i wake to
the rhythm of the birds.
its a day ill live
and forget.
it starts with
grey rain but i have
nothing to do
other than drink
with friends
so what does it matter.

i do not walk alone.
i am not drunk
i can still see the work.
there is real forgetting
going on, and i am sleeping
there. i have made
my peace with battles.
just let me drink
with friends.

i end in bed,
shaking to old wounds.
a creature from the
water, i cant swim
so i cant be hurt. it saves
lives and i need saving.
only a match that
perfect could end
so poorly.

whoever said
that too much
of a good thing
isnt
a good thing,

clearly hasnt
spent enough
time
without one

i could really
go for too much
of a
good thing
right about now.

i learnt a lot about
myself today.

i learnt a lot about
fear today.

fear of
missing out
mostly.

ive heard the term before
but never thought
it was something ive felt.

i went to my high school graduation
ceremony today.
only a year ago it was me.

that day wasnt for me anymore
and i stuck around
like a fly on the wall
asking if they remembered
when i was there too.

if people can be toxic
im glowing bright green.

i cant promise you
that god exists.
i dont know it for certain.

but i do find myself
wondering how
i can even see the sky
in the night time.

i dont know if god exists.
or of all the different ones,
which is most true.

sometimes we are so blinded
by uniform
we forget what lies beneath it.

what a lonely life i live
to let myself drown thirsty.
to feel like god and
not believe in him.
to know love and
lose faith in it.
to be docile.
to be content
with contentment.

what a lie ive lived
my finest performance.
when the sheet does fall
i wont have disappeared.
the trick
is that nothing was really there
to begin with.

if you want a true lesson
in disappointment
move to a small town
and watch the power go out.

this like many things
is nothing like the movies.

last night
i had a dream
so real-
i wish it was.

theres a burrow in there.
a nook.
a tunnel.
that wakes at its mention.
like a marionette
for its final dance.

i try to keep all the ****
i dont have figured out
in there.

theres a lock on it
but i kept the key too.
its somewhere on my chain
with the others.

the key might be
two gin cocktailes
and not eating for awhile.

i found a place that i left behind.
it still holds the things i look for.

these kids have guns
in their heads
in their hearts
in their homes
in their hands.

these kids have guns
they die on the field.

these kids have guns
twenty one to be exact
rifling souls into the air
whipping through the wind
like crows in a grey sky.

seventeen dead
for twenty one guns.

seventeen dead
and for the ones who arent
a ubiquitous scar.
twenty one guns,

keep a spark
for the ones who made it.

seventeen dead
for twenty one guns.

i still tucked her letter away
even if she managed to contradict
all of its contents.
a heroic feat.
maybe her best work.

i helped a lady
take her groceries to her house today.
it was the same lady
i watched cross the street
it was the same lady
i didnt hear walk into the corner store behind me.
it was the same lady
i let the door fall onto.
i couldnt hear her.

she ended up ahead of me on the sidewalk.
grocery bags on the pavement.
phone on her ear.
i walked by her.
she apologized
said she was trying to get help.
we walked together.
she told me 'help' was on the patio
drinking a beer.
she asked where i lived
and i said a street over.
she said she hoped she'd see me around.
and i said maybe not, im going home for the summer.

she asked if i was getting out of the rat race
im too young for the rat race.

she thanked me a lot
and said
'some good karma will come your way
im a firm believer in that'

me too
i said.

i walked home and thought
i should write a poem about
that conversation.
about giving a second chance
about being a kind person.
about karma.

usually when something like this happens
i write the minute i get home

but i didnt.

i realized, i dont think i can write
about happy things
because when they happen
they always ferment until
they're not what they were.

it was a quick high
a genuine moment.
if karma is real
and that woman is right
either im the devil himself
or theres a big check
with my name on it.

before i started writing
i googled seasonal depression symptoms

apparently not talking to anyone between the months of february and may every year is still a horse with no name.

how do you **** a love
you made yourself.

i leave this town in a week
and i feel as broken
and confused
as the **** i tried to leave

all i want to do is jump in the river
to see if i can really swim
and figure it out from there.

i thought i saw a miracle
tonight.
i watched the moon disappear.
watched the bulbs fade out.

it flickered for a moment
and then its crescent faded into the black
behind it.
like it didn't deserve the spotlight
the attention.
i thought i watched the sun die
i thought i watched the moon die.

i looked around me frantically
i couldn't believe i watched the moon die.
no one else cared
no one said anything.

i watched the moon be reborn again

and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared
and no one cared

there was an ice storm today.
so i ordered food.
if mother nature said **** it
than i do too.
maybe if
i had cooked,
instead.
i might have
gotten something done.

i wanted to call this poem

"if this is fate than put a gun in my mouth"

feels a bit excessive
even for me.

and im the most extra ***** ive ever met.

i rarely have **** to say when i write.
ive rewritten the same feeling a thousand times.
i only know so many synonyms for heartbreak
and im running out.

the star of all this angsty literature
is far away for the moment.
across the country.
but ill be home soon
to watch her graduate (im still a kid and so is she)

i went very far away from home for a lot of reasons.
admittedly, she was one of them.
when i met her
she told me she'd never be able to afford to leave.

well good news.

next year she'll be an hour away.

i think i live in a chinese finger trap
or the ******* matrix.
the harder i pull
the faster the walls cave in.
the **** i try and leave behind
gets to where im going before i do.

i believe in love too much to ever **** it.
even if that means i have to watch it die slow in my hands
and listen to it shriek out in pain.

id rather die than give up on love
and from what i remember
thats what we call hamartia.

i could fall in love with a sword through my heart
if it was nice enough to me.
and maybe if she were holding it,
it wouldnt even hurt.

i worry about my purpose a lot.
it's a pretentious thing to write down i know.
but if i didnt have purpose to contemplate
than all the screwdrivers downed
would be for nothing
all the evenings still in bed
would be for nothing
all of my short comings
would be for nothing.

if there's no corner piece
for me to slide into,
i might just bang my head into my desk
until i cant feel it anymore.

i will never go to virginia.
because in my mind it loves me
and i love virginia.

and ive never been
and ill never go.

green on the eyes,
warm on the flesh.
how could i burden such a place
with my expectations
my preconceived notions
with no preconception.

i know nothing about virginia
it can be anything i want it to.
beauty incarnated in a long narrow field
empty as hell below.
a blank cheque just waiting for me to fall in love.
i wont let it fool me.

i am too aware of my own image to be who i am.


i dont know who i am


i shaved my beard off the other day.
ive never made a bigger mistake.
i look like a child.
i am a child.
i never want to look like a child.

my neck looks bigger
my face appears to be melting.
i guess thats what
was under all the wool.

i dont have the ***** to live like bukowski
and if i did
i wouldnt be bukowski anyway.

ill be honest in saying
i dont know anything
and the things i have learned
came at the expense
of something i thought i knew.
theres a knife in my stomach
two right hands around the grip
two lefts pointing blame at one another

i wish i had no face.
that way i could always have an excuse.

hey do you want to come out with us? were going to get some drinks.

"no i cant, sorry" ill say, gesturing knowingly towards the ether where my eyes, nose and mouth should be.

its the perfect alibi.
ill stand out so much
i might actually fit in.
sure it may take awhile
but people always adjust to things
even the abnormal
even if what they have to adjust to is technically nothing.
just skin over bone, no expression or words.

instead i just feel like an actor
like another life form.
like everyone can see it but me.

im too afraid to admit
that i have no one else to blame.

i wish i had no face

" hey well, hope never dies!"



"yeah i know that's kinda been my problem recently"

i pay with my skin to sit in this vulture nest.
i pay with my ears to hear these empty dreams
i pay with my time to throw it out on the sidewalk.
from the top floor of the pharmacy
where i learn how to write
from a writer who never made it.
blind leading the blind?
more like
the undead reviving the unborn.
theres no life here.

i am riddled with flaws
an oxymoron with legs
every word, and every fibre
contradicting
weaving through
every muscle,
every thought,
every emotion.

but through all the fat
a seed of belief
a sprout of confidence
untamed and unleashed.
a tiny tree in my brain
grew thirsty lips
and a big head.
writes a scripture with my name on it
fits a crown for my skull.
i have no choice but to listen
no one else wants to talk.

i want to write about leaving home
how it feels to not know where the grocery store is
how it feels to try and convince the people around you
that you're not crazy
before they find out for themselves that you probably are.

everytime i try to write about leaving home
all i do is think of home.

a place that tried to **** me.
a place i could have been a better grandson.
a place that feels warm in my mind
but cold on my skin.

can i really blame the riverbed
and that old rope swing
for taking away the only thing
i ever really loved.
maybe we could have found
some other way to get there.
we were too young to know better.

i can't wait until i fit into these boots.
my ankles sprouting forward, into adulthood.
it never occurred to me
that i might have to buy my daughter a pet
so she can watch it die.
there's nothing scarier in this world
than falling in love with anything you know wont last.
the hardest lessons are the ones
we know we have to teach ourselves.
i dont know how to thank you lord
because i dont know if youre there.

wishful thinking
keeps me drinking
the cherry wine that costs less than
the wallet i now keep in my front pocket
ever since it was stolen,

fool me once.

i palm my eyes
and rub my craning neck.
sore from keeping watch.
blessed to be cursed i feel at times
as its so hard to write with no perspective.
and if i keep these words in they might **** me some day.

what an honor to be king for a night.
all ive ever yearned,
to see his sword pierce my belly
at rest, at peace.

my hometown waits for me
like a lover
on the wrong side of a passing train window.

ill be back
but i wont be the same.

and we'll both be disappointed
in each other.