****, I don't know what to do about it
at one moment, it is in my grasp
and the next it escapes me
I get lost again, waking up from some sort of high class dream
left again with the coffee, the quesadilla, worries worries worries
trying to just take it day at a time,
when you wake up in a fury you feel like the world has already left for the station
My center lost, now nothing  to do but to read the news, ask the questions

the cloggers and their' share of dignified dirt,

t'nite, attach the ravens favorite food

and it comes it like species to sugar

to open water

People keep nagging at your neck
to learn the questions that they have learned last
they bite and spit and take and grip
for what they need
and then they drink
because that is their motion, because life is
to pass on
and that is all there is
and ever will be

they need to tell you
what they is to be known
(in their mind, anyway
and then they give you
more and more
******
UGH
PEOPLE
they are parasites! truly they wander
and roach the needle into the skin and **** the life back and take what has been


wear the blazer
well
and be rid of all
that will be

wear the blazer well
and be rid of all
that will be

bee stings
bee buzzez
by your ear
electronically




UGH but the lines!!!!!
LINES LINES LINES


and sweat
running down your neck
and big smiles
too big
too big
too big

YOURE A TRAITOR
YOU”RE FINISHED With THERAPY
YOU NOBODY
YOU NEED TO SCEREAM????
SCREAM AT eVERYONE
AND MAKE IT COUNT
YOU MUNSTREL


you singer






singer

singer
singer



singer




singer





I want to hear





the scream


of the rhino


I bet it just makes **** noises






too much

grass

artistic development
and I'm learning just
what I'm good at
and people here
can watch me do
my latest
by I am just
a regular guy
trying to write
songs for other peoples
rhymes
I've made my way
throughout the process
I've tried this and that
but nothing seems to
work
I'm trying to
understand exactly
what it is
I'm going to do
I will eventually
end up with
something
nothing, hahhahahahhahhahahaa
I relax a bit
and I allow myself to sit upon the floor for a minute
I let myself
get into
a spiral
of confusions
but then I let
myself go back
to something that
I can contain
I don't care if
the people saw me
in the state
that I was
I am a
good person
and I try to live
what is told to me
because I understand
there is so much suffering going through the word
I'll do my best
when you explain
what you
are going through
I will
try
I will
try

So I can sigh eternally,

alone with the page
and it is very relaxing
to exist in this way
alone
with the page,
and the space is clear for singing
but I don’t want much noise
just silence
when work is over
music would be too intrusive
no, just silence,
for the moment
please

the elderly want to tell their echoes because they knows that they will be left behind soon and that fears them, pride an legacy run so deep

men want to be the best they can be, something taught us that we must conquer the world, and men believe that this is their purpose
people swarm to wormholes, and then they get ****** dry

but these men, in their old age

have a spirit that needs to be expressed
try asking an old man
a question

I’m waiting for that titter tatter of brain matter to come in and let me know whats really going to happen below the belt, I’m waiting for that slash of mystery finish that will reveal whats hiding at the end of the tunnel, I’m waiting to be tossed about, build and ravished and destroyed, smashed into a million pieces and turned into tinker toys, I’m wanting to be broken down by scientific analysts only to be a mistake mystery explanation for string theory.  I’m hoping for a mixture of time axis, along the equator, letting the jukebox serenader agree to the next fashion statement.  I’m marveling at the mystery of mixed up majestic time tables, who will lead me to exactly where I need to be.  I just want the sweet marmalade nectar to fall down my throat and lead me to a dreamless sleep so I may wake up and know exactly where my destination lies, no coffee, complete. I’m yearning for the woods to call on my name and show me the nook where the fallen spirits lay and they will help me, take my hand and show me the horror so I know when to hide and when to come out and be alive.  I’m gazing at paintings and marveling at the different colors and letting the textures be examples of how to stroke and at the precise moment when a mirage becomes a masterpeice.  I’m noodling with the spaghetti stories and taking my turn to lead it to the guru who will finish it with one hand held up, and a finger gone, understanding the principles of buddhism.  I’m throwing knives in the air and letting them fall into the sand then dropping acid and doing a dance between their places, knowing very well that I may land and meet my gruesome death.  I am putting my feet up and staring at the ceiling and knowing its distinct features, its bubbles, its textures, and the answers?  they are only in the subtle hum of the air conditioner, the ceilings stoic nature, and the space between.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6XLEGu6gvI&feature;=youtu.be

YEHEEEEEEE

the spigot has run dry, its a desert out here, grimace while you’re trying to make it, trying to ******, the bars are beckoning, madness, out of your control, the smoke around your face, you’re laid out on your back, a defeatist, shackled to the plank, memories stick and then they fade out, wasted, wasted away, and you follow with your hands, you shove them into the dirt, and you try to remake what was given to you,, you put eyes in the little scuplture, but its crooked, and it stands helpless amongst the others, in a display window, where passersby think that it is creepy,

"creepy"!!!!

they say, and that is what you are, combing, combing, chasing down airplanes that departed for the towers, their destination is history, and their timing is a bead in your eye, in time, it halts right before it strikes you, inimaginable quest, one episode, and then, its over

sCRAP WORK *******!!!!!
HAHAHAHJAHHAHAHJAHAHAHJ



BLAH BLAHB AHALDJFAKDFJADFKJAKDFJADKFJA

I am capable of being an inticate wirter,

I have the happensatance on happenstance,
a
nd lecture to the gods that made wine and whiskey decent,,

so I'll sar face, and tell you that I will dissolveinto a bottole of decent phd balanced wtaer...

you are amiliar with thoseairpborre [ils? yeah thats's thow I go,,
I dissovlvejust just like a hellbent sailor, and a hellbent sailor ispnetjhat smils sand glssensup the deck


and isdefinitel inthe crowsnest

I promise you, your poetry *****


signed,

The Muskrat

are you a stranger, a villian, or a wonderful story?

cloaked in eagerness, are you bearded and magnificent?  cloaked in sheepishness, are you hatted and stached?  tell me vanity, where u at?

is everything about you and we all lie about it, or is nothing about and you means something when we deny it

I hope that you are not too sensitive to my pondering, I admire your power, it seems to me that people buy a lot of things for your sake,

as religious, as deeply rooted desire, are you intensely desire?  do your eyes burn as my do?  are you tired of people drawing attention to your exterior?  are you gods child?  are you on his mission?

I would understand and respect that, but I'm not sure if thats where you at

are you compare yourself to the light that shines over the mirror or the mirror itself?  do you have a special shelf for products, or are you the messy type?  I could see that you would be the messy type in private but perfectly ornate in public to over-compensate

maybe that was mean, I don't mean to be offensive, I study you because I fancy you, not in a ****** way, admire you, your charm, I'd like to figure you out for my own contemptlations, so that when people talk of you I will have my own rule and the whole conversation would be easier to tune out, I would thank you for that little bit.  


Vanity, have a drink with me, questions questions questions!

little about last nights performance
I sang a song for the bartender
I said something like
tip your bartender
or something like that
it was cheesy
but I think the old guy appreciated it
he charged me less for my beers
when I left


But I did a few numbers
mingled with other artists
everyone was very respectful
and one artist said to me
"no disrespect or anything, but I wasn't paying attention during your set"
and he was genuine about it, he had long hair, kind of the last breed of new york beatnik
he was almost saying naumas day to me or something like that
and I responded,
"no its good for me, It makes me better when people aren't playing attention because it challenges me"

the look in his eyes was sincere, again
we didn't say anything to each other after that

Ben and I have plans
to put together a show
and we're gonna do a poetry set

I felt so guilty
for leaving early
the truth is I didn't feel like sitting through their set
I was tired and I had to wake up early for therapy
so I got up and started walking out
the bartender only charged me six bucks for two Guinness and a shot of whiskey
and I went back and grabbed my coat
and I was out of there
and took a cab home

To the news
I paid attention to you, I searched for a few answers
for a few seconds
and you taught me a couple of things
there are brutalities, and their are downsides to perfectly cleaned sinks
you told me should and you recommended rulers
I paid attention and then I closed the window
I paid attention to the pictures and read the headlines but didn't actually read the headlong
to the news
I confess, I'm sorry I did this
the problem is I'm prejudiced, and grumpy
and I'm convinced that you aren't going to teach me something I don't already know
then I exited your window
Sorry about that,
Seany

I spoke with a  poet yesterday
(I read poetry at this open brain and I was nervous out of my mind)
and both of us bombed so I went over to him while my girlfriend was talking with some other friends to say hello.  I told him good job even though I didn't really mean it, but I was bad too so I needed some company, anyway we talked about what poetry is and should be, and I got involved in this long pretentious conversation about art.  He asked me what magic is, and I said "Harry Potter" we both laughed.  His other point is that poetry should reveal some kind of truth, and I believed in the complete opposite.  I said poetry should be a way to escape, we laughed at our disagreement and then we drank to that.  That was the end of the conversation, but my point is this,

poems poems poems,
who reads these ****** things anyway?

the craving
to make it happen
to make it witness
to draw without measure
to eat all the time
to exist on the carousel
with holden caulfield
trying to look cool
and coming up
in the end
with the edge
again
isn't it
beautiful?

Woe the charisma of this place
One kid who was alpha, is alpha
Is in trouble because he hit someone
Or someone hit him
And he decided it was just to hit back
And coach sits him down and says
Life throws things at us, this life, this existence, he looks out over everything and he sees, he had been there, he has been all over, to prison, to award and glory, to dance floor, he has seen and he says this life, this life
And that is that

And the three of us
Look out over everything

Stranded at edges, holding onto nothing, got nothing but a few pairs of decent clothes, your scarf, holding on with nothing but a few tree branches, the wind carrying off with madness, outs a fairytale ride, in the rearview mirror is pride, looking at you, mocking you, some sort of biological mistake, unstuck out of certainties, what the ****?  try to give me some sort of detail, and i'll escape down the slide towards my own sanity!  

Oh what? you're mad at me?  fault is in the heart, and fault has to do with who gets caught, fault has to do with the self, fault in law and thought myself

so... what doesn't want to be written?

myself!  it scurries away from me when I least expect it, peter pan would have to sit down scratch his head and think about this one

god ******, shoot it with a bow and arrow!   pin it down and force it to choke up a few lines that actually mean something!!

no no, waste of time, I guess, waste of time

something about shotgun poems
shot on hello poetry
put it all on the line
where I have a few seconds
to write something
from the gut
let it spray
then its done
and then the internet
takes its course
its pretty ******
cool
I think Hank
would have had helloofva time
with this game

so I'll sip my wine
and wait to pounce

lead me to temptation

you little bully of tequila, you're better than that, she whispered in my ear
and I decided to take it up a notch, that I did

and you hit the sweet spot for a little while and that is more than alight

take a large huff and puff and then win a game, you nectar ******* juicer ready to pounce on wheat bread, ha

lay it out and lay in on, lay the spicy mustard on the pastrami, please

please, and thank you, please and thank you

there's a song where they call them the magic words

and boy oh boy, isn't that a charming notion

breathing fire
dreaming the horrific dreams
spending days a sponge, emulating
MULCH
TAKE
SPIT
picking at the sobbing satyr that is begging to be
Plucked
stirring up the soft drink and making it
too hot to touch
MINE
TAKE
SPIT
or shall I go?

NO

never, I lift, I am a winged animal, heavy as a pig
dragging on the end of one long spliff
I spit
WHIFF
I'm IT

Is drudgery
fixated in time, unkept
mixed mockery
television shows
and showers, bath tubs
the sink, its flow
Facebook info
no lines, no purpose
no therapy
just drink, the woman
the fan

feeling in between, like no bubble can bring to the lips

conterfeit, lost in abyss, wanting so badly, want for a word that says, this
then grapple for eternity

stumble on stumbling letters, falling into place like a melody

existing in a moment in time, beat down and empowered, all there is to it, all there is to release it, all there is to compose!  to grasp!  Wait your turn that never comes

and I sit cross legged, with a  cup of coffee and I look back shaking my head, oh how far I've come, man here's to that

I ask forgiveness from my old dog, who I neglected...the poor boy is gone

****** stuck in muck, where can the process emerge, how can the subtlety grasp onto the big leviathan, allowing little particles of coconut goodness to sprinkle over towns, bringing a day of glory and joy

the power to forgive, between the auto-pilot of conversation, read out loud, pronounced as a competition!  

reverting back to that old way of sales pitch, selling forgiveness on the streets!  Tainted?  no, more like...genuine intent but lost in translation, lost in apathy, deaf ears, no

forgiveness, not to forget, but to make the personal decision, a selfish thing, really, to forgive yet never speak to the person ever again

I'll take a glass of that and raise you fifty

lost again.  thought I had found something, but then you seem to fall on your *** or wake up confused. that’s why the night makes more sense sometimes, because you can just let the night take away your sense of needing to get something done, the night doesn’t have any expectations of you.  The day expects things, the day beckons you.  The night is cold and careless, its when the bad things happen, its when the drinks happen, and all the good ideas happen, too.

dawness, dawn, cracking the time, cracking the rules, hearing them again again aagian, once or twice once or twice, to have them implanted on your feet but to still **** them up, to **** them up on purpose....that is the key...

God help those who are dying

Forgive me for things said, I try to be a good person

Understand my frailties, my weaknesses

allow me to learn to let go, without harming anyone

May our similarities keep me humble, and our differences set me free

change what I can, and do not suffer over what I cannot

Please

my room is supported by tons of concrete, metal, a bit of wood and insulation.  In my chamber, theres an odious and embarassing dispaly of empty bottles, beer and wine bottles... casino bycycle cards for good measure, untouched pringles... and varios other comforts and pleasures.  

Adjacent to the counter stands an enormous concrete support beam, almost invisible with its cream stucco finish.  almost a place to put your hand while you are stretching, instead.  

My back feels stiff beaucause I danced too much, and what I really want is to feel something so comulsurary and veiny and terrible that I feel lucid with liberyy and pride.  These kinds of feelings, one has to look for them.  They aren't on the streets, there in some sort of sweat dream found when fixing something in the microwave or standing in the correct corner of the space, turniing on the floor lamp just so.  

I need to find it.  I must find it...

just keep writing little melodies
soft and sweet
and harsh and in between
fragrances smelled in the middle of the night
taking on their magic flow
dwindle and fall into what is
and make it work wonders all over the side of the wall
and drop ash into the discovery plate working framers framing cash
perhaps there was a fight?
don’t worry about that
just play through the jungle
working on masked critters
creating jellyfish with their new makers
shaking violently at the end of a new scene
and making worthy the shocking ending of beauty
and conjuring makeshift work on tranquilly
and understanding
letting the appreciated
be appreciated
and letting the disenfranchised
have a little piece of the pie
its all in measures
and its working just fine
letting people grow old together
alnd letting new ones know where to take it in
and deciding in the end
that it is all a catch
and the worthless dying speak to the worthless still
and the growing old must grow old quickly
and they preach their insanity
and then the man asks himself
Am I a platform for people to stand on?

just for tonight
hold me tight
I'll expel, I shiver, my legs, my hat falls off the bed
one more cry, tonight, one more, tug at collar
begging, please

one more cry, tonight

Today started off with a  laugh
and mozart
and I'll tell you that it was funny, and it lasted the morning
the way she dances to him makes me live inside, sporadic and silly, and between us our youth makes us strong and vibrant
I have no secrets
for a second I wanted to say that I had a few
but the secrets have been
harboured
they don't matter to us anymore
in this particular love song
I sing it in the same tempo
as I always do
and some may search it in the search engine

but I bet that most won't
but that won't stop me from writing you a hundred more
until it fits just right

I'm dancing around stars, boo
I'm dancing in the moonlight

you like that line?
I thought you would

I'll take a break from writing
when the words are no longer coming
I'll shave my face, baby
when its time to become a member of society
but until then, I'll rise at 11:30 am
no shower
and mozart
with you singing along
and all the power in the world

you and me, silly
we're meant to be
meant to be
let me rephrase
I got you under my skin
let me imitate blue eyes for a moment
and may mine turn green
beauty is deep
and we've got each other to thank for that

brewing a cup of coffee
takes time
and I sit, and I made love all day
and it was quite
refreshing
and we sit here, looking over
facebook posts and whatnot
and my **** is sore from *******
and I feel great
the coffee is brewing
and I will sip when it’s ready

I got invited to do a poetry reading
and I'm really excited about it
we're going to try to film the whole thing
I'm in my prime, I'm ready to take on the world
as I sit
in my apartment
and await the next chapter

sometimes it is easier to laugh, and other times, its weeping, its complete falling down the waterfall, sailing on a little leaf , next to rats who eat my body, make commercials for cheeses, they have the hunger in their eyes and their pick their teeth with toothicks, hang back with their bellies full and watch the stars overhead, triumphant and warm, rats,coated in ****, content as can be, straight out of a disney movie, their coats distinctive from one another, scampering down the way, always looking for realism, jealousy isn’t an issue, envy is motivation. Ever lasting life. hellish little rodents, swine, but honest.
can I lick the fabric, the flypaper, and hope that my tounge won’t dissolve? crushing it with my fist, its something new, and I don’t understand that. How do things tell stories? Why do I continue to feel moral, even in the face of the most liberating hell, that speaks true to my rattling bones, what is the string on top of my head that levitates me towards the heavens, forcing me to believe, to give my body to it, to starve for it, to throw it upon gears, singing gospel and hating the lie churning in my gut, why do I repent when I know a closeted sinner is blessed as well

Young expectations
beginning at the age of three
and making their way
through the centuries
feeling self conscious about
something, and having a say
feeling in your gut
that it isn't going
to work out
the people that come through
to help you along
the people that come through
to help you
along
and they warp into a sense of
wanting, yearning, looking for endings
relaxed, relaxed, relaxed, relaxed
and finding it optional
whether its going to work out at all

and it was an effective
teaching tool
I also told her
to create, then to create another
and she did that too, and then
I put her picture on the wall
she was very happy

I accepted plea and promise for two-dollar chorus

perhaps my bargain is between two socal natives whom argued eternally with their voices

it would be humorous, a confused face and a distinguished disguise,


still a jagged faced bordercolie will understand how to open the cages at the right times....where are the mice and squirrells?  where are the pigeons for the crows (crows for mice) and hummingbirds?  

******, there ought to be birdfeed and dinner squirrels that bask in their breakfast by dining till the next full moon

emerge fat and insist on treadmills and marathons and kickboxing

only one can find such a annulment in shanghai's incense-filled withstanding structures, adjacent to the bank and mcdonalds

you will find a squiggle that keeps dissappearing down the sewer drains and sidewalks

it knows something, or at least contains

sulfites and antioxidants

We put them
in a bad place
we put them
in a bad place

I ignored a man
before the storm
I ignored a man
before the storm

and I went out there
with my groceries in hand
and I went out there
with my groceries in hand

then I walked home
then I walked home

I am addicted also
to the poem
blowing a sentiment bubble
they fly overhead and I like to
catch them in my hand
with the right amount of suds
they sit there, bublbous as ever
and they shine against the sun
and I admire their beauty, and then
as a wizard
I let them float away
once
again

and comfortable with it

letting go of that grasp, of the desire for immense power

something deep inside of anyone deprived of it

one has to ask themselves, how much do they really need?  how much anxiety must one endure, go through in order to grasp it?

the peaceful mind, is it enough?   there's truth in all kinds of things, its flakey like most things, but its comforting enough when it rolls off the tongue, in the opportune moments

scenes from a play, seems from a hat, don't know what you'll get, or where your head will be at

predictability, or to be comfortable with the uncertainty

oh, pass it on, pass it on, say yes to that one

BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH


KITTENS!!!!

BLAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH

what should I do with my life

not worry so much

I laughed, he laughed

he's in a rental car, he'll call me right back

start doing it

okay

a stoic, I am, meant to be

passing by slowly

long times spent gazing out the window

the snow on top of the adjacent roof wouldn't know

I am a stoic, but less noble

tilt the head back and let in, let in,

what needs to be dealt with

decisions, decisions, plainly, dealt with, all the same

a stoic, remember my name

If I ever lose my sense of hearing
I will write poems about silence

and that silence
will be alright, alright, alright

a storage unit meant for all kinds of arrangements

mostly quilts and toys from residents who didn't want to bother, even with the junk people...

or didn't even really have the money or time to move out properly

they were arranged, all like this...

the quilts, dusty plastic baby boosters..

more quilts and used beds,

and then there was a guitar...

and a pair of running shoes- i opted for the more colorful pair

I depart the unit,

I've got an axe to grind...

In the light of the night
there is something to be discovered
and every little man dreaming it
wants it to be on the cover
let every *** be on the same plain
and let the people all see that people are equal
and they will work on what they need to work on
and there will be peace
and there will be peace
and drop in around like an unclaimed number
falling on toil of a lovely voice
that sings about idealism and how we are imagined
and anything sang can be sung possible


Oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one

oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one
we are one

oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one
we are one

I have lost a thousand poems
and I will lose a thousand more

I like to
rip
them
up

Delete, delete, delete
a creation, created
then destroyed
forever

watch videos of me performing poetry

https://plus.google.com/u/0/115356065360543474720/posts

hangs in the clearing
of time
unstuck
as vonnegut would put it
I sometimes imagine that
and I
am born again