It's in me.
It's in you too.
I've seen it shining through all that talk of
what has value and what has not.
Shimmering like an electric eel pulled fresh out of the channel;
squirming and writhing with a fully charged desire to
live
To burst forth with golden sparks that drift off to burn down
the spoon-fed notions of a "normal life."
We pushed it aside,
so that we might fly in to the night sky;
so that we may catch a glimpse of that certain, undefined
bliss that makes us feel truly alive.
Embrace it again.
**** it back into your skin then exhale that exuberance that has no beginning and no end.
Because we're still breathing.

Light the fuse.
I know it's in you,
I've seen it.
The taste of it still lingers on your tongue.
It's on mine too.

Oh mother, mommy, ma,
could you please not tell me anymore family secrets?
I'm not in the right mood for that kind of drama.
Not tonight, at least.
No, really though, not ever.
You've already told me more than I care to keep
back when I was a child and couldn't sleep.
It's sickening.
Facts and stories that went way over my head
told late at night while you were drinking.
I was just trying to escape the boogieman.
I always had trouble going to bed.
You were supposed to comfort me.
You'd end up crying instead.
Forcing me to comfort you over things I couldn't comprehend.
You just make the nightmares worse.

You make me feel nostalgic for things that never happened.
You remind me of someone who I never got to truly know.
Random person in the world,
it seems we'll only ever be granted fleeting glimpses of each other's soul.
Then we'll lay it down to rest.
Some things are best left unknown.

I should've just went home and gone to bed
instead of trying to fix my head;
it's always been
hopelessly ****** up,
like me.

But if I had just closed my eyes,
I would have witnessed my own demise
and I swear that I've
died too many times before.

I could've sworn,
I could've sworn that I'd not get lost.  
I should have known,
I should have known the cost.

Let me immerse myself in you.
We'll trade sweet nothings and believe them to be true.
I want the full experience;
don't hold anything back.
The concrete to crumble underneath the abstract.
Your pattern overlaid onto my nonbeing.
Can you glimpse the nonthings I can't believe we are seeing?
Incredible vibrations of our bodies in synch.
I want to hear every cell of your wrought body sing,
and swim in the depths of the futures to come.
Right now our two separate souls are but one.

If we ever make it close enough to close the distance on these stars,
we'd surely implode on impact.

If I told you we are but constructs of a most complicated art,
would you stab me in the back?

If we held each other in our arms,
would we realize how full of **** they are?

Wait, I swear I've felt this all before.
That thought followed by this scenery.
My idea of what she may have thought of me while I walked out the door.
This tree,
and how it depresses me.
I swear I've seen it all before.
Perhaps it was in a dream.
Maybe I'm living in a repeated pattern of the same old thing.
Just another thread woven inside of a tapestry.

There's too much gray for it to be appealing,
with the only color coming from the heart that I am stealing.
Just the beginning of a romance that I will never be forgiven.
These branches try to trap me with a guilt I'm not admitting.

Wait, I swear I've said there will be no more.
I've put it all behind me.
I'll find something else to live for.

Then suffocated by a rope made of that same old tapestry.
I swear I've strangled myself before.
Twitching on the carpet,
I've died a thousand times and more.

These trees offer to hang me
with gracious low-lying branches.
I deny them all again.
Not tonight,
but one day you'll get your chances.

Wait, why do I keep walking down the same old streets?
Is it some mad hope of running into the younger version of me?
Perhaps I already have in some half-remembered dream.
I'm haunted by these trees and plagued by memories.

I swear I've felt it all before.
Fumbling for my keys in order to get through the door.
Stumbling to my bed in a drunken stupor.
How the hell did I get here?
What am I living for?

A young man bangs on the screen door of a small house.
The glass inside it rattles with his urgency.
He stands back and calls out a name.
An anxious pause.
He bangs on the door again.

The door behind the screen opens.
An old woman glares at the young man through the black mesh.
"She ain't here,
and even if she was -
she don't want to see you!
Now go away!"
She slams the door shut.

The young man stares at it, bewildered.
Stamps his foot.
Calls out a name -
louder this time.
He bangs on the screen door again,
the glass nearly breaking in its frame.
He yells out a name.

He shouts, "Are you in there?
I need to speak with you!"

"Go away,"  heard faintly from the other side of the door.

The young man walks to the side of the house.
He is grumbling underneath his breath.
Phrases like, "old hag," and "miserable old hag,"
can barely be heard.
He stops at a window.
Its curtains are drawn.
He knocks on it.
He calls out a name.
He yells,
"Please!"

He pauses.
Puts his ear against the glass.
He hears nothing at first,
then footsteps.
Grass being crunched under heavy feet
coming from the front of the house.
A large man turns the corner.
He stares at the young man.

"She's gone," says the large man.
"She left last night."

"What do you mean 'she's gone?'
Where has she gone?
I need to see her . . ."
He suddenly looks behind the man.

The old woman has turned the corner of the house.
She stands slightly behind the large man.

"She's gone with him," she hisses.
"**** good she did too!
He'll be able to give her more than you ever could in a thousand lifetimes!"

The large man growls at her from over his shoulder,
"Get back in the house!"
The old woman glares at the back of the large man,
then she gives the young man one last
disapproving look.
She huffs,
then storms off.

The young man stares at the large man.
He says,
"Has she really gone?
Is it really all true?"

"Yes. The part about her leaving is, anyway."

The young man goes pale.
He looks off into space.
He closes his eyes.
The large man looks away from him.

After a long pause,
with his eyes still closed;
"Was she happy?"

The large man looks at him, confused.
"What?"

The young man opens his eyes. Stares into the large man's.
"Last night,
when she left with him.
Did she look happy?"

The large man stares back at him for a few seconds;
sees the desperation in his eyes,
then looks down.
"Yes," he says softly.
"She looked happy."

The young man closes his eyes again.
One hand goes up to his head to clutch at his hair.
A range of emotions cross his face.

The large man looks up at him,
briefly,
then looks down again.
The young man sighs softly,
slowly.

"Ok," he says.
The large man looks up at him.
The young man is pulling something out of his pocket.
He walks up to the large man,
places it into one of his hands.

"Do me a favor, please."
They are staring into each others' eyes.
"Hang on to this for me."

The large man stares down at the object.
He looks back at the young man, confused.
"What do you want me to do with it?"

The young man is staring right at him, hard.
His face is devoid of all emotion;
all but resolve.

"Just keep it somewhere safe, please.
Keep it somewhere safe where no one can find it -
not even me."

Pair up and be saved.
Pair up and look away.
Avert your eyes to the most depraved in our times:
The Herods, Caligulas, the Dorian Grays.
Focus on your own lives;
raise a family.
Fight those wanton propensities.
Avoid flagrant conviviality.
Do not cross that line of becoming too free.
Like those so many victims of their own enormities,
each one a slave to their every desire and whim.
Pair up and be shipped off -
delivered from sin.

I've been engaging in the sort of acts
that would give a person with less passion
a heart attack.
It was always beneath the surface and now it has
come to a head; caused a wreck;
thrown everything that never was completely out of whack.
I'm not apologizing for any of it.
In fact, I'm happier than I've ever been.
That is to say,
since before I ever met you.

I'm not sorry for anything I do

There's no going back.
It's all gone off the tracks.
My life has always thrown curve *****:
I've finally learned how to catch.

You're still fumbling over the fast ones.
Yea, good luck with that.

What's a beautiful piece of shade like you doing in a wasteland such as this?
I wish I'd've found you sooner.
Would you mind if I rested here awhile?
Me legs are tired from desert travel.

I saw you from a distance,
but I wasn't convinced that you weren't just some phantasmal image.
You know, like a mirage?
Lemme tell you:
I'm so glad that you're not.

Thanks for the respite
and the breath of fresh air,
but my search isn't over
and my fate is out there.

Amazing people
capable of such great understanding,
like the most beautiful sea shells
scattered few and far between
a hundred million grains of sand.

I'll try my hardest to refrain from mounting this phony high pony and preach to you,
and to keep from using ******* rhymes and fancy lines that do little more than convolute the truth,
but the fact remains that there's a certain amount of irony inherent in all things,
and I can see it clearly raging inside of you.

Blah blah blah.
These and other platitudes.
You're struggling and you're sad and you're lost and confused.

Don't you realize that you're just climbing up and sliding down the eternal staircase that the rest of us have already grown accustomed to?

Of course not,
and that's why you're smart.
Giving up on the race before it even starts.

What do you want?
No, really.
Out of life,
out of love,  
with hell below and the stars above,
where exactly are you aiming for?

You don't even know,
and somehow,
that's what makes it beautiful.

"Are you happy?"

"Hey, thanks for the cat by the way. Thing doesn't want to leave now."

"The poor thing,"

"My nieces even named it."

"I'm not trying to take care of this cat right now."

"Ha, you're kidding. Well now you're stuck with it then."

"The girls gave her a bath, but she still smells."

"Man, just bring it here and let it go. There's all kinds of strays here."

"She ate a little, but she sneezes alot and won't stop shaking."

"Most of them end up finding their way to Galva."

"There's a shelter in Storm Lake, but they're closed til Monday."

"It's like a chemical smell."

"****, I don't know. I went in to grab a beer and when I came out he had this cat in his jacket."

"I'm not sure if she'll make it til Monday."

"Hey I'm stuck at work til like 3. Can you go by my place and check on the cat when you get a chance?"

"They've got so many strays that they put out bowls of anti-freeze to deal with them."

"Hey, are you awake?"
"Yeap, just haven't gotten out of bed yet. What's up kid?"
"Your cat. We gave her a bath."
"Aw, that was a nice thing to do Lib. She needed one. Thank you."
"Also, we gave her a name."
"Oh yea? What is it then?"
"Disney."
". . . you're kidding."

"Yea I was researching it earlier. It's a pretty common thing really. An awful way to go."

"I thought about just driving somewhere out of town and letting it go there."

"Well, would you bury it?"

"You know, pulling 'a Dad,' but I just couldn't do it."

"The poor thing."

"What? No way. I'd probably just, I don't know, put it in the trash or something."

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't. At least she's comfortable and not just out there in the cold, dying."

"I guess I'm not cold-hearted enough, or whatever."

"They know she's sick but I think only Libby really understands how bad it is."

"It's a good thing that you're not. Believe me, it's a good thing."

The emotional/intellectual gaps between people
are so much farther than miles.

Oceans deep,
and seas do swell.
How will we ever survive ourselves?

Fell into chasms devoid of light.
Provided a ladder to climb our way out.

No one ever asked for life,
but given what we've got,
we're obliged to make it right.

So send me a soul with its pieces awry.
I'll find a place for my own as I try to assemble these feelings into some sort of grace.
Break us again and I'll chalk it up to an obscure determination of fate.

I never asked for any of this.
Please send help.
Give me some bliss.
I'm drowning myself.
Come rescue me, quick.

All of my quests have left me diminished.
Leave it to me to start what I can't finish.
On to the next one to pick up the reigns.
We've only got so long before we're driven insane.

What do you do when you're proud of yourself for something you're too embarrassed to tell someone else?

Put those feelings on the shelf;
Top dollar purchase for the ones who sell out.

All my friends are down south,
but I'm northward bound because I just had to get out.

Slipping toward the ending of a tale never told.
Beginning in the middle because the intro's been sold now,
with everything falling apart while the false starts suddenly fall into place.

Keeping the old name but creating a new face.

Hit the dusty trail with a broken-down steed.
Feeding off the fumes of hearts in need while delivering gigantic fistfuls of nothing.

My twisted spirit demands recompense.

While staring at a moon that looks like it's been scorched.

Maybe the worst thing is not realizing you miss it until it sinks in after you're 15 miles in toward the only place that's open within a 20 mile radius at 3 o'clock in the morning.

Sometimes I wish I still lived in a place where it felt like magic exists in an oppressive way,
but I did 6 outlandish things already this week, and that's not even counting today.

The lights on these tractors late at night are twice as blinding as any car's high beams. I don't know why yet. Maybe to keep the rabbits away from the machinery?

I get an almost perverse satisfaction out of seeing the weeds in my yard slowly wither since I've sprayed them with the toxic concentrate mixture that the guy at the hardware store recommended I hit them with.

The brand new mower is anxiously awaiting its moment of glory.

Sometimes it bothers me that we don't say things to each other like we used to, although it's also kind of a relief.

The thing about the girl in town who I think I might have some chemistry with is, she's a fantastic listener.

I swear I'm on to you;
your subtle way of flirting with every single thing you do.

I'm not into it.

And maybe you're just sick -
infected with an early development problem that's grown into a nasty habit.

Whatever the case may be,
it's become a source of contention.
Lately, I've been thinking -
you're just some ***** who craves attention.

Backed into a corner.
Folded over four hundred times.
"I thank whatever gods may be"
for my indeterminable mind.

Thrown about like little Jack Horner.
I've never cared much for pie.
Christmas either, for that matter.
"If you are me then who am I?"

Somebody sent on a suicide mission.
Grand plans of livin' but doomed to die.
She smiled wide after I delivered that line,
and a small part inside of me died.

I'd be better off if I could get paid to cry.
I'll try not to be so stubborn about it.
In forty-two seconds I'm bound to forget.
Wait, what were we talking about just now?
How much of this have I already said?

If there's bliss in ignorance then there's sadness in truth.
I once loved a girl whose mother's name was Ruth.
It's a Biblical thing.
She was mostly Adam and I was niEve.

I sometimes get lost when walking down familiar streets.
It may not be the greatest thing,
but hey,
it's still pretty neat.

There you go again
Off into your fantasy land
The only place you feel (un)safe
I can understand

Your pain is so deep
Isn't it though
In its own profound shallowness
I know where you go

The realizing of the realization that makes your own frustration seem worthy of condemnation
Just to abandon all your judgements and lose yourself in creation
All the while adjusting to your own self induced damnation

Hey now, I'm just sayin'

Playing with ideas until they no longer resemble child's play
Then playing roughly
Absolutely
It still does though
And wouldn't you know it
I know that I do

Whoever grew up to be anyone but themselves
Nobody I know worth talking about

Whoever lost their minds just to find their own hell
I know a few who are locked up in cells

Some just get caught up in that wobbly effect
Grown so distraught by the echo
Some just don't know what to do next
But they all know how to let go

The Sleepers.
The Dreamers.
The Lost and Never Found.
You've left us little choice.
We're moving underground.

The Jokers.
The Smokers.
The Liars and the Thieves.
We're hiding in the basements.
We're underneath your streets.

We're on the road to perdition.
We're spreading our sedition.
Willing to commit treason.
Just give us one more reason.

We were born homesick,
with the taste of freedom on our tongue.
Death is a release to us.
We've been marked for martyrdom.

We will be the rising tide
to wash away the hands that bind;
to crash through kitsch and kitchens;
to smash the grand design.

We are the Unsatisfied.
We are the Discontent.
The Four Horsemen make their ride.
The angels have been sent.
The end is very near now.
Repent for all your crimes.
We sleep beneath your cities,
and we're dreaming of our time.

Put on suspenders and gave them a dance.
(When it comes to girls,
he hasn't a chance.)
I could care less about warnings and threats,
because for tonight
I know I'm the best dressed.

Went to a show and lost all control.
"I'm just here for the music.
I love it.
You know?"
Nine times out of ten,
they don't.

Went to a gym,
and never felt so depressed.
"I feel surrounded by lonely people desperate for ***."

This from a guy who proofreads his texts.
Spells out his laughs.
Drinks from the glass.

"What you need to do
is work on your shoulders, triceps, and chest."

Nah,
I'm good on that.
I'll just keep doing the things I like best.
"You'll never find a girl that way."
Ah,
give it a rest.

That guy out there doing his own thing:
Yea, he's my hero.

This song is so much more than just two and a half minutes of pretty lyrics and heavy bass.

It defines a whole phase of my life.

When beauty could be felt and even the wrong things felt rite.

I can't help but write pretentious poetry about it.

I can't not lose my mind.

Sometimes all you need to admit that you're uncharacteristically cool with all of this is a bit of liquid courage and a pinch of frustrated madness swished around until you're sarcastically committing to loving the **** out of your current situation with a vague suspicion that you're not actually being ironic.

"It was bound to happen eventually,"
said the high-flying object
from the ground.
"Something so full of holes can't stay afloat forever,"
said the sunken boat
made of Swiss cheese.
"Save me! Save me,"
said the dead man.

Apathy is dead.
Gone are the days of no longer giving a ****.
Caring is what's in now.
Down is the new up.

To be recited while standing atop a table
in the middle of the room
during a party.

Clocks are spinning backwards.
The midnight hour never struck.
Turning pages left to wright.
Down is the New up.

To be yelled out in a library
from the top of a bookshelf
in the History section.

The broken down and beaten;
the wounded, burned, and cut.
We are not defeated.
Down is the New Up.

To be blared over the PA system
in the Emergency Room of a hospital
after a massacre.

A conjoining of festered faiths.
A mutant monster made from a million parts.
A rolling tide that turns tsunami in a sea of tortured hearts.
One colossal cosmic shift.
A sun born from the dark.
Falling up from the bottom and rising down from the top.
A monumental force that cannot be stopped.

To be shouted through a bullhorn
in the center of the city
during a riot.

Down Is The New Up!
DOWN IS THE NEW UP!!
**DOWN IS THE NEW UP!!!

Got it.
Don't you get it?
I'm gonna overthink it,
but I've got to keep it going
while the getting is hot.

Got the feeling she don't know it.
Now I've gotta show it.
She gets the underlining meaning of everything that I have thought.

Fought through thirty memories I swear I had forgot.
She gets it and she gets me
and now these feelings just won't stop.

In her eyes I'm not reflected as anything that I am not.
Got a funny feeling that she's stealing all these lines straight from the heart.

We gave it all to be forgotten by the ones we chose to love,
but I got you and you got me:
Together,
we'll rise above.

I want to ***** out my insides so you can hear my swollen heart,
then stomp on it in front of you to make the beating stop.
You'll laugh, at worst. At best, you'll cry,
but you'll likely just feel pity.

"I ought to be more careful.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't so pretty!"

I wish I could burn your bridge without leaving myself stranded.
Trapped in the pasture with the rest of your sheep -
I've been sheared,
bitten,
and branded.

If I don't get out, I fear I'll suffer a brain aneurism.
How the **** did I get caught up in someone else's solipsism?

Next time you see me, I'll force myself into cardiac arrest.
To feel those lips against my own -
to taste your breath -
I swear,
I'd fake so many deaths.

If dying is the only way to kiss you,
then I'd rather be dead.
It'd be so much easier for me to never have to see you again.

No more singing,
and no more smiles.
No more haywired thoughts;
brain chemistry gone wild.
No more guilt,
and no more shame.
No more lost sleep.
No more mind games.

Aw crap, I mean fins.
No wait, fence.
Fences!
Do you wanna be fronds?
You know, you and me.
Just a couple palm fronds,
floating down the pond.

Wait, that's not right.
Ponds don't have currents.
No, see the problem is I don't currently have any frans.
I don't even know a Fran!
Do you?
Not even a Francis?
Ha, we have so much in common.
Let's be Frances!

I was sharing whispers with the dark,
and it told me dreams are charged with white light shining through the farce,
and if only everybody else could see;
then maybe everything would be illuminated.

I was having drinks with heathen's hearts.
They told me everything is what it seems but all is naught,
and if only I could glimpse the setting sun;
the moon would shine with forgiveness for every person ever wronged.
I forged alliance with the asteroids on our path.
They said, "everything is falling and that now is just a fact."
I found a seer with one eye.
She said said the whole world's going out of wack and that we're all gonna die.
I told her everyone has got a special sense;
we've gained our super powers through the loss of innocence and if only anyone would challenge us.
How quickly have we learned to turn our substance into dust.

I held a fork with hopes of finding a fit meal,
but sustenance only ever comes to those who proper learn how to steal.
I swear I've had my fill.
The world is nothing but a sharpened knife
and I've no blood left to spill.

The dreamers still dream while their dreams are still there.
All bold and naive - few nightmares to interfere - with a dream that compels and compulses, persuades and convulses the veins of a dreamer to never slow down; to never slacken the pace.
Running after their dreams as if in a race.

The dreamers still dream while their dreams are still there.
All young and naive and bold enough to dare
to chase after their dreams at a breakneck pace
through insult and injury and shame and disgrace.

The dream shines on like a finish line in the mind of a dreamer.
Transforming the intangible into solid, graspable things.
Transforming fear and doubt into fuel to propel themselves towards achieving something thought impossible by all the non-dreamers, the non-believers, the bad teachers and ex-dreamers who've crossed their fingers in hope that the dreamer will fail.

Because why should they succeed when they've already bailed?
They gave up on that dream. It's impossible, you see.
That ship has sailed.

But the dreamer knows better.

Through sheer persistence and force of will,
the dreamer dreams still,
and finds a way to **** the naysayers' doubts and come out on top.
Staying true to themselves and belief in that grand thought:
that they can make their dreams a reality.

And when they do, the doubters will drop their jaws,
stand up and applause,
shed tears at the fact that their long abandoned dreams are now staring back at them,
intact.

And they'll realize that what they saw before as foolishness and naivete,
was really just the courage they lacked.

Before you fade off into sleep,
remember to forget about thinking of me.
I'll be the one making that irritating sound;
the one that echoes throughout all your dreams.

When your slow-motion legs sink into quicksand
as you try your hardest to outrun the bogeyman,
I'll be there on the other side -
offering you my hand.

Don't you dare take it.
The chasing devil and saving angel might be one and the same.
Those who know it all and claim to know nothing are without a doubt the most insane.

Give me a break though.
This can't be Real Life.
It's all fake.

Somebody pinch me.

People pleaser.
Socialite.
Constant agreer.
Doing it right.
I bet you sleep so soundly at night.
I bet you sleep so soundly at night.

Someone different.
Something else.
Don't need nobody.
Don't need your help.
You want in.
I want out.

Attract and repel.
Attract and repel.

One solves a riddle.
The other lives a dream.
One longs to be loved.
The other wants to be free.

You say so many things that I can't feel.
And even though they can be pretty,
dreams aren't real.

Dreams aren't real.

You're so sweet
I think I'll need dental work before this operation is complete
I intend to fill your cavity

Just a routine cleaning
I'm clearing out this buildup inside of me
Transfusing it into you
Open wide and say "Ah"

Tricky temptress
What's your damage
A throbbing tumescence
An internal hemorrhage
Count slowly back from ten while I put you under

Prepared for the incision
I handle my tool with precision
My IV dripped solution has got all these patients wishin'

I will donate this ***** to whoever needs a heart

They take something from you that you'll never get back,
and they leave you with something that you'll never get rid of.

He twists the words he says
And makes them into something he can believe in
The greatest undefinable thing that he's never been
He's swimming in his fantasies

An untamed greatness that he forsook
Spilled it out into the swamp
He found himself inside a book
The cure to all his wants

On a sun-drenched day
He lost himself
Deep inside the flood

There are some things
Inside his brain
That run more deep than blood

A song to sink the prying eye
He woke up and kissed the sky

Along the road less traveled by
He laid down and thought he'd died

In a river full of discontents
A simple syllable so sunk
Never mind his ramblings of nonsense
He's nothing but a drunk

Beat the walls to fill his cup.
A crumbling mass of gypsum clumps.
Drank it up then sighed at the beauty outside.
The hole he had made was to thank for the view.

When they say vulnerability is ****,
I always feel awkward about wanting to argue the contrary.

I tell people I'm a hipster before I'll ever admit to being a poet.
Seems like a less pretentious compromise.

I can handle being disliked for my personality-type better than being loathed for my hobbies.

Self-centered hedonism is a good defense mechanism against social awkwardness.

The people who are always so adamant about not giving a **** always trip me up.

If you really didn't, why are you trying so hard to project that narrative?

The people who really don't give a **** are so preoccupied with escapism to even recognize the social consequences.

Those are my people.

The ones I'm writing now
and many that came before;
they belong to you.
All these words are yours.

The thought that I put into them.
The effort to make it true.
All these words I've written;
they belong to you.

Do with them what you will.
They are payment for a debt.
The one incurred by the inspiration you've given.
Consider us even.
This is all you get.

But that shining silver disc
with twenty favorite tracks -
those songs belong to me,
and now I want them back!

So take these words and thoughts.
They're yours,
but that CD is not!

Those songs are mine.

Some of us are too stubborn to acknowledge when we've got it all figured out.

Knowing what's best for you doesn't always mean you know what the next best thing to do is.

Some of us know too many words and not enough meaning,
and we get all tripped up on the semantics.

If I could, I'd stop writing stanzas that begin with ******* like,
"If I could,"
or
"Truth be told,"
or,
"Truth is."

Because **** me dude.
Seriously, I'm the worst.