A short man who looks like Popeye, he has that grin, and his name is Edward. I worked with him the other day, he was slowly trying to communicate with me, I wasn't in the mood. I had been up for almost 27 hrs. I went to the washroom and the locker room smelled like cheap dope; there was a man hiding in the corner smoking a cigarette. The back of the factory has more freedom, the television is blasting, radios are blaring. People are always shouting, and the leader Richard, the crazy frenchy is telling me my father’s gone ******* and he can’t work anymore.

Tomorrow is a new day, a day where you will maybe feel the same as yesterday, suicide knocks on your door, don’t answer it.
It is 5 am now and I am writing poems on my computer about love and girls
The computer has no emotions
My lonely hard **** has no emotions
and life. . . Life is just life.

She never wore dresses
She never wore short shorts
I kissed her viciously on those dry lips and she complains of the pain but she can’t stop kissing me
Someone outside yells I need a smoke
I need one too

She lost her uncle from a drowning
and I had lost my sister to almost
the same feeling of no air
chocking
my sister never got to see the
light of day
it made us closer knowing we both
faced tragedy at a young age
we listened to music at night
she starts crying because she
misses her uncle
she cried in my arms
crying for her uncle
for her ex whom she cheated on
with me
One time I threw her off me
she got me mad
she got off my bed
put her shoes on
was about to walk out my door
suddenly I said wait come here
she of course starts crying

I had hurt her many times
she did the same
why didn't I let her go?
relationships are sometimes a
******* war
and I kept making sure
the war never stopped

it seems the spiders are taking over this

small town

last year was the infestation of the flies

a spider on my wall

eating another bugs heart out

ripping its limbs

and tearing away the body

the spider thinks it is  king in my house

another four out of nowhere

and my book

my foot **** the *******

killing something innocent

I am guilty

oh baby you’re crazy

but that’s alright

baby i’m worried

and feel sick

you left for the weekend and

i”m vomiting 60 bucks  of *****

I had bought and now it's in the toilet

flushing away
60 dollars of whiskey and *** and coke and other
some food particles
but how you feel really good afterwards
after the huge mess comes out of you

the child is dead

the woman

the mother

weeps

my mother

weeps for me

and she cried

but was more empty

when her child died

Who ever thinks they

will give birth to a dead

baby?

who ever thinks  tonight is

the last night for them?

better hide

the people are strange

tonight

creeping in windows

touching themselves


I want death

death come on over

I’m waiting tired on the couch

waiting

drinking harsh whiskey

waiting

Sylvia, your head is in the oven

and forty years later I fall in love with a dead woman,

I read words of tears

from a dead woman,

and the woman I was seeing

was getting finger ****** by my long fingers.

she says there are little hairs on my back

and the shoulder blades are covered

with moles and zits

You are not dead

I wished I was dead a while ago

but the times are strange

Yesterday I was listening to silence

and thinking death

Today I see your smile

and that firm soft body

death soon disappears

Cherie in port elgin

the sundown is always peaceful there

the pink

the red skies eat away pain

I left her house at 6:48 am

to get on a bus back home

What are you doing almost one year later?

I can’t sleep tonight

I can hear the birds

Hell it’s morning already

the clouds woke up
the poet vomiting in
the kitchen
knives in the kitchen
drowning himself in
the bathtub
the clouds are up
and the poet is
biting his nails
eating raw ham
******* the mattress
I saw the broken windows
and screams from the poet
are echoing through the
town
the poet has walks at night
feeling inside the body
declining
fifty more smokes
in the poet
the clouds are sleeping
rain and walking
through the dead town
he doesn’t believe in miracles
doesn’t have a god
and if god was there
he would hate him
the poet playing with
himself and biting the
****** skin
the clouds wake up
and he cannot get up
he has mighty chest pains
and hasn’t eaten in
two days
the starving poet
the lonely poet
had a wife
but she’s underground
being eaten
by the bugs
all bones
suffering one more
day going outside
he is scared
the pills make him scared
a human helps
the cops come
blood everywhere.

Looking in the mirror
the morning is here
And my eyes look droopy
The black lines under
My eyes
Where did they come from?
Maybe cause’ I never sleep
Well i never want to sleep
Because it seems
The night and I belong
Together
But morning comes
even getting a good night rest
You are still stuck in bed
The mirror tries to scare
me with my tired face
I look ugly
Inside it’s probably uglier
I do not know

My good friend and I
we found cigarette butts
and he put them in his mouth
Pretending to smoke
He had a little fish pond
And in the winter
I would try to walk over it
Breaking the ice making my leg
Freeze and smell like dead fish
****
We threw rocks at this crazy old guys house
we always tried to start ****
we were twelve
Ten or something
and renting R rated movies
At the convenience store
While stealing 50 cent candies
and then going out causing more trouble to the world
Stressing out the world
i was never scared at that age of time
Now it seems almost everything scares me
The real world isn’t ready for me
I rather stay inside and drink the day away
Well you can come over
Only if you bring more *****
the school hated me
The teachers hated me
the people were nothing important
I rather be dead than to see these people again
It seems i just eat work sleep **** **** sleep eat **** **** work eat…
where did my youth go?
It seemed good
Many troubles
Many times being alone
I am still alone
the music plays all night
Hemingway take me to your bull fights
Thompson take me to the shooting range
drinking and more drinking
Will also occur
The music plays
and I’m still living
the days are the same

Drinking red wine beside her

in a warm house

welcoming and it’s finally calm

I feel good inside

the wine hits

and you smile with drunken love

soon it deteriorates

the wine never deteriorates

it lays still inside me

and I’m smiling with drunkeness

all over me

you wave goodbye at the bus stop

goodbye until the summer dies down

and soon we meet again

but not in love

I was in a hurry; late for work and having to take a mighty ****.

I rushed into the bathroom, pulled it out,

It came out like a rushing river.

Little drops of yellow rain

fell on the seat

and I wiped it off

Rushed back downstairs,

I kicked the screen door open

the sun was out

the humidity was rising.

I started sweating, and I got into the car speeding off to the freeway.

I was a lion chasing its prey

my prey was getting into work on time.

At college I passed many good looking girls.
They surrounded the place
At night I was always stuck in a room filled with girls
They talk what girls would talk about
well how would I know?
talking about periods and what to do with the pad after worth
flushing condoms
I was with this girl always
and she was with other girls always
The guys seemed to dull or just
not too interested to talk to
I was quiet
and I just left sometimes
to drown in my room
my holy sanctuary
the power always ran out
and I would have to go downstairs
to the head desk person
telling them my power is out
than having to go back up
to my room and wait and wait
and wait and wait until the
janitor came with the keys
to unlock the fuse box
and to put my power back on again

Back into my sanctuary
and music was playing again
I found a joint
smoked it
became free again
the window showed the parking lot
and the people talking
I threw my garbage out the window
and went to bed.

the man has his craziness
And it will always show
at the wrong times
The woman has it locked up
In the soul and it takes time
To unleash
She sat their drinking tea and that’s that
all calm and pure inside and out

I had found and picked up a empty bottle of wine in the school yard

I decided for some reason to smash it against a garbage can
I was an idiot back than
I soon cut my thumb right open

Blood was everywhere
I rushed to the bathroom and
Turned the faucet on
The blood kept pumping out

I went to the office
I started to faint
seeing static

Four hours in the emergency room
they stuck a needle right in the cut
stitched it up tight

In the cab
The man with the harsh accent
Never shuts up
The man who doesn’t care about your life has to give it all at the store counter because his boss is right there and it’ll feel good to try to get that promotion
but the boss’s son gets it anyway
Trying to hard to get things you’ll never get
I’m wearing **** and on the bus
I feel like **** and I don’t want a job
I don’t want anything
I’ll be waiting
Sitting on a bench in the park watching the crazy homeless
Fight each other

I’m working on this story about nothing,
and I know it’ll never get done.
I’m not ready for novels,
I haven’t lived yet.
Living with her 24hrs a day.
You don’t need to starve
to get anything done.
Help is everywhere.
Smile while death is crying above from the eruption of happiness

Hemingway’s shotgun blasted head haunting my dreams

with Nietzsche in the corner blabbing
HIS EYES WIDE OPEN

I could write probably a hundred poems a week about my dreams.

especially when I have nothing to write about

some stupid poem comes along and I write it down

but of course when I think of a good poem

I have nothing to write with

Poetry is too easy and sad to live with

Poetry is nothing

You are nothing

I am nothing

That’s just how the world works.

Wake up for the coffee.

The coffee is always ready for you in the morning.

I usually have two to three cups a day,

sometimes just black,

sometimes I add a little sugar to jolt it up.

I get jolted and soon I'm high on life.

Getting high off of anything and still nothing excites me.

You excite me.

Those eyes,

lips,

skin,

that wet sour *****,

hard  *******

all excite me.

The shotgun hasn't arrived yet; I still don’t even know how to use one.
When it comes though,
I’ll make sure to use it on some damaged goods instead of myself.

Don’t you hate it when you sleep for eight hours

and still can’t get out of bed.

still tired and wanting to sink in that bed.

yet others live off two or three hours of sleep

and feel fine the next day.

In the factory I was working beside

a guy who said he had a great sleep yet

couldn’t stop passing out on the line.

he told me years ago he almost died right here

from OD’ing on opiates.

Now he was dying right in front of me from tiredness.

I had two hours of sleep.

felt alright.

Soon got a headache, and the black under my eyes was still there

but I was feeling alright.

Jazz muse
Rock muse
Classical muse
Blues muse
All the muse in the world.

How the loneliness drowns,
how you are never near now,
and I feel fine with the piano
Playing in the background.
inside my room and the sun
Is out I am peeling away
I am hiding feeling blue
With side fears eating me
Inside
The music plays
The loneliness is here to stay
I type you a poem
That you will never read
while the wolves in the forest starve
The birds throw up their meal
The fish die from poison lakes
you are sleeping in a dark room with no one and I am alone as well