There’s a dam out on Farrington where
when we were dumb, numb and young we
would make ourselves hated
for the precious time we wasted
We would take the ghosted road
just before Hoover
gravel-paved past the power box gates
the pebble flicking legs of the Liberty strumming the bumper
as we stumbled and shook into the shallow glade
we’d make our way to the northeast corner of the lot
finding some dark to park in under the lamp
stone broke from when we were small
croaking like Jim Morrison through the burnt tea-smog
smiling unseen besides for a torch lit face at a time
the hiss of the lake lazily rolling over the dam
leaked in through the windows only
slightly cracked open; hoping for something fresh
just to settle for an old familiar musk
and we sat in that spot in that lot
steel-shielded from starlight, still
highly inspired with eyes stirred in nimbus structures
you make a lot less sense attempting
to shout through that rag in your mouth.
I could untie you, sure
let you free to walk about
but for now you mine and baby, when I’m
done I’ll drag you out.
Your squirming helps me keep awake and
I hate to miss a minute
of perfect dark and the best part is drowning with you in it.
is not red with no light
is no fun with no fight
so kiss me, and please feel free to bite
so you can taste the ink in
my lips and feel me sinking.
I’m caught up
crippled in between fate and philosophy, so
I suppose I should be leaving
armed with my refined and feathered weaponry
draped over my shoulder so
less deadly indefinitely.
My healthy dose of daily danger seems stranger to me
with every staggered step I take towards dreams
and the grays of my complexion
fogging my reflection by the day will do their damage
as I fade into black just like
most everything, even the sol
even the kittens cosmos the Kardashians and those
most favored and faithful foes we hold
so close to our leaking hearts.
The hole in the wall
Above my head in my
Blue car bed
Taught me as a child
How close asleep was – to dead.
The yellow and death-black insects
That worked and dug still buzz above me
As the moon mocks me with it’s
The “anything can happen” isn’t
The thing that frightens me, but rather
The fact that I could miss it in
The midst of my wildest dreams.
who is laughing at me
while you lick clean the black and blood-stained talons that
the way I wish to.
what ugly slugs and empty shells you've smuggled into my home
what secrets you have slipped between
my sheets while I was sleeping
or if; while I do care for you
I even have a right to.
I wonder, now
if, while I am away
my attempts at love and soul-exposure stay
afloat in your desires
awake straight through the day
or if my novelty has shriveled up;
brightly burnt, just- to fade.
Without mind to ears or eyes, my
chords and cares alike are
simply things slipped idly
and though my tunes and melodies
are not among your memory,
for listening - I wont forget
to always thank you kindly.
My shattered shell has got me
well versed and out of hiding trying
for funs sake and not so much
but even through untimely trials
I’ve been blindly finding I’m at
the universe’s mercy more with
every breath and step.
There was a tide that day
that consumed me and
took advantage of my calm surrender
as the gulls overseeing bore witness
lacking remorse; but they will miss me…
They will miss me.
The fire tamed falls to the floor
Those I shared myself with now
ugly stains and shells sown shut; oak
softened by the sea
laying at my feet silenced and
seeming so wrong that I
can’t be here right now.
To the pavement but I still stand tall and proud and
loud enough for the rest to hear
but the gaping wounds of shredded flesh show that
they weren’t ever listening to me.
and that the signs they held and cries they yelled were nothing
but a way to get themselves killed.
And I need to leave before something happens to me.
But who could turn away?
How could I not watch as my rebellion was crushed
under the violent inconsistency of my own self-discovery?
How could I shy from witnessing everything I
convinced to love me
like empty shelves in libraries crashing to the floor
just as quietly as they ever were before in a brilliant display of justice only seen by my eyes
caused by my hand.
People in their right mind they just,
tell me I should leave
but I think I’ll stay here and
keep shooting, so
when the time to hit the target comes, my
Don’t silence yourself before you’ve
heard what you have to say!
You know, minds restricted by
don’t usually end up
far from home, so
please, repeat that poem and
put your back into it keeid.
I’m picking at these strings again
humming in tune with the vibrations of my aura
drowning out the sounds around me with
something delicate but well protected and
entirely my own as I
manufacture meaning out of morality.
I am keeping perfect pace
rowing with my palms,
wrists dipping in and out of the cool and easy current
chasing destiny on the bank as she
dances between branches
picking and twirling at pretty random petals
as they dangle in their moments like promises and possibilities.
My life is flowing out of me
steadily and soundly
unlike the curdlings that use to splash in the wake of my
insignificant molecular motion.
I am intentionally dizzying myself
smiling and spiraling, trying to touch love before anyone else does
and I will graze it with the backs of my fingertips
a light strum to make a sound smooth enough for
everyone to hear.
I’m lifting you
humming, warm and why
did we wait so long to do this?
I’m panting trying to
breathe you in
electric flesh against me like
wet lips and licks to batteries
hungry spells of clawing clutching and I’m
lost amongst my instinct
I will blatantly ignore
from time to time out of
and give us both a moment
alone; perhaps to
appreciate a situation.
Either way I would prefer you
reciprocated this courtesy for trivia has
no place among any
They swept us through the terrace
to the empty other side as we were,
but unaware of and,
the clear-headed but
He closed us in the coffin.
Sounds of drills and fading thumps and we are buried
as though our minds were less brilliant than before
as though the things that used to trickle from our brows were now just
like swallows with red ribbons laced through their beaks
parading through the sky like something quiet and
drifting and following the setting sun into the sea hiding tears
because there’s no one here to dry them.
All this time we watched with pity from their feet
never knowing that we could one day sift through the grate
just like all the “invincible” things our minds created while we laid in the dirt.
you don't need to please me
learned to love you anyway;
how do you stay
trying since I started moving
the warmth of the world won't let me!
People could learn from the
icy empty air
what it's like to live life as an inconvenience
watching faces turn red in your presence
with the same gut reaction to
not look up and
just keep moving
and anyone who's watching will
soon be the one warning
everyone they love
to shield their fragile skin
when it snows.
But cold's got me to talk to!
To walk with and
feed off of for some fresh body heat
that i'd gladly give
for just a bit of frozen peace
unworried about my diet, since
i've got no food to eat!
Not concerned with being quiet
no one can hear me!
God bless the gifted for
who I am now
able to be.
Ages of ancient power and wisdom
fused to my bone and spine forever or
for whatever time i've left to teach
the code that
keeps me going.
G’mornin’ Mr. Reaper man
may I have this dance?
I used to be afraid to sleep
but I’ll give you a chance
hey, what you promised me
doesn’t sound so bad
could probably get used to sleeping in a
and who has any right to say
you’re someone I can’t trust?
Is it just
because the others say that you are
Or was it the soggy bodies
that still are washing up
on shores with fears of seas unknown
with waves who’ve lost their touch
foamy waters raging aching
the dip of your sickle
the tickle of
the ripple made by you, God and Satan your
genius plan to
free all of man
and save the world from waiting.
I’m warmer in this
new skin I’m in
than I think I’ve ever been
I’ve struck oil
not for riches but for fuel to fix
the sad and tired way
that I have been living
the hawks that used to
peck and squawk
and latch my lungs like frightened helpless prey
have perched upon my shoulder
guarding me while I walk and
showing me the way
No one seems on track to me
it’s as though
the door is swung open violently to
but, not the kind that leaves you
shell shocked or out cold or
knocks out wind
just the harmless empty kind that leaves you
like a ghost waiting for a glance
walking tracks left train-less
of everything but death.
What kind of place is this?
A place where anything can happen
where shells of people roam railroads old and unused
until they’re filled with plastic bullshit unholy religion
or perhaps something vaguer like mist
from the likes of me.
If I weren’t so tired I could keep
calm enough to give things like affection and warning
to collect my sullied thoughts like unpackaged celebrity figurines
or a distorted clash of past and present views of sharing
but it’s been so long since I’ve had it together.
With lack of focus comes
and knowledge like that (for me) came with a high school degree and
blurry countless nights far from home (most of which were spent in my house)
and though I try
with pills and poisoned juices
to repair my gazes
my memory still regrets itself.
What could I do with the energy I use to carry the weight of my eyelids?
Remember how to learn, perhaps?
extend my tongue to greet the rain
instead of squirming through the earth in search of moisture.
It’s no wonder my mouth is full of dirt
I haven’t had a mind (or a need) to keep myself clean
for the same reason wolves don’t trim their coats or prance around the tundra until the rest of the animal kingdom has had their fill
to seek approval
is to die searching
but to deny the requests of the masses
is to die young
and, I’m expected to waste time sleeping..
but, for some reason my logic is flawed and I’m
caught up in cycles not knowing when to
or even begin to fall asleep.
Sure, I’m smart
make no mistake I
know not how to
to my potential.
I know about
energy osmosis from
passively passing off
like foreign swirls of passion the
weeding my mind with cheap beauty and
embers of understanding
burning holes in my vision
through which I see
the Devil’s face in places
always guessed he’d be.
I know all windows close for
more than one reason
how eyes respond to open ones
depends on the season
at least in my mind I’m
continuing to rhyme
even though from
my scheme is just
a little off.