You say you have
Glitter butterflies
Tinglies in there
Oh, you've evicted the butterflies princess
Those are storms coming
This is the eye of it
Wait till your captain steers the ship
Towards that looming dark cloud
You will beg me for butterflies little bug
You would beg for a swarm of bees
In exchange
for the beating you've earned

From me
then your captain

My roommate sat reading terry Pratchett
on our patchwork couch
Covered in my grandmothers quilt
as i boiled water
to make americanos for us
with the aeropress i just bought
her for christmas
It was her only gift this year
Our christmas tree wasn't up yet.
we put that up about three months after everyone else took theirs down
we watched the water drip
Like clockwork from the veins in the lime wallpaper
Collecting in her blind cats water dish
Which lapped happily before tripping over a mis-placed buhhda statue.
my roomate closes her book to say:

"being polyamorous is something you should only try is you are amazing at organization and have a fettish for complicated things."

By the time I heard her say this,
I had been trying to juggle hearts for quite awhile
I must admit my dexterity wasn't high enough
To roll without dropping a few
it's hard when hearts are never the same size
Or weight, or color.
I would be a better librarian.
organizing the hearts
Holding them just long enough to capture and
Stick on a shelf somewhere
That must be why I write so much poetry.

4/9/17

There is a circle of chairs in this room.
To my left
a man reads "Watchmen".
Red converse, superhero jacket.
Behind him,
a red haired girl squeaks
high pitched moans
at her cell phone.
On my right
three pill bottles exchange philosophy
on how to wake up
Only one considers taking
the advice.
In front of me is a bulk of man, farm tattoos, blonde crew cut,
Wife back home watching their two kids.
He's building rapport with a lanky indie chick
Knit cap & OBEY hoodie, viynal record brain, paper coffee cup hands
By the map of America sits a quiet girl
Trying not to be noticed
Hoodie three sizes to big
Grey, no coffee, no eye-contact
Beside a blur of neon pink camoflauge
A blob the shape of school bag
packed for an overnight studying
a dead body

Smack center of all of them?
Me.
Like IM the one that needs attention.

4/8/2017

Monogamous Cat

Today I met a monogamous cat.
I was twirling the keys to my Black Saturn
Sauntering from my Clients home After making him breakfast
And In the wide paved road
sat a fluffy orange cat with a pink collar.
Staring at me.

I put my keys away and knelt down in the middle of the road.
My red converse cracking a bit As I bend down to present my hand.
The cat came over when I called
Sniffed and let me pet her on the head, neck, and back
Nuzzled into my Khaki pants
I took this as a sign of friendship
naturally,
I went to rub this cats belly

oh, boy,
was that the wrong move.

The messege was clear.
I was not this kitty's owner,
And she was having none of my ****.

She left my hand,
more blood than skin

I pet her on the head
one last time to let her know
We could still be friends.

I shouldn't have been so forward.

But how am I supposed to know
a species notorious for hedonism
produced a monogamous cat?

I am greatful she knows her boundaries
that she is comfortable
cutting a man
When he crosses them.

30/30 "Day 6" 4/6/2017

Muse

Blankly observing from the doorway
Me on your mattress while you were gone
I wake from my 9 to 4 Rest after third shift
To your stare
Sunken into the doorframe
A limp contrapasto
This is the first time you have shown me
Honesty

You are not eager nor professional
Manipulative, nor Passionate.
Simply Home.
You are home

I've never seen anything more beautiful
set to the frequency of a good book
After years of us swapping stories
Shooting fireworks at comic book panels
Lighting each other on fire when we aren't
Quite sober of heart

When we speak in streetlight colors
or profanity
Artists after midnight
You were never comfortable

Tonight you shed all mask
Facade
No intention, depression, expression
You were done today with social interaction
I've written you into a thousand novellas
Without ever looking you in the eyes.
I saw you today, Muse.

Honesty draped limp in contraposto
Hanging limbo until I left silently manic
Smirking out the front door for you
So you could live vouyerless for awhile.
Nose in a good book
Heart stirring tornados in my chest again
Like I was blinded by future ambition.
You told me you found out
what you wanna do with your life.

you told me today,
you know how to stay alive.

Elder cocoons
Crysalis Hospice
Heaves pounding war drums
Fables of eternal bridge
Bingo and television
zombie horde lunch hour
Tennis ***** play race car
down halls tarred with lost children
Abandoned wither liver spot wrists
Silk wrinkles
Pull like neck folds lifted
newborn simba kittens
casted into this kingdom
scientists culture control

climate but not the yellow wall
It's too high for a fit cyborg
intravenous barbed wire
Cathader Penetrating
illusions of escapism
except the prison wealthy
classically conditioned

trading ice cream like cigarettes
trading blood diseases like ramen packets
There is no planned parenthood
in old folks homes
There is no distribution of free condoms
In a facility where they without medication
When you're about to win the lottery

His last day requested to bed Nurse Christine
Wheelchair ridden fumbling to open
A shaker of Mrs. DASH
I reach to help him open the spice.
Growling and Sadistic he festered:
"Let the little boy do what he can do."

I sat down in my chair.
he had his nurse ala mode.
no one will fund a ****** dispensary for old folks home.
they wouldn't use them.

"He can't walk, he's on decline."
I was briefed as I clocked in.
an anxious robotic voice says
You have clocked in at 9:40pm
"When I get back from vacation He'll be dead"

I stand awkwardly at the landline phone and stare at him.
between us is the Clients bedroom doorway
The Client is asleep.

"When did he go to bed?," I say after a silence.
"Oh about a minute ago"
Breathing becomes fast and heavy from inside the room.

"I think it's a good time for you to go now"
I say, "It was nice to meet you."
"I'll be relieving you tomorrow morning at 8:30"

He leaves,
There is nothing relieving about this man
eager to back into each parking space
Lusting for his vacation in California
Caring for this helpless old man when I leave.

Architecture rivets as he walks down the hallway.
footsteps echo off the empty fireplaces and yellow wallpaper  
no tumbleweed in the darkness outside
only snow wet and black tar.
as he looks in the mirror his wax smile fades into his hairline

I shiver in the recliner at my journal.
I look at the man sleeping past the doorway.
This is my job now.
That man is my future
Destined for a Hospice Heart

4/4/2017 "day 4"

"Used to?
Isn't being a father permenent?
What, did she die?"

Yes.
Tragic accident
I prefer not to talk about it.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm better now,
it's been four years
She gave me lots of poetry to write
Gave me lots of happiness
when She was mine.

"She'll always be yours."

No.
Okay she didn't die.
She's still out there
somewhere
but she's not mine.
I fell in love
with a nerdy irish woman
We were both fifteen
When I said her one year old daughter
Wasn't gonna scare me away
I was in the trenches love.

"That's powerful
To love someone so much
That you are willing to raise a baby at fifteen."

At fifteen
I didn't even know what love was,
not when I met her anyway.
I was in lust.
I was blinded by a beautiful woman
who was so pretty
I didn't care what baggage she had.
I was willing to risk my life
to spend it with her.

"That's what love is."

No. That's not love.
Love is waking up to someone
staring at you
from over the edge of your bedsheets
Because that's as tall
as they can get in their tippy toes
Love is Mashed potatoes
on your nose
giggling at toppled over snowmen.
Love is not just
putting a bandage on a boo boo,
but knowing someone has always
and will forever kiss and bandage
every single boo boo

"So You can never love someone
like you love a child."

Well, You might.
But I'm broken

Always nuture or abandon
Usually both
While I wander around
praying for a ******
to pop.

"do you really want another child?"

Yes. I am ready.
I have wandered four years
with no purpose of life
other than to provide
for my own baby
I need one,
can't you understand?

"Can you even support a child?"

I could make it work, find a sitter.

No... I can't even feed myself
regularly. ..
There's no way I could
support a family
when I am as sick as I've been.

"who was the real father?"

You all ******* ask that.

She wouldn't tell me okay?
Slept around,
never asked for names.

"But she must have told someone."

she lied to the government.
It was a pack of men
who ***** her.
Wearing masks.
Never got a dna test,
never got ANY testing
Do you think I know?

"I do."

look. It's the only gift
I have left to offer that little girl.
I will not tell a single soul.
It was someone her mother loved very much.
Someone she would never be able to love
without being judged.
someone who must be buried
beneath old corpses
Hidden at the bottom of every bottle
carried on her shoulders
until the day she dies
And even then if she is very lucky
he will never know it's his.
She looked him dead in the eyes and lied.
she was dead in the eyes and lied
she is dead in everyones eyes
because she lied
she can't drink enough to forget
That her family regrets her
And no matter how many
strangers she *****
She can't make up for the ones
she lied about in the beginning
back when he was
the only one to touch her
She compensates
to unravel the web with her body
But the silk is woven so thick now.
as thick as it is

it still won't keep her baby warm.

He says "Geek Poet!
Leave the politics alone
Stick to Pop culture"

Cousin.
Politics ARE Pop culture.
don't you see?

in a world where businesses
buy natural disaster insurance
In fear of presidential tweets
McDonald's burger vending machines
You think this isn't dystopia?

We play games to escape.
where can we go
when the "real world"
is just as scary
upside down?

Tell me, Cousin.
Where do you write your poetry?
is it safe?

Do you surround yourself with muses?
back turned to a naked woman?
is there whiskey on the bar,
A journal,
your favorite pen?
Your cell phone,
clentching in the public restroom?

because no matter where you are.
that sanctuary
is a ******* pillow fort
compared to the Fort Knox
of an artists imagination

politics ARE pop culture
China is throwing unfathomable
amounts of money into Propaganda
targeting millennials though memes.
Fish don't see water, remember?

You are telling me
I can't write about politics.
There are Americans
who have never voted,
Radical left and right facebook profiles
protecting and attacking A Racist,
selfish, blemish on our history.
you wonder why we are scared, Cousin?

You want to know why I am so loud?

I watch Men step alligator shoe
out of Boston limousines
Slicked back hair straight
from wolf of wallstreet
belligerent screaming
"I do what I Waaaaaaant!"
"She does what she waaaaaaaaaaaaants!"
"We do what we waaaaant!"

This is the world
we're escaping from.
Excuse me if I break
from the zombie jokes
The vampire romances
Focus on the dead bodies
in our own city, Cousin.

Our demons are real now.

dystopian literature
called for the 2017 election
as far back as the 1930s'

Senator Buzz Windrip
from "It can't happen here"
by Sinclair Lewis
makes promises
to "return America to a better time".
back in 1935

buying validity for his ideas
in airtime on the radio,
tarring those who disagree,
as tools of mother russia,

dismissing woman,
as silly socialists.
naming the press
"a lot of irresponsible wind bags."

In the book "Parable of the talents",
Octavia butler Predicts a "Pox" In 2015
Wiping most of the population.
President Andrew Steele Jarret
promising to return the country
to an "Older Simpler time".
She wrote this book in 1998

Want to learn how to defeat Trump?
Read "Our Twisted Hero,"
by Yi Munyol

Read "In the Heart of the Valley of Love, "
by Cynthia Kadohata

All of these Dystopian fantasies
Prepare the Geeks
to rise up and fight.
Pop culture is the only thing saving us
Knowledge is the only thing saving us
Standing up,
Making art,
Being loud
is the only thing saving us
from the red button
in the orange hands
of the man who NEVER Had
the best words,

Because we do.

Repeat After me:

We The Artists
The Geeks who shall inherit
Swear to protect our words.
We will not bow,
bend,
or break.
Ink is the blood of prophets
The voice is a weapon

Excuse me if I fight
For education over distractraction.
Forgive me for preaching
Art as our gospel.

you can't Incite Revolution
by throwing dice at ghosts.

I am sick of being tall
because my friends
are too busy crawling
I'm putting all my stat points into
inspire

Let me incite placebo healing
for a small fraction
of the tortured
anxiety pretzels I walk along
each day.

I will spit
on anxiety paper-cuts
from this paperback of bigotry
in our future history
labeling myself neosporin prayin'
God,
PLEASE
let me be charismatic enough.

I love like every tree leaf is a miracle.
I love like when leaves fall, If I look away they will never have been there.
I love like the ground doesn't exist unless I love every blade of grass that tries to catch the leaves.
I love like I am allergic to grass
I am allergic to grass.
I love like I worship each pill that stops the itching.
I love like the Itching is self-inflicted
poison which I am responsible for
finding the antidote.
I love like all leaves fall,
but only because I watched the first leaf fall.
I love like this is my tree
but not my leaves.
I love like I hold piles of dead leaves in my hands and cry
I hold piles of dead leaves in my hands and cry.
I love like there are particles of dead Leaves in everything.
The wind.
Herbal tea
I love like I need to find a leaf that will be an herbal remedy for my allergies.
I love like I found that herbal remedy and Sit by her tree all day.
I love like This tree loves it's leaves
letting them go, Growing new
Providing shade for words to be read while it lives.
constantlly Growing taller
Telling stories in it's rings
Only to be read when it
is Chopped down.
But I will watch it fall.
Or I'll never leave this spot.
Where it grew.
I'll rest beneath my pile
Of dead leaves.
Leave particles of myself in everything.
The wind.
This Herbal tea.

No, seriously
it's ether this or Oatmeal you guys.

Don't ask me how I got here, kid.
unless every time your College head hears the 20th century definition of "Awesome" or "Adventure"
You can hear "sandstorm" instead
wrap the lust in caution tape.
don't want you finding out
Our feet
are the same size.
you're anxious

can't you sit still?

What,
you afraid of bein' caught?

Let me tell you a secret.
nobody is watching you.

If you really wanna learn how to get here

live by that.

I assumed you wanted something?
Follow me.
don't be afraid of that cloud Over there
He just plays guitar
for cigarettes
So he can smoke 'em
Simple man, that Smokey
Not in the kiddy selling business,
Or a mercenary, or part of the
in and out
and in and out and in
and out
Of jail crew
he just plays guitar
and smokes cigarettes.
marlboro reds.
how many did you want?
$60.
Would you stop talkin' so fast?

remember not to take more than two.

And you're eating?

See,
I take care of you...

how about a kiss?
No?

Oh, **
** And you were scared of the clouds.

Light it.

put your clothes on kid.
good luck on your finals.

remember to eat.

remember who takes care of you.

imagine a big dragon
Are you doing it?

"ye"

what color is it?

"b-blue and yellow"

Blue and yellow. Cute! Isss it big as godzilla?

"no, it's smaller
likee the size of a horse"

Dats a smol dragon
I like him.

"its not smallllllllllll
a smol dragon would be like, a neck dragon
hes big, just not hugeeeeeee"

Ohhhh okay. He's a big dragon, but not huge.
His teeth are like little point pearls
do you see how shiny they are?
and pink

"why are his teeth pink"

They are pearls.

"but pearls are white"

then his toofers are white.

"gooood
good hygeine"

Mhmm
One of those pearls in his dragon maw
his little baby toofeers
thats you

"why?"

because than you can fly with him everywhere.
Just imagine looking down through his mouth at the cityyy
as he flyyyys
and sitting all nestled in his lip
Blue and yellow leather
He could sing you storiessss and brushes his toofers so his breath would be warm but not stinky

"gooooooooooooooooooood!
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhh­hhhhh :3"

"My small tenant" He says to you.
as you crawl out of his gum and walk out onto his tongue.

What is your dragon houses name?

"his name is roxy"

He's making a very silly face, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes to talk to you
he sounds silly too
talking with his tongue out
"Welcome Home. "

"i loveeeeee"

Roxy the Blue and yellow Horse sized Dragon House.
"Ready to slide?"
he asks you

"alwayyyyyyyyyyys"

he swallows you
it's very slippery and fun!
like a water slide
And is warm, but not smelly becaus he brushes his teeth
you fly over muscles and liquids and tongue and land on a biiiig trampoline
You can hear Roxy from all around you, quite loud "Having fun, my tennant?"
You are the small size, or a dragons tooth.

"good :3"

"uh oh!" He cries
you see fire from his back
it's zooming towards you!

"nooooooooooo run awaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy"

You run up towards his tongue and trip into the sticky icky
The fire is warm and tingles oup your back
then is over
and you standup, the back of your clothes all burnt off and your front all sticky icky
"I'm sorry, tennant"
"I sneezed"

"its oki roxy."

Roxy fashions their tongue like a staircase for you to come back outside

"daddy? Im sleepy... Can we finish the story tomorrow night?"

me too Babygurl. ^^
Yes we can

"yay!!!!!!!"

Good night

"ninighht daddy. sleeeepppppp well.
i love you"

I love you too baby girl ^^
Sweet dreams.

You curl up in roxys empty tooth spot, he covers you in his blanket tongue. it is warm. but not stinky. and you drift soft to sleep
"Good night, Tenant"
"I love you"

"i love you ttooo roxy."

You are all repression
and denial and avoidance
in the face of anything
not ideal
because the alternative is
self hatred
And we both love
you
too much to prioritise
truth
over
your happiness
and do you see now
why
this is killing me

"Daddy?"
Yes, princess?
"Where do babies come from?"

Well Princess,
One day you'll see a cutie
And little glitters will tickle
From your chest to your toes
Days will go by holding hands
Giving Eskimo kisses
Passing ******* underneath
Family Thanksgiving tables

Until waking up with the cutie
Is the most stable part of your day.
Safe, like together in this bed
You two are a fortress,
Free, like you could run into the street
And he would stop traffic by breathing
To protect you

You'll sit across from him one night
Blushing over your dinner
Stir fry of everything you pointed at In the grocery store.
And through all that blush you'll ask
If he will be your daddy.

He will stand.
Cross the room
Kneel by you
Take your hand
When he smiles into you
Little glitters will tickle
From your chest to your toes

When he says: "Yes, Princess"
That's how babies are born.

They are Immortal.
They are dead inside.
They are pale.
They often sparkle
but naturally don't.
They bite necks.
They are nocturnal.
They are out for blood.
They enthrall people effortlessly.
Their loved ones are often dead
or being mourned
while secretlly alive.
They act like the cool kids.
Or the awkward emo clicks,
but are treated like this exclusive club.
They don't show up in mirrors
because this IS their reflection.
They don't let the real them see the sun.
I am reflecting.
On.

Why.

Why have I only dated vampires?
I'm loosing lots of blood.
But
What am I gaining?
Besides y'know...
their blood diseases.
And lots of exciting! moments
That belong in movies
that would get
or already have gotten
way to popular.
And be better as books.

Some of them can throw me across a room.
Some of them love to count.
some of them seem to only show up around halloween and looove chocolate

Don't get me wrong.
I still love all these terrifyingly
Seductive temptresses.
I have a type.

But I don't know if it's A
Or B
Or O negative?

I'm an optimism ******
Oh, Positive?
I'm not afraid of needles
But they're afraid of me.

I tend to be a universal donor.
Which makes matching blood hard
Blood that works with my body is rare.

This is not to say anyone
could use my blood
Universal donor or not.
I am infected
with a blood disease
It could be vampirism
Or well, whatever causes one to seek
Vampires.

I Can't confirm anything about wooden stakes
Or decapitation or garlic.
But i can assure you setting them on fire doesn't work.

No matter how hot or fiery I make them
Their anger never kills them
It just makes them stronger.
But it does repel them quite nicely.

"Over there
Witness all the rooms you rent,
Moments, Memories,
all the pieces of heart
gifted by lovers or strangers"
said The Cherub.
"My arrows choose which you will cherrish."

"While we lay entangled here,
Having consumed one another.
Do you wonder if we will cherrish this?"
said The Archer.

"Would you like to come even closer
And discover the answer? "
replied The Cherub.

"Every memory I've choosen to cherrish,
Has Shattered"
says The Archer.

"Well of course it did,
You tried to choose.
We cannot choose
which memories we will cherrish.
We may only pull
faith From quiver.
Give in to potential
without intention.
Close your eyes.
Empty all your senses
Until the only sense you have is Trust
I'll fill those empty spaces,
can you feel me?"

"Yes, you are close."

"You have my quiver now.
We still have no control over whether
We will cherrish this moment.
Put your faith in this bow.
Draw back our arrow
Trust it's natural path.
Close our eyes.
Forget this room.
Volley the whole tower"

In your Sillouette,
Painted Gold, against Magic Curtain.
This Oz Stage, Hiding our bodies.
I am lingering.

You are gilded beautiful
Bare ******* pointed at Chandeliers
****** Capstones sealing perfect Arches
I am a foot protruding from your sculpture
In mustard.
I am that blot behind your Hip Bone

Cold Draft from the window
Opened Opposite the Magic curtain
A breath of ocean waves
Our bodies casting illusions
In ripples of Moonlit fabric
Dancing around our sillouette.

Black Moss collects in the shape of your tattoos
Silk screen thighs,
Underbust Corset

where the breeze whispered

where my fingertips wrapped your hipbones.
growing where we Calloused
In our Roughs
In our trenches
Rubbing Leather against Silk

You invested in our common interest.
A mirror, Fastened to the Ceiling.
Reflecting Our Two Loudest Vices.
Ownership,
And your body.

I love the Chips in your paint.
I hate the man who painted you.

infected by Tunnel vision Voyeurism
Sick with a Spiderweb brain
Spinning from your imperfections.
You are so, perfect.

Artists come from all over
To watch the magic curtain.

Your Golden arching Back.
My Mustard Toes.

we all look at you,
even you look at you.
we do not Blink.
Just stare, position ourselves.
behind this curtain.

Our callouses grow like the black moss
bodies marble under ocean pressure
erode from the chill winds
Your archaic exhibitionism
Carved From Counting Gazes
Mustard eternally pondering
why our sillouettes, different colors
Drawn by the same moon,
Casted on the same cloth.

The yellow aura
spiraled my night elf hunter avatar
as the DUN-DUMM
of false accommplishment
incited my addiction to
instant gratification.

I had just Leveled up.

The quest giver
gave me a choice

****** boots
Or
a less ****** Dagger

I took the ****** boots
because
**** the system
they looked cooler.

I was going to stomp cave spiders anyway,
what's the point of relinquishing
looking **** fine.
for an extra Attack Point?

****** Boots.

****** boots ALL Day long.

A naked human avatar
dances
facing a naked gnome
Named: "Buzz Lightyear"
He is Also dancing,
at crotch height.

This is Typical starting zone
foolery

I stayed up
watching Toonami all night
Naruto, Bleech, Inuyasha.
I could tell the sun came up
not because there was a window in my Kitchen,
there wasn't.

Tom and Jerry came on.
everyone knows
when Tom and Jerry came on
you were no longer pulling an
"all nighter."
You're pulling a
"Drink enough Soda
to get through the rest
of the day-er"

My entire diet
these past two days
has consisted of Gushers & Vault
because
Clearly Coca-Cola is superior
to Pepsi.

Therefore, Vault
was superior to Mountain Dew.
Which is the typical choice drink
of my internet brethren.

I don't know why I dyed my hair black nobody online could see it
But it made me feel
more
like my Night Elf Avatar

I wanted long white hair
I realized that's impossible
in 6th grade
So I Bought & Settled for Black
At least I could be like
"L" from death note,
Long sleeve white shirt, jeans
with no shoes.

I could also be
any other black-haired charecter
From any other angsty Anime
Because of course I loved angsty Anime
Because I held my cell phone like "L"
From Death Note.

I always dreamed
of this singing venus fly trap.

A Fuzzy Memory with a lost Origin
I realized seven years later
the Singing venus flytrap in my head
was AUDREY 2
from Little Shop Of Horrors.

Netflix reunited us in College
Audrey 2 finally Serenaded Me.
I listened with Voyeuristic Intentions
As memory saprilings grew
into the full songs
relieving the void in my soul
Lingering for a Man to be attacked
by a singing venus fly trap
in his own kitchen.

But only once,
Because I firmly beleived
movies should only be seen once
until I stopped
dyeing my hair black.
Despite watching Space jam
more times than any kid born in 1995 Should have
but still
all the kids born in 1995
watched space jam
more than any of them should have
because they were born in 1995.

Apparently
when I first saw little shop of horrors
it aired just before osmosis jones.

I love osmosis jones
almost as much as I love
Buzz lightyear, of Star Command

Buzz lightyears robot companion XR
reminded me of Cyberchase
and to this day Cyberchase
is the best show to watch
when you have no idea
who Gilbert Godfrey is.

Zoombinis is better
than oregon trail.
and also better
than Tom and Jerry.
but not better
than leveling my night elf Hunter.
Named:
"FEED ME A PIZZA!"

I think I spent more time
getting my Zoombinis
to look just right
then I Spent deciding
what outfit to wear

Routine
Black striped Hoodie
Unwashed and worn every day
Grey skulls all over it, because
of course it had grey skulls all over it.
Black pants.
Black socks
No actually, THESE black socks.
Okay, got gushers
and my Coca-Cola.

I now take as much time
to choose my outfit as
designing the perfect Zoombini.
however I have yet to replace
my legs
With
a skateboard.

I think that every grade before sixth grade is fourth grade
and 6th grade is basically 7th grade
which is to say my memory skips them both
to remember ending eighth grade

I miss being cool on the Internet
Whilst lame and forgotten in real life.

like black sock
wasn't quite as good
as that other Black sock.

I wanna go back.
To the seperation
Of who we pretend to be
Vs. who we actually are.
To be dramatic again.
incomparable.

An ideal self on the internet
Who is obviouslly not the real you
is decades more comforting
than Some Characatureized
Facebook Profile.

Today I was offered a choice

Work A minimum wage job
or
continue my useless college degree.

I decided to write a poem, because
**** the system.
If I am to Decide where to respawn from
Let it be poetry.

There is no spiraling Yellow aura
or DUN-DUMM

Sometimes there is snapping though.
Or a lost memory
of A singing venus Fly Trap.

I am a pretend person.
An avatar
just now, I have skin.
You can touch me
I breath without a Macro
or even pressing any keys.

I cannot bring myself to
Watch Space Jam again.
I can Identify Gilbert Godfrey's voice.
I will buy my children zoombinis
And it will collect dust
When all they want
Is to watch the fifth Toy Story movie
Way more than any kid born in 2020 should.
And all the kids born in 2020
Will Watch the fifth Toy Story Movie
Way more than they should
because they
will have been born
in 2020.

And I will rant
about the Missing LGM
and Warp Darkmatter
betraying Buzz Lightyear
By joining Evil Emperor Zurg
So Buzz was forced
to get three new Partners
Princess Mira Nova
Audrey 2
and Osmosis Jones.
because I will have Forgotten
Booster & XR.
Because Booster and XR
Never made a ******* Facebook Profile.

Nobody exists anymore.
We are all represented by our avatars
holding ourselfs up to the standards
of our photoshopped reflections

Being disappointed and overwhelmed

I Take pills to forget that I am
Acting Like myself
but can't find any evidence of Existing.
Besides these memories
of who i used to be.

I want my internet persona
to be nothing like me
So that I may focus on myself
in the real world coherently.

I want thick black lines
dividing mental Venn diagrams

I want Tom and Jerry
To signal me
That it is morning, again.

Two weeks after the breakup
I watched my reflection
******* trace a puffy purple bag.
under my eye, A smirk sprouted
A loud Sargent boomed in my skull

Dear Maggot,
As we march further
Into the territory of single life.
We, The voices in your head
Have voted unanimously
Thumper, The results.

Sir yes Sir.
Nick your descisions
in reguard to relationships
Were convicted of self-destruction.

Here is some Dating Advice
From the voices in your head.

1.
Don't Stick it in the Crazy.

2.
I'm serious nick. Stop sticking it in the crazy.

3.
Although ******* inside a woman
Whom loves you and wants a baby
Is a fulfilling, Romantic experience.
With Tinder dates this is no longer Routine.
******* inside a first date
Behind a lighthouse
Without a ******,
Should not be
YOUR FIRST INSTINCT
FOR ******* IDIOT

4.
Remember it is okay to **** your friends.

5..
remember it is not okay to Rebound **** your friends.

6.
Having *** with a new gender
For the first time
Is exactly like losing your virginity
All over again.
You have no idea what you like anymore.
Why isn't this working?
That doesn't go there, Oh
My god,
Please put that there.

7.
Some of your ex's
Will start talking to you again.
You should still probably not sleep with them.
Okay once, but now no more...
okay seriously
STOP SLEEPING WITH YOUR
...Oh never mind.

8.
When a girl reaches for a 2-liter of soda
After having *** in the backseat of your car.
Do not assume she's thirsty.
She may lift the soda bottle to her ******.
I know what you're thinking,
Yes it's that bad.
Watch!
As the soda.
Magically disappears!
When she spreads her legs and says:
"Drink from me"
...and of course when you say:
"No"
She will get extremely upset at you, and
Scream at how terrible of a person you are.
While squirting
****** coke
All over the back seat of your car.

Please be very clear
About where you stand
On drinking ****** coke
From the beginning.

9.
Just because someone is in a relationship,
Does not mean they won't sleep with you.
Asking if the boyfriend or husband is okay
With you guys.
Is a good first step to taking the higher ground.
Asking during ***
Might **** the mood.

10.
eat plenty of Potassium.
foot cramps ruin everything.

11.
Listen here maggot,
When a girl leaves something behind,
She probably wants a second date.
Even if what the woman left
Was ******* ****** coke
All over your brand new leather seats.

12.
STOP.
STICKING IT
IN
THE CRAZY.

13.
Some of the people you sleep with.
By some miracle,
Will still want to talk to you.
You crazy *******.
They might make amazing friends.
You might even have *** again.
If you're lucky,
They'll teach you something

Thank you for Matching
the Tinder Call Center.
My name is Nick and I will be helping you with your order today.
And your name is?

Hello, Port Veritas

I'm so glad you called
because you do qualify
as one of the first 100 people
I find attractive!

So Where are you from?
Oh Wow, I've never been there,
you ever Been here to Bull Feeney's?

No? Well look at that,
I guess we've never been
too each others places before.
Hah!

Looks like we have something
in common.

What was it on my profile that got you interested in swiping right?
Oh I see, you like love poems,
you like new ****,
you just wanna make everyone cry.

How long have you been interested in that?
Wow that's a long time.

What else have you tried
to hear love poems,
see new ****
and make people cry?

Wow that's...

that's kinda ****** up Port Veritas.

That's really ****** up.

What's the worst part about dealing with that?
I see, well I'm glad you called.

Tell me a bit
why it's important
to do something about this now;
it's a little different for everyone.

I see, it's Valentine's day. There's a valentines open mic and LOVE SLAM Tonight!

I'm just gonna ask a couple quick questions to see if you qualify,

Will you all answer them for me?

Do You want **** poetry?

**** poetry IS the best sticky note to receive in your eighth grade lunch box

Do you want Radical Self Love?

me too, let's keep looking

Do you want love Poetry?

You just want so many things from me that i can give you.

Do You want people to need a towel by the time you leave the stage!?

You're right, they shouldn't call it dry *******

You know, Port Veritas. I can't wait for you to watch this amazing show we have for you tonight.

As my profile states,
we're gonna give strangers this microphone for four minutes.
Where they are gonna say whatever the hell they want about terrible dates, passionate love, terribly passionate ***.
And that sounds great doesn't it?

Just imagine how wonderful it will feel when
you get up here
picture all these lovlies in their underwear
feel cold and alone
with nothing but your words
and a microphone
Then drop the god ****** heat on us.

Imagine a chorus of ****
and Mmmm and snaps

THAT'S really why you swiped right today, isn't it Port Veritas?

Excellent! Let's get you started!

As you heard, we've put together a Special Package, with this Valentines open mic. A LOVE SLAM.
And an extra free second date when you try this First One for just your body.
Plus, since you're one of the first 100 people I find attractive,
I'm gonna throw in a Third date. so you get three, for the price of one!
And remember that swiping right on a Poetry slam is risk-free because it's backed by our 30-day Text you back guarentee.
So put your name on the sign up sheet.
next to your $3- $5 dollar suggested donation
bus your tables at the end of the night,
Tip your bartender Leah well for putting up with us every week.
use whatever bathroom you ******* want

and one last order of business
to wrap things up
like a good boy practicing
safe ***, who is totally not trying
To get you all pregnant.
when he asks how you like
Your eggs in the morning.

Un-fertilized.

If someone gets up here and says
something during their four minutes
That makes you feel unsafe
you can do one of three things
1. Silently get up, leave the room and come back when you're comfortable
2. Get Nate or myself and tell us to provide floor for a calm discussion.
3. Go home write a ******* poem about it. and bring it back here next week!

Now
WHO'S READY FOR A VALENTINE'S OPEN MIC?!

UP ON DECK
WE HAVE:

You ******, exotic,
Beautiful creature.
I could not be more intrigued by you.

I drove, 46 miles,
to be screamed at for being late.

When I rolled in with a leather jacket
my lit cigarette,
you asumed I was this rebel.

Dangerous,
adventurous creature.

Dropped onto this earth
for your entertainment

That's exactlly what I am.
46 miles away from my home town.

My foam swords,
magic the gathering cards,
Dungeon and dragons playing self
packaged tightly in the lockbox
at my bedroom door.

Today, I am a persona poem.

My smolder is a gas mask.
you are the poison gas.

It was invented for survival
in the trenches with you.

I hold myself like a commander
shouting orders at my mind:

“Stop calling her beautiful, you maggot!
She wants you to take charge.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

...So uh...
What do you wanna do today?

“What do you think you're doing?
Don't give her options, Maggot!
Tell her where you're going!”

“Sir, yes, sir”

We're getting coffee.
her favorite coffee house

She gets a nutella mocha.
I get a 16oz almond milk maple syrup latte

She calls me a hipster,
I laugh, I don't disagree.
I give her the radio,

“What do you think you're doing maggot!?”

“trust me,
we need to find out what music she likes."

Show tunes.
Light bulb.
Rapport jackpot.

you ever heard of Rocky Horror?
Doctor Horribles Sing Along Blog?
Little Shop of Horrors?
Repo, The Genetic Opera?
Hedwig and The Angry Inch?

“What do you think you're doing maggot?
Don't fall in love with this girl."

“Sir, maybe, sir”

We walk the beach,
Singing showtunes
we know all the words.

“You're actually the first person
I've seen in real life from tinder...
I hear all these stories
couples meeting online
Getting murdered
I was half expecting you to **** me.”

“Well we didn't get to the end of the beach yet"

.... wait... is she serious?

"My boyfriends waiting
at the rocks down there
when we Start to ****
he's gonna jump out
slit your throat.
The redness of your blood
spilling on the rocks
is going to make me so,
*******,
Wet.”

"... I
.."

She texts her boyfriend
asks to kiss me.

Babe.
Babe.
C'mon Babe.
Really, Babe.
Babe.
Babe.
Babe.

I drive to portland in the rain
We park in the parking garage
There was free on street parking
but I don't
Understand...
Parking Signs...

“Good job, maggot.”
“Sir, yes, sir”

I drive the 46 miles back to kennebunk to drop her off.

She keeps my favorite shirt
because it smells like me.

when I get home.
I find her ******* in my backseat.

“You forgot something, Maureen"
when do we Tango again?

"When you pay my Rent,
You smug *******."

I convinced a man he could prune his own ****.

That if he spliced it just so,
two little pink shafts would sprout in it's place.
Wriggle themselves growing into two separate fully functional phallus.
And I watched him.
As he reluctantly reached for the shears.
And went through the five stages of grieving.

"There's no way this will work.

******* for telling me this secret!

can't I just take a pill to grow a second **** without having to cut this one off?

I don't think I can live without it..."

but just think, I reminded him.
after you do this.
You're gonna have TWO *****.

"I'M GONNA HAVE TWO *****!"

TWO *****.

And with almost no other thought, reasoning or belief.

He closed the shears



He opened his eyes.

His flaccid privilege laying there.

"When does the growing start?"
He asked me, pained.
His big brown eyes swelling.

"It doesn't."

"WHAT?"

"I lied to you, it doesn't grow back."

"It doesn't grow back? Not even one?

"Not one, not two,
no **** for you. I lied."

"Lied?"

"Lied."

it was easy,
to convince him.
Just had to promise he'd have two times the power in the long run.
If he risked it all right now.

He says "Geek Poet!
Leave the politics alone
Stick to Pop culture"

Cousin.
Politics ARE Pop culture.
don't you see?

in a world where businesses
buy natural disaster insurance
In fear of presidential tweets
McDonald's burger vending machines
You think this isn't dystopia?

We play games to escape.
where can we go when the real world is
scary as the upside down?

Tell me, Cousin.
Where do you write your poetry?
is it safe?

Do you surround yourself with coffee?
Turn your back to a naked woman?
is there whiskey on the bar,
A journal,
your favorite pen?
Your cell phone,
clentching in the public restroom?

because no matter where you are.
that sanctuary
is a ******* pillow fort compared to the
Fort Knox of an artists imagination

politics ARE pop culture
China is throwing unfathomable
amounts of money into Propaganda
targeting millennials though memes.
Fish don't see water, remember?

You are telling me
I can't write about politics.
There are Americans
who have never voted,
posting radical left and right facebook posts.
protecting and attacking A Racist,
selfish, blemish on our history.
you wonder why we are scared, Cousin?

You want to know why I am so loud?

I watch Men step alligator shoe
out of Boston limousines
Slicked back hair straight
from wolf of wallstreet
belligerent screaming
"I do what I Waaaaaaant!"
"She does what she waaaaaaaaaaaaants!"
"We do what we waaaaant!"

This is the world
we're escaping from.
Excuse me if I break
from the zombie jokes
The vampire romances
Focus on the dead bodies
in our own city, Cousin.

Our demons are real now.

dystopian literature
called for the 2017 election
as far back as the 1930s'

Senator Buzz Windrip
from "It can't happen here"
by Sinclair Lewis
makes promises
to "return America to a better time".
back in 1935

buying validity for his ideas
in airtime on the radio,
tarring those who disagree,
as tools of mother russia,
dismissing woman,
as silly socialists.
naming the press
"a lot of irresponsible wind bags."

In the book "Parable of the talents",
Octavia butler Predicts a "Pox" In 2015
Wiping most of the population.
She wrote this book in 1998

Andrew Steele Jarret
becomes president
promising to return the country
to an "Older Simpler time"

Want to learn how to defeat Trump?
Read "Our Twisted Hero,"
by Yi Munyol

Read
"In the Heart of the Valley of Love, "
by Cynthia Kadohata

All of these Dystopian fantasies
Prepare the Geeks to rise up
and fight.
Pop culture is the only thing saving us
Knowledge is the only thing saving us
Standing up.
Making art.
Being loud
Is the only thing saving us
from the red button
in the orange hands
of the man who NEVER Had
the best words.

We The Artists
The Geeks who will inherit the earth
Swear to protect our words.
We will not bow, bend, or break.
Ink is the blood of prophets
The voice is a weapon

excuse me if I use Mine to educate
rather than distract.
Forgive me for spitting on anxiety paper-cuts
from our government
paperback of bigotry
labeling myself neosporin
praying God, PLEASE
let me be charismatic enough.
Let me incite placebo healing for a small fraction
of the tortured anxiety pretzels
I walk along each day.
I am sick of being tall because
my friends are too busy crawling.

I will preach Art as our gospel, Cousin.
You can't Incite Revolution
by throwing dice at ghosts
Our Pop Culture IS Politics.
I'm putting all my stat points into inspire
Watch how high I roll.

Snake

The snake sits coiled in on himself
low in the dark ground
props his heavy head against the wall
he is sick and cold
it's in his blood to be sick and cold
he's too afraid to ****
knows he can swallow a rabbit whole
but doesn't want to see the rabbit leave
everyone loves the rabbit
so he turns invisible
becomes the dotted line on the floorboards
sinks into the heavy air
sometimes the snake can feel his venom leak out into his teeth
feels sickness in his belly
festering purple words in his mouth
too sick to be hungry
the snake takes to the ceiling
he likes how nobody looks for him
he can just watch
be silent
the snake loves to watch
listen to the goat bleat
or the rabbit make a scene and twitch around
it's quiet and peaceful and he can't be trampled
he can just coil up and love them all
if he is quiet nobody will know he is sick
they will only see his friends, the goat and the rabbit

Goat

The Goat Loves to be pet.
to be milked
trade himself for the love of another
to marry, sacrificial Goat.
viscera and smoke for the gods to be nourished
The Goat always comes back to life
Bones whole like the Milk, Zeus fed him
Rewarded with immortality for his submission
the goat lives like he knows he's immortal
does not listen to reason
acts on gut instinct
he has four gut instincts
they never agree with each other
the goat still has one horn
the second was shaved and polished so he did not
harm anyone
the first stomach breaks it down
the second passes it through without much thought
the third feels sick as it passes
the fourth sends it's nutrients through the body
The Goat feels a mixture of fulfilled and tricked.
he is still not certain if it was worth it
but sacrifice is familiar to the goat.


Rabbit

The rabbit thumps his big white feet against the door
sends it flying into the bar.
all eyes
twitchy hops
busted hinges
door frame
his bright white fur,
blue glitter suit
chatters his teeth
in approval of the attention
finger guns his new audience
his manic smile
huge attentive eyes
take in the room
glow as he speaks
fast and clear
commanding everyone stand
form a circle
most of them do
except the snake hugs the ceiling unnoticed
the goat has no motivation to participate
Goat distracted by his sketchbook.
Goat is drawing the snake
the snake is coiled up trying to disappear
Snake does not want to think about the goat watching
wishes for the goat to just watch the rabbit.
the snake is upset and can't sleep
the room is all dancing now
spiraling around the rabbit and laughing.
the rabbit leaves the circle and sits next to the goat
rabbit asks what the goat is drawing.
the goat points at the snake and says

"there is a beautiful creature that the world deserves to hear about"
the rabbit agrees
says how phenomenal an artist the goat is.
rabbit looks at the goat in his rectangular slit eyes
delicately touches the goats polished horn nub.
the goat leans into the rabbit and feels comfortable
the snake is very happy the goat stopped drawing to cuddle the rabbit
and starts to smile
less sick with less attention
up here alone without being seen
he can lift up his heavy head again
he looks at the rabbit
the rabbit looks for a split second at the snake
just long enough to wink
rabbit goes back to petting the goat
who is nuzzled into the rabbits chest
as rabbit watches the room of people dancing
all circling as he left them and commanded
the rabbit bathes in his power for a minute
bathes in his love for every creature in this room
how much love he is getting and obedience
complete control and omnipotence
all these individuals
the rabbit is a god in his own mind
he values the snake for watching over the room
values the goat for being immortal
mostly the rabbit values himself
for being their manic god, keeper. protector.

when the room stops dancing they look towards the rabbit
but the snake has descended the wall and eaten the rabbit
the goats gut instinct told him to swallow the snake
the the room looks at the goat
rectangle eyes one polished horn
and a look like he just brought himself together
the venom
from the snake
mellows the vibrations from the rabbit
the rabbis feet give the goat
unfathomable luck
Goat is level headed and looks
at his former dancers no longer under the rabbit spell
all separate
with their own lives
properties
the goat is no god
he is not a shadow like the snake
he is not distracted or indecisive in his art and mind
he just exists. talks.
listens. learns
he shows the room his drawing of the snake
they for the first time feel they are not alone
the goat, the snake, the rabbit, they all understand
they have so much love.
they complete each other.

When the apocalypse happens
the aliens and Archeologists
will at least have our art.

"What tempature does love freeze?"
asked the five year old ice scientist.
Her character sheet read: "Mage".
She preferred "Scientist".

In the beginning we said "An Ice Scientist can freeze anything!"
So she asked "How cold?".
Google told us "-300 degrees Celcius".
The Ice Scientist spent the rest of Dungeons and Dragons
discovering the Freezing points
of
"ALL OF THE THINGS!"

"I want to stop the Bard
by freezing the Queens love"

Roll for it.

"Nat 20"

The Queens love freezes.
She refuses the bards advances.

"YES! ...Wait, What tempature?"

70 degrees.
Love may freeze at any tempature.

"At 211.5 Degrees Celsius, Adrenaline Freezes.
Did you know that?
Your heart stops racing,
No more sweat, dry mouth.
The initial fight or flight reaction slows.
you see less red."

"Mom stopped buying Epi-pens;
they're only sold in packs of two,
said she's "Boycotting epinephrines codependency"."

"Adrenaline helps your heart beat!
Did you know that?"

"At 128 degrees celcius Dopamine freezes.
Did you know that?
With desire frozen
no sense of reward
you sleep more, eat more, slip into depression.
You aren't addicted to anything anymore!
unmotivated!
upperless!"

"Mom gave up coffee,
gave up chocolate,
can't even have ***."

"Dopamine makes you happy!
Did you know that?"

"At 121 degrees celsius, serotonin freezes.
Your well-being crackles on a car window.
The remaining strands of happiness, form icicles!
You can't regulate your mood,
appetite, or sleep patterns.
You are unpredictable and sick!
Serotonin heals wounds,
did you know that?
with it frozen, the scars you've collected
stay open!"

"At 0 degrees celcius water freezes!
you are made of 50-60% water!
half of your body is FROZEN
at 0 degrees!
Did you know that?"

"At -2 degrees celcius human blood freezes.
Your hands go numb,
like when you have no gloves on?
Then your toes! Arms! legs!"

"I think I would like the numb feeling
being frozen,
like Elsa.
All those tingles are the blood warming up and moving around.
Did you know that?"


I didn't know any of that.
you're very smart.

"Yeah...
...What tempature does Oxygen Freeze?"

Well, munchkin, let's google it.
Oxygen freezes At -218.8 degrees celcius.

"I bet it's hard to breath with no oxygen,
like when we get panic attacks".

Yes munchkin,
our panic attacks
are like a frozen lung.

"Do you think beautiful trees have frozen lungs?"

Do you mean winter trees?
The ones that look like glass ornaments?

"Yes!
the beautiful ones!
Like me!
You said trees breath,
When they're all beautiful
Are they having panic attacks too?"

Some of them.
There's no way to tell them apart.
Remember, Munchkin.
Trees always thaw.

Like the Queens love.
Like my love for you.
It just takes time.

"What tempature does love freeze?" asked
a five year old ice scientist.
Her character sheet read: "Mage".
She preferred "Scientist".

"An Ice Scientist can freeze anything!" We said.
"How cold?".
"-300 degrees Celcius".
"-300 degrees Celcius".
The Ice Scientist spent
Dungeons and Dragons
and the entire next Year
asking us the Freezing point
of  EVERYTHING!

"I want to stop the Bard by
freezing the Queens love"

"Roll for it".

"Nat 20".

"The Queens love freezes
As she refuses the bards advances".

"YES! ...Wait,
What tempature?"

"70 degrees,"
"love can freeze at any tempature".

The adults burst into laughter.
The Ice Scientist smiled,
gleefully ignorant.

I fell silent.

At 211.5 Degrees Celsius, Adrenaline Freezes.
Did you know that?
Your heart stops racing,
No more sweat, dry mouth.
The initial fight or flight reaction slows.
you see less red.

Mom stopped buying Epi-pens;
they're only sold in packs of two,
said she's "Boycotting epinephrines codependency".

Adrenaline helps your heart beat!
Did you know that?

At 128 degrees celcius Dopamine freezes.
Did you know that?
With desire frozen and no sense of reward
you sleep more, eat more,
slip into depression.
You aren't addicted to anything anymore!
unmotivated!
upperless!

Mom gave up coffee,
gave up chocolate,
can't even have ***.

Dopamine makes you happy!
Did you know that?

At 121 degrees celsius, serotonin freezes.
Your well-being crackles on a car window.
The remaining strands of happiness,
form icicles!
You can't regulate your mood,
or appetite, or sleep patterns,
you are unpredictable and sick!
Serotonin heals wounds,
did you know that?
with it frozen, the scars you've collected
stay open!

At 0 degrees celcius water freezes!
you are made of 50-60% water!
half of your body is FROZEN at 0 degrees!
Did you know that?

At -2 degrees celcius human blood freezes.
Your hands go numb,
like when you have no gloves on?
Then your toes!
Arms!
legs!

"I think I would like the numb feeling"
"being frozen, like Elsa".
All those tingles are the blood
warming up and moving around.
Did you know that?

"No, I didn't know any that."

At -218.8 degrees celcius, oxygen freezes.
Breathes winter trees
into glass ornaments.
Each panic attack, a frozen lung.
A car exaust pipe duct taped inside your back window.
A crowbar against it attached to a friend
A friend who saves your life.
Without oxygen you turn purple.
Did you know that?

Dear Ice Scientist.
There is a cryogenic chamber
deep in my heart where you have slept
like that queens love,
set to thaw with an oven timer.
While you rest
I will set fire to the blankets you've used
like in-scents, prayer candles.
Taste you hot in my lungs
like cigarette smoke
if not for long, for memorial.
Your afgans burned to ashes.
Each night I still cover myself in them,
pull them over my head,
rub them into my eyes,
swallow them every morning
like vitamins, or mood - stabilizers
because as frozen as the
blood,
oxygen,
water in my body is,
your memories were cremated.
My addiction to you is cryogenic.
Walt disney won't bring you back to me,
you are no hologram.
I will be cold.
I will die in this winter
I know falling though thin ice
is just drowning
which is no different from a frozen lung,
frozen heart.
How am I to pull farther away
when death is as close to me
as any other flurry?

"Mama, what's the tempature?"
"I'm busy".
"Dada, what's the tempature?"
"Well, Inside or outside?"
"Outside?"
"Well it's five below freezing outside".
"Inside".
"In here? Well, it's 70 degrees".

They promised to level you up
After a six month grind.
Took a ball point pen
kept your eyes on the macguffin.
but there's still rats in the basement
never made enough Rupees
To trade in this wooden sword
no matter how many teeth
or claws you trade in
You're still stuck behind a register
or mopping up XP from the local wildlife's viscera

During your daily quest
turning in the farmers daughter
you noticed a woman promptly positioned in your way.
Some bandits killed her father
and she just stuck around
Until you hit the local tavern
and drank too much whiskey
you ran off to fetch her some pearls
then while digging for CLAMS
You met a pirate man
Who asked you to steal back his map.
while you were finding his buried treasure
you happened to find a letter that
forced you into a coffee shop
and here you sit.

always fell for the macguffin
Now you caught the most obvious one.
Always running around, trading pelts for clues
But they just kept you busy so you never traveled out of town.
if you ever headed out

You'd be slaying more than dragons
there's more than princesses to set free
out here in the big world.
your next quest is self actualization
go Sattle up on that griffin.
and head to the farthest town.
You don't know how to make the gold right now

but if you stay here.
how are you gonna find out?

A Close friend said "The Perfect Woman"
is much like a shark.

if I am greeted in this ocean,
by a woman
I will allow her to look at me with all primal intent.
splay my wrist open and watch her

as she smells the little turn of blood
floating now in spirals between us

I'll have done it not for the pain, or shock
but for the honesty.
to watch a creature struggling to hold onto their facade
and the tears that start to bloom in the pink
above their sharp teeth.
Look, I know sharks don't cry.
it's not about the crying,
I crave the visceral emotion.
want to give my body to the indulgence
the electric moment where
I feel them feel conflicted
with my whole body
feel their suffering and internal struggle
in my entire manic smile
tight cheeked
all eyes on them like a paid performer
or Alternatively,
I would give them all this passion,
my body in anticipation of their opening
clenching to their masks,
They Devour me.

1.

Can I be Frozen?

at 0 degrees Celsius Water Freezes.
am I so fluid that I have the same resistance?
you are made of 50-60% water.
half of your body freezes at this tempature.

I am still not cold.

at -2 degrees Celsius Human Blood Freezes.
Am I a deadly cold?
Am I hypothermia?
at what point do you numb your hands lose feeling in your toes??
fingers, legs,
stop motor function
lay still in a wet snow bed
waiting for your body to stop
It has already slowed so much
do you die from freezing?
is the numbness the sign
you are getting cold?

I am still not cold.

At -121 degrees Celsius, serotonin freezes.
your well-being crackles on a car window
the remaining strands of happiness, form icicles.
you cannot regulate your mood,
or appetite, or sleep patterns,
you are unpredictable and sick.
Serotonin heals wounds,
with it frozen, the scars you have collected, stay open.

I am still not cold.

At -128 degrees Celsius Dopamine freezes.
With your desire Frozen, no sense of Reward
You sleep more, eat more.
slipped into depression
you aren't addicted to anything anymore
unmotivated, and upper-less
given up Coffee, chocolate,
can't even have ***.
-128 degrees Celsius has even frozen your bedroom.
You are a hedonists worst nightmare.

I am still not cold.

at -211.5 Degrees Celsius, Adrenaline Freezes.
Your heart stopped racing,
No more sweat, dry mouth.
The initial fight or flight reaction, slowed.
You saw less red.
Stopped buying Epi-pens in packs of two
killed yourself saving the $600
Boycotted Epinephrine's codependency.
Adrenaline helped your heart put out.
-211.5 degrees Celsius has revoked your anticipation,

I am getting cold.

at -218.8 degrees Celsius, oxygen freezes.
crystallized on naked winter trees
each panic attack wheezes a Marlboro lung
gasps the surrounding air
vacuums icy lifeless C02
without oxygen you turn purple

I am Frozen.

2.

I set fire to the blankets you used
like in-scents or prayer candles
tasted you hot in my lungs like cigarette smoke
if not for long, for memorial
your afghans burned to ashes
each night, I still covered myself in them
pulled them over my head
rubbed them into my eyes
swallowed them every morning
like vitamins or anti-depressants
because as frozen as my blood,
oxygen, water in my body was
your memories were cremated
my addiction to you was cryogenic
Walt Disney isn't going to bring you back to me
I will not fetch fire wood.
I will be cold.
I will die in this winter
I know falling though thin Ice is just drowning
which is no different from a frozen lung.
Your frozen heart.
how am I to pull farther from you
when death is as close to me
as any other flurry?

I can be Frozen deep into cryogenic slumber.
Thawed by some hearth,
or warm heart.
You called this feeling,
"Melting", didn't you?
Feel it again. and again.
It is always me, coming back.
Haunting you in the ashes and snow.

3.

You've Thawed.
Do you remember me?
It's been awhile.
My Name Is Love.

I Have Given The Kids At Family Christmas, Explosives.

I told them,
"Keep these in your pockets and don't tell your parents you have them until you get home.
If you throw it at the ground it will explode and make a loud noise!
Suprise your parents with them, and tell them
Nick gave it to you".
Then I went to their parents,

"I Have Given Your Children Explosives".
"Wait, WHAT?"

"I have told your children to hide explosives from you until they get home, and to then suprise you with them.
Act scared".
I handed them their own explosives.

"These are for revenge".

One little girl came out while I briefed the adults,
"I just heard that".
I gave her three more explosives.

"These are for staying quiet.
You're on the adult team now.
When you get home,
scare your brother".

Today, I want to sink my chest into yours.
Your heart pumping blood through my veins for a bit, mine doesn't want to anymore.
Let's trade.
I'll put my brain on ice.
Wash this skull cavity with some minty fresh chemical while my wrinkled pink mother board discovers cryogenics.
When I place it back Into my tingly, almost numb now, chemical washed head
I will still feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
Just a spirit, weightless.
Let me live as electricity, like that spark you felt .
Like that spark they all felt.
Place me in the power lines so I can power houselights and televisions.
Let me be usefull for something again.
Don't convert my head though.
Keep that on Ice.
Better still, creamate
everything but my heart.
Let the ashes get caught
in carpets and drain pipes
Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Tucked in a wooden box,
Kept back seat of my mothers car,
So she can hold it once in awhile.
Until she parks her car in a bad part of town
And a homeless man breaks in
Doesn't steal the gps, or her wallet on the front seat,
But snorts me three hours later
Thinking he just hit the jack ***.
That's where I want to be.

In the lungs of some car burglar
Where his addiction should have been,
coughing on my ashes.

He won't get my heart though.
Keep that frozen in a white room.
Smelling of copper, by a tray of tools,
Latex gloves and paper masks.

One day, thaw it out
bring life to someone.

Last week, Cortney moved into a four story apartment
with seven twenty-something year old roomates, all boys.
The men share the first three floors.
while Cortney has the enire top floor to herself.
I spent the night there saturday night.
And around 10:00pm
a twenty-three year old boy
Blonde, baby faced, named Kevin Smith
stumbled drunk into Cortneys penthouse room.
Kevin smith removed his pants, and crawled into bed with us.
Kevin Smith nuzzled into my face, pulled me close, and rested his hand,
firmly on my ***.
Kevin Smiths breath smelled of ***, coffee, (and a man who regularly brushes his teeth.
Good Job Kevin Smith.)
At first, Cortney and I assumed Kevin Smith was each other.
after further, mostly-unconcious, inventory of our limbs,
we gathered this was neither the case, nor a hallucination.
Cortney flopped dryly for her cellphone and shined it's light at Kevin Smith.
"What the ****" Shouted Cortney.
No response from Kevin Smith.
"What the ****!!"
We got out of bed and put clothes on,
laughed at how ridiculous it was
that a drunk stranger just grabbed my ***,
while an unconcious Kevin Smith laid in Cortneys bed.
Kevin Smith sat up
"This is really telling. I uh..."
Cortney cut him off
"Get out."
As she turned on the light.
"Can you guys call my phone?" Asked Kevin Smith,
"No." Said Cortney
Get out of my room."
physically pushing Kevin Smith out of her room.
Cortney held up Kevin Smiths drunk zanax filled body on the stairs.
preventing Kevin Smith from otherwise falling down said stairs and dying.
Kevin Smith showed his appreciation by saying,
"High fives all around"
I watched Cortney strattle drunk Kevin Smith awkwardly, yet also motherly
down the stairs.
I leaned over the railing and high fived Kevin Smith.
"I just want you to know," mumbled Kevin Smith
you guys are my friends.
You don't need to.. I got this".
"No, you really don't" said Cortney,
"if you fall down or throw up on me
you owe me $20"
Cortney delivered Kevin Smith to his bed.
Kevin Smith mumbled something, and Cortney returned upstairs.
"What the ****?" Laughed Cortney.
"What the ****." I replied.

Well this machine just wasn't built right.
the receptor only processes certain sounds that it's familiar with
or images that seem to
not really exist,
motors seem to be weak
only get enough juice to function
above low power
when the system is running on the backup generator.
even then it only can move for about
an hour
it needs to be shut down for eight hours
every night
and take a fifteen minute break
every two hours
so it's really only useful 14 hours a day
at best
and if you ever forget to shut it off
or try to leave it on more then that
you'll need to send it back
to the shop
for thirty days
we recommend washing it every morning
and putting these capsules in the top
when you boot it up
it may make mistakes less often
or it could self destruct
chances are if you remember to shut it off
it will not destroy itself
there are better models but they are for display
to make you see how much more you
need to tend to this model
we really need you to know
how much care this machine takes
it doesn't do everything it's capable of but it can do
pretty much everything.

It's hard out here for an automaton
the sun is hot on my metal
Over heats my copper wire
Causes all manner of motor malfunctions
System failures
In cold winter days the residual wetness I step in
shorts my circuits
and shocks my partners
I am fond of small coffee shop nooks with outlets.
I don't need to travel too far to recharge
And since I'm so shiny
often briefcases and lipstick come around
sit their lattes on my discarded instruction manual pages
To offer me oil
I will let them insert the Nettie *** shaped disk where they choose
it's rough being a clock work boy
I set myself to operate
at three hours before is necessary in case
I'm distracted by some new upgrade or need
to document another error message.
they never write me back,
bronze looks good on thigh plates
I had this woman notice my key today
protruding from my back
the translucent panel showing into all my cogs and gears
she said she wanted to turn it
back, so she could see my program
run it from the beginning again.
I warned her, turning the key
would only turn back me.
I would rather let the program run on it's natural course,
sure, I'll get closer to the end, but I'm a curious construct
haven't seen the end of my functionality yet
woman keep coming up and asking me to turn back the key
and I am weak,
but don't worry I said
if I run out of energy, you can always turn the key back.
I'll play it all over and you can remember.
She didn't like the idea of doing the same thing over either
she turned the key, waited for it to run out,
left me on the doorstep for some other person to turn back on.
it's hard out here for an automaton.
the sun is hot on my metal
over heating my copper wiring causing all manner
of motor malfunctions
and system failures.

People take turns inserting coins
attempting to grab plushy hearts and plastic capsules
the claws never were good at holding on for long
always went limp, dropping the trinkets, just before the finish line
only time it grabbed hold of something long enough
to flash all the lights and sing
was for children
who pointed a tiny hand
at something shiny they saw inside
parents step up to fail again and again
at winning it for them.
when the kids have a turn.
on the first try, they lasso this heart
resting firmly on the bottom
hidden beneath all the old ipods and heavy rubber toys.
would glow in the lights
when they lit all up and sang for them.
revered for their expertise and skill,
they reach in to claim their reward.
not even knowing what it really was.
but for some reason
grabbing it.
bringing it everywhere.
when the kids get older.
it was kept on their bed.
when they had their own children
handed down to toy chests
when they grew old, their children left the hearts
in hospital rooms...

they didn't think of it much.
seemed natural to lug it around.
everyone was so proud, that the machine chose them.
the prize was so soft, and familiar.

the machine, though.
could tell every day that it was missing.
held tightly onto the coins they left.
kept filling itself with junk and giving it to strangers
hoping one day they'd come back to play again.

a man comes by once in awhile to relieve him of his coin
then fills him full of new prizes to divvy out.
but the claw machine lodges some coins
far in the back, where his short arms can't reach
so he can remember

Demons are born in
the venn diagrams of who
you are vs. who
you want to be.

Eclipsing the hell
portals is the only way
to seal the gate to
mental illness.

the only way to
lasso your planetary
pie charts is to self
actualize.

Under her left eye.
It had turned Black,
baffled the doctors,
But the fortune teller knew exactlly what it was.
she Told her it represented death,
Something precious.

doctors said If she let the mark sit any longer
She would've been cursed with
calloused eyes.
gave her ten years to see.
nobody can explain where it came from.
But By proxy she blamed god.

she traveled 6 months later
Against her will blinded by city lights
and lost more than her eyes.

No stars
Cracked like an eggshell
On the cold table.

Drove back broken and tired to
find not a man, but a theif.
With a manic smile,
blood glowing in his eyes.

she was so worried
about losing her sight.
she didn't see his spell.

he told her to choose
And when she chose him,
When she Limped into him, vacant and afraid
He left anyway.

I promise you.
every day.
I will describe the stars to you.
Paint every dog in the street,
pile of leaves, with my voice.
I will keep writing you poetry,
I'll bring your eyes around with me.

I wish I could preach the world was clean.
But you love
how human it all is.
you wouldn't let me lie to you.
about the constellations being out every night.
you know that sometimes, clouds play blanket for the stars.
the cardboard signs, on commercial street.
you always said they deserve to be read.
as loudly as any grandfathers story so i Will read them to you.
"Homeless, anything will help.
i Quit gambling, but I bet you can't hit me with a quarter"

But lover, you will never be blind.
You are
My oracle, feeling tarot in your heart.
guessing each card by the vibrations
three of wands, two of cups, the fool.
even now, when we can't see a future together.
you will never be blind
I will keep writing you poetry.
until I run out of blood, or ink.
and even in that silence.
if you listen closely
You will hear everything I see.

because when I'm gone, lover.
i'll find her for you.
tell you how beautiful she's become.
Tell you
How she has your eyes.

"How many licks does
It take me, to sleep at the
Center, Officer?"

You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,

spend less time breathing than contemplating,
jailbreak daily from your ribcage,

harbor kitchen spoons to feed your escapism.
hide the entrance
under stale white hotel sheets.

Born to be an actress
with no script, you ponder this
in every mirror.

In every mirror you inherit this vacant body,
enough money to live in a studio apartment
in Washington, Vegas or anywhere

men would pay for three phone plans,
calf-length black socks and pseudonyms.

A room at the Marriot to trade scars,
connect you again with your skin.

At a political dinner
roasted hog, blueberry pie,
gilded knifes protecting the spoons.

Dog mouths are wet for scraps.
They bark beneath the table,

"Unoccupied bodies, should start charging rent.
Have you considered being a *** worker?"

"...Oh come on,
you never even turn on the lights."

Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.

Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.

When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.

"Have you considered being a *** worker?"
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".

Fading asleep
Three blurry forks in the road
three of everything
Until i blink.
I crawled up out my passenger side door like a submarine hatch
lifted the heavy weight with my back
Didn't think to roll down the window

I called the band to laugh at the irony
we just wrote a song on falling asleep
crashing our car, dreaming in autumn.
In the song, I dreamed of a girl I'll never have.
But when it happened
I was dreaming of the leftover sheppards pie at home.

Swerved into a rock wall,
Kick flipped my mercury on it's side.
I wore my seat belt
woke up drivers door to the ground.

An old man stopped to warm me.
my grandmothers ghost
in his passenger seat.
offered I sit in their car
out of the cold
Until the firemen arrived.

I saw my mother's blue SUV coming
And waved for the elderly couple to part.
tears in my mothers eyes,
she hugged me tight.
The police showed
To Check out the scene.
as I was alive,
They mostly watched me.
laughing hysterically
At how prophetic poetry can be
and how lucky I have been
And how my shoulder angels are my grandmother, and a gambler named risk.

When My partner arrived she expected me crumpled bleeding.
Smiling false safety through the phone
as I bled out
But I was fine.
she stormed towards me.
her friends stepping outside the car.
her girlfriend in the passenger seat
in the fetal position.
Throwing a tantrum, because she wouldn't get to sleep with my security blanket tonight.

she held me greiving.
I felt like this was an alternate universe.
where I survived
and this wasn't the real story.

The tow truck arrived as the cops collected my Lisence,
the medical professional
okay'd me to sleep tonight.

The firemen flipped my car onto the rockwall from being sideways.
The tow truck grinded my car across the wall into metally pulp.
They collected the bits and dropped it off on my driveway a mile down the road.
my partner drove her friends home
to return to my bed later.
check i was breathing throughout the night.

My car, crumpled. Missing an eye. Looked like a corpse.
like a reminder of what should have happened.
you could feel all sorts of spirits
when I opened the trunk.
contents compacted against the left side.
when i woke up, all i saw was laughter.
At the irony.
the shock.
how many more times
I would need to die
before I perform a magic trick.
if i turned my car into powder
turned my story to a falacy.
how long before their panic attacks become a suicide?
And I'll stop seeing three of everything.

Half a million dollars moved
by political giants
say our chimera hearts
are lion about some parts
look about my parts, see fur
see teeth, see claws
Lions? that's right,
We are.

Pounce on scorn
for these gender norms
we're pressing eulogies in binary's
for transcribing our identities
to hetero70's minded
heredity enemies.
fixated on tellin' me
my parts are prescribed
like sedatives, sleepin' on it
'till I'm good and dead,
like the rest of them.

I love a lion
Son of a lion
daughter of a lion
daddy was a liar
mommy was a fighter

but I'm not lyin'
I've been rhymin' since third grade.
back than I said I was a lesbian
to try and get laid
nobody knows who they are that young
Our personalities grey
and unsung
media does an oli-oop
propaganda elected a spoof.
a Caricature opposite from any revaluation
Who was it
that wanted to watch Disney villains
start performing Macbeth
wrapped in a flag, carrying a privileged crest
white owls, burning bathroom signs on crosses
Tinder deleted her account
For the wrong parts,
used the wrong Lions stall.
They viewed her as lyin'
Aren't we all?
Aren't we fake for six months?
Jack-o-lantern carving out
new masks to try on?
The tea lights stay the same
keeps flickering sin
and shout.
If the wind blows just right,
I watch them sometimes,
burn out.

Rain forest warm,
predicting a storm,
hippos, giraffes and more
Parumping the water hole.
didn’t take us long, to slap a crown
on a fools heart.
Everything the light touches
made the lions cold.

had to many sad boys in your bed.
(To tune of: Nants ingonyama bagithi baba from: Lion king intro)

Moat of toys,
prey on canniballs,
venison visceral
Drop your bridge Shallow moat.

Midus touch,
rabbit didn't quite touch
lucky enough, your trust, bust
The weatherman cuts.
Can't fight a storm with a pack
Of lions, and djarum butts
Cool Cats don't like the water
won't splash,
might soil their tight pants
Sea captain called
old Horizen won't dance
"listen to your old man".
not worth a penny of your sand.
but if we weren't so green-headed,
A compas might save our hand
for marriage
we don't want plans
They don't understand
want to roll around with simba
Giggling in the butterflies
when they're gone, find another man.

Always loved fire,
Daddy the matchstick, Mommy?
she was the pyre.

N: "No...
wait,
is a bank account,
the baggy underneath my mattress?
'cause that has an old sandwich in it."

M: "No,
a bank account is
where you put your money in a thing,
and people watch the thing,
and you gain interest at a really, really,
really slow rate."

N: "So what you're saying,
is a bank is a
*******.
I put my money in her,
and at a really, really,
really slow rate
I get interested in her
and people watch her,
with my money.

A bank is a *******.
I think I get it.

Yes,
I have one of those."

The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.

Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.

With smash hits like
"This traffic is *******"
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals

Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.

old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.

"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.

Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"

So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.

I met a Carnival Arsonist
burlap sack around her
fiery heart, force taught
to start fires
bright, to distract her from stars.

Always sat in her ashes
Marlboro hacked up her passion
until the ferris wheel called her
to get a glimpse at her burns.

Each night it's siren syringes
hallucinations injected noises
bending over foreclosure
turning up folders
found an old phone her
Owner planted to spy.

He popped her first red balloon
kept the dart pressed in her side.

Manic Panic won't let her dye.
Her highlights don't hide her lies.
"I'm Fine" always "I'm Fine".

Built thick walls of timber
to guard to try Tinder.
Tender to two tired hearts
begged strangers to beat her

"Play a game, win a prize
Play a game, win a prize"

Poured gasoline on the
carnival, watched it
burn from inside.