The truth is I am a drunk who has lost his morals.
I seek help, I hear beauty, but I do not know.
Cherish, for I cannot seem to be able.
That's a lie, for I do cherish, but I do not appreciate.
That's also a lie, for I do appreciate.
I am a man.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 1:02 AM UTC
Write quick - write swift!
Can you hear it?
The inside tells us so
beautiful mold
beautiful untold
Break it, but trust it.
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
Closed colors
Smooth, deep, and dark shavings
showering the canvas
like a creamy jazz cafe
only brass and drum-skin can be heard
raw and unafraid of the creative
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
Tapered measure - not what, but want.
Take me to your grave, your stubborn stills
Frozen jacket, simple pleasure
Winter's grave, forgotten thrills
Cut loss, lust for me
Now you're here with me, I can feel it
The slow ooze down into it
Loosened by the night
Alive and down
Alive and drowned
Secular fun
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
The furnace, the one I grew up with in my parents home.
Well, she sits on the red sofa now, clicking through Netflix options.
I'm pondering my luck with her artistic pose.
My poetic style, it doesn't fit. I've never wrote.
Glancing at her tattoos and her skin makes sense.
"Everything that has to do with a baby, it's a reflex," she says.
How can I not?
She's now reading a textbook.
I should have listened to more NPR, maybe not.
She holds her fingers to her lips while she reads.
Now, I definitely should have listened to more NPR.
But, I didn't. And as she sprawls out on my red couch in comfort I know, again, that I love her.
Cliché? Yes, but **** it.
It's newfound love.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
Stapled conscious to the floor again
and wrestled with warped wood panels
on paint stained cement.
Briefly for a moment, a paused paradise
emerged just beside the swinging rope light -
cobwebs.
In the basement their thin beams are darkened -
ageless art and ancient evolution converging in ****** of creation.
Sit still my friend and watch the leg ballet.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
I am floored.
She teaches me with brown eyes the youth I've forgotten.
Every breath I take in thought of her pulls heavy on my lungs.
I can't stop.
The blankets I lay on turn to flesh and I firmly grasp what I'm able.
Her scent still lingers from our last lay.
Inhaling these moments only intensifies our time spent together.
****** ******* frenzy.
This woman rewrites what I claim of passion.
I know nothing now - she must lead me and I follow.
Her lips secrete the sweetest wine, her tongue uncorks me.
She wants me on cold kitchen counters and wooden floors.
I can't keep count.
We are sinning for the worse, the relationship founded on ***
Reckless turns us on,
we push and pull and pinch and grab and bite and nibble and lick our way to the next line.
Whatever it takes to get off - she & I must have it all.
These storms of passion return a calm to my chest.
I'm reassured of who I am - why I am.
She has floored me, and I ******* love it.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
On the right track never tasted quite right.
Remind me again what I should have done?
Usually, a smile or two for the accomplished
brings my morality back around.
She's always fleeting though.
A sip of coffee here, a few plans made there -
all these THINGS take up limited space.
There's a dream where everything gets finished,
floats up and checks itself off the list.
Actions speak louder than words,
reap what you sow,
early bird gets the worm,
but I like cream in my coffee and the snooze button.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
A year to wait
But not one of those stagnant,
thick-netted ********
The rushed one,
like the cafe girl
who knows he's coming so orders ahead
This is the real rush, the real lush rush -
Your potted and steaming sewer
4 am blacktop
photographic backdrop
waiting-to-do-your-dirty-work rush, and it knows you will want that.
You can't trick the city, but you can trick time
Trick it till it thinks. The girl at the cafe thinks too.
Think it through, she thinks.
I like the way her blue (not her skirt's blue), the blue she made, waves in the wind like it's the last thing swaying, that she can call home. She had a home once,
But this isn't about the rushed girl in blue, is it?
No. This, this thing we have here is about the rush, my friend!
that dreaded coiled-stomach rush that only happens at the last second, of the last minute
We can trick thoughtful time, never can we hide from the finality of our deciding moment!!
Girl blue has made her choice, too soon perhaps -
But rot yourself down to your last second,
feel the swell in your gut,
and choose.
You still have time.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
Let me show you my alcoholic slumber
Waver with me down tilted, flat stairs
Lose your memories for the sake of the night
Laugh away coherence, wake in your pants
By all means spill
Spill it on you, on them
Spill your emotions, let loose
Never regret one, but the collective
Try to stop, but keep going
These are the woes, the woohoos
The alcoholic slumber
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC