laud me for choking on my own spit,
it's an intelligent thing to do.

obligated with such atrocities
are all the universe's riches
so for dignity's sake and not my own
i convinced myself it's how we operate

how intelligently can a thing be characterized?
you've been giving me strange looks

getting myself up for work these days is hard,
i swear there's something different
and don't forget not to get all uppity with me
about how you, your daddy, and your grand daddy
don't know any other way

he stays in rotation the one with his spear pointed at my eye
i wonder why

i think my weaknesses were built in
you want to blame me for them
i encounter situations where everything closes off
but here's the thing, i know what you're up to.

and you will do that and i might just feel bad for being alive

no... I don't read like the famous writers of old
I'm a bad shot and I **** at guitar
I'm half Argentine and I can't speak Spanish
And I tend to get cold feet when I start a new job.

I'm just a broken man with a **** poor outlook on life
But in my own little world when you're holding in your violence
I savor every last drop of life that comes

Of course he has to write a poem
For his biological mom

All fractals and dancing crystals
Singing life across the world

They're spinning bravely on woodland trails,
All trilliums and violets and pink lady's slippers
Even invasive narcissus, obliged by the drops of morning dew

He's happy there,
And he thinks to himself:
I must have come
From somewhere...

She is a blazon of Love
Vibrant with galaxies, nebulae
And bioluminescence
The glow of her mind sprouting flowers and funny things

Deep in her heart,
She finds Love as a spring

You were never very good
At guitar

Absurdity complex,
The melting distractions,
The value of poetry.

A man calls himself to tell himself he is confused,
And unsure why he is calling himself.

Someone is on a pedestal,
Another one is ground beneath the iron wheels of fate.

No one did anything wrong,
But we gasp and shake our heads at the news.

Except we all did something wrong,
And someone's gotta pay for it.

I guess I chose sin for myself,
But that doesn't make any sense.

I guess it's time to be uncertain.

My poetry feels dull and lifeless

I cant write better than my own death
How do I compete?

And he whittles his stick
And it whittles him back
They've done it before
But they're glad to be back
He's fletching an arrow
He's making a bow
It feels a bit different from decades ago,

But he has the Wind
Like never before

If you
Were dead-set on collapsing
It's just something that happens

This won't be easy and it's
Gonna take some time

And let the poison pass by

Because God knows there's enough up above
And inside me
Inside you is the sky