Above the circling hawks,
Above the flattened cubes
Of corporate brick and mortar.
From here the people
All look like locust,
Swarming the asphalt
And coursing the concrete.
From here the sunlight
Glints off of a thousand
Cars, glass and paint.
It twinkles a bit,
And I'm reminded
Of the ocean.
Waves beneath us,
Silently crashing
Their way through life.
Stand with me
On this vista,
This precipice,
And let's just watch
For a little while.
Dressed in
The colors
Of the rising sun,
You're the perfect
Contrast up here
On the coal bank.

Nothing,
I mean nothing,
Wakes you up in the morning
Like some dude locking up his brakes
Two cars ahead of you on the interstate.

I don't care how tired you are,
How hungover you are,
How little you slept...
When you're going 80 miles an hour
And someone locks it up like that in front of you,
You immediately turn into Dale Earnhardt.
You're wide awake, checking your mirrors,
Heart pounding out of your chest.
You haven't checked your mirrors in like, 10 miles.
You're locking eyes
With the dude in the car next to you,
Hand in the air
With an expression of
"Did you just see that ******* ****?!"
On your face.

Then when you finally make it
To wherever you're going,
You can handle anything!
Ain't **** bothering you after a wake-up call
Like that. It's honestly liberating.
Food tastes a little better,
Being grateful is a little easier,
And life seems just a little bit brighter.

Coffee, take a seat.
With people driving that way,
I don't need no coffee.
And the next time you're feeling
A little too tired on your morning commute,
Don't forget,
I'll be matting the brakes
At mile marker 137
To wake your *** up, too.

It's my fault.

Always has been,
always will be.

But I'll try my damnedest
to come up with a good excuse.
To push all the blame on to you.

I watched
As you
Twirled
And
Spun

Now I just
Remember it
Over
And over
Again

Taste of blood
Like the
Taste
Of a
Gun

I'll just
End up
Where
It all
Began

I watched
As you
Loved me
And
Sprawled

Now
I just
Remember
It
Dying

I watched
As you
Gave me
Your
All

Now I
Can't
Even
Remember
Why

Why I just didn't see it
At the time

Why do I find myself
In this paradigm

Slice of nothing
empty plate
piles of vacancy
cover the horizon
population zero
still cities
quiet interstates
heaping helpings
devoid of substance
fistful of fingers
garbled signals
snow and static
white noise
no noise at all

Gimme gimme
snow and stasis
thought not
vacuum head
intellectual parasites starve to death
digging their teeth deeper into my scalp
desperate for a taste of ******* something.

Shallow waters
jean pools
denim sheets
flannel curtains
clouded windows
hazy eyes
breadth of sun
shining light upon
nothing.

Giving up ****
Feels pretty good to me.

Think I'll stay awhile.

It's worth
The wait.

I'm hungry,
In a primal
Kind of way.

Come
and
Satiate.

Better wait.
I tend not to
Hesitate.

It's big in my mind,
Meeting your daughter.
I'm sure it's fine.

Walls crumble
At your touch,
Regardless of how subtle.

Tap into a new state of mind,
there you may find
something worth your time.

You've said that you just don't know
what it means to see growth.
It's rather slow.

I missed
the good and the bad,
the happy and the sad.
They passed me by.

But these walls still
whisper your name,
it's becoming a game;
staying ignorant.

Honestly not much has changed.

Just little things like
rodents uncaged.

It's tough deciding
whether I miss you or not.

It's a lonesome matter,
and I'm just a selfish ****.

I don't miss the mania,

I don't miss the mania.

My, how the trees keep secrets.
My, oh my, how they grow.
Oh, how the trees all whisper
as the fierce winter winds blow.

Tread atop discarded leaves,
between branches; carefully weave.
My, how the forest impedes.
Trees never tell what they know.

They aren't silent, these trees
emit creaks and gutteral groans,
like giants waking from slumber
and stretching their turgid bones.

The canopy then blocks out the sun,
compelling me to break into a run.
One hand clasping tight on my gun,
should've never wandered off alone.

Porcelain
Sharper than swords
Whiter than ghosts
Shattered in a pile
Porcelain
Like a shallow pool
Of tepid tap water
And I'm dying of thirst
Porcelain
Don't go chipping on me
Now that we've been set free
Dear, you're a skeleton key
Porcelain

A new house
In a new state,
She wants people
To come and stay.

It's tough
To justify a visit
When you moved
Four hours away.

I wanted to see
How it would be,
But maybe not during
A pandemic holiday.

Dreams still come true,
A place down by the beach
Is still a place down by the beach,
And I look forward to it every day.

The sun don't quit trying,
despite the duvet of morning fog
and the moon won't stop crying
over the sad songs of summer frogs.

In the blink of an eye
it's all over and
there's always more sky
with cloud cover and
we'll all be shivering
having shed last year's winter coats.

Howls in the dark fly
at us like beach sand
caught in the windy cry
of something once planned,
and time keeps on withering
turning puddles into castle moats.

The days don't quit flying,
despite our reluctance to step in the bog.
The nights won't stop, forever dying,
they keep turning on and on like a cog.

Let's leave
Lovely little stains
All over the place.

Let's ruin
Some clothing,
With remnants
Of love.

Let's lie
On the verge
Of muddy sleep,
Let's dance
On the razor's edge
Of consciousness.

Let's,
Let's...

Just let's.

Let's do it
Again,
And again,
And again.

Dawn is here again,
But this time
make it a little different.

A simple, subtle change.

The voice of logic screams in pain
at the sight of my toothy, idiotic grin.
Heart beats drill into my brain
with a percussive pounding maintained
onward deep into the night and
following my thoughts throughout the day.

So sometimes reasoning goes away
when love is dripping from my face.

Blessed fragility.
My grandfather lost his religion,
somewhere along the way.

Not long after Mom passed
he gave up Sunday mass
for long and unrequited naps.

I wonder what dreams are seeded
by the ever present soundtrack
of Hogan's heroes.

Hope she's got a pen on her,
I bet that she does.

Hitting backspace too much lately.

In a gross misconduct,
And verbal conflagration,
I regurgitate these words
That wouldn't be digested.
Now I'm covered in my mess,
Bits of vowels stuck to my chest
And my new jeans reek of
Conjecture and ignorance.

It's cool to be sad
Be hip
Be trendy
Be alone

And you'll be popular
In theory

Doesn't take a cashier
To make some change
And there'll always be time
And it'll feel familiar
And it will frighten you
I think that's what defines
The proposition of change
Better now than later
Hair will grow back
These things will be different
But always somewhat the same

Inspired.
Penned a letter to a fellow,
Told him thanks for the tip.
He taught me that nothing
Is really worth a ****.
"Wise man, wise words,"
I thought, with a grin.
Grimacing at the pine cone
Taste of this gin.
So now what's the plan,
Where's my next place to sin?
I scan through the faces
Of my fellow patrons,
And consider myself lucky,
brimming with indignation.

Lucky as a duck,
To be this ******* numb.
Imagine having emotions,
God they're all so ******* dumb.

I've figured it all out you see,
It's not about you and me.
It's not about love,
or life,
or honesty,
It's about...
...it's about...

...What,
was I taking about?

We measure our success
By what we build
SoOoo

Sand castles and recycling bins
Which can I stack higher
Built too close to the tide
Maybe self sabotage is what I desire

When the glass topples and shatters
And I sweep up the shards
The fine dust is what actually matters
When it tears my lungs apart

But who knows when I'll decide
That perhaps what I'm building is wrong
And life could be better spent beside
The people that I've loved all along

I can feel it
in my bones.
Is this my home?

Twist the pops
out of my spine.
God, that feels divine.

Do your best,
take it slow.
Make a call on your phone.

Do not stop,
keep it aligned.
A beer helps me unwind.

A smell, a vibe,
the fear of being alone.
Do you want to be my home?

Weaver of tales,
fiddler of twine.
Author of all my time.

Got done work
early today,
only an eight hour shift.

Was eager for bed,
didn't clean at all.
I just got drunk instead.

Girl's coming up tomorrow,
gotta make the bed.

Gotta pick my place up
and not get drunk instead.

I lie to myself
and say that
I keep it clean for me,
but only I know
that without someone else to please
I'd let this place
slowly accumulate
my garbage and debris.
Until the detritus
overwhelmed me,
in my comfy old jeans.
I'd be in over my head,
because I wouldn't be able
to delegate,
and I'd just
get drunk instead.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe there's a tangible thread
that dangles and wavers,
ever so slightly,
as my eyes turn steadily red.

It's alright
It's okay
There'll be
Another day
And someone
Will wake you
By grabbing
And shaking you.
You'll stretch
With a yawn
And see that
It's nearly dawn
With the sun
Peeking it's head up
Over top of
The horizon.

******* posers.
I'm the real deal,
*******.
Watch me
Dance
My stupid *******
Monkey dance,
And listen
To me sing
My dime a dozen
**** heap song.

Real is as real
As you want it to be,
But if you ask me,
*******,
You're all faking it
Just as much
As I am.

So get crispy,
And leave me
The ****
Alone.

Would you rather
eat a bowl of banana strings,
or drink a glass of hotdog water?

Even this, feels familiar too.
Unpleasant though.

Strange and weird but,
maybe I'm just
missing a piece
of the puzzle.

Ugh, I feel so sick
to my stomach,
though that is unrelated.

Somehow, although much has changed,
some of these feelings
are still the same.

Like waking up
from a bad dream,
and then falling back to sleep.

Hey *******,
not once in my life
have I ever hit my elbow
and ******* laughed.

Whoever the ****** was that
******* named it that
should be shot.

She stretches.
On a lazy morning.
Under my covers,
In my bed.

Weight.
The emotional scales
Become a teeter totter,
And I can't find a balance.
I could never find my balance.

I'm over-dramatic.
I know it's all in my head,
But...

Thrown away,
Dug up.
I'm divided.

And, ****!
Ain't the good, just..
..so, ******* good.

Ain't it just..
..some kinda warmth..?
..some kinda... God?
Her, here again?

Ain't it just clutching me?
The dripping wet maw of lust,
The dire, clenching grip of lost love,
The light, whispered touch of fair skin?

Ain't it just ripping me to shreds?
The dichotomy of who I am,
Verses who it is that I want to be?

All I know is, she got legs for miles.
And man...
Don't you just know that
I'm gonna savor
Draping those legs upon myself.

I'm gonna wear her like a knit scarf.

I'm gonna savor her flavor.
I'm gonna savor her smell.

I'm gonna look at her
The way a ******
Looks at a loaded needle.

I'm all tied off,
I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.

Gone and done
Sit quietly with it
Feel what there is
To be felt

Apologists say sorry
To empty rooms
In a haunted house
And sigh right back at the wind

Tomorrow, yesterday
Time is a rippling plane
And every imperfection
Casts a perfect shadow
Across the thin veil
Of reality

Nothing matters
But not like that,
Like nothing is something
And that something
Means everything
To nobody

Am I a ****** brother?
Guess I'll have to ask him.
Maybe when he's older.

I like raisins.

Come at me bro.

Iterative of
my entire life.

There's barely any
haught to be had.
Instead of wondering,
now I'm dreaming, but
knowing would be ideal.
Instead of merely living,
no, instead of dying,
give me a reason to thrive.

All is gone
by the time I walk
outside.
Usually I can still find
the meaning.

You.

Years of flipping through them,
Torn pages filled with photos
And things.

Must've thrown them away
At some point,
Maybe recently.

The book was in the cupboard,
The photos were in the book,
She was in the photos in the cupboard in the book.

It was there for years,
And years and years,
Every time I looked.

Now they're gone, and I'm not sure where
They may have ended up, but...
I don't really care.

Because sometimes it takes
A little letting go
To let the past fade out,
And to focus on tomorrow.

My bird returned home,
Only not in photo form.
Those photos may be gone
But now there's time for more.

Yellow
Tastes
Fields
Of gray
Shallow
Puddles
Rainbow stain
Burning
Scent
Stinging
Smoke
A cloud
A sign
A single spoke
Spinning
Wheels
Cogs
Enmeshed
Work together
Drive the rest

Time, clocks
Circles make us up
Wheels, cogs
Back where I started from

I think I've fallen in love
With the little trash can under my desk.

Every morning now for years
I've been finishing in it
So that I don't have to clean
Anything up when I'm done.

It's gotten to the point now
Where I can't get off
Without that little trashcan
Being around.

I've *** into a lot of things
Over the span of my life,
But nothing has ever compared,
I'm calling that trashcan wife.

And I don't know
What I would ever do
Without it.

A tangled nest of lights
Like an **** of fireflies
A bizarre meeting between death and life
Like ******* in a cemetery at night

A far reach
Top of the cabinet
Climbing on the countertop

A solemn
Solitary box of tea
Peeks out at me

Violent water
Effervescent and sweet
Hot beyond belief

A scalded palette
A grimacing smile
Through sensitive teeth

Breathe in deep
Hesitate before
Blowing off the steam

A laugh
A sip
A day slipped past me