i am a house with a door
a lighthouse with sand around it
where a man takes a **** at night
away from his friends

i am a cold accidental touch
of the false pinky finger of
a janitor at work at a high school

i am burned to death in my apartment
flipped out on ***** coke
sold to me by a ****** salesman in
an envelope marked "Kotex $$"

i am disappearing into roots
a rusted out minivan in a trailer park yard
that no one drives
filled with fast food bags and baseballs

i am a glimpse into a  lifespan
but only the part of the road that you can see
from your apartment building

i am an adventure
a warm wet raindrop
landing on your face
as you walk out of the door
onto your lawn in springtime

i am not a voice or an expression
like the quiet tattoo of a boat
you keep hidden in your brassiere

i am the cool dry pillow that you dream into
i collect butterflies and stamps
and old shoes from unconscious men
in the alleyways behind bars

and that's how i've decided to make a living

parked like a limping jalopy on an amputee park bench.
watching young soft girls sell hard against the boulevard
so they can do smack out back with the white trash boys
who size me up.
hats crooked and backward like their mothers teeth and their own beliefs.
slouching and leaning in their stride like two drunken penguins
shuffling home from the ice bar, fighting over fish sticks--no real threat to any one but themselves.
their drawn out skinny arms with bad backs and barroom tattoos already turning blue.
this is our future--or part of it.
while a young couple breezes by both with their noses buried in iphones.
oblivious to anything outside their happy little bubble.

zappa blows cartoon music
out of a cerulean blue kazoo
in my kitchen while i
eat greasy cold pizza
out of a crusty cardboard box
& marcus the kitten gnaws
on my sock ankle achilles
& it's in moments like this
that i'm a-ok with being alone
my **** could stay soft for the
rest of my life no problemo
i'm beautiful alone i tell myself
out loud & marcus stops chewing
acts like he understands me
but i know it's only
temporary this feeling of adequacy
& full-time fulfillment tomorrow
i'll wake up cold & lonely again
& pining for smooth thighs
& butterflies
& a girl whose best friend committed suicide

the morning sun
was hot and i awoke suffocating
inside an oven
of a tent
on a beach
naked

everything i owned
was in a bag in the backseat
of your car
with your *******
quickly driving
away

i found your
little brother's optimus prime towel
beneath me
and decided to
wander into the
world

and i found
my cellphone and car keys
and an unsmoked cigarette
on the sidewalk
but you stole my
dignity

I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in sunshine.
You can put me in my place,
I won't take up much space,
and I'll only say words
you teach me, that's fine

I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in rain.
You can try and cover up my squawk
but you must still hear me talk
and I only try to heal all of your pain.

I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in laughter.
You can lay down newspapers
and I'll be your soothsayer,
but tell me now, with a word,
should I whistle like this,
or faster?

I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in silence.
You can treat me like a pantomime,
pretend that I'm still here
and doing just fine,
and still I won't come to you with violence.

the empties
of the week
hold guard over my room.
they stand
like brave sentinels
and we watch the sun rise together.
bottles, cans, flasks, drams
these are my friends,
the empties
of the week.
sunlight burns
off of tinted brown glass
and i am alone,
except these are my friends,
the empties
of the week.

Pabst (7)
Coors (4)
Magic Hat (12)
Sierra Nevada (6)
Heineken (8)

Jack Daniel's (3)
Tanqueray (2)
Jameson (6)
Crown Royal (2)
Wild Turkey (5)

i seem to have lost my number
can you replace it with
yours?

i seem to have lost my mind
somewhere in your sofa cushions
can i stay here for weeks
not really looking for it?

i seem to have lost my pencil
can i watch you for hours
so that my mind creates a stencil?

i seem to have lost my keys
are they with your blood red sweater
or somewhere underneath
something secret
something wetter?

i seemed to have lost something dear to me
can i look for it
with you near to me, lying down
with you on top on me?

i seem to have lost my wallet
i think you might have swallowed it
can i search with my tongue
while you **** me off
for fun?

i seem to have lost three quarters
somewhere
in your memory foam
i need them for the bus ride
home--alone
but i'd rather
just
sit right here
and


get ******.

i press my shoulder against a cool brick wall.
the birds are screaming at the sun
rodents hide in the thick grass and
burrow deep in the cool soft ground.
i will find a safe place to bury goals
and innocence, bad ideas
a new deck of cards
and a bottle of something.
i will mold you a statue of my kiss.
so beautiful it will cement your feet to the ground
so silent, all you'll hear is sound.
all i have in my pocket is a swiss army knife
half a pack of cigarettes
and a folded paper bird.

i remember the taste of my own blood
fondly
i remember my broken nose bone fellating my own
grey brain-mush
and how i could smell my own
ocular nerves
and my scattered smile
like a third period hockey player eating
a puck
and glancing at his mother in the crowd
i remember a moment suffering in the opposite of blindness,
and a canadian wearing a sombrero and chinos holding a guitar
i remember high testosterone levels
and blurred vision
i remember what knuckles taste like
and how bone feels against bone

but he remembers it too
he remembers how concrete tastes
and how embarrassment runs
like blood to the head of a man hanging by his feet
he knows the conclusion of concussion and
how much a hospital visit for a broken arm costs.

her kitchenette
smelled like lust
and strawberries
and sweat

her hair
smelled like trust
and coconuts
and summer air

her hands
looked like daisies
and beaches
and starfish in the sand

her lips
tasted like red wine
and marshmellows
and secrets, slowly slipped

her eyes
looked like diamonds
and oceans
and wide open skies

her love
felt like pennies
and apples
and a beautiful white dove

Back in nineteen
eighty-five when we
had a turkey for president
and all that jive
Back then
I had a blue duece coupe
and a flat in Brooklyn
I was a low-life **** daddy
and you were a classy ****** then
Back when
you had a **** little bobbed haircut
and a social addiction to black tar ******
a best friend named China White
and a body that was outta sight
Back when
you introduced me
to your sister
and she crushed me
from the start
and I ****** her on our wedding day
and it broke your little heart.

as honeysuckle grows tight on the fence
& the scent of jasmine burns in my nose
i can hear a child's laughter on the hills
& watch your cheeks burn hotter than the sun
when you tell me about your **** addict mother

how she lived in the econo-lodge dumpster for a while
painting cryptic symbols & mountain landscapes
on the outside walls still wearing the unsteady boots
she's had since her life in colorado
but she was scared of someone checking in it
while she slept so she didn't sleep
instead she conversed with the wimpering wind
& used the toy telescope she stole from your baby brother
to sing to the stars so she didn't feel so ******* alone

last summer you say she camped in the graveyard
behind the methodist church in town & spray-painted
the headstones as they climbed up the hill together
because she harbors too much pride to be
just another tweaker with her hand out

she's on guard against wickedness at all times & no longer
sells her love to method-acting men who don't love her at all
but she doesn't wear ******* anymore either because
her last pair were so soiled with *** she burnt them
in effigy on their last night of action

you say you miss her
& wish she'd get sober
but she's never been sober
& that's why your brother
was born with a stutter

she has warrants for her arrest in two counties
& surrounds herself with withering flowers because
she feels dead inside already
when she sinks her face into
the stem of the bulb & inhales she thinks
she is the one thing in the galaxy
god doesn't have his finger in
her stomach churns with hunger
flies hover around her & light on her
big as black crows resting on a dead tree

you say you haven't heard about her in
going on a month & ask me if i think
she's still alive
i say i saw her just last week
i was a pensive beetle perched on the wainscoating
she was stumbling out of a parked car at dawn
to take a wilderness **** down by the river

her smile is no longer a pretty thing i noticed
as she crouched to release the stream of early morning
maple syrup ***** knocking on the biological door
she said she's slept in her bedroom-car
so many consecutive nights that she distrusts houses
says she's scared of walls &
****** outside so many mornings after
that she's terrified of bathrooms
claims an allergy to porcelain
she even feigns an aversion to trains but
we've all seen the tracks on her arms
& the pits in her cheeks like she
sleeps draped across the railroad
at night tempting the cycloptic executioner

but she doesn't sleep at all &
she doesn't dream of you or your brothers or
of the days when she lived in a house
her tattoos have all become crude wax crayon
depictions of sunflower blossoms
needle drags & match strikes
she wraps & braids her hair with gnarled fingers
& bottle caps she finds on the riverbank
she bathes in hysteria at midnight
& washes her swollen eyelids each morning with dew
she fights paranoia with the ghosts in her throat
& stupor with stones from the dark bottom of the river
she is a frail bag of muscular potential living
in a finger-painted 97 pontiac sunfire with
a splintered patchwork windshield
& she is never coming back to love you

i've scribbled my lies onto
napkin dispensers and
on bus stop windows
hoping their distorted reflection
would resemble someone i recognize

i'm sitting here between
train tracks between
reasons to live

the lump in my throat consists of
a tired shoelace
a broken wavelength
a bottlecap
a cigarette ****
a brick of charcoal
a shard of stained glass

I had a dream last night
You were a bird
and I was flight
You were a plane
and I was Orville and Wilbur Wright

I had a dream last night
I was a helicopter
and you were the hot soft sand
I was taking heavy enemy fire
And I came crashing down to hold your hand.

I had a dream last night
You were a grenade
and I was my legs
Now I am a torso
confined to a wheelchair
You blew me to pieces and didn't seem to care.

i saw this kid today
he said his name was george
he was not driving or walking
instead he rode a skateboard
he had eyes just like venom
and a face just like a boar
he said his dad had just stopped drinking
but his mother's still a *****
he asked if i had a warm dry place
that he could call a floor
his shirt was violent and wild
i guess you'd call him poor
but i invited him up the steps
i hailed him through the door
and that's all that i can think of yet
so i cannot write anymore
some reason i am rhyming today
so i thought i'd rhyme one more

I am an idiot child
walking down an abandoned railroad track
with an eye of bewilderment and
a mouth full of gibberish.

I am a clumsy acrobat
swinging aimlessly from the ceiling
with a coat on my back doused in gasoline.

I am a ***** escavator
with two fists full of sand and
a motor like an elevator.

I am on drunken autopilot
with no hands on the wheel
and my head sloshing vilolently in the sky.

I am the keeper of a hollowed-out heart
with darkness in the center and
plenty of room for spare car parts.

I am the staggering contradiction
of the paralyzed adventurist,
too sick to cry for help and
too scared to defend myself.

tonight, i am far too weak to become a star
i am a drunken river, all is possible until i reach another life
i am a weeping madman on the creeping sidewalks of solitude
i make secret deals with buddha in the desert
we will find the temples on neptune
with flaming radars and silvery kisses
we will battle with this massive electric dream and
undoubtedly become monsters with nowhere to lay our heads

my feet are washed with death
my breath is tinged in ecstacy
i am naked without identity
i am the black felt tip
of a pen dancing
across white paper
i should be left alone

there is a fold in the universe
surrounded by millions of suns
and diamond gold and mercurial fire
we can dance and sing and live in it
without ourselves
without money
money made of nothing
bellowing over eternity
money made of failure

pure thought
written on paper warheads
being fired off
at the moon

i will ***** and become
the hidden son of whitman
i scream
i starve
i will walk through fire
and be reduced to white powder
i will leave jet plane streaks in the sky
i will be remembered bliss on your lips
you will see the mediterranean rainbow
hear the seagull flying over dolphins screaming
and i will swim through the atlantic sun and
weep for this antiquity

I was going to write today
But this morning I felt like ****
My stomach was all knotted up
And the pounding in my head wouldn't quit.

I saw your face and it made me sick
So I said
"**** this"
And went back to bed.

write at midnight. edit in the morning.
write on a mountain. edit on a beach.
write inside a dream. edit & exist in reality.
write in a fever pitch as starlight kisses your cheekbones.
edit in the cold dawn light without excuses.
write loudly with Bjork screaming into the curtains.
edit in silence.

write as the clouds gather around the gibbous moon.
edit as the sun crests the hill & burns away the fog.
write inside, cozy under a blanket.
edit naked, cold on the front porch.
write asking questions.
edit demanding answers.

write blindfolded with your fingers waltzing across the qwerty.
edit bespectacled or with a monocle.
write like a mass ******. edit like a suicide.
or better yet
write like a homicide. edit like a detective.

write toward the open sky with your legs outstretched before you.
edit facing a clean white wall with your knees against your chest.
write because you are innocent. edit because you are guilty.
write during a fit of hyperventilation.
edit during mammoth exhalation.
write with complexity. edit into simplicity.

write, as Hemingway did, drunk.
edit, not sober, but hungover.
see your flaws in the sharp mirror of a headache.

write during sloppy explosion. edit during precise implosion.
write with your head in the clouds gnawing at the cumulus.
edit with your feet firmly planted in the ground.
write during violent collision.
edit during calm separation.

write with a pencil on soggy paper in a hot shower.
edit with a red pen sitting in tepid murky bathwater.
write among raucous laughter & banging skillets.
edit in secret while the kids are asleep.
write like a sadomasochist.
edit like a psychiatrist.

write while running on your tip-toes.
edit while lying flat on your back.
write in several languages with abandon.
edit beside a translator dictionary.
write as you are engulfed in fire.
edit with an extinguisher.

write with careless fluidity.
edit without assistance from amphetamine or coffee.
write with a full bladder,
standing up,
jitterbugging,
squeezing the tip of your *****
closed--urgently
squirm & trickle
your ideas onto
the porcelain page.

indigo dusk spreads across
inexhaustible country sky
torn wet clouds stretched blue at twilight
a big-chested wind comes howling off the lake
dissecting our immortal kiss
as the pink sun meets her planet-doom
leaking on my balcony like a falling curtain
blessed with an affinity for moonlight
lingering drinking pale wine
we took baths in lukewarm vanity

she is a long legged sorceress smoking a cigarette
half awake because i've got the covers again
goose bumps crowd onto her little bare *******
dewy legs sliding among mine
rousing my bones and heart alert
as the bright sun dances silent
like a new carnation dragged from bed
bringing a giant unscrambled sunrise
across my section of heaven's blue sea
but is mercifully eclipsed by the cream-skinned
breast of a purified failed angel
exploring the feather-soft mountain of my body

we drank cointreau in the early morning
against the collage of saxophones
expanding among criss-crossing body odors
and thin magic on my lipsticked neck
i'm gaining strength over my neuroses
all my fear and doubt disappears into joy
no longer huddled in paper misfortune
reintegrated with ecstasy
in the smoky labyrinth of her eyes
as her fingers light as dreams
draw complex patterns in the flesh
of my back and buttocks
like secrets written on wet paper
none of it       was            real        before          this           moment

you told me i was an eagle
simple as that, i believed you
tied my shoelaces together
took off my shirt
jumped from the roof with you
holding my hand

you told me i was unstoppable
so i never gave up
still making propellers
out of paper mache and
over-watering the succulents

you told me you loved me
with your fingernails in
the soft young flesh of my back
you swore you weren't a liar
but we were both drunk
you wrote your phone number on my cast

you told me once
that i was a big engine
and i took it to my powerless heart
did some body work
ran screaming through the streets
roaring naked at midnight
perched on a solar eclipse
singing sinatra to a cat.

In the heart of your ears through splendid cities pierced with light,
the river murmurs of mad seas in lonesome rooms
of the veins in the arms of notorious daughters, oh blue waters!
i sing and the woods sing!
she stands polka dotted in a great bronze chariot
the shivering willows like an ***** of iron down the long black river
we entwine our thin arms and great conquering black eyes
the sky is hell-red where the stars are sleeping.
in the sacred woods, under the light of the horizon
the poet speaks of eternal voice *****-pipes;
I cared nothing for all the horrible spinning eyes of the ferris wheel,
clamouring birds seen as archipelagos and the eyes of panthers

nodody gives a **** about real birds like the voluptuous coyote eagle

listen up all tube socks
draped lightly over stiff cots
rise to the knee
this is a call to arms.

cleanse yourself of nostril snot
store it in a safe spot
this is for a poor old sot
with whiskey-breath
whimpering forget-me-nots.

drop pure silver into jangling slots
while your veins rot
and your heart and brain begin to clot
ask your neighbor for a quick five-spot

spin the wheel again, sonny
this time, give it all you got

Mike Arms--1 day ago
write a few lines, I'll match em. Can you do it ?

david badgerow--14 hours ago
banjo strings frayed by broken fingernails
fistful of downers to sleep this night away
i open my eyelids out of dream, singing ladies'
eyes downcast thru fear & tobacco smoke
wake up, roll joint, get this day started.

Mike Arms--10 hours ago
being pure ether ain't no ****** picnic
this september looks right at ***** smearing
its pale arms reaching clearly into murderers
lungs groping mute celibate
if you beheld her whole form means silence

david badgerow--10 hours ago
lying back on the car seat, her eyelids heavy
she breathes diamonds and pure electricity
in an endless velvet desert, radio warbles over a hill
"oh, if i were young again, legs spread leaning against a table."
hard labor, aluminum tubes between
continental divide
echo chamber vibrations plunging
their tiny lamps in and out of her eyeball

Mike Arms--8 hours ago
Hard Luck Man
crossing floods
inanimate intelligence

is assassinated
they cross themselves
a world deaf

*** revolution
worst gamble
you remain

I'll never forget that night
We killed all your mom's wine
And shot at fireflies with
Your dad's old forty -five
I'll never forget that night
We kissed and walked by starlight
Against a creek on your
Grandfathers property

hi, how are you today?
i've broken every bone in my hand
writing you this letter
i've hidden away every past mistake
in the cushions of your puke green sofa
every broken promise from an ingrained diety
coffee cups and cutlery that i keep
as monument to one night spent with you
a thousand killing smiles and a hundred stolen kisses
i bend my knees and take a shot of clarity
the outline of dreams and IOUs
the place where awkward belongs
the sign of recovery hides in a dimly lit alley
***** and hungry and lonely and desperate.

sometimes on rainy days we stayed in
chugged cheap red wine out of a bag
that stained our teeth
& i made you listen to
old jazz saxophone records or
you forced me to dance with you
to really awful dubstep tracks
you used to like to poke my skinny ribs
laugh & say i danced like an alien as you
pulled me with your small hands
to read my palm by the window where
the sky water trickled down the glass
spilling over from the gutter
& when it comes to your natural perfume
that damp fragrance of sagebrush cloaked in dew
i'm still a recovering addict
& sometimes i relapse
baby i'm asking to relapse

i haven't seen you since the garden on my 21st
with the thick sound of crickets squealing in the trees
& big dogs barking way off in
someone's backyard across the river
that starry september night you read my cards sitting
on the dusty trunk of my car while your best friend
rolled slick blunts in the backseat but i was drunk
& ***** we got distracted i bent you over
weaponizing the leverage of my body to
put your face near the pretty sunflower bed
with a tall can of bud still in your hand
& the muscles of your thighs glowing by moonlight
outside that almost abandoned house we found
with my birthday party blooming by a bonfire not far away

now i'm wondering
since i've got another birthday coming up
& a little more meat on my bones
if you'd be willing to try it again
because i'm working hard to change my future
by itching at the old scars left on my shoulders
until they open & bleed again
only i won't drink so much this time around
& you can try to not smoke ****
i'll let you steal & wreck my car again &
i'll stop chewing my fingernails or
you can still practice your happy ending massage
techniques on me when i'm stretched out & tired
i'll re-twist your sloppy dreads
with careful fingers
like tiny insects crawling over your scalp
because i never wanted to touch them before
& you can maybe try to not
flip-flop **** my best friend
as much or at all

the clouds are mocking me
the stars are bleeding rainbows
the trees are fiery torches
the grass is sharp wet earthworms

the clock on the wall means nothing
the wall is a prickly caterpillar
that will soon emerge as a beautiful speckled butterfly
& it will scoop me up & we will flutter by

the ceiling s leaking paint now
& the couch has disintegrated beneath me
the chandelier is a majestic eagle made of liquid crystals
& my heart is an innocent white rabbit
my arms are two tube socks full of sand
& my feet feel like sleeping
my eyes are just like bowling *****
& my head is bursting with
light & thought & colors & shining metallic dreams

Two weeks ago, on a day that I'm making up for this story,
I was in the city.
I don't prefer the city, because you can't see the stars.
They are being snubbed out by streetlights
and to me it makes everything seem uglier, without the stars.

Anyway, I was sitting on a ***** riverbank.
It wasn't actually dirt though, because people in cities
have forgotten
what dirt smells like
and tastes like
and feels like between their toes.

It was the city kind of *****:
spent condoms and cartridge rounds
syringe needles and bags of brown
scraps of metal and wrappers of plastic
gooey globs of gum and broken glass bottles.

I won't lie, I had a glass bottle to call my own,
about half full of the Good Stuff
and I was feeling mighty fine about killing it alone.

When I looked skyward and off to the right,
I noticed a city bridge, what with its' running lights
and dangling cables and roaring traffic,
it was standing in stark contrast to the
quiet county bridges of my home.

At this point, and it may have been the *****,
but I could've sworn I could see someone
on the bridge
clinging to a tether
swaying in the swift city breeze.

I had only just convinced myself
otherwise, that it would actually turn out to be
a bag of fast-food garbage hastily tossed out
by a careless city-dweller,
that the man let go
                               and
                                     he
                                         fell.
he flailed his arms and failed
to gain traction
and kicked his legs but
they abandoned him in midair
                                                 and
                                                       he
                                                          fell.

I was close enough, and listened
and I heard him go
                               splat
                                      against
                                                 cold water.

I was jealous of his bravery.
I envied his resolve.
I admired him.
I lusted after his finality.

finishing a book
is just like
killing a christian family
on a drunk Sunday drive

finishing a book
is just like
slamming your clean-shaven face
into a brick wall

finishing a book
is just like
inhaling pure oxygen
and then spontaneously combusting
into thin air

finishing a book
is just like
brushing your teeth so hard
that crimson paste drips from
the corners of your mouth

finishing a book
is just like
watching a toddler bathe
himself in lighter fluid

finishing a book
is just like
puking when you're passed out.

i caught a glimpse of her once,
just as she was leaving.
the sunlight cut her face
like a scalpel, and she flinched.
in the doorway, the dogs
barking at her feet, the day's
bags suspended from her frame.

the one with her wallet, her phone.
her purse pinched in the crook of her elbow.
the one with her lunch, also there.
the backpack with her water bottle
and planner riding high on her
trapezius muscles. the ones holding
last night's tears still hovering above her
cheeks.

and she isn't wearing the necklace
i gave her last year on her birthday,
i can see the pale line on her collarbone
where it lived. but why would she?
the ring i bought fits perfectly
in the kitchen junk drawer,
she is unadorned.

i tried calling out to her, but the dogs,
and she didn't have the time. the earth shakes
and the world sharpens it's blade
again. she turns toward her car in the driveway
and melts back into routine.
a piece of blue-black hair falls across
her face, and i am in love with her again.
but things change, and look how naturally
she goes.

I was there
when they built the cathedrals
I was there
and I watched them stand tall
I was there
for the villagers' upheaval
I was there
and I answered their call

I was there
when they fought in ancient Rome
I was there
and I watched poor men die far from home
I was there
when we ate just like kings
I was there
and I fed you a grape
I was there
when they sold you into slavery
I was there
and I helped you escape

I was there
when ****** built an army
I was there
when Stalin rose to fame
I was there
in the Jewish death camps
I was there
and I forgot my own name

I was there
I was a pickpocket in London
I was there
when Dickens wrote the Twist
I was there
when it happened, all the sudden
I was there
and I raised up my fist

I was there
with Daniel and the lions
I was there
when he went down to that cave
It had
nothing to do with a God up in heaven
It had
something to do with the knowledge he craved.

I'm sorry if I don't give a **** about
couplets
or rhyming words
or patterned stanzas
or structured lines
or even making that much sense.

Poetry to me is about
drinking too much
smoking too much
speaking too much
and spitting words onto paper.

I'm sorry if I
swear too much for your taste
or my poems are scattered remnants of dreams
or I mix tenses and completely make up words sometimes
or maybe I hide behind vices.

Poetry to me is
finding out who I am
and what honesty is
and trying to appease the beast
and telling the truth even when I lie.

A recipe
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was half-baked,
but what is edible will say:
something about instructions,
something about parts making a whole,
something about convection,
something about mixing in a bowl,
something about dough
and something about kneading
something about confections,
something about breathing.

An epitaph
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was rotten,
what wasn't will rise and say:
something about a journey,
something about fate,
something about love and
something about hate,
something about laying on a gurney
and something about decay,
something about destiny,
something about history,
then it might yawn
and lay back in its grave

A pamphlet
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some parts were mute,
others that weren't will speak and say:
something about tolerance,
something about abuse,
something about inhalants
and something about a noose.

A brochure
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was fake,
but what is real will last and say:
something about a lawyer,
something about curruption,
something about justice
and how it serves a function,
something about admittance,
something about plastic surgery
and breast reduction,
and a catholic priest mumbling
something about perjury.

A eulogy
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was dead,
but what was alive will stand and say:
something about a life
and something about living,
something about a wife
and something about a thing worth giving,
something about a family
and something about foes;
something about winning
and something about woes.

A book
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was filth;
but what was clean will shine and say:
something about character,
something about freedom,
something about development
and something about respect
something about supplement,
something about unity,
something about revolution
and how I think the world should be.

A song
I wrote one of those in my head today;
but it was a bird and it flew away,
If all that's left is just one dying wing
it would flap around
on the ground
and try to sing:
something in near-pefect pitch
something bluesy and
about a *****;
then probably something about flight
and finally something about a
bright white light.

A poem
I wrote one of those in my head today;
the lines were seeds
I planted before the cold;
some froze out, some took hold
but what remains grows bold and will say:
something about a heart,
and how you had it from the start;
something about sunlight,
and how you make it seem less bright;
something about the wet wet rain
something about willingness
and something about refrain.