I wrote you down in detail
5 years ago

A character that came to life

I wrote a story once
And it had you in it
The pain
The confusion
The talent
You're scrapbook

And I swear I wrote you down
5 years ago
And I didnt know

I didnt know my words had this much power
And why did I write my and your life this sour

And this is a beautiful magical miracle
But a curse in disguise
I love this much power if I had power over my mind
But I dont want this much power
When a gray cloud is following my mind

And I wrote you
I detailed your detail to the detail
I swear I wrote you
5 years ago
And I dont know what to do with that

I am driftwood on a sea of though.
I am the sweet smoke from your mouth
and the ashes that fall.
I am ice
that your too cold hands cannot melt.
I am the truths unspoken.
I am subtlety screaming to be noticed.
I am
raised flesh
I am
eyes wide open
i am the insatiable hunger.

the gasp for air
the bite mark
the taste of laughter
the scent of desire
                               left behind,
still lingering in the air, and burned in the brain.

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

In my fruit bag,
a gift:
a love mutation,
two grapes,
each to the other,
dissymetric,
but together fused
-- heart-shaped asymmetry!

I want so to hold,
to keep,
to make last,
but know decay.

So into my mouth
the heart pop
and sweet entropy
 consume.

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't