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

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.

You do not base your own self values
Off of what other people value you for.
Or maybe you do.
I don't know.

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

I can't remember
All the good things
That have happened
And
I can't forget
the things that
I wish never did happen.

But I get to decide
What to think about,
My thoughts don't tell me
What to feel.

Choose positivity, and
Watch the world change
Around you.

Sometimes
just a faint tickle,
sometimes
a firm squeeze.

I'm going to take it
from you,
and you're going
to take it.

It's fun to entertain
your silly notions
of worship and praise,
when in reality
you just want to be had.

I'll do your dance,
for a bit.
Though when I get a taste,
I turn ravenous.

Besides,
with your face
pressed
against the wall...
Well,
this is love
after all.

Man, I **** my pants this morning.
At least I didn't wet the bed...
...again.

Bro, no lie
I've taken like
six or seven
***** today.

*******, not good ones either.
Like a hot faucet,
I sit down and
goosebumps ripple
up and down my arms
as the shivers hit me
and my body just...

Like a
hot faucet bro,
like I'm vomiting
out of my *******.


Where do you think I'm writing this from?
You know it,
my porcelain throne.

I got something
She wants.

She got herself,
And a new mouth to feed.

Worry away,
thinking all day.

Circles come,

Circles come.

Sometimes circles stay.

The guilt comes and goes
It's starts with love
And fades as it grows
The roots of a wicked tree
Buried in the snow
Siphon bits of joy
From deep down below
It always starts with love
The guilt comes and grows
Like the waves of an ocean
That everybody knows

I slip into my coat
Of coarse surface rust,
I'm pitted.
I stand with a squeak and a rattle,
And with a sigh I stride
Toward the sodden gray sky
Peeking at me through the slats
In the yellow venetian blinds.
With a wavering hand
I tug on the strings
And turn round in wonder
At my various things.
A kettle, a pan, a jar of bacon grease,
Dry pens, a magnet, some broken porcelain,
A stain on the carpet, a stain in my skin,
Where did this **** all come from?
When did it all begin?
Did I have an intention,
Did I have even an ounce
Of certainty?

Twelve, twenty nine, or ninety,
No matter how old I am,
I'll always enjoy
Writing my name in the snow.

Up on the bed
On your stomach
With your ankles in your hands

Tongue out
Choking
Looking up

Pulling out
A gasping breath
Glistening face, getting wet

Spit on it
Slap it on your cheek
Hair stuck to your lips

A tear mixed
With the sheen of spit
Dribbling down your chin

I'll take a photo
And savor it
As you look into the lens

Knotted up in your hair
Control the rhythm
A lack of air

Gagging, deeper
Faster now
Trying not to black out

You cough and try
To pull away
A slap, a spit, you're here to stay

At least until it's
Said and done,
Finish line here I come

Tic tic tick tick
Tac toe toc tock
Silly ***** nilly frills
Yesterday is another mistake
I'm ****** to repeat
Forever
And ******* ever
Unless something gives
Give gives given
Give me
Give that to me
And tell me it's mine
Mines miner minor mine
You're all ******* mine
For for forever for
Mine forever never whether
You want to be to be between
Between you and me
I'm ******.

Tentatively,
like trying to write on saran wrap
with a freshly sharpened pencil,
that's how she walks.

Grace, delicacy embodied
within a writhing crown
of tangled red silk.

A dancing and singing bird
on a brittle autumn leaf,
no fear of falling because
she's got those wings.

Both of us, smiling,
A little out of breath,
Now on the
Far side of
The duck pond.

I listen to the rhythm
Of her breathing
And see the slight
Rise and fall of
Her chest,
The bead of sweat
On her upper lip,
Inviting me to taste it.
My thoughts wander,
Cementing that sound,
That rhythmic breathing
Into my memory.


I look forward to hearing it again.

I'm gonna live forever.

So far, so good.

Silhouettes of silos
Go streaking by
In the clear night sky.

I rest my head
On my fist
And then rub my eyes.

Why is it that
The trip home
Always feels shorter
Than the one away.

When did vacation
Become a memory,
And seem so impossibly
Far away?

I remember sleeping
With my forehead
Pressed to the window.

I remember feigning sleep
So that I would be carried
To my bedroom.

Sometimes I take a step back,
Internally,
And watch my thoughts go racing by.

I like observing them
From the outside,
It helps to put life
Into perspective.

But,
Sometimes...

Sometimes I don't step back.
Sometimes I strap up,
And I lean in,
And I let the thoughts
Take me for a ride.

Because there's something
Living there, in that mania.
Something creative,
Something destructive,
Something...
...Human.

I don't write for me

I write for you to see

Because it's how I please

Myself.

Seems I don't have much to say

There's a faint
Scent
Of candle smoke,
Welcoming
My nose.

The afterglow image of
open flames
Is burned into my retinas.

I can hear the song
Echoing,
Throughout the twenty nine
Years.

I can taste light
Whipped cream,
And a hint of vanilla
Mixed with coffee.

I can feel love
Permeate
Through the aether,
And meet my gaze
As I look
Upon the stars.

A grip, a squeeze,
A pressing matter.
Skinned knees,
haughty laughter,
Begging "please,"
A lustful spatter.
My name,
Your name,
Before and after.
Out of breath,
An artful disaster,
Making a mess
Is what really matters.
Horizontal,
Floating,
Up in the rafters.

Coming down.

Holding on.

Letting go.

A squeeze
A smile
A tingling breeze

Sit right here
Next to me
And let's just watch
Some TV

The wind blows
Carrying a cloud of sand
Like a thousand little razors

It feels
It feels like pins and needles
It feels like waking up
     To something that's been here
          All along.