in the malarial stink
of you having me all so
figured out
I laugh like coyotes in the ******* night.

haven't you learned where suffering
crawls out of by now?

"I don't make promises I cant keep.
which is why I won't make promises ever".
I found a home in that,
so thank you.

I heard you live in my city now.

crowds or people
between us.
my lonely has arrowslits.

the pharaohs sit as dead
as the rest of us.
I've shared the glitz I've gathered.

nothing matters
and you know it.

we will take a new day
and swallow it whole.

oh, woe is me.
say it the 3 more times.

I'm almost alone
and ok with it.
pivotal moments
long past.

slow rain will fix
whatever.

ive stolen a touch from Pablo,
Frida,
Dali,
even Korine's canvas
has touched my thumb,
but it's your cheek in the
morning I remember the most.

we were never good for each other.
I dont have anything better than that.

I'm sorry.

this whole bleeding poetry thing,
poem by poem,
is ******.
book is finished
like the garlic was last year.

and the blackberries.

I'm in the street just begging
for death to possess these
aching bones of mine
like a mother that just
found her lost kid at the mall.

nobody will read these otherwise.

the noise of night
is hallowed ground;
I hate everything i have ever made.

hardly getting a glimpse
of most stars because the city
screams in many ways
makes me realize
that it all doesn't matter.

and that matters the least of all.