We look for Satan with the same intensity
that my mom and dad looked for God.

In retrospect
my parents were always pushing me to expand my consciousness
by huffing glue or gasoline
or chewing peyote buttons.
Simply because they'd done their time,
wasted their teen years
lolling in the muddy fields of Vermont
and the salt flats of Nevada,
naked except for rainbow face paints
and a thick coating of sweaty filth,
their heads festooned
with fifty pounds of fetid dreadlocks,
teeming with crab lice
and pretending to find enlightenment...
That does NOT mean I have to make the same mistake.

Sorry, Satan,
once again I've said the G-word.

Without breaking stride,
Leonard nods and points
to indicate the former deities of now-defunct cultures,
now warehoused in the underworld.
Among them: Benoth,
a god of the Babylonians;
Dagon,
an idol of the Philistines;
Astarte,
goddess of the Sidonians;
Tartak,
the god of the Hevites.

My suspicion
is that my parents treasure their sordid recollection
of episodes at Woodstock and Burning Man
not because those pastimes led to wisdom,
but because such folly
was inseparable from a period of their lives
when they were young
and unburdened by obligation;
they had free time, muscle tone,
and their futures still looked like a great, grand adventure.
Furthermore,
both my mother and father had been free of social status
and therefore had nothing to lose by cavorting ****,
their swollen genitals smeared with muck.

Thus,
because they had ingested drugs and flirted with brain damage,
they insisted I should do likewise.
I was forever opening my boxed lunch at school
to discover a cheese sandwich,
a carton of apple juice,
carrot sticks,
and a five-hundred-milligram Percocet.
Tucked within my Christmas stocking
--not that we celebrated Christmas--
would be three oranges,
a sugar mouse, a harmonica,
and quaaludes.
In my Easter basket
--not that we called the event Easter--
instead of jelly beans,
I'd find lumps of hashish.
Would that I could forget the scene at my twelfth birthday party
where I flailed at a piñata,
wielding a broomstick in front of my peers
and their respective
former-hippie, former-rasta,
former-anarchist throwback parents.
The moment the colorful papier-mâché burst,
instead of Tootsie Rolls or Hershey's Kisses,
everyone present
was showered with Vicodins,
Darvons, Percodans,
amyl nitrate ampoules,
LSD stamps,
and assorted barbiturates.
The now wealthy,
now-middle-aged parents
were ecstatic,
while my little friends and I couldn't help
but feel a tad bit cheated.

That,
and it doesn't take a brain surgeon to understand
that very few twelve-year-olds
would actually enjoy attending
a clothing-optional birthday party.

Some of the most gruesome images in Hell
seem downright laughable
when compared to seeing an entire generation of adults
stripped **** and wrestling on the floor,
grasping and panting in frantic competition
for a scattered handful of codeine capsules.

The first fight club was just Tyler and I
pounding on each other.

It used to be enough that when I came home angry
and knowing that my life wasn't toeing my five-year plan,
I could clean my condominium or detail my car.
Someday I'd be dead without a scar
and there would be a really nice condo and car.
Really, really nice,
until the dust settled
or the next owner.
Nothing is static.
Even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.
Since fight club, I can wiggle half the teeth in my jaw.

Maybe self-improvement isn't the answer.

Tyler never knew his father.

Maybe self-destruction is the answer.

Tyler and I still go to fight club, together.
Fight club is in the basement of a bar, now,
after the bar closes on Saturday night,
and every week you go
there's more guys there.

Tyler gets under the one light
in the middle of the black concrete basement
and he can see that light flickering
back out of the dark
in a hundred pairs of eyes.
First thing Tyler yells is,
"The first rule about fight club
is you don't talk about fight club.

"The second rule about fight club,"
Tyler yells,
"is you don't talk about fight club."

Me,
I knew my dad for about six years,
but I don't remember anything.
My dad,
he starts a new family
in a new town
about every six years.
This isn't so much a family
as it's like he sets up a franchise.

What you see at fight club
is a generation of men
raised by women.

...

You aren't alive anywhere like you are at fight club.
When its you and one other guy
under that one light
in the middle of all those watching.
Fight club isn't about winning or losing fights.
Fight club isn't about words.
You see a guy come to fight club for the first time,
and his *** is a loaf of white bread.
You see the same guy here six months later,
and he looks carved out of wood.
This guy trusts himself to handle anything.
There's grunting and noise at fight club
like at the gym,
but fight club isn't about looking good.
There's hysterical shouting in tongues
like at church,
and when you wake up Sunday afternoon
you feel saved.

She put on her make-up, her dress and her watch
She pulled up her socks and put up her hair
And in her hair, she placed the umbrella

The small green umbrella
had at first been a joke.
There in her cocktail
on their very first date.
He had taken it from the ice,
setting it above her left ear.

She walked out the door, down the driveway, to the car
She pulled out from the drive, and into the street
And in the rearview mirror, she caught the umbrella

She had worn it on each
of their dates after that.
Through all the long years.
Through all the happiness,
and sometimes the fights.
It always kept them connected.

She entered the building made of soft colored stone
She met with the nun, who helped her with the practice procession
Through her walks down the aisle, the sister noticed, but didnt ask, about the umbrella

She had worn it the night
that he had proposed,
just as she would
on the day they would wed;
and the next ten years after that.

She saw more cars pull up, more friends and family arrive
She met with them all, and spoke with them softly
They were all accustomed, of course, to the fifteen year old, faded, umbrella

Ten years after the wedding
she still had the keepsake.
She had even been wearing it
on the most tragic of days.
The day of the accident,
the one she survived.

So she walked down the aisle, and arrived center stage
She smiled at the calm face of the man that she loved
She then reached up to her hair, and inside his casket she placed

The Small Green Umbrella

The ice sifting in my glass
melts as the full moon sets
Another vice, constricting,
like a tightly wound corset
I can't be around so many people
in such familiar atmospheres
without a mixed drink and a cigarette
intervening through my beers

On her phone, at the table
She seems alone but not ashamed
I wonder if a single person here
could even guess her name
For a little liquid courage
I finish up my drink
I transfer to a closer chair
and ask on what she thinks

"I've got a past consumed by lovers
and a future filled with death
But the only thing I've ever wanted
was someone else inside my head
I want to hear somebody understand
that I don't always feel so fine"
I think I start to fall in love
as she pirouettes her glass of wine

She tells me how she grew up
on shattered hopes and dreams
Yet everything she's ever needed
has been well within her reach
The scars that she has
they paint a vivid history
A reminder of the past
A tour guide, makeshift, just for me

We talk a little longer
We joke and we sing
Halfway through her bottle
her ride informs us she's leaving
She says "I think I'm gunna miss you
when I'm alone laying in bed
Unless you want to take me there
and tuck me in instead"

We head out to the main street
where I hail us a taxi
She says she wants to split my headphones
and hear something relaxing
So we listen to Alcoa
Cab Rides & Cigarettes
I never knew that such a sad song
Could evoke such an affect




I dropped
her off
and left

But I'm glad
that we
had met

(8:20 P.M.)
I'm out my back door
and into the cities
I've got my hat, phone, wallet,
lighter and keys.
It's a short little walk,
the gas stations not far.
I see where they parked,
I enter the car.

(8:30 P.M.)
Kelsey grabs my hand
and looks me in the eye,
she ignores the centipedes
she sees,
or at least she tries,
she then calmly explains
she's out-of-bodied
the entire car ride
and how she's been
counting the stars
even though its not quite night.
She says we're swimming
through the mountains
and climbing up the seas
but from where I'm sitting
we're still in the back seat.
I ask, "Hey, what's she on?"
"I think LSD.
But don't worry, it's cool,
she's dating the guy
throwing this thing."

(8:40 P.M.)
It's a twenty minute ride,
crammed into the Taurus,
but Ashley's in the front,
getting shots poured out for us.
"To a good night!"
We laugh and proclaim,
we down the first drinks
and start the pre-game.
Hennepin then Franklin
then Grand avenue.
We've already got a buzz
now were smokin buds, too.

(9:05 P.M.)
We pull up
just as the suns going down
and as the moon peeks her face
out from under the clouds.
There's already some kid
face down in the grass
some brilliant soul's pulled his pants down
and sharpied his ***.
I guess he shouldn't have passed out
with his shoes still on;
hopefully nobody patrolling
sees him lying in the lawn.

(9:06 P.M.)
The second thing we notice
are the angels on the porch
They've already bent their halos
and lost their wings, of course.
The beautiful brunette
with half her head shaved
turns to welcome us
with a big friendly wave.
With a smile on her face she says,
"Hi! I'm Mel!
Welcome to our party;
welcome to Hell!"
"Where should we put our drinks?"
"Just leave em in your car!
We've got three kegs
and our very own bar!"
We're escorted inside,
in front of at least a hundred people,
and brought to the roof
with a sign that reads Steeple.

(9:20 P.M.)
Jon's tipping a bottle,
just waiting for Kelsey.
He asks her right away,
"Babe, will you marry me?"
She's too far gone
to know what to say,
so he wraps her in a hug
that makes everything okay.
It's clearly a cute joke,
just some little spiel,
but Kels is so high
she thinks that it's real.

(10:30 P.M.)
We all decide its best
if we leave those newly wed
because, to be frank,
there was a lot of PDA going on in their bed.
Mel starts to lead us
down the winding stairs,
by now the broken halo
escaped from her hair.
She said seeing Kels and Jon
made her feel lonely
so she needs another drink
and wants to get to know me.

(11:45 P.M.)
As it turns out
she's a good partner for pong;
but now she wants to sneak off,
to go rip up her ****.
So we take a trip down the hall
and slide through her door.
let me preface this part:
I never expect to score.

(11:50 P.M.)
She gives the lighter a spark.

(11:53 P.M.)
We're making out in the dark.

(12:15 A.M.)
The silence is broken,
we hear someone scream.
We look at each other,
"What the Hell could that mean?"

(12:20 A.M.)
We're scared, so we joke
about what it could be.
The most likely reason?
Something scared the heavens out of Kelsey.
We say she's probably worried
about alien transplants
and the whole entire time
I'm not wearing my pants.

(12:21 A.M.)
"The cops are here!"
I jumped and ran from her bed.
I don't think I'll see those red skinny jeans
ever again.
I manage a quick goodbye
and then I'm into the Hall.
I find my friend Ashley
and our sober cab Paul.
"Kelsey's with the cops
and Tom left with Nancy,
our cars down the road,
lets head to the street."

(12:25 A.M.)
As we sneak out the back
we hear the cops speak:
"The first kid we found
had **** drawn on his **** cheeks."

(1:05 A.M.)
After a while
the three of us arrive,
back to my place,
though we started with five.
The drive back was extended,
even if Paul was driving well,
because in my drunken stupor
I made him stop at Taco Bell.
We head through the porch,
My roommate's still up.
He asks if we wanna drink
and then goes to grab cups.

(1:50 P.M.)
After a few rounds of Kings
Paul's on the couch, fast asleep,
and James went downstairs,
It's just me and Ashley.

(2:00 A.M.)
We turn a movie on
and we sit in my bed.
We discuss all the things
going through both of our heads.
For three straight hours
she flirted up some guy
'til his girlfriend walked in
and started to cry.
She called Ashley a *****
who swore she didn't know
while dude stared at the ground
and said, "Sorry, bro."
Ashley had enough,
she hates being called a guy,
so she winded one up
and kissed her fist to his eye.

(3:00 A.M.)
We didn't watch the movie,
we just talked some more,
until we fell asleep
keeping one another warm.
Two old friends,
two trips in different Hells
and the only thing to do afterwords
was to laugh at ourselves.
Two old friends,
who's hunt for love was a blunder,
who consoled their loneliness
by wrapping up in each other.

A child learns to walk
his way to becoming a man.
A man learns to sit down, shut up
and listen to the master plan.
Seems kinda backwards 
to a guy like me,
so I'll keep walkin' on,
keep bein' free.
They say the grass is greener
on life's other side
so I took a trip,
I went for the ride.
I arrived and I saw
a new point of view,
I showed up refreshed,
feelin' somethin' new.
So I decided
that I'd stay for a while.
Got better reacquainted
with my inner child.
I spent my youth workin' hard
tryin' to grow up,
at twenty years of life I realized
that I hadn't lived enough.
So I opened up my heart and mind,
started trustin' everyone
except those who won't accept me,
those relationships are done.
Peace and love
and all that other good stuff
too many other people
just don't look for it enough.
But I started to accept it
once I opened my mind,
once I broke on through
to the other side.
Trap me in a room
with some normal populace
I'll be antisocial
in my head makin' lists,
'cause I wanna be sure
I don't end up like them.
My life, mind and time ain't as simple
as the suit and tie men.
But put me in a place
with people dyin' to be free
I'll have a smile on my face
and a reason to be me.
I'll enjoy myself,
I'll dance, laugh and love
and know Gods smilin' down on me
up from above.
He didn't give us life
to fill with work, stress and tears,
he never expected us
to face all our fears.
He loves us and he wants us
to be happy and free
like bluebirds in the sky
doin' whatever they please.

*** starved and aging badly
Too many cigarettes and 'dank *** ****'
Bad tattoos and ****** hair so scraggly
He's called in sick to work all week

He set his high score four years ago
But she broke his heart last June
Now he's stuck in his parents basement
Doing speed runs on Halo 2

She has no cash to feed her cats
But she bought two wigs on Monday
She dresses up like anime girls
And thinks she'll be famous someday

She'll tell you she's just keeping it real
While dressed like someone from science fiction
She meets the boy at some comic con
And they go to her hotel room to make friction

...

Edgelords and meme queens
Addicted to the obscene
Spewing hateful words
With no care for what they mean

It seems that even the regals
                                   Are doing their kegels

I sleep with my bed on the ground,
like the Japanese men.
I drown in the floorboards
again and again.
Dreams of dragons and kami,
embodied forms of yin.
They feed on my bones.
They feed on my skin.

You said I was just a street rat
An Aladdin with no Abu
But if I only had three wishes,
I wouldn't waste a single one on you
The first would be for money
The second would fix my crooked jaw
and my third and final wish
Would get me the **** out of Agrabah

“I can believe things that are true
and things that aren't true
and I can believe things
where nobody knows
if they're true or not. 

I can believe in Santa Claus
and the Easter Bunny
and the Beatles
and Marilyn Monroe
and Elvis
and Mister Ed.
Listen -
I believe that people are perfectable,
that knowledge is infinite,
that the world is run
by secret banking cartels
and is visited by aliens
on a regular basis,
nice ones
that look like wrinkled lemurs
and bad ones who mutilate cattle
and want our water and our women. 

I believe that the future *****
and I believe that the future rocks
and I believe that one day
White Buffalo Woman is going to come back
and kick everyone's ***.
I believe that all men
are just overgrown boys
with deep problems communicating
and that the decline
in good *** in America
is coincident
with the decline in drive-in movie theaters
from state to state. 

I believe that all politicians
are unprincipled crooks
and I still believe that they are better
than the alternative.
I believe that California
is going to sink into the sea
when the big one comes,
while Florida
is going to dissolve into madness
and alligators
and toxic waste. 

I believe that antibacterial soap
is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease
so that one day
we'll all be wiped out by the common cold
like martians in War of the Worlds. 

I believe that the greatest poets of the last century
were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis,
that jade is dried dragon *****,
and that thousands of years ago
in a former life
I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. 

I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars.
I believe that candy
really did taste better when I was a kid,
that it's aerodynamically impossible
for a bumble bee to fly,
that light is a wave and a particle,
that there's a cat in a box somewhere
who's alive and dead
at the same time
(although
if they don't ever open the box
to feed it
it'll eventually just be
two different kinds of dead),
and that there are stars in the universe
billions of years older
than the universe itself. 

I believe in a personal god
who cares about me
and worries
and oversees everything I do.
I believe in an impersonal god
who set the universe in motion
and went off to hang with her girlfriends
and doesn't even know
that I'm alive.
I believe in an empty and godless universe
of causal chaos,
background noise,
and sheer blind luck. 

I believe that anyone
who says *** is overrated
just hasn't done it properly.
I believe that anyone
who claims to know what's going on
will lie about the little things too. 

I believe in absolute honesty
and sensible social lies.
I believe in a woman's right to choose,
a baby's right to live,
that while all human life is sacred
there's nothing wrong with the death penalty
if you can trust the legal system
implicitly,
and that no one but a *****
would ever trust the legal system. 

I believe that life is a game,
that life is a cruel joke,
and that life is what happens
when you're alive
and that you might as well
lie back and enjoy it.”

She stopped,
out of breath.

Like quicksand around my feet
procrastination keeps me.
I put things off
that I find off-putting;
It puts me in rough situations.

The kind of situations
that a man needs to grow.
How can you be upset with life
when your given all you need?
Nobody knows, it just sort of happens.
Everyone finds something
to complain about,
no matter how easy life is.
When the real wolves come
to overthrow us from our comfort
we are already too caught up
in ourselves.
We panic
We sink
We forget to remain
Calm.
And like being trapped in quicksand,
we are swallowed whole.

A nice stone fireplace.
Worn in chairs.
Tables covered in scratches,
stories people have forgotten.
Kind faces.
Delicious drinks.
I wish I lived in Caribou.
It's the kind of place
that helps me find peace
in the middle of the storm.
The kind of place
that helps me forget 
about the small things.

This is your candle to burn,
The wax you long to flux?
You will this wick to blaze?
Then light our match with your crux

I'm a wise owl in sheep in wolf's clothing
Interpreting every cautious move made running with the pack
And you're exactly what you appear to be
You're ghostly traits just as transparent from the back
I am the pretentious walking dead man
Far too good for my own rotting flesh
I guess thats just the way she goes
down
Like any devil in a blood red dress
Last call only tends to last a little while
Until another bitter day calls for a God forsaken night
I am the self-forgetten first born
Passing lessons down after making no first decisions right
I've been on top of the town
Still wet from arctic lengths of time trapped under ice
I keep a hold of others' darkest secrets
ruling this game of thrones and still playing it nice
I'm a king in beggars clothing
I have everything I need and no reason to boast
I don't find joy in you're possessions
salvation found in being no one is a reason to coast
You've lost the fire that kept your spirits up
and have become another mindless ******* bore
when we're old and reacquainted
I'd like to see you convince me that I haven't lived more

"When they unearth these passages
will I appear to be proud?
Not if you're listening close enough.
Not if you're sounding it out."

A humid night
filled with magic and marijuana
laced pumpkin pie

Capped off with kids
singing Richard and Mimi Farina
on the back porch, alone

An acoustic guitar,
dreadlocks and harmony
found in the sticky air

Electric girl,
Pack Up Your Sorrows
and give them all to me

Put your circuits in the sea,
do what you feel now,
and give them all to me

I like that girl in the cutoff jean jacket
who always goes out with intent to make a racket
All that tribal black light paint
that you'd think would look cliche
until you see how well it illuminates her face

I want someone who still makes me feel young
Who isn't in a hurry to be all grown up
She's not afraid to say yes
to rock a neon headdress
and she always thought it cool to stretch her flesh

She rocks the shutter shades down in her V-neck
All summer long she's on the festie trek
She likes her wooden spiral plugs
her pieces shaped like bugs
and her most favorite thing is to give free hugs

From Triple Rock back to The Cabooze
Electric Forests and Bonaroos
She doesn't think that she'll ever grow old
with music, friends and stories to be told
Hemp and glass are her silver and gold




However, I am not quite like you
I'm just biding my time with this rowdy crew

I haven't yet committed to keeping my youth
and that's why my skin's still clear of tattoos

The longest lasting scars, forever proof:
You were once wild and young but afraid to face the truth

A strawberry-blonde,
buck tooth, 
dinosaur lovin' kid
is the purest thing
I think I've ever been.

A ******'s a ******'s
a ******'s a mask.
Unless it's a suicide
shattered by the past.
another best friend suffering
from proximity infatuation
is just another turning cog
in a lucid dreaming nation.
Part one, a romantic drama.
Part two, ****** mystery.
Part three, an epic mind-****
of father figures and Penelope.
I died on a soft Vanilla sky
and awoke in the vast salt flats
I guess I'll see you in another life
when we are both cats.
I wonder what's real and what's fake
and if she'd ever really seen me,
I think she's the saddest girl ever
to hold a martini.

I used to be better
At being with those less put together
But as I assemble my own pieces
I've become bad at that, too

A girl wants a fiery temper
Tattoo scars from bad weather
And pieces not assembled
So she's something to do

While a boy wants not to feel bad
Something sad to make glad
As if he has no root in the blame
That any other person’s due

So now I'm trapped somewhere between
What makes up a girls dream
And what I now assume
A woman must want, too





I’m probably still wrong

Liquid karma seeps into our cuts
The density of blood is defused by courage
The sun sets in our arteries
and the moon grows with each heartbeat

Sometimes I forget that no one has felt this before
That exploring the unknown comes with a price
And like a giant drowned in ant hills
I am lost in things too small to comprehend

A star lost amongst the infinite sky
A koi struggling against the never ending tide
You are the priest caught in a fight
finding your true self amongst unsuitable affairs

And all I want
is for you to know
I'll be by your side

I hear when you're upset, a walk calms your mind
It explains why you're in stride all of the time
I know, right now, I'm the cause of your feverish pace
I'm the reason you've took to the trail and covered your face
So I suppose it makes sense that I should apologize
I know you love your shoes, but take this walk in mine
The souls they share - they're already worn
The toes are scuffed and the laces torn
They've been everywhere I've ever tried to roam
Eyelets have seen it all, except a peaceful home
The right tongue, it sometimes slips and lies out right
And the heel has turned, but not without a fight
They know how to cut shapes, they've kicked ideas around
Their views on life and the world are quite profound
The curve where your arch rests, it almost feels divine
They could be a perfect fit, yeah, they're my size nines

I woke up drowning
in the sleek black ocean
of unfamiliar pavement.
The cries of worry,
sorrow and shame
bled together as one.
I was asked questions
in what seemed like strange tongues
and responded with foreign answers.
And then, suddenly,
the road swallowed me whole,
like a pill, with no water.

I woke up floating
in the bright ambience
of an unknown struggle.
Needles prodded,
strangers argued
and loved ones watched on.
Confusion set in,
'Did I do something wrong?'
they told me just to lie still.
And then, abruptly,
the morphine surged
and the night fell away.


I woke up relaxed,
the I.V. saw to that,
as did the OxyContin.
Five stitches,
one for each separate time
my body bounced against the blacktop.
A fractured skull,
splintered like a rotting stump
struck by the dullest hatchet.
A broken leg,
encompassed in a new kind of boot,
for once on the receiving end of support.

And now I'm confined to the shrunken world
I map out with each small, slow step.
It seems I'm to die of boredom
rather than in the middle of Round Lake Boulevard.

There was a time
where I didn't know anyone
with a child.
Where I hadn't been
a groomsmen
in three weddings.
Where I didn't feel as though
I were losing some imaginary race.

There was a time
when T.J. was still alive,
when Lisa was still alive,
when Peg was still alive.
But every flower wilts with time.
Some by choice,
some after a hard fought fight
and some after a long lived life.

There will be a time
when this all makes sense.
When I will see why my road
took the course it did.
When I will be humble
with my fate.

But time is relative
and it is man made.
Life is but a fleeting single flash.
It is just one big bang.

I wish I was David,
David Duchovny -
not the characters he plays
but the man capable of playing them.

I want you to believe that I want to believe.

I want you to believe.
That, I want to believe.

I want you to believe that.

I want to believe.

When did you earn the right to feel anything,
anything but wonder when it comes to me?
When did I lose the privilege of trust?
Around the same time I found wanderlust.

He came to us
dressed to the knives
and peeled our flesh away
with fingers like nines.
The poor, dumb and useless
bank on oblivious,
and you just stand there:
******* oblivion.

A lioness
A lying mess
A lioness
A lying mess

******.

Contempt.

Content.

I bought a ticket to Seattle.
Yeah, I tried to get away.
But this forgotten state of mind
has your hands on me.

Is there life after death?
What will happen in the end?
What's the difference in thinking
between women and men?
What's the meaning of life?
How'd it all begin?
If there's a battle for our lives
will good or evil win?
Do ghosts exist,
or the monsters 'neath my bed?
Is this all a dream
that I've made in my head?
Is the world what's moving,
and I'm always still?
Are we guided by fate
or our own free will?
What came first,
the calf or the bull?
Is my glass half empty
or is it half full?
What is love?
How long will I live?
In order to take
must one also give?
Did the Sopranos all die?
Is karma legit?
Ask yourself this:

Should I even give a ****?

I will pick you to pieces,
Break you down into different parts
I will target every weakness
And test that thing you call a heart
It's my reaction, only natural
Since you did unto me the same
And now that Summers long since over
I can't seem to forget your name

You've a head right for business
A body you've proudly forged in sin
And a heart locked up so tight
Yet you've let a deadbeat in
I've a tongue forged in gold
I shouldn't bite it, yet I do
I guess it's just a force of habit
and I almost always chip a tooth

My dad was not without love,
but a cliched Irish *******
when he wanted to be.
Drinker, brawler,
all that stuff.
Never shed a tear,
saw weakness everywhere.
But he had this thing for poems,
poetry;
reading them, quoting them.
Probably thought it rounded him off,
ya know?
His way of apologizing,
I guess.
And there was one
that hung over the desk in his den.
It was only when I was a lot older,
I realized he had written it.
It was untitled,
four lines.
I read it at his funeral.
'Once more into the fray
Into the last good fight I'll ever know
Live and die on this day
Live and die on this day'

Its paralysis in wonderland
Ignoring all the things you can
Building a soapbox out of buried hatchets
On which you finally hope to take a stand

Will you ever be this young again?

I don't know, but don't get mad
when I ignore your gender, man


We split the toll for the long road home
We find ourselves questioning things
that they never wanted us to know

Pioneering sinking ships,
- still being told to 'row!'
A routine change of quarters,
Pushing on every border,
Until you finally feel you've found a home


Where is your light?

                               Where is your soul?







I guess we've got a ways to go

A vast, and mostly empty world.
Yet each rock, chasm and plant
are completely smooth.
This world is metallic.
As are its landmarks.

Sleek, silver silhouettes;
metal mountain sides.
It all leads to the pyramid
surrounded by more ridges of steel.
A light shines through the top
of this gateway to knowledge.
A symbol to a futuristic,
primitive cultures God.

But does their God answer?
No. No he does not.
His focus is instead
on something else entirely.
What it is, these metal men
do not, and will not ever know.
But it is more important than them.

As the river forward flows,
constructed for deconstruction,
the shores start to erode
with no intent of reproduction.
They dance off one another,
until one has been worn out;
like the stigma of the summer:
too hot to let your hair come down.
The rocks invade the river,
the river eats at the rocks.
Cold water sends a shiver
through all their late night talks.
As her mouth begins to stretch out,
as she becomes one with the sea,
the rocks are left with no doubt,
they are no longer what she needs.
All this time spent to confine her,
trying to tell her where to be,
he forgot to flow with her desires
and now she's finally running free.

This is for those
Who wear a sleeve on their heart
Because its cold, needs warmth
and it likes the dark
And this is for the ones
with hands on their time
who need a little break
just to clear out their mind

It's funny how a women
can make your head spin
Just like the *****
we've been chasin'
A pretty smile
and a bashful look away
can make you feel
like everything's okay
Forget about pain
and every lost fist fight
her soft eyes
make this the perfect night
I can see her
drinking her ***
I can see me
falling in love
I can see her
sizing me up
I can see me
falling...

In love
in the bathroom hallway
You've got her up
between a rock wall and a hard place
You can see the pleasure
written on her face
and have to imagine
how her lips taste
Too drunk,
every sense has gone numb
Your fingers fumble
on the trigger of her loaded gun
when she asks,
"Do you wanna get outta here?"
You catch your breath
while she grabs one last beer

I fell in love
with the way things used to be
I always come close
but it never comes easy
You have to make love
before you fall into it
Or maybe it's a lie
thats been made up for the kids

All alone,
my mind's over analyzing
I reconnect
with the romantic inside me
I wonder if
this will ever mean anything
Is that my guilt
or my heartbeat racing?
It's probably best
to slow down our pace
Calm myself,
splash water over my face
I finally think
I'm starting to cool down
when someone starts
shooting all the lights out

I'm blacking out
in a barroom bathroom
Waking up
in a ballroom bedroom
The ceiling fan
is spinning softly
but maybe it's the bed,
or maybe it's just me

Well I guess
this is already going down
It's far too late
to try and turn back now
She can feel something's off
by the way I'm breathing
So she whispers
that she really needs me
Tomorrow this will mean
nothing to her
even as she guides
my hand up her skirt
I decide
to get this over with when
the darkness steals
the night away again...

I'm like smoke
I begin to blow
Through the concrete
and through the snow
And no one you'll ever know
Thinks the world moves too slow

Except me

Another night another choke
Another ignorant bloke
I feel the world is a stage
So I dance every day
Center stage of the masquerade
and I know we're all feelin' safe

It's like a jungle sometimes

It makes me wonder
Where's the thunder?
I saw the lights but couldn't feel em move
A ******-snack without the due
I couldn't feel the groove
Unless it' was in the amplitude

Another outrageous night

Out of sight
A state of mind
Control everything all of the time
Like the Pharaoh, The Sparrow, a king
Forget everyone
yet retain everything

On top of the world, on top of me

It's all about heart and compatability
And your faithfulness, it spoke to me
I don't think I've ever heard the truth
But the things you see could be your truce
I bet you think you've got me figured out

But none of your words ever left my mouth

With new-age values
and cold hearts all the rage
This lack of compassion
seems met with such praise
People today
I just don't understand
So I start the long journey
of the lone mountain man

All the skyscrapers
they once focused my eye
With dreams of wearing
pressed suits and a tie
But the buildings weigh us down
at least I know they try
So I treaded them in
for clearer skylines

I found art in the woods
music in the clouds
Memories where I've stood
and your love to make me proud
I felt the dance of the creeks
the poetry of the bears
And though I'm still a bit weak
I fear less and less my nightmares

I built us a cabin
with my bare hands
Walls of strong stone
floors of fine sand
In hopes that you'd leave
this city behind
To come join me in
the peaceful country side

But the bright lights
They still have your attention
And my humbleness
It wont draw your affection
I thought I could show you
a new kind of life
One much less busy
with less fear and less strife

But you're still so restless
you're still young at heart
With your innocence intact
clinging to conventional art
Caught up in the city
without a choice
Overlooking soft words
spoken with a soft voice

As my words bleed
into the soft breeze
And my dreams fly away
on the bluebirds wings
My thoughts begin to age
with the red wood trees
And loneliness grows
like grass past my knees

With old fashioned values
and the shoes on my feet
I avoid most people around me
walking on the paved street
I will continue to forge
my own way, my own plan
As I walk on, alone,
As the lone mountain man

You built me a ship with your own two hands
Which I over analyzed to try and understand
To see things better, I used your magnifying glass
But recklessly, I burned holes in the mast
With nothing left to hold up the sails
I had to find a new way to wander my trails
So I've left the boat, the water, and the cold, rocking sea
To continue on foot, towards a much better me
As it turns out, I wasn't meant for the skies
Nor for the ocean, and all of its tides
Because I was known for getting too high
Or for getting too lost, with no safety in sight
But finally I'm grounded, satisfied at worst
Comfortable in my surroundings, it feels like a first
I'm walking towards something, instead of floating around
I'm carrying tunes instead of just making sound
And though it's no longer here for this part of my trip
I wanted to thank you for building a ship

I was reminded of you this past weekend

I drove by your old place
Where you first let me see you naked
Yet I only stared at your face
And that just made you feel more timid

I saw it as I was driving to Spoonriver
Just to the left of the Guthrie
It was for Mother's Day lunch,
Yet it was her who payed for me
She said that she wanted this moment to be happy
Instead of something that might ******* me
She said to just hold on to all my money
Because it finally looks like I've stability

I think that what she meant to say
Was that everything's going to be okay
Instead of awkwardly denying May

... I mean me




On the way to drop my mom off

I drove back past your old place
The one up over in Nordeast
Where we would buy volcano drinks
At the tiki bar of ****** Suzi

We would walk the mile from your living room
Beneath the quiet winds of spring
And hand in hand with our pre-game buzz
Was a disregard for everything
Almost exactly a year before today
I was in a fist fight there
The bartender said, "At least it was for your girl"
and that they didn't even care

I think that what he meant to say
Was it might be time to call it a day
Instead he gave more drinks to you and May

... I mean me




The rest of that night had been a breeze

We walked back to your old place
A crooked grin,
Attained from gin,
Was sprawled across your face

We found our way inside
We found our way into your bed
Like shedding pedals, you undressed yourself
And took the flowers from your head

It took you all night just to say
That you had never felt that way
And that you thought you were in love with May

... I mean me

At an old friends birthday party,
and I knew you'd be there, too.
Look at me: I've finally got a belt on
and I finally laced up my shoes

Now look at you:

Everyone eating out of your palm
fed by silver, across the room
But remember what the bald kid once said:

"There is no spoon"

The web of life's had us connected
A Taker, a Leaver
The renown rejected
And The Story of B wasn't what I expected

But at least I finally
                                finally read it

Again,

Your nose and cheeks,
lupus red,
The blush of wine
leaves you out of breath
Like the bite of a wolf
that leaves you closer to death



You can't escape the web

Spin a web meticulous
Wield long, woven silk
String by arching string
Until your home is filled

Now you wait for flies to land
They garner you a feast
Until the instinct overcomes
You build yourself a fleet

Now your lovely spawns are here
They imitate your moves
They soon outgrow the mothers web
In time they bring your doom

The sprouts begin to retaliate
They **** your body dry
The hatchlings start their own new webs
With hopes to catch a fly

In bed with his glasses on,
he had been too tired to take them off.
Too shy to smile.
Too nervous to say anything.

It was when she opened her mouth;
Revealing.

"I know why you're so quiet.
It's because you're excited."

You've got memories, I've got ghosts
And I can't forget, hard as I try
I could map all the words you ever spoke
Like constellations in the sky
Second to the righteous and straight on 'til mourning
Like men lost at sea while soul searching
The repeated prayers were wasted breath
Used to **** time while we waited for death

The salts in the air and the ocean breeze
Burn the cracks in our skin and make it hard to breathe
While the remarks and past that cast our sail
Are lost from our lungs with each exhale
Hope and courage course through our veins
Trust and faith is all that remains
With defeat and pride guiding the waves
We set a course for better days

Onward to mystery
To make our mark in history
When clarity becomes a cloud
everything starts to let you down
I am the Flying Dutchman
searching for better ways
I  am an undead crew
longing for better days
If you see me on the horizons
just let me be
I'm trying to find value
in a calm at sea

A milky layer ascended
and your eyes became
opalescent
The fluidity found
within that blue gaze
was trapped under ice
like a mighty river
snared in December
And all I could ask myself
was "Is she alive?"

The colour rushed from your cheeks

From the red of the blood
that dripped from your septum
due to the ivory powder
you inhaled for perfection
and the blacks and the bruise
of lies and deception
to the green of greed
and yellow of attention

You grew pale
like a corpse
under a cool moon
made of melancholy
and miseries

I'll admit, though
I admired your animosity
The way you chose not to care
almost seemed passionate and planned
rather than spun together
by years of defeat

When I finally realized you weren't coming back
I began to panic

My eyes darted over the phone
and my fingers began to dizzy
I struggled to find the nine
that came before the ones

And just when I believed you were gone
when I thought we had lost any hope
you gasped

The shuddering sound you made
as you grabbed onto that last sliver of life
will haunt my nights
for weeks to come

It was all too beautiful

I am afraid
that we can't coexist.
For I am a writer
and you an actress,
and the one thing between us
is quite simply this:
The two, dear,
just don't mix

Now, a writer is one
who likes to make stories,
creates onsets and ends,
crafts his dramas from worries.
He sees the whole world
connected by string;
he knows that one simple pluck
could change everything.

Some call it 'fate,'
and it's called 'life' by a lot
but amongst us creators
it is always called Plot.
Every itch has a reason,
each whisper a whim,
within any characters past
lies a reason to win.

But the actor can only see
from their own point of view.
They must master their character;
how they think and what they'd do.
They expend all their energy
trying to be someone else
while the writer's too busy
trying to figure out himself.

I wonder what goes through your head
As you lie awake at night.
I wonder what you thought I'd say
When you said you weren't right.

Do you know how I pictured you?
The fun one that never rests.
But now I see your sadness.
It sinks anchors in my chest.

I see you yelling for help.
I see you stranded all alone.
I know your looking for something,
Maybe someone to call home.

I think you need help
But I'm too close to you.
You need someone further away
With a different point of view.

You expect me to share your weight,
To bring you in to safer shores,
But I'm finally shaking my blues,
What gives you the right to give me yours?

Your words seem often sheeted
by waves of mystique
Like sand by the ocean
out on the beach.
They pour over your lips
like waterfalls in your head
They come crashing into pools
of what's already been said
I'd love to dive in deeper
submerged in sadness and lies
To bathe in your holy spirit
like an infant first baptized 

Your eyes are like white wine
they help to calm my nerve
Your nerves are like explosions
they catch my eyes as they deserve
Your skin sets my skin on fire
whenever we don't touch
I feel the flame encase me
like a casket forged in rust
Your frame holds the painting
that is your beautiful soul
Your hands, unlike my burdens
could only be mine to hold

Your assets only intrigue me
you carry yourself so well
You drape yourself in clothes
to cover your beautiful self
Your modesty is mesmerizing
your humbleness deserves merit
You carry your lust inside you
like a bomb waiting to be lit
The words you've whispered to me
shoot contradictions like a gun
Contradictions like my ability
to write love poems to no one

As she spews contortion
from her violin chest
The sounds of C minor
began to build a nest
&
As he sifts through propaganda
of bamboo and blast beats
The floor begins to take him
for he hasn't slept in weeks

---

Their thoughts cascade like fire
around the sounds of Show Your Bones
And kerosine licks her wounds
as they spit it up upon old homes
They strike their fondest matches
and watch the wooden parts ungrow
And then they place them in each others mouth
Where no one else will ever go

She dances with rhythm amongst the chaos
while she weaves a tail of smoke
And the beauty caught in her third eye
is the only thing that's broke
His gaze is focused on only one thing
the pittered pattern of her percussion feet
As he finds warmth by the molten lava houses
while standing at the center of the street

Their goal was finely furnished
they burnt a hole right through their childhood
One that would scar their mother earth
who had forgotten how to feel this good
Their past was made of synapses
that could only be found up in their head
And when they really thought about it
they found that 'now' is all that's left

---

As she choreographed a drum line
with the snare found in her sole
The days, the months, the years: her life
began to take their toll
&
As his desk sits around him
he pens a mystery
Of flames and lust: of destruction
he can finally fall asleep

It drives me crazy that Atmosphere is bigger
in New York than Minnesota
and yet none of them give a flying make love
about the one and only Purple Yoda.
It's how they call it solo
instead of a ****** island
and how instead of three and ***** back
same cup is an automatic win.
It doesn't matter if I'm in a backwoods cabin
or if im stuck in the big city.
No, no matter where I'm at in this state
I'm always anxious and ******.
I haven't seen one genuine smile
or a single pretty sun dress
and though I didn't think it possible
I'm missing home amidst the stress.
But I think what I hated most
about this trip to this place
Is in the middle of a long ****** night
after being down all **** day
I stole my dads truck,
went east on Sunrise Highway,
almost ran it to E
but didn't stop anyway
then I finally saw the exit
and turned left on Carmans Avenue
went right at the first stoplight
and I still didn't find you.

The devil stands beneath us
In a cold orchestra hall
All dressed up for the winter
Even though its early fall
She's either laughing or she's crying
Which it is I do not know
But she wields it through her fingertips
Unto her cherry wood cello

It feels like a spider
crawling up your spine
Or a voice in your head
saying that nothing is fine
It wants you to run,
to spring and to flee
It wants to be naked
unattached and free
It wants to learn something new
to chart unclaimed territory
with nothing weighing it down
and no reasons to worry
It would rather explore
than repeat the same situations
It's a call out for more

It's a creeping sensation

You were never the target
so I never really missed
Close to home was the spot
I intended to hit
And as for the mark,
I'm not sorry to've took aim
But she was just a simple pawn
in an exemplary game

21 years of waking up 
with the bed half
empty.
The nightmare that haunts me
as I lie there, awake,
Is going through 20 more.

More than death
More than failure
More than large bodies of water
I fear being alone.

I won't let the love
that flows through my veins
go untapped. Unused.
I've already let
too much potential
go to waste.

'I mean, seriously,
what kind of man
scores a 31 on his ACT
and only goes on to do
a single year at community college?'

The same kind of man
who's worries have
teetered on the edges of love
rather than within the confines
of success.
The kind of man
who'd rather be writing
stories to the beat
of other peoples lives
than allow the tales
of his own journey
to grow dull with time.
The kind of man
who measures life
in the amount of friends
and loved ones a person
accumulates
rather than with stacks
of green paper.

Someday I'll meet a women
who can see the world as I do.
We will be happy
in our tiny, cute 
twin cities cottage.
I'll walk down the street
to grab the paper and some coffee,
she'll watch the boys
while trying to make her deadline.
We'll be happy
in our own chaotic,
free-spirited,
open-minded kind of way.
Physical possessions
poison the soul.
Money has no value here.

I will have etched my name
into the stars
With my fingernails
being pulled apart
Dissonance fades
as consonance grows
And I've come to realize
there's no such place as home

Yet

What cannot be found
must instead be made
From the very same dirt
where you make your grave
Though the grievance is heavy
the ship still runs its course
Though the carriage is ablaze
it's still pulled by his horse

Voice

A reason to move on
without my fellow man
Because everyone does
whatever they can
Lie, cheat, steal
to backstab is a must
I truly believe
that his reason is just

Because

An opinion to the sky
it's like a cloud to the fish
Try as he might
he'll never get his wish
It's drowned out by the wind
and murdered by the storms
Cremate the dream
and let the ashes lie warm