Do you hear the old gods singing?
Through marble bones
And filtered sunlight
Their semblance,
Cold and undying
Painstakingly chiseled
And forced into placidity.
Yet still they sing.

August burned quickly, incipient nostalgia
prematurely vanished, mellow and gentle
sea stone on the tiled table, cedar plank
with fish, sunset through the eye-slit window

thigh high in life and riding wherever life
takes me like a hopeless romantic

i see the flyer at starbucks

"are you caucasian?
without mental health
and drug problems?"

wow
i don’t know the answer to any of these questions
is a jew a caucasian?
is the occasional naked, ****-slamming drunken rampage
a drug problem?
as for mental health
i’m a deadbeat poet and unpopular pop musician
i’ve got a job fighting death and boredom
and i just changed my facebook password to "eat ****"
my frustrations have driven weaker souls to homicide
but are these PROBLEMS?

Pretty white flowers
in the sun
The day’s just begun
Golden light falls across
Your face
It’s so lovely
The need to embrace you
Is strong
I do sense a sense of
Belonging

wide awake
but it feels like dream
am i sleeping,
but i feel everything
the places i am going
people i am talking to
tears i am weeping
laughs i am laughing
anger that i am venting
pain i am feeling
i feel  everything
yet it feels like a dream
dream that i can never break out from
cause everyday is the same

same but not the same
that same old happy picture frame
can't seem to get out of it
can't seem to forget about it
how happy times did exist .
guess  i lost myself trying to grow up
guess growing up means,
giving up on your old self.
the older you get ,
the bitter things tastes sweeter
cause it makes us feel better
to get through a day
that  feels  forever.