Sometimes gold clings to the bone
And that's where she comes from
On chariots driven by drunken sages
She'll glide gracefully into existence
and then fade right back out of it
Id like to think shes playing a game with her own shadow
to see who's leading who
As the night rolls on
The glaciers will melt into puddles in our cups
The dust settles into a stool next to mine
And takes on a familiar shape
We both look at her in reserved amusement and snicker like young school boys under our drinks
One of us will end up in her bed tonight
Cheers to that old friend

My mailman should be burnt at the steak
Too often do I run into him during his daily
affairs with the same demented smile on his calloused visage
What does he know?
What does he possess that I lack?
I'm beggening to think that
he's reading my letters
Here's to you, ******.

"Atlantis is sinking" she says
As she takes another drag of her cigarette
It's July 27th, 2017
Cancun, Mexico
and her name is Esmeralda
"But everyone calls me Esme"
When she was younger
She would sit on the docks with her older sister and count up all
the cruise ships and fishing boats that lit up the edges of the bay and far beyond into the black abyss which would dematerialize into itself  like
a dream half forgotten when
you're half awake
Now a days she sleeps with
the windows shut
and the drapes down
And never alone
Not as long as I'm here

I said:
Oh lover from another,
won't you come back to bed?
Put out your cigarette,
And smoke me instead.
While the rain pours.
Behind closed doors.
No one has to know who you call yours.

She said:
Oh boy toy
You have a way with them words.
Like Leo Tolstoy or some other Russian bird.
Won't you write a couple verses
and name it after me?
Because I don't want to die when I'm dead if you know what I mean .

Yes I do,
Sophie

I’m chasing an early grave down Euclid Ave
and no one is looking in the right direction

Did i mention i was on fire?


This is store-bought depression
with the white plastic bag that says THANK YOU in red lettering
Now its turned to blood
This is how you feel
when you can’t recall where you were during 9/11

Give me your mass-produced discontentment

I want to smoke and not die
Sometimes i dont want to die at all
Today the oldest person in the whole-wide world took her last breath
she was 117
On her birthday last march she said her life felt too short

Where the **** does that leave me

I wish i were born a lobster so id
get stronger and meatier with age
and then when I’m at my prime they’d ****** me up
to sell on the market for a few hundred dollars

When you devour me remember to wear something nice

You might not believe me
But some people can waste their entire lives without a hint of strife or bitterness.
They sleep in beds of roses with pretty boys and girls that taste all too alike.
When they're hungry
They eat
When they're bored
They adorn themselves with frail jewelry and parade around in lavish estates, clustered with frail people.
You can hear them clawing at their skin from time to time
Trying to get out.

Her mouth tasted of cigarettes and honey and the room was dark .
She lured me in with her distraught complexion and bottles of cheap ***** .
Nailed the doors shut and ****** me dry.
While the walls creaked and the roaches laughed.
In broken beds with broken people,
that's the only way I sleep at night.
A new pair of legs and this one has radiant skin that **** near glows.
There's a blemish by her **** in the shape of heart and under that heart is nothing.
She's hollow and damaged.
A defective mannequin that wonders the dim lit streets in folly.
I walk those same streets with equal fatuity.

Indearment relates to the conscious
mind in strange and inferring terms.
Too often and seldom
hath thou image
been engraved amidst the
fluttering pictorial slideshow lining my psyche.
When I want you, I need you
; desire sprouts from my arteries and spreads like wildfire.
But in rare moments of absolute tranquility (for example the the little death one experiences after ******)  do I realize the futility of that very emotion I held to be sacred only seconds prior. "Love" is merely an emotional adaptation to a physical necessity
Self-indulgence is the name of the game.
Wanna play ?

The last cigarette of the pack
Life has been reduced to empty boxes
Trivial conversations
Hollow gestures
And bleeding fingertips
Listen , you don't need love
You need a warm **** to
Bury yourself in until
The storm passes
It's 3 in the morning
Half drunk
Half remembered
The minutes shatter in my mouth
Like glass and people
save me
That's all you'll ever hear me say
But Salvation is a passing car
On a one way street
To nowhere

In the spirit of the season
Cut your sleeves and come take
a walk with me
Down Victory Avenue and Sunshine Street.
Where a lung collapsed next to an old radio
We blame it on the snake
But it was really the toad
It's frying your fins
UV Rays and telescopes
We keep finding probes in holes that weren't there before
Is this what it feels like to waste away under an umbrella?

Isolated on this Island
Surrounded by the high tides of madness
I'm happy here
In the mornings I sing to myself and
At night I dance under a pale moon
My only discomfort are the seaguls who ****
on my one man parade
Many hours I spend on shore
Fishing for a bottle
A pipe
A good women
But the waves are harsh and relentless
They deny me entry
My salvation is lost out at sea
**** the ship and it's livley cargo
Where's my vice ?

So you're at this bar in East Atlanta.
Lofty, softy East Atlanta.
Where all the lovely cannibals gather in a mass frenzy
of mendacious liveliness
and pseudo-intellectual conversations.
Everywhere you turn
it's the same gang of
disillusioned catastrophes


Husky Hank has a jaw that can cut through concrete.
He's seated in the stool next to mine,
(A handsome brute in the midst of his quarter-life crisis)
hangs his head at an angle,
And begins to sob hysterically.
Snot and all.
From what I can make out,
some damsel had broken his heart due to his lack of stamina and her lack
of support for his band which he says
"kinda sounds like Radiohead before they went mainstream "
Now he can't imagine going on with ought her.
Says life has lost all it's precious meaning.
I want to tell him:
"with a face like yours I could rule the world"
But I let the Greek god howl
For his mortal mistress

There's considerate Cathy in floral slacks
waving her cigarette about like its contagious.
Says she wants to save the world.
But she can't even save herself.
"In the emerging world of ethnic conflict and civilizational clash, Western belief in the universality of Western culture suffers three problems: it is false; it is immoral; and it is dangerous."
She quotes Huntigton ( yes I've read him too)
It's robotic and was almost certainly pre rehearsed periodically in front of a mirror to evade her stammering sputter prone vernacular.
I want to tell her none of us
are really worth saving.
That in a couple thousands of years;
not a single wretched soul will remember the story of a place onece called earth.
But she's still an option
I want to keep open
So I bite my tounge and smile real big

Insufficient Isaac sold
his first painting last week.
Or was it last year ?  

Sarahs singularity

Conors dancing catharsis

Forgettable Francine neglected to
Flower her Siberian Iris's
At 8 o'clock this morning
Now all she wants is a
Fogy eyed
Two bit stranger
To bang her skull against their headboard until she sees god

Sovereign Sally has yet to
spend a single cent of her moms
pension because it makes
her feel secure

I ask her to buy me a drink

Where am I again ?

Little bits of you are scattered around this place.
Here are the steps you rested your thoughts upon while you smoked.
Here are the dust pans and assorted brooms that you once blessed with your touch but now they just hang around and slump to one side.
This is the rug you stumbled upon in a hazy trance time and time again
These are the hallways and the people that led you to me.
And this is the door you'll never walk through again.
I look up and you're still not there.
This is the hell I've made for myself.
The pay is still **** but it's better then being stuck at home with you on my mind.

Garshin jumped from the fifth floor of his apartment building and died five days later at a Red Cross hospital.
Gilman prefered
chloroform over cance.
De Larra died of a broken a heart,
the bullet he took to the head only confirmed this.
Caicedo kept true to his words  "to live than more 25 years of age was madness"
60 pills for every year he wouldn't live to see
O' Brien got a call
from Hollywood and a
week later he drank himself to death.
The movie was sad, his life was sadder.
MacIntyre just wanted to keep warm in Brooklyn when he 
set his apartment ablaze.
Wallace hanged himself for knowing too much.
Me?
Ill die of natural causes on any given day
I lack the courage these men took to the grave
Hemingway- "if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it.

"Mercy" she responds
In a tone which i can
Only attribute to a
diluted sense of pride
"No, I asked you what your
name was"
A slight tilt of the head
And I see the creases
Unfolding from the
Muscles in her lips
The pantheon of drunkards
and moon lit fairies
Fade away in that instance
And I'm looking at the
target with my eyes shut
The instance drags itself
into eternity and simmers
"Well, you're parents had
a wicked sense of hindsight"
The words clammer off the tip
Of my tongue  
But she's already gone
She was never really here

That mess in the booth next to mine
The one with the perfect smile and
puzzled eyes
Eyes drooping
Hanging like oranges on a tree
And fat bats
Swaying in the darkness
Laughing at an open sky
I'd **** to wake up next to that disaster
To be transfixed by her essence

The first time I saw you
I saw blue
Crimson, bright,shimmering and effervescent.
You could paint the bottom of the ocean with her complexion and would be able to see all the way down into the
deep
dank
abyss
You are atomized sunshine
And the culmination of all the desires that a
kindred soul could feast upon in this material world
Oh yes,
I loved you in a million different ways
but
I could never be in love with you
Not in the farce sense at least
But, rather
how a tornado passes through a small town in Ohio and destroys everything in its path except for the bar
Enjoy your time in the sun, bluebird
You can find me withering away where you saw me last

Too many
Sad words
Wasted on
Sad girls
With delicate
Faces

When I was younger and began diving into moss,
I heard whispers of a place where the hours flew on the wings of wandering albatross.
There, never would you find a sore thumb sticking out.
Or hear the name of the lovers who left you in sacred drought.
The misty morning fog could carry you to shore
Back just in time for the service of the church of locked doors
And I'm still waiting for my ticket in
And for that I have sinned

There was something distinctively heretic about the way this girl was tampered with.
The way she moved.
It was as though the finer inner workings of her Body and Soul were borrowed from another who's fate was drowned in blood many ages ago.
A symbol of beauty wrapped in the grips of a violent dance with inertia.
Cursed to make love to this world over and over again till love was reduced to a stain on the wall
A photograph of the sun,
all shine and no shimmer.
Standing beside her felt like the first time glass hit concrete.
Was I happy or was I just not paying any attention?
That is a question worth asking twice

All of your colors
They bounce off my shutters
And create a flume
Steady as we crash
when we make the shortest dash
to the empty spaces we find between our sheets
Can you make your way back down to earth
or  
draw a map to the center of the room
Or are you lost in the ocean of limbs that our bodies constitute
You are me and I are you
We are the windows of a big house
And the wicked little things that live within keep us shut all the time
Are you mine?
That's all that matters in the end
But as we drink our wine and
spend our lives we forget to say I love you
So we never know and maybe you never will

Getting good at
this life game.
Quit running fast
when I realized that we are all headed to the same place.
And there is some
victory in that notion.
Like the victory that swells inside a wave and then bursts in one roaring crescendo.
Casually reducing my body to
foam and sea shells.
While the birds circle overhead.
And someone turns a page in this big book

Still here
Still alive  
still breathing and decaying
and growling and
threatening the sky with words fit for a dog
Still lying to
Still have a reason to
Stay
Still

This morning
I awoke to an empty bed
She was long gone.
And I thought to myself
"What a wonderful
little waste of my time"

Where does love go?
Does it hide under the shade of splattered moments?
Or in the smiles of passing faces?
Can you contain it in a jar and stir it until it becomes one even component?
Like salt in water/
Love sinks to the bottom and collects with the rest
And that's where the sages sing their hymns

It's ok
I understand
It's always about
you
you
you
Thanks for not asking
But I'm doing well too
Still looking down at the dirt
Watering the flowers with
My tears