,
That you can see master’s muscles tightening as master laughs.
happiness and darkness.
Cars, trains, automobiles,
Flying machines, high ideas, fulfillment,
Continuation, carbon and all things irrelevant,
Master loves you.
In town, Pop tells the kids he’s on his way,
Mama shatters into a million brilliant pieces,
And Grandad’s sigh comes out his mouth with the care of a habit.
The kids are corralled into the basement to play,
mess with each others genitals, and put on azalea dresses
And heavy suits with black ties.
With all the venom of moths
They let their little mouths flutter in the dark,
as Mama and Poppa hurl everything they can.
Master gets drunk on equilibrium,
High on acid, perks, dipped bud,
Brushes teeth with alcohol
And spits out his/her teeth in the morning.
Way after the dogs were put to bed to tuck their tails in their legs,
The foxes following suit, the pigeons in the middle of the mess, somewhere.
Mom, Pop, Kids, Grandad, finished talking in low voices around 11:16 pm.
As they shredded the charade, ashamed at all its pieces,
Their mouths watered; I have no hope.
Across town, it’s not a town,
It’s a random house.
Last night, a thump.
A body hurled, third floor.
Second floor doesn’t do that kind of thing.
It’s 2 am.
That time of night when people when wake up anyways.
Blue-dark like antifreeze.
I was hard trying to go to sleep.
My bank account’s been throttled by loans,
Bills, Coronas, Blunts, Girls.
They shut off the water.
I walked to the store and saw a friend.
Ashamed, I laughed,
Said I liked water. “Water like liquor
like Koolaid like fun. “
What I really meant was:
“Water like survival like broke like stupid.”
This girl operates in ideas,
Dances like a ballerina,
Acts like an actress,
And will probably get bored soon.
There’s one across town that knows her way
around a lollipop, calls me sweet,
wears red just the way I like it,
sucks dick with both hands
and doubles over to her tiny knees to laugh.
The actress is less sustainable,
but I sustain thoughts about her more.
The thump, it interrupts,
Distorts a globular fantasy into a brilliantly skewed
Pixels drain out. Room
Clears of smoke. Velvet embalming begins, purple night quickens,
Halogen streetlights invade in battalions.
There’s a girl with a rancid pussy
I still love.
The electricity thrums.
I’ve never been humble;
I can hear second floor:
footsteps light like sex fear,
tipping to the nexus. To the spot
where some hurled
above even them.
Third floor gets down like that. I can’t be a hero.
I used to think it was second floor.
But they don’t get down like that.
If we shut off the power,
You’ve gotta pay.
I know, I know,
Carlos used to live on third.
Wife took the kids and dipped,
That elephant footed baby,
And the mouse-footed teen.
Carlos brought all kinds up after that,
Muffin women with huge, roach eyes,
Emaciated blondes with seamounts running their spines,
Thick, buggy black girls with asses I wanted to stick my dick all the way into.
Then he quit. Broke one day. Told me everything was mine if I went up there,
and he was gone.
Third Floor was there in two days.
Bruh, they caught u stealing.
Don’t know, they were just talking about it at work today.
I watch way too much porn. Tonight,
I get horny enough to burn holes in my palms.
Maybe it’s the fear and anger.
Third floor is not my problem.
in the door
last muggy night.
on a return trip
from a beer run,
Kurt heard a yowl
as screaming as any hurt guitar,
and looked under his volvo
into the far dark.
Two canary eyes
the canary eyes
And this cat
rubbed its body,
the length of its shivering spine
And that cat
I put you
over my shoulder
like a spooled
Twisted too many
a little tug
and you might go
too taut for me
to yank anymore.
And when you come to me
I think of those times
when we sat close together,
In those days,
we were both drunk
and bitter over forever.
Beers chased liquor
we dropped dimes of pain
over smoked weed
and bleeding anger.
When you cried
I held you close,
sniffed your hair.
People hurt each other because they can,
and we lay
on a mattress of your canned hopes.
I would never be a prince charming,
even when I groped
when we were tossing each other,
fighting like ghosts do:
So, I curled you
beneath my earlobe,
as your whistled tears
Our synergy was syphoning
coiling nooses around our hearts
and kicking out the chairs
holding up our underneath souls.
calls when there's
no alcohol left:
no more balling
Pisses on you in the morning
and walks out the bathroom
laughing like a pig.
and a beginning,
now in a blanket,
my blood boiled when we were closer.
Had so much fun,
asked you to stick a lime between
and pour salt on her pussy.
Cats howling at night, right
outside my window,
and I call and call and call
a whole bunch,
until every single one
asks from the brawling fence:
"you still talking about that cunt?"
"get off her."
"she's not the one."
"no need for all of that."
"keep it chill."
And they still--don't know.
fucked up tongue.
run from my windows;
as the world turns;
all become one;
a lot to say
in the moment 'fore the big bang,
but daddy forgot to pull the trigger,
none of us are on the run;
nobody loves me;
nowhere to go,
no-one to be.
Be fucked by it.
Take that tit of despair,
rip away the nipple,
and fuck up your tongue
on all that up-chuck
because if you don't
you're the one that's getting fucked up.
with a drip,
and roaches move your feet.
But when day comes,
as good as sunshine,
it keeps you lose,
The Jamaican bones,
having been ground into
are whipped into coffee
and grey goose.
A mouthy mix,
and it seems
to cleanse the whole earth;
cannibals praise the lord
in all of his glory.
And on the way
to the first day
the iron in my blood
clings to my gums.
I know you there
on the highway,
as we both drive with our
our evil hearts
cuddling cowardly innards.
Press your fingers,
dismember what lingers.
Crack those knuckles,
smack those palms
and blow that screaming bone.
Today drunks got up,
on an upended axis.
on driven souls,
driven to piss
and let the hate loose.
A drunk walked in mud
and his boss sported a smile
of sad pride.
He had done a great job,
and no one knew.
When they were sitting down
on the couch,
cracking the air with laughter,
the country man
a daughter of light on the floor,
slitted through the blinds.
He wanted so badly
An imp limped
and down, back again
to the basement,
and his old ma
heard him sparingly.
So much happened to day,
clear, and azure,
that the masks
spiking our faces,
slowly wore down
against steel skin.
When the sun went down,
aching for pain again,
they took the first swig,
then a second.
My teeth feel like plastic,
Today, is the day,
that I become a man.
Don't you know
Or did you think
the biggest control
was the one at your knees?
When I finally get out of here,
all the cardboard in the world
couldn't box me.
Punch me Love,
make my nose bleed.
I want to take it;
I need it my brutal valentine;
from you to me
I have nowhere to go;
you are desperate.
We are holy creatures,
and don't even know it.