Sick and secluded
I discover myself
Bouncing between
Feelings and hot water music

A poetry pong master in the making!

Or perhaps a mere loner
Lost in wild blue?
Criticizing deflections and
The distance of the moon

These tides are my own doing
They'll drag me back in
They always do

A drunken realization of
What matters most
Wanders in and out
Of consciousness
In and out
Of solipsistic getaways
In and out
Of this existential rain
Then miraculously sticks

Becomes static

Electricity
Crackles and lingers
In my ears like
Bubble wrap buttons
Snapping and
Slamming this
Contemporary chatter
Back into the reality
Of these off-white walls

A residual impact
I can feel in my bones

I wonder who knows

You observed for six months as
I clawed away at every fleshy obstacle
And only then were you so compelled
To take part in the excavation

People are always describing their dreams as crazy.
I had this crazy dream last night, they say.
I think all they really mean is the dream is still fresh in their mind;
crazy means vivid; crazy means I'm going to describe to you my dream as if I believe that it's only a dream but I expect you to tell me what you think it means.

Most of my dreams aren't that crazy, but I did have this really crazy dream the other night.
I was running through a long tunnel; you were there and so was Edward Norton.

We (not Norton, he comes later) were running, hand in hand, like the guy and girl do in those predictable action-thrillers.
It was dim and loud and voices echoed off the tunnel walls and back at us, upon us, like when we were in Atlanta and the sky opened up.

We were running; everybody was running and people were screaming and I had to **** and up ahead were men in black suits and black sunglasses with black AR-10s and they were shooting and people were dropping and I told you to run but you were scared, and it was too late; they were upon us.

They yelled and waved their guns and we did what we were told.
They divided us into two rows, each facing the other.
They were screaming and demanding and firing and people were dropping and I really had to **** and they were looking for a man.
They were looking for Norton and I could point him out and I had to **** but I really liked him in Fight Club and apparently my moral compass was still intact.

So I kept my mouth shut and so did you and and so did Norton and when I awoke the room was cold and dark but I was on a mission.

Bridges are wonting thresholds
And this one is no exception

The widest visual spectrum I've seen in years
Splits the sky from sinking shadows and

Each of these straggling drops is
Far too hot to be liquid, yet the streets

Diligently gather and swallow whole
This budding collection of backlit dreams

My palate has been cleansed
These dilated pupils are a *****

But if I close my eyes
Even for a second...

At dinner with his father
In reflexive response to the worry
Of his sister's relationship and
Its eminent failure:

"Well, most relationships end prematurely"

He hadn't meant it
He'd meant "her" relationships
Not "most"

But he'd been divorced
And so had both of his parents
And several of their friends
And both of his aunts
And his friend
And her friend
And his former boss
And a neighbor
And a barber
And this random guy at the bar
And now another friend--

Being alone when you know
What it's like to not be
Has a way of warping your perspective

Or maybe they were right after all

Maybe his optimism was only skin deep

has torn your book
redstained spine
scarred sand-
paper palm
passage
revised

and
dogeared