have not slept  
this is how Dali did it,
this is how he painted
his elephants on stilts and melting strawberries in blue bowls.
  this is how Picasso rolled a ball of dirt into a woman,
and how
michelangelo
   gave himself to the lord.
   this is how a child
  eats from the box
of Kraft
  and the    girl cries herself to sleep for what she can't have and nothing changes.
  this is how it goes,
  this is how it always was and always will be.   the past whispers to the  
     thorn like it cares. and the  man stands tall among demons.  now go to bed and
dream

sun ,  
i hate you.
    I hate you as you rise,
  as your gerber face creeps over the grass.
i  hate the purple water and the ants
   which march in unison to battle drums .
  i hate the orange juice smile as you pack away your things,
  i hate the
  whisper when it's already lost.  miles ahead,
   i hate a few things -- but the list gets shorter as i get
   older.
why hate what you cant change?

crackhead hours .
real crackhead hours.
  got my unemployment check ,
  1400 a week
.   Im rich biaattcchh ,  
  
  crackhead hours, dawning on me at 5:21am. my favorite hour.
    I sleep when the tide rolls on the beach and swallows up the baby tutrles.
  i sleep
when the last ****** sighs into a pillow  on the  edge of the abyss awaiting oblivion  like green smoke.
  i sleep
when it's too late for the dove to die.
i sleep when my eyes burn and the retinas dance around me.
i sleep when it's late,
   i sleep when it feels like it's the same as dreaming and not
breathing

I'm not a romantic poet and it kind of bums me out.
  no chick would ever
read my stuff and fantasize about me;
  I don't even have a gnarled hideous face so as to be poetic.
I'm just whatever, with no real vices, no alcoholism, drug abuse,
  or abuse otherwise.
     I am a little ****** up,  but so is everyone. that's a prerequisite to living.
  
    and living is getting old

I've gotta get over my hyper-awareness that people are reading this.
enough with the 'stars'
and 'lights'
and 'dead airs'  '
' blue souls'.

you've gotta be **** too sometimes. maybe i'm always ****, but I need to explicitly be **** too.
this is poetry

- - Masked, bought soup and cranberry juice then ate strawberries and a health bar
- went swimming
-got the mail
- walked dog
-dog threw up
- talked to pat
- watched movie on ***** rockstar who shot himself in the face
- jacked off
- did some push ups
- ate a subway
- took shower with green soap
- folded shirt
- walked dog again
- dog happy
- bed  ?
- bed
- sleep
-  dream then
- wake up

Love is two things.

Rain
, Blowing cold.

Sentience

Disturbed.
Passive,     but giving and of course suicidal.
All the above.
But one more.

Loving