when god takes me
and asks
what did i make of my life

i will tell him to his face
you have made the world
and my eyes
so ugly

and the trees
the flowers
the smokestacks
the noise

and beauty

and when he asks
do i forsake him

i will say to his face
i never stopped looking for beauty

i wanted to breathe the same air as you
and quietly walk around
and i would smile and you would
laugh
we would have made nothing into something

my friend felt a little cheated for only having one beer
he knew in his life right now he needed as much as he can drink
man, i'd like to tell you how i need the same
but for therapy, and car rides, and biperiden tablets and sad poets
we all get it, its not enough,
but i bet life feels a little bit cheated, too
and death,
and heaven,
how come you didn't spend all your money on *****
and die on the bar
life wants us to give it all we got
and sick as it is,
it includes alcoholism,
and sorrow
and air pollution
and sad poems

sorry, but i feel like cheating life
if it means cheating death

when he back comes home
drunk and smelling of
old lipstick and cheap lager
he'll spend an hour in closed doors
to return back into shape

for the next problems he'll cause
and the next problems that'll arrive
spontaneously
from dry diapers
and stinky landlords
and old lipstick
and cheap lager

you've met them before
driving their money
working in lobster traps
acting like stones in rivers

tired men who are just as confused
as the next ***** pigeon

cursed to live their life
hoping that family is truth
and penultimate;
some will be hated, and will act badly
some will be hated, and become ghosts

some will be hated, and will sell their car
or build another house
or make you a steak dinner
or a dog shed

and some will be loved,
and perchance will do the same above,

but all of it
love them or hate them
is for you
his truth
his penultimate

the pearls of his life
that shook his fate
in that day in the hospital

they are not free from us
and the world
but they will try
and fail
and succeed in the end
raising us

your father loves you,
somehow.

i do not know
if i am blind
or if the days are becoming prettier
by making yesterday
beautiful

this could be an afternoon
and i made myself blind
the sun's on the left
but my eyes are tired
and i'd like to think
the day has passed

it's not morning
because i didn't have coffee
it's not nighttime
because obviously
it's afternoon
because i want it to
and its warm
and i haven't slept

before this ugly present
was a gold tinted sky
before i doze off
for another year
i will stare at the heavens
the clocks are wrong
it's not morning
it's the end of the world

well, it's the end of something alright
if not me
then it's the month of february
with days of rain and heat
sunsets like monet's
impression, sunrise

i'll blind myself for now
till the next month

it's not march
but the end

i'd poison you with a drink
if i wanted to.

i'd shove that spoon
deep into your throat
make you choke
before you choke
on your own words

you make this so hard for yourself
just tell them
you have nothing to tell
you have gone nowhere
spent a fortune
doing nothing

nothing's treated you well
it bore into you
scars that itch
when it touches air

i'd throw you off a skyscraper
if i wanted to
i've had enough

just say nothing
or shut up

the music's gone too long
the little rolls of fish gone cold
white noodles turn to pig feed
air rotted sweet

the last of my ***** was indulged
by her green dress and silver shoes
she definitely wanted to hit me
i saw in sooted eyes

i would've taken it gladly
you'd slap a ketchup bottle when its almost empty
i figure she doesnt like it in her prime rib

we were only there for the food
and the boring rewards
i enjoyed my **** breaks better
i've had better times in
long lines paying bills
no smoke machines there
except maybe me

the fog clears too
in indoor spaces
the forest duff's a bunch of wires
tea stained bedsheets
*****-coke and garlic rice

they played the songs ten times each
i danced in the quiet between
the circuit twirled as i ripped my thumbs
the balconies and trashcans dont mind the bored drunk

my green dress date sent me
a cursing smile
it was better than nothing

i understand what you mean

when you want quiet
so you can listen to your own
bass driven anger

i understand what you mean

when a perfect day
full of sunshine
and butterflies
feels like mockery
and neglect

i understand what you mean

why you hate people
who serves your food
and cleans your yard
and fixes your internal
broken tire

i understand what you mean

when you look for comfort
from someone else
for selfish pain
that dwell inside

but what i don't understand
is why i get it

and why people try their best
to reassure us
that they get it too

and why we think
they're wrong

and how it makes us feel
like we understand
nothing

he tried to tempt christ, only to find him inviting him for some drinks

he said "if you are the son of god, turn these stones into bread"

and he did, and they shared some loaves

he invited him to a rave, and they met eloa

she was innocent, and they both were not

in the end of the night, the roles reversed

and they had to miracle their ***** out of that club

several months later, he visited him while he was with an affair with insanity

and they shared some drinks, and some jokes, and some vaseline

a year later, he visited him while he was fighting pneumonia

he said, "i will weep for you when you go"

and christ said, "of course you will. you love me. me and my flesh"

and they shared the iv fluid with a side of bourbon

and christ died, and he was happy

and evil wept, for he was better than most

in your ancient sea were the same sands of time
formed the same cloudy depths that made the fog of toil

took a singular speck born through its own torturous seconds
wandered through your young open mind
turned to an itch you couldn't scratch
without splitting in half to bleed out into the defiant noise

now you are old and as ancient
but anew through the waves
they who dove deep to find treasure
will find your defiant shell
glowing iridescent like the moon in a dust storm
and within a secret suffering
to be marveled as beautiful

from a speck bore your glow
into the time and into the sea
only what remains
to shine
to grow

i heard
they fall to this world
to heal our wounds
we are demons
we are children

waiting for sunlight
waiting for tea
sitting in the grass
while everything turns

and all the notes sing
of broken hearts
with broken fingers
making landscapes
how could it be

that you fell to this world
you angel
you gave up heaven
for hell
your everlasting light
gone
so that you wouldn't blind
anyone

i only hope
it's not for nothing
dear angel
we only hope

i feel like i am torn
if mayonnaise is a good condiment or not

i take a bite of a piece of lettuce with a smear of mayo and i'm like

this is ******* disgusting

and i have it on my rice and salmon and i think

this is the most important part of the meal

and i realize

that mayonnaise is the worst ******* thing in the world

for making me think it is good and bad at the same time

- j. caesar

it was the fire of love
that left us both
with scars

and hers is healed
but cold, when the wind comes

and mine
itches and bleeds
and feels like the damp of rain
on bad winters

it is true
it didn't matter that the fire was brighter than the sun

and it is true
that i must not look for warmth
to ease my scars
it matters more
that the scars are left alone

but i am coal
crude oil
dumpster fire
filled with smoke and ****
and it seems i am to burn
until everything is gone

burn
until i am done
and i hope
my scars burn with me

but why now? i prayed to you before

i shuffled through your names and your practices, they said it would ease me

well, then again, the priests didn't have software. but i'm sure you did when you made this junkpile

so why now. why are you messing with me

did i make you too ugly, too abstract? do you want to be a bearded man in his late fifties?

do you want me to run through the rosary first before i touch the magic pen?

or do you need a hundred oxen and a hundred pieces of lettuce

you're marvelous, god

but you confuse me, often

its when the earth stops for a while
and the winds curtain you delicately
and the sun peeks shyly through the clouds

and you breathe the same air
see the same light
feel the same fire from each other's hearts

and when she touches the last cold of your spirit
with the warmth of their words
their hands
their smile

the world will pause
for you to love
and to keep loving
night and day
sun and moon
you and me

i half hoped the world around us
isn't so black and white

it's pretty, yes
but we've all seen prettier

the sun sets for us
to face the night

and it's most pleasant moments are brief
in the middle
we rise up the sine to it's apex
only to fall down the darkened *****

there is a relief in knowing
sines end too
light ends
suffering ends
happiness ends
happily

the hottest of stars
boil away their souls to eternity

the greatest of heaven
loses out to time
so will time

even the coldest of diamonds
lose their heat
into the eternal cold
outside temperature

a fool reflects upon this plight of man
how we suffer amongst ourselves
in hopes that what we feel would last
forever

forever will not keep you alive
the end ends too

find comfort in thinking
you will not find comfort in what's comfortable
there is night even in the hottest noon

and we all have to decide soon
a person in bliss is a fool
a person in enlightenment is willing to accept
he is a fool
he will be part of the flaw
of this universe

both of them will die out
having accomplished
love and entropy
love and sorrow
love and nothing
and nothing

live your life.

i apologize for the pessimism
it will not last as well

in a streetside diner, i greeted an old man

"magandang hapon po," i said

"hinde." he said. and he threw up on the flower ***

and in that moment, i knew it was not

happy and sad
met in a park outside the bar
where sad had an unpaid tab

and happy let her smile reach his eyes
and sad wrapped her arms around her

she liked lavender and forget me nots
and found it stuffed in his pockets

he liked tears and memories
and found it on her gaze

i wonder, sometimes
if it was ever right
that they met

still, they looked cute
and happily they went
for so many years
i need not wonder if it was hard for them

for happy and sad
got married
and their child
was life

it was one rose
it was trimmed fresh of thorns
and the saleslady took it from a water bucket

and i knew it would die
i knew it would wilt
i knew the red would fade into the brown of rot

it could've meant a lot
or nothing at all
life, or love, or the disappointments of it

it was my most treasured gift
anyways

have you tried the bread? it's good
it tastes like olive oil and effort

have you tried the oysters? it's great
i tried it with the wine and it was musical

have you tried the waitress? wonderful
she wore tight jeans and had buns like it was made in a bakery

have you tried commitment? it's not bad
it was better in the first months
then it got hard
oh, so hard

have you tried regret? it's essential
for when you've tried everything
and when you avoid trying

have you tried antipsychotics? it's a nuisance
it sticks to your throat like molasses
and drives you insane

have you tried being in a crowd?
you'll fit like lego
and stand out at the same time

have you tried being alone?
it'll fit you like medicine
and you'll see ghosts

have you tried crying?
it'll make people care for you
or make people force their hands

often, they don't want to make you happy
if they don't know how to
they just want you to stop

...

have you tried the salad?

your neighbors are gonna hate me.

do you hear that? it's the war drums
that boom as i ****** through your broken heart
they match well with the screams of the junkies downstairs
and the crying police siren looking for its next suicide

and i admit
that i liked the look of you in that pretty pink sundress
and that pale green cardigan you bought from the lackluster
i'm sorry i tore them apart but you'd look better in a woolen blanket
with broken heel shoes and hemp rope chokers

but it was you who shoved that screwdriver through your beloved's pathetic, perfect, caucasian skull
his body lay bleeding as you were brewing tea for your guests
who'd arrived without manners
and spat on your peace lily

and how you loved the sound of it all
the moans and the squeaks
of moistened slugs and open arteries
you'd think she was a newborn ewe
and they were herder hounds

get up, it's the morning
and your guests are gone
you'll pay me your rent by a week's time
and you're outta here
if you don't throw that corpse away.

i live in a coconut
in some beach among the garbage patch
there are fish bodies here and there
but no fishermen to collect them

i lived in a skyscraper before
and i fed on the clouds
it made me fat with summer rain
and eventually came
tropical depressions

and i had lightning friends
and hail brothers
and cold friends
and hard friends

and i missed the train i built myself
and years i took and told myself
that train would have burst into flames
and **** both the crowd in the left
and the man in the right

oh i told you
there's bad out there
in the sea
or the sky
or the train yards
but dont stop
oh god, dont stop
there's so many questions i have to ask
now in the present
all to explain my past
a past i can never go back to
but never leave

how could it be

i need to know
how



i was trampled down by everyone and this life

and a few offered their hand to pick me up, but they slipped away by the haste they had

and i knew it was my fault for being so slow

but i couldnt help to think

why they were going that fast

mind and heart had a schism

mind stood there thinking how to pour his heart out
writing it like his wedding vows, sounding like a eulogy

and he'd forgotten how to shave, how to comb
how to tie a shoe or how to walk with it

yes, he is thinking of her
at the same time, he is thinking of snake pits
and cliff jumps
and cannibals

pouring out, like bile from a faucet
his life story
how he wished it all satisfied
all the reasons to write another chapter

yet it sounds like a mess written by schizophrenic
fighting for the choice of words
the pen
the paper
one wants to just chew it all off

in his tight shoes, trembling legs
wanting to run
wanting to limp
waiting for a lightning bolt
to shock some sense into him

and he stood there
writing wails
all turning into ramble
turning into a freeze

mind and heart had a schism
and it tired heart

but heart didn't mind
he knows
this often happens

and yes, he is thinking of her
and how nice she was

after a moment, mind spoke his cacophony
and he thought it sounded fine

and she hid inside her apartment from the sound
within her pillows and comforter

then mind dropped to the floor
on a pool of grey matter

yeah, heart said
this happens
often

god hope it didn't, he thought
but at least it gives me pointers

and so heart put mind in an ambulance stretcher
doped and dried until he needs him again

heart bought some chocolates, some coffee, slathered himself with antiperspirant

and he knocked at her bedroom door

she opened the door to a tired heart, who fed a garbage brain

and heart embraced her with all his fervor

what is this feeling
you're all alright
and i am floating away
from the cold of the floor

and the heat of the air
is a blanket of life
not the punishment of fatigue
not the reminder of toil

we didn't bring anything else
besides 10 dollars
a boat ride ticket
nachos

but you'll all be arrested
by the buzzkills
if you reveal your face to them

what is this happiness
it is real, if it is
and there is no effort in hiding it
there is no pain behind it
there is no shame in having it

i am glad for you
i just know, this will last enough to be worth it
hey, my man, i love you
hey, my love, i missed you
hey there, stranger
let's be happy together

a day went by again
for the man
with the hourglass head

he dents the pillow on his bed
to flip the fine powder
it hardens if he doesn't do it
negligence turns time to stone

all he does is wait
for the sand to fall down
and all he does is spin around
as the weeks go by

the sun races like a bullet
daylight slows to a crawl
and night flashes suddenly
as the timer flips

and all the hourglass man does
is wait
waiting for a day to end
so he could waste another
tomorrow will come
just to die
killed by a man
who'll do nothing

standing, waiting
for the grains
to fall

and tomorrow will come
for the hourglass man

hope he gets a new pillow

honey, you're wonderful

and i thank you
for breaking my heart

i hoped i could repay you

with my love

but i can hear you through traffic;
the blind poor guitarist is louder than the train station

the half laugh half melody of a little girl
a pleasant sound in a crowded wedding hall

in unseeable turmoil i tap away
and through thick i am restored

sometimes, i think i am hearing a lecture from an archangel
it's sandalphon, and he has a lyre that sounds of synthesizers

and sometimes, it is plain somber
a guitar with nylon strings sounds more loving than anything
than shakespeare, or neruda, or byron

how do you sing, how do you play
how do you bring out the best from air
from AIR?

wonderful, isn't it?

would it please you,
aphrodite,
if i wrote love poems

when she laughs at my
obscure, grotesque
realities

i feel more love
than any spawn of seafoam
could ever.

LONG AGO
FAR AWAY

LIFE WAS CLEAR

the music whispered to him
anguish
he's never felt this before
but it felt like everything

it was the cruel heat of the afternoon
and the boiling skin of an alcoholic
that dried his tears

and he tried to remember

what is now
television static

and an endless hum
from broken air-conditioning

and dead rotting fm radios

how dead rotting memories
reminded him of what once was

CLOSE YOUR EYES

it's her

distorted

her eyes were blue

and she smelled like fish
and gasoline

her skin was red-purple

her words were poisonous

ι ωιℓℓ ηєνєя ƒσяgєт уσυ, she said

out loud

in a decrepit cathedral, her words echoed

her family of skeletons were there

his family of maggots were, too

god was their witness, but he was busy with another billionaire

it was the most beautiful day in their lives
and now this is all he sees

some pastel hell by bosch

with pointless dalinian remnants
of hours trying to figure out

why it had to end that way

oh, why it had to end

it ended

but you left it in a ****** to **** state, the ends of the threads

and now
confusion will never leave

the music
will sound of unborn mosquitoes

untuned pianos

her voice in lullaby, stretched to infinity

his silent, muffled, choking screaming

w҉h҉y҉

why.

how long has it been

it doesn't matter

this will last

forever

so you start with a pretty solid first few foundations
set the tone with something enigmatic or romantic
maybe something like "i loved you then" or "you took my hand"
or "i found a rat in a corner store hotdog stand"

but make sure to put your rising action before your peaking
in the sixth and seventh right above "Continue reading"

because if they read but don't don't click, it won't register as a view
and that'd be very sad and unfortunate for you

but what you can also do
is write two or three verses
for them to click
expecting more...

i'm sorry
i love you
but i don't love you

we share thoughts and share words
and spend time together
but i can never put myself into imagining

you within my arms
within my grasp
within my stare
for longer than a second

no, you look pretty
yes, i don't

thank you anyways for thinking that i am but i will not lie to you
i cannot give you truths either

for i do not know
why you are not the dearest to me
why there are no miracles
why we are just merely talk
and not magic

no, i am not turned off by you
no, i am not turned on either

it is not even in my head
and that's good, actually

sorry, i cannot elaborate this
without complicating this to nonsense

i refuse
to complicate love
any further

i have been on the other end before
i swear to you

but this is how i feel

and what i feel is wrong

but there is no way
i will feel
otherwise

god, i feel so bad

...

i am left to wish

wishing that i did

hoping that wishing did not tire me

but it does

...

i hoped i love you

if i wasn't a poet
i would be working a job
hauling coal in a train

and i would be in a cabin with no windows
thinking about the destination's mini mart coffee machine

and yet, i just know
he would still be staring at the passing landscape
in the chances he gets to be in the first class car

he would have an ordinary life
but i know he could describe the sand, the sky, the mountains,
the taste of the keurig coffee on a styrofoam cup
better than i could
better than the ones who know all the words
guess, it's not the poet that matters

if only i wasn't human.

i see the shadow of myself even in the dark of the night
and i think of the cold on my back and the pain of a handful of pills

and i think
if only i wasn't human, but myself
i would be better suited for those around

and if only i wasn't human
prone to god's graceful gift
of mistake, despair, ego, instinct, fallacy
mistake, biology

we're built to last lifetimes of all those
all the pain of lifetimes

and when comfort arrives:
the gifts.
we spend the hours instead in remorse

and as i lay another dead kitten in a shoebox for the garbage disposal
i think

and as i apologize none stop to those who i love
i think

and as i take another pill
and extinguish another cigarette
i think

if only i wasn't.

thing is, i told her
when we weren't saying i love you to each other
that i'd describe her in a million other ways

and when i told her i loved her
i couldn't stop saying it

now i can't tell her that
and i know i shouldn't

and now it seems
all the countless short, stupid poems
are coming back to me
after i have forgotten

but i hope it helps any of you

to know that i told someone

"they were the moon in a starless night"

that i want to tell her

"i imagined the warmth of the phone
on our sleep calls
were yours"

that i want her to know

"you were the two extra eyes i needed
to watch the sunset with"

wonderful, it was, to be young
to hold the sun on the palm of your hand
and the blue of the sky
out of your eyes

they say we live to rot and age regardless
seems, though, that the world ages without us
instead of us growing entropied

still
sleep on the bus like a tired old ant
wake to find your headset bud under your seat
become a child again, as the sun shines from headlights
and the blue of the coming night and the fleeting forever of a day well spent flies into your ears and skin

and you'd think instead
wonderful, it is, to age
to know how much you now can remember
and re-remember
remember your universe's wonderful bus rides
and park walks
and well spent pennies for ***** ice cream
to see your universe smile back

wonderful, it really is
knowing you held the world
and you were too

gazed upon the grand recite
on her noble stage
her kitchen floor

and you were full to the brim
with passion and effort
lo, you really tried to impress
impress everyone to think
you are worthy of an audience

and the three of us clapped
your ideas did strike
but after three beers and a few moments
your aglio e olio impressed us better

and i stayed for the afterparty
a guttered you in a cold warm couch

and you were too tired to impress
but nontheless you spoke
of fictions and literatures
and your very own life

and made it so
i couldn't tell
which was which
did you really live a life
of magic and splendor
in far off lands
with far off people

i am not the brightest
i am simple
i cheer when something is loud

but i digest
the simple things
to get from them
the nutrition
overanalyzed
nutrition

i liked it
when you said
you were going to change the world

i liked it better
when you said
i think the pasta's too spicy

i learned to love
another drunken poet
through a babbled prose

well, maybe i'm just lazy
to appreciate your effort
or tired
or drunk

but either way
i like you better

without the stanzas

slowly, the world gets busy
to sleep again

except those who rise to work in the dreary night
and those who live in the heat of the sun

but i live in dusk
i wake up at three
and have my breakfast

and when the sun sinks i join my kind
butterflies who sleep in flowers
taxi cabs busy bringing the busy home
cats waiting for their car engine roofs to arrive

and fireflies
lightning bugs
that shine green

in a street besides a forested lot
i join them
with my own embers

i am with those who are gone, those who's lives flash

in a group of a hundred emeralds
there is one ruby

and he is often tired
smoking a cigarette
awaiting

what is he waiting for?
he has no clue

but it always arrives
sometimes it's the winter
sometimes it's a nice girl
or dead politicians

but he hopes often
that it is a nice night of sleep

and warm pillows

and the next dusk
of souls

a day is a firefly
to flash and whimper

and i live in dusk...

only her corpse remains
but i still feel her in me

the color of fire
is reddish green
emotions which shouldn't exist
arrive to torment

my therapist intends me to remember
red, pink, orange
but when i close my eyes a blue mass dominates the field

and within blue
is the noise
of broken thoughts

where the green red resides
i remember francis bacon drawing the mona lisa
and mozart rapping
and wolfgang puck frying burgers on sewer grates

your corpse stinks, my dear
i cannot bear to stand
but i cannot force myself to leave you here either
for other carrion

why didn't you just stay alive
i didn't care for you enough when your skin was pink
now it's grey
like my days currently

and now the songs are sad
they were sad then, but now they're real
i hate it when it's real

the enlightened ones say
not to desire
no, desire built me
it built my love for you
maybe what i feel is desire mixed with honey
or turpentine
or hydrogen peroxide

and it all came crashing down
surprise surprise
death, huh

life will find a way
to end you

and life will turn emotions
into demons

and dull philosophies

and security guards
telling me to leave the morgue

goodbye, stiff

i     love    yo u

now, not anymore, i hope

smile for the camera
floating above you
there are flowers
everywhere

while they whisper to us
the sacred lines
a litany
to color the scene

hold up your palms
for the falling stars
the party's just ended
and you must go
don't wait for the cue
just run
trample the petals

we will reach you by morning time
before the lunch bells ring
and your hands will be scarred
but it will be beautiful

we'll cut the scene there
as the music plays
it was nice
being somewhere else

as i wait in traffic i look out on dusty skies and see glimpses of glory
beautiful glory, like the success of an entire day

and i take deep breaths and ponder
why is it so beautiful, why now

why do you look like memories
why do i want to scream out the name of my beloved and the names of grace
in the middle of the highway

it is more truthful than church
more insightful than universities
more relaxing than people stepping on you
tons more relaxing

but i look back now
as i light a cigarette at 5 pm
and i look above me

streaks of orange cirrus on a blue to ultramarine gradient
a waning moon and a waxing sun
peppered with nimbus

it is not as marvelous as memory

oh, i really do want to scream out your name

you and me together had our moment
where we just stared at the sunset sky

in the old times, days with no nicotine

and i told you
i love you the same way i love this epiphany
golden hour had passed but now this screams out prettier than any gemstone

the allure of heaven enticing mortal men
with nothing but a painting on the somber skies
enticed me same as your face and voice
and a smile worth every stellar

it brings me the smallest of sanity
calm waves on the sea of thought

memories of sunsets
of days worth living

walking around
expecting something

they never tell you
the branches you must cross
will never be as good
as stable ground

they quake at the weight
of your sorry being
they creak and snap
with every turn

but you'll have to find out yourself
you're in the right path
as long as you have someone
who's as lost as you are

and it's never anyone
when your head's too busy
watching your feet

i'm only as lost as i could be
and i'm never turning back
ever again

in another universe
my room is warm
and there's not a single mess in my bed
but your hair.


drop yours in the comments, i wanna see

it's that look
that you see
in her eyes
in his smile

liked to asked
if it could
if it should
i know i would

and i've been very stupid
i like the songs you've played
hope that in the colder nights
with you, that it would stay

it's not like it's a secret
oh, just come and see
it's in that look beyond me
that look that you could be

other than what the beatles have already sang about

in a dimly lit room
on that cold january night

the music from your broken phone
made the room warm with sunlight

and even in shadow
you glowed with ethereal light

in a drunken haze
i told you how i loved you

you replied
with the purest of smiles

and as we lay on the carpet
you told me
the rest of the year
wont be as good as this

and when the day ended
i knew
you were right

in a solemn summer day
i let my sins wash away
into the quiet sea
and i charged a bit more
to have my toenails clipped

the river of baptism will clean us for the lord
we cleanse in praise

only to walk once more
barefoot and barely there
the road of many
the life of most

i think his disciples weren't taught enough about the reality of things
to live a life of your own still means to walk the same road of sorrow
and peace
but mostly sorrow;
it is what makes calluses

god didnt mean for us to be clothed
to have shoes
he meant for us to tire the same

well, christ was only unlucky
to have preached what was unfortunately circumstantial

into the dust we shall return
meanwhile, we must walk through it
surprisingly, not even the best leather will keep us from stain

they haven't talked enough
how important his holy pedicure meant
often we need to wash our feet
before we step into someone else's shoes

i should have let you play that banjo ukulele in that grim dusty boutique

it would've been better than hearing myself talk to you

better than the silence afterwards.

you sound like ****.
and your voice is too high pitched
or too low pitched
or too monotonous
or too expressive
or too normal

and i don't want to hear from you again
no amount of rubber plugs will drown out all those things you said
all you say
all you will ever say
all you should have said

and i don't want to hear the highway
with it's loud horns and loud engines
i don't want to hear the working class toiling in smoke
the higher class shouting propaganda
the poor singing begs

i don't want to hear the crash of thunder
upon metal roofs
not the squall and rain
eroding cheap houses
not the high pitched tinnitus of the hottest noon
or the infrasound rumble of the coming storm

i don't want to hear your pop music
or your avant garde dishwashing
i don't want to hear your politicians with their shameless lies
your celebrities with their awful acting
your protestors with their empty outcry
your tanks and rifles replacing protest with barbarity

and you
you keep your mouth shut now
i don't want to hear
anymore of your retorts
do not excuse this world for being so noisy
you only make it a decibel more loud

nothing you can do to make it any better
go ahead and rip my ears with the cochlea
and i will hear the tearing flesh
followed by the searing noise
of exposed nerve
one more tumult of another unheard scream
more noises of more pain
louder in quietude
another
another

and no
not even pity
not even peace
not even silence

yes, not even silence

make sure to zip it while you make your way out
even if your thought speaks volumes

leave me be within my pandemonium

i've heard enough from you
and i've said too much
i don't want to hear myself complain anymore