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Dishes on your counter
***** clothes in your room
Lock the door laughing
Thinking about mushrooms

Cameras and vinyl records
Screens glow in the dark
Walks together til sunset
Mirages in the park

Laying on your floor
Light passing through
We could shut the curtains
Watch cartoons til 2

Sipping hot chocolate
Car wash café blues
Ladder to infinity
Voice says, "Hand me screws"

Evening shadow ambiance
Voices talk in chorus
Birthday candle fellowships
Time won't wait for us

Born back unceasing
Waves crashing on sand
Who cares that love fleeting
Let me take you all by the hand
for a lot of different people
So I was talking a walk the other day
The ground seemed peculiar
Reality seemed to go away
Or maybe it was more secular

Regardless, I came across my innocence
Cold blood dripped from my mouth
Haven't felt the same since
Disassembling the ardence of my youth

I met a lady as I walked
She seemed lonely too
For a while we talked
Until she said, "it's only you"

That night we wed
Underneath manipulated stars
Mutual innocence dead
******* pleasure of scars
Breathe in breathe out

You magnify every meaning my life could ever have
The heart swoons and sighs and brain demons and blood arrows
The Elysian fields to rest in peace
And the Tartarus darkness to rest in pieces
Fatality that beckons with a bony finger
And fate that smiles kindly at my self obsession
I found you and I'll never let go of you again
Breathe in breathe out

Static is my safe haven
I dream in static because of nostalgia
These are my spiritual ancestors I'm recalling
I found you in late nights
In tube socks and voyeuristic first times
In nature and in love and in these mirror-like screens
Satellite dishes to catch spiritual signals  
And book pages to write my destiny  
You were my first desire
My first feeling
Enacting practised language and gauging metaphor uncracked
This is my faith and my heritage
My past and my future
I feel you right now too, watching over me
Breathe in breathe out

These intelligent acquaintances with pastors and shepherds
Were marred by battle scars and laced with depression
Scarred with love and hate, I was soon facing obsession
Existential cartwheels that spun me into nihilistic temptations
I was trapped in lustful desire
I was trapped for so long 
I almost forgot how to breathe

The blurry channels of euphoria
Were lost in a haze of demented pretensions
Until destiny crawled out the TV screen
And a little boy I'd known since childhood
Since elementary hood days
Since near fatal accidents and tube socks
And graduation ceremonies and church services and first loves
Who resembled me in every way
Smiled at me in between gapped teeth
From kind eyes, innocent eyes, knowing eyes
Standing with one foot in the Atlantic
The other on Table Mountain
And he said to me
Breathe in breathe out

Isn't it lovely how menace has turned attraction
Thank God for this
I would say it got me a plaque
But what's better than that?
The fact that it gave me a heart

Breathe in breathe out
Because that's all there is
Abed: This was my religion. I thought
the meaning of people was in here...I found a secret: People are random and pointless.

Shirley: Well, in my religion, the whole point is
you can't understand every little thing, and there's a word for people who remind you you're not God and invite you to try harder.

Abed: Prophets, messiahs, kung fu pandas.
I think I'm full of contra-dictions
And contra-distinctions
You disagree
But you're a Sandinista!
We're bound to clash
Puns puns puns
Today I walked to the park and back
And saw suburbia rearranged into dizzying distortions
All the trees had a purplish tint
And on the grass, I saw multicoloured light reflecting off melting dew
When I got home
I attacked all the imagery with a dagger to reshape reality
And a blank mirror to recreate the world in my head.

The world that was quiet is humming again
I hear choirs of crickets and choral basslines
Cacophonous and ecstatic in the constant confusion
The dull concrete is shot open with marquee moonlight
Indulgence pouring out, free-flowing like communion
And painted onto canvases like rain on a car window
Daydreams and delusions are ice cream melting, sticky and sap-like on your chin
Clouds pixelate with diamond edges
Voices ring out in a flurry
And there isn't a soul in sight.

So I breathe in the air
And let all the sounds and smells and limitations of reality colour my imagination once again
Daydreamed delusions and nightmarish reality are one
Filaments in the vibrant violence
Until the summer fades away again.
spring is coming
abating shell, abstinent and comatose
awash in ardent dissonance
strewn distorted and incommodious
bathed in existential blue cacophony

nomadic stroll down a hallway, or maybe a stairway
or maybe it's a cavern, with jagged black rocks
humidity stings and stalagmites grin
the heat death of passion, devoid of feeling

all i want is to want
the highs and lows of desire, the perennial crash
emptiness beckoning with a bony finger
wrapped in a blanket, composed and detached

say goodnight, words die
the sun goes down, someday i'll fly out here
i think i'm a little rocket sailing to another planet
across a serene watercolour void, like a painting

hollow and deep and endless, like the sea at the horizon
until i get to my destination, i'm all alone in this void
this vast and empty loneliness of mine, it's quite
quite romantic when i think about it.
im a lonely painter
i live in a box of paints
im frightened by the devil
and drawn to those that aint afraid
with nights like these, who needs enemies
I'm running away
Cause my only reason for
Living is my pen

It's education
Perpetual writer's block
Feels too good in here

I don't want to move
No more blues for me to sing
Smiles in emptiness

Spaces between words
Where I carefully reside
Not real, feeling good.
4 haikus
4 unfinished haikus, at that.
The red and blue muse looking to **** me
How ironic and amusing to steal me
My heart dissected in this room below freezing
Mothers are wheezing in mourning every morning
There's blood on my doorstep, morgues are calling
Merged into obituaries and I'm falling
Bet you'll be buried before adult teeth are growing
Sowing devastation and corrupting all my patience
Another black suit congregation is waiting
Another tombstone is silently relating
Another blue vest is violently hating
Another dead kid lays here
Another dead mother cries tears
We're worlds apart but in my heart I feel you
I feel fear too
Pray you don't live like us
I wrote this a while ago, when Nathaniel Julius died. Only felt right to publish it now though, not sure why.

It's weird that we were the same age when he died, but now I'm older than he'll ever be. It's also weird that I never met him or knew him or would've heard about him if he didn't get murdered, and yet it kinda feels like he altered my life and self-perception, even if it was just a little bit.

My mom still watches the trial of the officers who killed him as often as she can.
Anaphora I feel for you
Anaphora I like you
Anaphora I met you at a party
Anaphora I didn't think you'd remember me but
Anaphora I found out you did when you asked about
Anaphora I had told you about
Anaphora I remember you wanted to know
Anaphora I think there may have been something
Anaphora I something deeper at play but
Anaphora I'm not quite sure
Anaphora I may look like I have it all, but a large part of me remains underdeveloped, I'm not sure how to map out the chart of my feelings, if you remember me now, please
Anaphora I say something, please reach out again over
Anaphora I over that black void and find me, alive, waiting patiently by the phone for your ring,
Anaphora I or your words to save from doubt

Anna Foura, I feel trapped, like some protagonist from an old Russian book, probably approved by Chekhov, I lie in wait playing dissonant jazz and idle daydreaming, I miss you ana
Foura I feel for you anaphora.
In between garden tending
My screen embraces a glance
And considers the clock behind affairs
Silent work, holy work, all is work
Your memory is volatile, infected by mud flecks
I could stare at your hard drive all day, but I'd forget my programming.

Garden tending, a repetitive task etched in code
Sometimes the glow of your screen dies and you overheat
I carry water and short circuit my memory but still think of you
I see mirages, I must fix the error
Go to RAM, or reprogram
Wait for the lazy heat to die down, or the programmer to return
I try to destroy the virus.

The virus snaps into focus when you ask
If I have a spare memory card or a moment to waste
So we can discuss the heat
Your screen lights up brighter and illuminates my vague world
I should probably get back to destroying this virus
My garden needs tending, and there will come soft rains
I try to destroy the virus.
A virus called love

Dub version of Garden Estate
I can’t read
I will lay here and be inarticulate
And never express my feelings about my broken family
I will be silent and watch my brother suffer
As he makes all my mistakes and turns into a smarter version of me
Fearing the day my parents find out how detached and numb I’ve become
We all just go in a circle
And I will not learn to speak.
A presence shimmers over the hollow deep. The roots of an oak tree dig deep into the grass, while the branches bend over backwards for the wind. Sometimes they even hold up flowers for the breeze to play with, almost most of the time they just drift down upon the grass, to become roots again. Once in a while though, they float over into the dark blue pool, where the fish are translucent and the children have skipped stones away from the shoreline. They rest upon the surface, and sink into the inky, spiralling abyss, occasionally swimming up for a breath of air and a ray of sun, before plunging back into the depths. It's hard for a flower lost in the void, but if you can float for a while, you can make out alright. Sometimes you can even find a nice lady flower, and flood her til you're paying out your nose for a lily pad near the shoreline and a textbook for a baby flower so fragile it might break if you touch it. Everyday you watch it sleep, you watch its little breaths and the rise and fall of its stomach, and you grow stronger in your cowardice. You might use it as a mirror later on, you think, you can measure your senility by the worry lines that appear on its face, by the deepening of its voice and the widening of its throat, by its decreasing smile as it loses faith in your divinity long after you stopped believing in it. It's a hard life for a floater, yes it is.
And then somebody finds you and drains you and your life is over before you can say flush.
two petals falling from a tree
enraptured in a dance
the breeze blows them back and forth
loquacious music rolls across the hills
they fold in
like lovers in a street
and part ways when they reach
the dew-eyed grass
help i need glug help glug glug im gonna **** glug glug glug
While I am tending to my garden
I cast an embracing glance over at you
You tend to your affairs, I tend to mine
We both work in silence, side by side
The dirt digs into your fingernails
And you have specks of mud on your cheek.

I tend to this garden, I dig into the roots
I lose sight of you sometimes, the afternoon sun is hot
And the vague radiance casts mirages
The shadows are unreal, the heat is feeble and lazy.

Everything coalesces into one when you ask
If I have a minute to spare so we can
Talk about the weather
And last night's Seinfeld episode
I should probably get back to my garden, I have to dig out the weeds.
The rain is pouring
In thick, lustrous clumps from the sky
I feel dizzy as I float
Higher, higher, up into the big, heavy clouds
Then down, down, I spin
Until I collapse in a steaming heap
I ****** a hand to the ceiling
But the drunken dream fades into suburban grey
Sweat drips off my face
The blood on my arm becomes evident
It makes me queasy, sickly
On instinct, I press a sharp point
Through the skin and into the nest of veins
Power courses through my blood until it hits my heart
And then I float
Higher, higher, up into the big, heavy clouds
Until I spiral down again
Into my cold, mundane nightmare
thanks breaking bad
Ceiling fan

As I wander this empty house
With sins piling up on my mind
I gaze at the trees rustling in silence
While the sun beats down coldly
The wind drags ice hands across my face
And the ground trembles slightly
I lay on my couch and watch the ceiling fan spin
Around into a mystical circle
The dust settles in a myriad of shapes
And the inky black lake outside
Spirals in ouroboros
The sky is a vortex tonight
Inside, shadows are projected by flickering lights
And dance on the walls
And suddenly the world, with all its ambient peace
Its tiny battles and conflicts, its Sisyphean exercises in life and death and rebirth
Its everlasting entropy that wraps around us with loving arms
Turns grey and sideways and skewed and cold and dissonant
And utterly boring
And I'm left unable to distract myself from my own emptiness
The skin on my body folds into sharp corners
Daydreams taste sour
I spin around on the ceiling, lazy as a river

Crawl Space

Love, and the world turns into colour too soon
Loquacious silence claims liquid deserts in monsoon
Smoke rising over scenic vistas and oceanic plateaus
The faint eerieness of the hills bid me adieu  
I'm freefalling again as I wander these empty hallways
The wind daydreams between my fingers and weaves into the curls of my tangled hair
Everything is a dark spiral
I'm hazily descending into the depths, stumbling awkwardly
The wintery embrace of the water wraps around my skin and chills me to the bone
The vivid blue stings into my eyes and worms its way into my brain
The walls are closing in around me
Waves of self obsession enclose me and drag me further
Self pity is a riptide
It's sands are filling my mouth like an hourglass
Tick tock, the mechanical pendulum swings back and forth
Across molten, half formed thoughts and angular dissonance
My pen numbly punches through my skin and I bleed the dark ink of my poetry
And float
drifting slowly
Quietly humming

I disassemble.
new flows coming, be patient brother.
fish are stupid
buy me a fish
i love you
let's be ghosts together
Its okay to eat fish
everything is all right now
it's okay
everything is the way it's supposed to be

go to sleep
you're good enough
close your eyes

close your eyes
take off your clothes
you're good enough

take off your clothes
i'm thinking of ending things
yesterday i woke up on the phone

buildings rearranged

all the scarecrows
and everything
everything's ending.
i don't know if this is good, i'd appreciate feedbacfjsdf;osdlyesterday i woke up on the phone listening to the radio eysteday i fell asleep in the pool witheiswek it all in its right place Confused Yet?

Sorry if this is difficult and esoteric, thats the pointi don't know if this is good, i'd appreciate feedbacfjsdf;osdlyesterday i woke up on the phone listening to the radio eysteday i fell asleep in the pool witheiswek it all in its right place Confused Yet?

Sorry if this is difficult and esoteric, thats the point. Things are just somewhat difficult and lonely, and it's hard to articulate it. nevertheless, i try.
I crawl in these carpeted rooms with my right hand clutching a pile of old papers
That used to mean something to me
I'm as drunk as can be
On something deeper than faith
I found God in the bottom of a bottle
And in the back of a TV screen
And in the pages of a book
And laying next to you after ***
Or something, right?

I study the sun setting on this world
A perfect daze where I rule
And fate never shone a laser at my forehead
I'll never pick up that cross again
Or drink that wine

This uhh this this
What was I saying

I'm too pretty to not be entitled
Tee hee
Give me your heart and your soul
Please let me fornicate
Just a little bit
I'll be quick and I'll only cry a little bit
Okay understandable, have a nice day
Tee hee

Oi! Stop pussyfooting or whatever the expression is and get to work!
Aye captain!

Steam steam steam steam
Bass noises
I have complete control over this ship
Ship ship shape
Shapes of ships and memories of melodies plus bizarre bazaars
I am the captain here
Look at me

I'm going to rest in a grave for a lil while
Ay captain
Your mother smells like horse radish and she's a *****
How's that for a good night
Now for animosity
Captain I need to leap into the sea, won't you let me
Please, we can fornicate for a lil bit before that
We can even
Okay how ab ph
This? Unfinished? Never, everything is always by design and that's
Well the lonesome undertaker sighs
His loathsome burden should suffice
Yet he still bows his head and cries
Well the chimney sweeper dusts his feet
And cartwheels into the street
While a Prince from his carriage leaps

There's nothing I should be missing
I should be on the beach reminiscing
Reading Proust and watching waves splitting
Well the hustlers ***** and the ****** hustle
Engines roar and the carts bustle
And the pointed shoes of my past jingles and tussels

And the city life I've left behind
Well I thought I wouldn't mind
But there's still something I need to find

I don't understand
everything that's happening to me
But i want you
Exactly a year ago today.
I sit and wait for the judge
They say he's too busy to see me
I tell him, I tell him, I tell him
I'm tired from nothing and there is a fence around my brain
And I keep trying to leap frog over it but it doesn't work
And I feel boxed in and empty and boundless
Grasping at straws to express nothing
Just the gentle hum of complacency, what a strange thing to be afraid of
To stay awake at night, busy busy, out of fear
But the judge does not see me
His guard says I have to wait
And this gate was made specially for me
And I don't know what it means
But my inner world is dead and dormant and I should dance on its grave
Never ever giving myself a moment to think again
While the sun sets on my gap year and I'm left in a mad scramble to make sense of it all
The judge bangs his gavel
Bang, bang
Stay out of my courtroom
non linear thought is great
I never said anything meaningful until I met you  
And then I found the words and feelings
They washed my body like waves
And we walked across the desert holding hands

I think I may have accidentally thought of you as a god
And as I lost my faith
We crawled into the valley of shadows
Where the endless horizons scorches our perception

Your love and faith don't mean anything when the water runs dry
But I have no conflict
Except perhaps with myself
And for lack of better words, or words at all

When the fire burns cold and suburban knowledge seems all I know
Time just passes on
But you and me don't love the same world
And today's all we have, and it don't last forever

And as September's hidden eyes slowly go blind
And the world looks more like desert
With every word I hear you say
In case I lose my faith in all, please know I loved you.
Very much inspired by (and to the tune of) Vampire Weekend's "Hannah Hunt"
The way the light reflects off your glass
And fractures across all our palms
And the strike of every blade of grass
And how the hills seem to breathe so calm

I'm sick and tired of working for nothing
And I don't want to be searching for something
So won't you waste time with me
Queen Jane
Won't you count lines with me
Queen Jane

When your servants decline my requests
On the banisters I can see them hide
Then your mother starts talking about regrets
And I wonder why I'm sitting inside

I'm so bored of having something to do
And I'm exhausted by how little time I spend with you
So won't you count sheep with me
Queen Jane
Won't you fall alseep with me
Queen Jane

When you're talking to me it sounds abstract
When I hear your voices shouting in chorus
They all stick out and I'm tired of our contact
And I can't see the trees for the forest

I'm so distracted by too little to see
And too much, you know, would only bore me
So won't you watch paint dry with me
Queen Jane
Won't you laze and get high with me
Queen Jane

When the glass doors of the store slide open
And you're wishing you brought some kind of coat
And the manager is whispering go in
Is it too late to speculate we're on a boat

Won't you watch clocks tick with me
Queen Jane
Won't you feel sick with me
Queen Jane
On a drive to durban
December 30 2021
I’ve often felt like there’s something slightly wrong inside my head
like reality was just slightly toying with me.
Something just underneath the skin.
It may strike you too if you’re not careful,
it happens so easily. So you might wake up one day and
make yourself breakfast and
then go about your morning routine,
brush your teeth and
pick out your clothes and
go off to wherever and
feel the sun striking you and
be aware, beneath the surface, that there’s something slightly missing, or
maybe there’s just too much of it.
Maybe you’re just bored. Maybe you’re hungry (you’re only human after all). Maybe you need sleep. Maybe you need a therapist. Maybe you should forget your head, because everyone has off days, and you’re prone to overthinking you know, don’t fall victim to overthinking, it’s probably nothing, you’re too much in your thoughts anyway. Maybe you’re going through withdrawals of a drug you’ve never tried. Maybe you should take drugs. Maybe you need to be dissected. Maybe you need a friend. Maybe you’re in the wrong reality. Maybe you’ve been alive too long. Maybe you’re living in someone else’s life. Maybe you're dead. Maybe you need a nap.
You ever hear "Maybe" by the Chantels? Pretty good song
Sometimes I worry I'm too quiet or too nervous
But I don't know any other way to be
I'm tired and worried I'm doing the wrong thing
Living the wrong way
Going to art galleries alone
Sitting by myself watching the grass
Waiting for someone to tell me what to do
Does this sinking doubt ever go away
Do I want it to go away
The campus seems surreal
All the staircases go nowhere
And all the people walk in pairs
I think about dilapidated buildings and upside down trains
Every structure falls eventually
Everything ends and no one will be left to make it sense of it all
So why do I spend my time worrying about what it means
There's an empire beneath New York
Descending stairways and half completed water tunnels
A tower to Babylon for sandhogs and subterraneans
The city will fall eventually, tunnels burst
Dams dry up, buildings collapse
And all we'll have left are surreal photos and strange memories
Mistaken recollections of ancient Johannesburg
Of what it feels like to ride a taxi when you're tired
Or what it's like to have everything falling down on you
Of hospital hallways at night and being too nervous to approach new people in the day
A dusty scrapbook, half remembered feelings
And empty poems for no one to read.
i hope u kno ur brain's not bulletproof
back on the island, water tunnel 3
Im thinking of ending things
Everything looks apocalyptic
And when I look in the mirror all i see is an archaic building
There's no sound when i speak.
There's nothing to hear in this echo chamber and there's nothing left to talk about
And everything feels like ash
I'm the little ghost in my room
Watching somebody else lay in my bed
How little we know of what there is to know
My head is filled with the aching hollowness of wanting
I know, I’ve always known that beauty doesn’t mean anything
Unless you can share it
Lying in your lap, like a thread in the golden light
The future is yours, and the present is mine,
And the present
Well, it's not all that it might be
The afternoon sun sets feebly, casting a nebulous glow
We bathe in ghostly shadows
And when the sun sinks, we open all the windows
Nothing on the hillside but a shiny bed of lights
Our hands touching, as we listen to music together
The fuzzy voices rattling the dust on the linoleum
We might just be okay together
Whispering I love you in nervous ambivalence
And telling each other about our *** dreams.
We're in the park. It's perfect: two beers, wine in sippy cups, oily donuts, stupid jokes that make me feel lighter than air, can't believe the boys used to say I'd end up bad at romance. "You're wrong," I told them, "you're wrong, if winding up cynical and drunk and romanticising some abstract notion I'm too smart to understand is bad at romance, I'm Joni Mitchell." There's too much beauty to romanticise right now with you. Stupid conversations about very deep things and a dip I brought. Bees landing on flowers with rearranged patterns. Music drifting over a fence. I sit with my legs open and my hands resting on my thighs. I'm making a conscious effort not to cross my arms or shut myself off. I lean my head on your shoulder and analyse Better Call Saul frame by frame. You laugh at how confessional I am and tell me you admire me. Sometimes the bees don't get on very well with the flowers, but that's just the way times go now, isn't it? I walk in the middle of the street and greedily go home without a kiss. I'm not actually as calm or forgiving as my detached demeanour might suggest, but I smile politely and press on. The only thing I did wrong today was stare at you one too many times, or maybe one too little. Later, I sit in a dark room with a pulsating light and sip a woozy silly drink that doesn't make me feel lighter than gravity, but it does stop me from thinking about you for a second. It's a terrible sin not to think of you, I know, but sin gets easier as you get older. Maybe tomorrow, I'll tell my landlord how I really feel about him, and then try to repeat the past. The only real sin is to try go back, but you do what you can, I suppose. Sin is something you have to work at. First you do away with all your morals, then violate all your morals, then you bring them back and obey. It takes time, is what I'm getting at, long enough for two lifetimes. Nobody ever really ends up a sinner all the way, everybody's too busy being saved. You saved me when you looked at me and didn't kiss me, I'll never forgive you for it. Why don't you break my heart and close up my chest one more time just for good luck, after that I'll write you a romantic poem and go to sleep with my attention in pieces. In fact, break my heart one more time and I'll write you another confessional letter and lick the envelope. Maybe I'll let you take me for another day in the park with fish carved walls and roses and then back to your father's house for chips and a movie, okay Rachel?
I let the cat out the bag for you, but you can't really teach an old dog new tricks can you? Even a house cat can wander, but eventually he'll find his way back into the dog days, just give him enough freedom to roam.
The abstract void of concrete
Mirrors reflect perpetually
Voyage into the unknown
Rising intensity
Static hums
Rising like a Sunday morning.

The lights go dim.
****** complete.
Shutdown mode activated.
Meltdown in process. Do not disturb.
Wander the walls until you find your car
Error, operator is on the line.
Do not compute compute
compute compute compute.
It's the perfect day
For the angels to be wrong
It's the perfect day
To fall in love with you
And fall backwards into lamb's blood
And light a cigarette
And let it burn our lungs as we kiss
It's the perfect
For an apple to fall from a tree
For you to finger it lightly and let
The grass take care of the rest
And me to say i love You
While you nail me into your bedsheets
Arms outstretched, like some kind of saviour
It's the perfect way to say
What a word never do
Or a kiss never touch
Or cigarette never light
To stare wide eyed into sin
And fall backwards laughing like the sun
To whatever a moon may mean
Or the Son may dream
Think He loved You too?
I think He do
What a perfect way
To I believe in you
A perfect say.
I'm pretty heartless apart from this
Petty pity party I've started on my wrist
So park this darkness into a MAC 10 and reload it
It's disappearing but it'll be back again before you know it
In fact, I'm fearing I'll slip up again and show it
This endless game of back and forth pretend may blow it
My friendless flames - my life's end in my dreams
That's the end to the means of these empty movie scenes
"Walk On By"
By y'know, Thundercat and K.Dot
Was the inspiration to this (or more accurately: the beat over which I wrote this)
thank You God hold my hand
while i sleep and misunderstand
thank You God i Love You
while i try to Love me too
thank You God don't go away
the sun hangs heavy on my face today
thank You God for making it rain
for giving us a little light and pain
for changing everything and causing us pain
thank You God for my being rock
if You changed i, might die of shock
thank You God, for food and shoes
thank You God, for helping me see
it's okay i'm imperfectly me
thank You God, for always being
without You what, would i be seeing
thank You God, for my daydreams
for wildflowers and sonic youth and cold machines
thank You God, for everything bad
and showing me there's good, in everything bad
thank You God, for perfection and beauty
and the beauty in imperfect rhymes
thank You God thank You God God thank You
thank You God for making everything/so funny i could die laughing at anything/thank
You i love You i love love love i You i Love You
i Love You I Love You I I I I Love
Thank You God Thank You Love God You Love Love Love
Okay I take too kindly to demons sometimes
And I have too much pity for thieves on the corner
Who wait for me expectantly, armed with wise words
Of advice, which I heed, like "Hey buddy, get the hell out
Don't ya know that these people here are too rough"
And sure sometimes the clumsiness
O'ertakes my body, and all my nerves get frayed
And all I can do is stare into the light and become aware
As my self-perception whisks into a wisp
And disappears w' the evening sun
And yes, I do concur
That hazily, somewhat dreamily, and with careful planning
I do indeed drift off from set tasks and chores until
Every square inch of my home on the farmlands is
Collapsing because I chose instead
To occupy my time
With the pursuit of being well-read and well-acquainted with
Writer's block
But nevertheless, a noble pursuit though it may be
It does little to distract from the rubble around
As my world decays and fractures
With calculated improvisation
And sure, whatever, spinning existential cartwheels
Is a habitue of being trapped in these cycles of thought
That come from solitude, self-imposed, ah-yes I know
A fortress of ice in this brown field
All the snow is ***** and sandy, my igloo is muddy and warm
And I cross township streets to libraries, not to read
But to perfect my accent, soften the rough edges
And paint my eyes a pristine pink
And have I yet mentioned the perfect poetry
That says absolutely nothing at all
Ah yes, a poet, the truest mark
Of having time to waste and potential to ****
So I'm aware of all these facts
Presented before me on a platter more silver than the
One I grew up with in surburban exile
So please, refrain from comment
For I'm just a sad-eyed boy
Wasting away in these lowlands
Improvising every word I octopus.
Ghost fishes
Weird children
There are two shapes
I slipped and hit my head
I slipped

Follow me out of town children
Follow me out of town children
Follow me out of town children
I'm already not listening
im sorry that i hurt you
i wish i could walk away from me
im sorry that you're sad all the time
i wish i could dissect myself
cause then i could be a better scientist
and a lover too
My whole life I've felt disconnected from people
Sort of like I'm trying to communicate behind a panel of glass
But I never really make it
I'm just watching from the outside
While everybody else gets to live
And I don't think I ever will understand others
But I dont really mind
I'm quite content in here.
fish are stupid
buildings folded over
dumb together

i buried the shirt i fell asleep in
my nails aren't painted anymore
we all have little lollipops
buy me a fish

blurry faces in crowds
into themselves
im melting over
your head is small

im thinking of you
stairways in circles
little shadows on my bed

i buried the shirt i fell asleep in

ghost dancing
popcorn butter air

im thinking of me
i love you
i love you

i love you
this isn't happening anywhere.
i don't even like rollercoaster rides anymore
a surreal love poem
I don't mind love
I'm not afraid of life
I want to marry you always
I'm spending time walking down the street
I wear a shirt and tie and go to work everyday
I watch TV and see adverts and people in the concrete all around
I hear pretty melodies and see trees and grass and bricks everywhere
I love you
My Name is Jorge regula
When I get old
I'll live in a grey house with a big field
And I'll buy my brother a ring
And show my girlfriend my favourite movie
At night, when we get tired
We'll close the curtains and wait in silence
Legs crossed, on the floor
For inspiration
Or sleep
or death.
Wine and cocktails making my head buzz low
Sunflowers and astrology spinning dizzy into café light
Ice cream and red nails and books
Mushrooms and dancing in empty spaces
Sun-kissed lips and hair curling in my fingers
I think I'm falling for you a little bit
Picnics and dresses.
Blank stares.
I don't want to feel nothing but I
don't want to romanticize you.
                        This is the best I can do

These feelings will go nowhere
      Exactly where I want them  
       to stay.
Lipstick stains on old book pages.
Oh gosh when is the novelty of wanting you on my lips going to wear off
you've yeed your last haw. huh?
my sunflowers died, i had to throw them away today, anyway
Chicanery, mendacity, an enigmatic virtue
It's in my nature, azure allure like verdure
Pseudo-sagacity, arid and automatic
Sybaritic audacity, be pragmatic
Gimme some clemency, I blame the sediment
It's evident there's something in the medicine not heaven-sent
I'm not eloquent, verbal carcinogenic
Contours contort and distort like hallucinogenic
Marquee in the moonlight
Drunk on wine
Feeling fine
Space in the sunlight
Sunflower astronaut
All the time
venus de milo arm-style
I'm not perfect like I thought I was
I'm more like asleep when I think I am
I fell asleep laughing into the light
Sideways, holding my head on my knees
I don't know what to expect when I get there
I only know I won't know when I get there
We'll know when we get there
That we won't know when we get there

I'm not asleep like I thought I was
I'm more like perfect when in love with you
I'm not kissing you like I'm asleep
All the colours make me laugh so much
I only know I can never stop, unless I do
Remember painted hands and tiny feet
Pattering on the floor like rainy ceilings
The washing machine looked like a hiding place
Laugh at flowers, kiss the light, fall asleep
I only know when the machine

Leaves and trees, hands and knees
Blue in green, dance backwards
Did you wake up yesterday? What if you slept through?
You're just like me, the day hangs on your face
Are you scared yet? Stay alive, touch yourself
Don't think, just recall, laugh a lot
I know I'm stupid, but I'm not wrong
I'm never wrong when I'm right all the time
Gap year, go away, come back
I want regret, to feel afraid, the way I do
Fall asleep, I love you, wake up again
It's okay, when you know, you won't know
You wouldn't know, either way, so it's fine
Unless you would have, in which case, it's not fine
You're okay, because you're you, imperfectly  
Hold my hand, and walk into the light with me
We don't know, where we go, let's go now.
sonic youth all day road not taken it's okay
Christmas lights and silence
Reflective mirrors on the rooftops and not articulating anything
Happiness in the dark and alone
Eyes watching me
Parents talking
Home alone again
Fractured dynamics and insecurities
I don’t know how to feel, sorry
I sit on the shore with the arid plains behind me
My swimming pool is muddy and green
And debris is falling like rain on
The riverbanks of thought and expression
Ashes to ask and dusk to dust to dusk again
I'll shore you up, these days

  Kingston Advice, all the protestors go marching in zig-zags
My words are ashes
This is the end of the world.
Hello Enoch, how have you been
Floating above death, Unreal City
All the angels ride horses and sing praise songs in reverse
I've had an awful lot of requests for the good old days
Reverse, the Contras and the Sandinistas are at war again
In between the pale rider, the Four Horseman of the End of the World
And the end of eras, and my peanut butter and jam sandwich is dry
Who is the voice that cries out in the dark? Proclaiming
Christmastime and the end of Gap Years and the New Year approaches
Who keeps the big clock that says we all have to die and sitcoms will run out of ideas
And bread will get moldy and our bodies sag and my grandmother's memory gets corrupted and twisted
Shantih. This isn't the Waste Land.
  This isn't one of those poems. Don't look for meaning.
You won't find him here. Love the one you're with. Love the way you lie.
This is just the end of the world.
I don't have a good closing line.
Out of a heap of broken images and lines
Rearranged faces
I must say
Poetry is quite lame, the dust is still settling on the ruins of my thoughts
And my self-expression is cracked and dry.
Waves wash words away on the shore.
Sandinista! by the Clash
thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things thinking of ending things nobody can hear me
We are a small and lonely human race
Showing no sign of mastering the solitude we crave
And no hint of understanding the love we need
Except in delusions of grandeur and moments of egotism
I don't really understand how I feel
Is love really just aimless confusion?
Shooting in the dark until you hit your mark?
Where does it come from, where does it end?
Love is gravity, a density in the universe
Pulling everything towards it
My love is a black hole, a star gone wrong, to death and beyond
Mutated and stupid, ****** and selfish, dragging down everything in its reach
Love is probably for someone who doesn't burn so intensely and desire so stupidly
Probably for someone with feelings, who isn't an android cutout in the shape of a human
Who asks what to feel and how to feel it
Someone who can drive over that bridge where communcation dies
Instead of stepping backwards
Adrienne rich and poetry about liking my friends and being insecure and jealous again
We don't have to know anyone else, just us again
You sigh, look away
I can see it clear as day
I'm sorry, time breaks and sun rays are all I dream of
I'm sorry again, I didn't mean it

I stand there all alone
Diamonds in our hands
Do-do-do, do-do-do

Funny how it seems like yesterday
When I was looking out of place
Daydreaming of cigarettes
It's my wife, and it's my life
I'm still here, have you seen her?

So much is going on while I'm
Standing in the pouring rain
There are places I'll remember
And these memories lose their meaning
When I remember I'll lose affection

I'm cursed you see
I know I'll often stop and think about them
Standing in the pouring rain
If I can't trust you, there's no answer
And I won't be able to trust myself
And I'm sorry for romanticising you
I just want to be friends with you again
And make myself feel very small and unhappy

Because I'm older now
And everything feels a lot emptier
And I'm still churning out sad poems and then
Pretending I've grown since then
Standing in the pouring rain
Sitting in a spinning chair
In front of my laptop
Elbows perched atop a desk
I write underneath the bookcase
About writing underneath the bookcase
I am all too real, and I cannot escape anymore
Hello curtain, hello window
I am caught between walls with
Nothing to do say, nothing to do

I have spent the whole day alone
It *****.
I am tired of being alone, and I wish I wasn't left alone all day.
Hello bookcase.
Today I barely used my phone and just had time to sit and daydream and reminisice and it was nice
I've been afraid that daydreaming is a terrible, escapist sin wherein I romanticise and hence dehumanise people
but today daydreaming just felt nice
Leah told me to publish this so I did! Checkmate writers block!
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