"I'm sorry," I remembered saying.
"I'm having a hard time with words right now."
My brother nods his head,
unsurprised and worried.
"I'm going to go get another drink," he says,
and I understand that much,
before words lose all meaning
again.

There once was a husband named Tuck,
a lazy man, truly a schmuck,
His wife knows he's a ****,
but smiles coming from work,
Cuz he spent college learning to ****.

Daylight rises on a foreign sky,
and night descends within my weary mind.
This ****** jet lag eats away at me,
To Father Time's "*******" I am resigned.

Concrete and steel,
Struggle and claw at the soil;
yet,there is no hope for the sons of man.
For their grandmother,
and Time herself,
are against them.

With the sting of thorns,
nestled in ***** feet,
There is a pull of the world toward the
abandoned.
It draws me here, to the space between
tides; to graffiti, and rats.
For there is peace in what we leave behind.

The eagle sits above the rafters,
Watching the comings and goings
of the dead.
The dragon growls silently below,
poised for action
that will never come.
And I sit below them both,
noting the things
nobody else would bother with.

For the rainbows and the stars,
For guitars, cigars, and scars,
To all the things I'll ever see,
I devote this poem to thee.

The lonely spider,
inhabits the still places
until they are gone.

As artificial light reveals my name,
and sunlight falls asleep across the sky,
I whisper to the mirror without shame,
And into the reflection I will die.
The Other Side is quite alike to ours,
but details shift and warp beneath the light.
Look outside now, and where there should be stars,
The spirits crawl within the glossy night.
But still the blind will stumble in the blue,
Oblivious, the truth lies underneath.
But slowly now the dead will slither through,
and holes they leave inside of you sprout teeth.
So now the flames within will always burn,
Reflection holds you, never to return.

I often feel an irresistible urge
to shake my head, static
racing across neurons from
chemicals, long gone.
Then comes the gnashing,
grinding teeth, and the
horrible, intrusive thought,
that this will never go away.
But before the thought finishes forming,
the feeling is gone. And I look in the mirror,
and think to myself:
"What the **** have I done?"

Gilead, oh Gilead,
every moment with you is a thrillead.
Roll up a dollar billead,
we'll snort lines till we've had our fillead.
And when the sky begins to spillead,
from the acid we've distilledead,
Go to the spot and we'll refillead,
with vibes at the spot when we chillead.

When the colors fall,
and the walls shake,
When the babies crawl,
and the old break.
As the light descends,
and darkness screams,
I close my eyes,
and the world dreams.

How many times has it been,
that I've thought, "Should I say 'I love you?'"
but held my tongue.
I think there is fear there, behind my eyes,
Because when you tell someone you've kissed,
"I love you,"
the words grow wings, and claws.
They grab at the heartstrings,
and pull at arteries.
But it's nice, the loopy feeling,
of love, of blood loss, of life.

For a brother, and dad,
for the truest of friends.
Pure of spirit, purely glad,
Journeyman into the bends.
The sun rises in his mind,
As it sets into his heart.
And when the moon rises in TJ,
Civility will fall apart.

"You look like me,"
you said, not knowing how true it was.
Still, the words flow with you
erratic, unstoppable,
beside me.
When the light shifts,
and the ego dies,
I see you there, and I smile,
in awe of our art.

What words are there
for the air, personified.
For when I met you, you told me,
"I see me in you."
and the music soared.

When the world bent,
and I was moved to sit for a moment
and weep, for all my sickness,
you were there.
And when the wind howled,
and I heard it shouting my name,
the rain pelted us, but I laughed,
for you were there.
And now, home,
When I need to smile,
I can walk down the stairs,
open the door,
and you'll be there.

When I remember the day we met,
I grin. For what could be more valuable
than the man you meet,
and immediately,
flee the occasion for a companionable walk.
The sun shone, and you told me,
"I think all life is beautiful,"
and the remarkable wisdom you breathe
shook the world and sky.
My eyes open, and you are gone,
but I climb out of bed quickly,
inspired by the fire
behind your eyes.

It is a special bond,
truly,
when a man tells his friend
the level of dissociation he has reached.
Better still, however,
is the friend who can smile and say,
"Oh. You mean this?" and laugh, already knowing
the secrets you've been struggling to put in words.
But you don't need to.
Because there are some people who need no words,
because they just
know.

In life, it is a rarity
to meet someone
who smiles
from the bottom of their soul;
who grins, not as an expression
and certainly not for others,
but because they simply
cannot help
themselves.

Long ago,
A pair of cosmic hands clapped
and the lights flickered on. All across the sky,
ever so slowly. But the sky too,
was born, and all the world with it,
for what could be before the light;
it was shone upon the untouched emptiness,
and existence was made absolute.
Still, I think,
it was there before, as a tree
in a deep forest
as it heaves its last
and the hush of its breath is broken
by the tearing of roots.

I was reminded,
in the hush of existence
Of fire, and blood,
and the terrible screams.
And I? Responsible.
But in my moment of complete failure,
I resolved to something strong,
and died.
Now, in another life,
or mine still, I suppose,
I think to myself
"It's such a beautiful day."
and decide, in silence, within and without, to go for a walk.

And so now, I know.
When the blood boils,
when the village burns...
It shall resolve itself to the empty.
The taste of crystal still sits,
Kingly, between teeth,
A god's throne.
Part of me would weep,
But I smile still, now knowing
that there is only us.
There is only all of it,
all the world in its shifting
hullabaloo.
And what has been,
will be.

Dr. Seuss used to live in my city,
Where the trees are triumphant truphaloos.
Acid rain falls to make you more witty,
and the world shakes with the weight of your dues.
"Still, laugh along with everyone," you'll say,
And the ground will tremble beneath thy hooves
So with that turn to see the palm trees sway,
and chuckle when the sky above you moves.
Yes, Seuss' friends don't wander in the streets
they're far too busy strolling in the woods.
The smells of all Balboa take their seats,
So now, make the exchange, and drop the goods.
I see the world now through a dead man's eyes,
so now upon the world a new sun dies.

The whiskey bottle is empty,
But I find the cap on the floor,
and give it away.
Somewhere, my closest family
sleeps, and I live
for the first time all week.
Ask whoever you want,
they'll tell you the truth;
the hymns of ancient people's
resonate in your ears,
and dead ancestors will look on
horrified.
Still, I am the medicine man in these parts.
But that was another life,
one of silent contemplation of the infinite.

Darling, we're doomed
to a life of
extraordinary regularity.
Still, smile,
for the world's birthday is today,
and it will die as the moon rises.
The Force bends, lifts us up
from the tedium of madness
into an order of monks
who let their mole hairs grow long,
in order to purify the soul.
I breathe, slowly.
The world hums beneath me,
around me,
and within me,
and I look to you. You tell me,
"Hold me closer,"
and I listen, afraid of what you might do.
Still, I think to myself,
"This is nice," as you agree.
The angels fall over themselves with laughter,
raucous, cruel.

I remember walking home,
and to myself, at night,
saying:
"Glory glory, hallelujah."
It's new, these fits of religious excitement.
These nights...
one day, they will be the death of me, but
I can't be bothered to worry.
Because today,
I'm young, alive and invincible.
Perhaps I'll pay for this,
but I'm banking on dying first.

Just for a night,
An unruly night, truly one for the books,
I remembered.
The cliffs smelled of salt,
and there was a crazy person
parked between two spots.
My lighter clicked,
and for a moment my face
was alive
before darkness enveloped it again.
Still, I remembered thinking,
"This is all I am."
and smiling.
I walked home,
stooped over, in something
holy.  All before,
the sun had a moment to rise.

Often I marvel,
At the incredible span
of a single hour.

It's an original sin, incandescent,
an absolutist's balloon monsoon,
but Eden's air comes in whipped cream cans;
the serpent had no need for names.
Blood hits the ice,
and the dextromethorphan hits too,
and yesterday, tomorrow, a crystal glows
briefly, never to be seen again.
The concrete tunnel is filled with spiders,
chewing at my brain as they suffocate,
beneath the weight of expectation.
And now, beneath this jellied tree,
I see the God I've ignored all these years,
and I bask in the artificial glow of LSD
before I realize my mistake.
Because when homeless men that went to Harvard,
smoke **** with you, hungover,
out of an Apple,
why change a thing?

For fire's spirit lurking in the church,
and by the ash beneath you, once alive,
Awakening the warmth within the birch,
chaos herself is driven to survive.
The winds of change bring blues and golds about,
setting sun breaks day and shifts to pink.
The ocean drowning, and I, a drought,
The blackened paper, breathing in the ink.
The mirror warps, and with it time is slowed,
A moment's lifetime screams, deflates, and dies.
Aquatic **** procures the sword, bestowed,
and with it clicks the clockwork toward demise.
I rise, I fall, I move from foot to foot,
The bells will beat the flames, and I, to soot.

Pavlov got something wrong,
because classical conditioning,
is for the classically trained.
I, meanwhile, live halfway between the operant
and the mountain,
and an iron cast bell.
What he didn't realize is that the dogs
cared more to sink their teeth,
into old Ivan
and buy their freedom for a day.

And as the sun sets on the left,
and rises on the right,
A false idol is worshiped,
And the brothers rejoice.

And so, I am again awake at night
anarchic freedom holding me it's willing slave.
Never again in love, but once more its fool.
The day I worry is a distant light;
there are no roads before me left to pave.
Working with bare hands, once more a tool.
Now I breathe, the night's a sight.
Abandon clothes and jump through the waves,
away from the graveyard, and the ghoul.

In mathematics,
A set of vectors are linearly independent if and only if their null space
is comprised exclusively
by the origin.
The only solution, is 0. Nothing.
There is no real way to describe them, other than, "because,"
And that's as good of anything I suppose.
Because to be linearly independent is a Godhood in of itself;
You cannot be defined in terms of the other vectors in your set,
Bystanders to your mathematically perfect
freedom.

"Be All You Can Be," says the television.
"1800-USA-ARMY."
I almost chose it, the life the TV tells me.
I almost went away,
To be a brother-in-arms.
Now, I'm thinking about being a brother-in-a-frat-house,
it hardly compares, but here I am searching
So I can be happy.
An 8 year plan for self-actualization.
Maslow would laugh; at the Army ad, at me, and at everyone who follows a path they didn't carve into rock with a spoon.

There are those who walk through life,
on eggshells.
And so, more than death, more than the sky, or the open ocean,
They fear
people.
Not the things they'll do or say,
but what they won't.
That they won't
love them.
That they won't
care for them.
And this, is a great historic tragedy my friends.
For at the feet of introversion,
lie a thousand friendships never made,
stories never told,
and lifetimes never lived.

"I hate American late stage capitalism," my Spanish roommate says.
But what can I say to that.
He's right; every second spent here is paid for in gold
or in crimson blood.
Reality pulses with stimulation,
but still,
the clock's hand lazily wanders, lethargic, about its face.
This pathetic, white-haired professor,
lectures on coding in the front of the room.
"American's only know how to tell the time by looking at their phones," my roommate says.
But I think to myself, now, computers are the only way we bother telling time anymore. Time has become precise,
But it used to be clumsy, more art than discrete mathematics.
The professor informs the class that we have to pay for the textbook,
and again for the software that will grade our code,
and the class doesn't even blink.
"Class dismissed," says the clock. Ironic, I know.
The blue light of our phones,
the kind that keeps us awake at night,
is turned on as we step outside.
"It's noon," I say, and I hear the echoes of gunshots in schools just like this one,
Where someone got tired of paying in cash.

Sometimes I am aware
of the bird's music,
but often I forget.
Some unconscious piece
of me
sets it aside in favor
of the roar of engines, and the screams of circuitry.
But I am happiest with
the sound of waves;
Earth's primordial wail of infancy.
And here, now,
I remember.

Our breath is that of Earth,
the forests
mighty lungs.
Our blood is that of gasoline,
of dead ancestors,
and open ocean.
My soul is that of life,
the quintessential
beauty in everything.

The rising sun upon the fateful hour.
Fog wanders on the parts still incomplete.
The pine tree's sap has gone from sweet to sour,
I carry new weight out into the street.
Electric currents carry me away,
Where sprays of ocean mist will set the pace.
And as the battered night now turns to day,
I look back with a smile on my face.
I speak now to the future as the son,
Live righteously, be true, love everyone.

Do you ever look in the mirror,
and see someone you don't recognize?
Perhaps a pimple,
Or swamp-muck,
a beard,
or something of the general sort,
is obstructing your view.
Wipe it away,
use warm water.
Look again,
And you will find yourself reflected,
In pools, the color of your eyes.

"Meow," said the deaf cat.
The two humans in the room,
Blink thrice, and agree.

The cycle of rebirth,
Concealed in a blood orange...
With a bite missing.

Round, frame-less glasses.
To you, I may appear an artist.
But they are merely glass.

1.5 grams of marijuana, 30 mL of cough syrup, half a bowl of cereal, and an iron supplement.
Then I throw up blood into a toilet, shave, and put on a pair of flip flops.
I don't bother changing pants, so I just grab a different shirt, throw on some deodorant, and smoke another joint.
I get in the car.
I take a deep, shaky breath.
And drive away.

I almost forgot what it felt like.
You see, I avoid coming home as much as I can,
but there's always the blue moon. There's nowhere else to go sometimes.
And this time it happened.
The conversation about how my day was, boring details and all.
And the sounds of crickets, gently chirping in the woods.
The warm light of the chandelier.
A word flits across the dinner table and into the air, and there is sudden silence.
Everyone knows it was a mistake, innocent.
But  I sit at the dinner table and say nothing,
One part glad that it isn't me and one part guilty for the other.
I pretend I can't hear screaming.
I pretend that there isn't this feeling,
I had almost forgotten,
Squatting on the mashed potatoes.
It stares me in the face and whispers through the crackling in the air.
It speaks louder as my little sister says,
"Pass the salt."
It laughs at the irony,
and the illusion of safety sits,
split cleanly in half on the floor,
while the dog, oblivious, licks up the scraps.

I am the words of scorn on a child's lips,
for a sleepy, fetid home.

I am ingratitude, and spilt milk.
I am the frozen boxer, the burnt lightbulb.

I am the sickly mirror,
who peers into an illusion of identity.

I am pain, and nerve.
I am the one who waits.

A floating point value,
Of a test score four-years-old,
Can float away your dreams,
And leave you homeless in the cold.
A floating point value,
Defines the friend's we've built,
Watch them steal the you you were,
And drown in a night of guilt.
A floating point value,
Separates you year from year,
Defines your rights, your days and nights,
Your every sip of beer.
A floating point value,
Separating me from you.
Close your eyes, count to five,
And wake up someone new.

It's hard to live without *******,
Tied to powder by a chain.
"Help," I say, but no one knows:
I'm bleeding lifeblood from my nose.

It's hard to live without some *****,
Liqueur up and start to cruise.
"I want to die." I flip a penny,
Rev the car and hit one-twenty.

It's hard to live without some shrooms,
I liked my life as a cartoon.
"I'm broken inside," I tell my friends,
They laugh along, the world bends.

It's hard to live without some ****,
It helps to balance out the speed,
"I'm in danger," no one cares,
Buried under thoughts and prayers.

It's hard to live with conscious mind,
I need poison, make me blind.
Roll me, smoke me, snort me up,
Pipe, spoon, ****, or cup.