I once found love and held it close to my heart 
But I cut off its head and fed it to the lions roaring inside me
Spitting it out like a cancerous chunk of lung

I once felt god all around me 
but when I reached out with my carrion hands 
I saw him whither away into the wind 

I once clasped your hand tightly in mine
But pulled free when you mentioned how much you cared for me
Letting you hang off the edge of an abyss to free fall to your death

I once said I'd always be there
I knew this was a lie the second it left my tongue
But I never told you otherwise

{…I only feel  life for minutes or seconds at a time 
fully alive for months or years if I play my hand right
This twisted design of faith, fate, and retaliation
the life we create just to devour and digest
The memories we create just to ignore and forget…}

everything comes to die inside me

And I let it with a grin on my face
And a sour look in my eyes

I was there
Wind blowing thru my hair
Feet buried in the sand
Sea water washed ashore
I could taste the night before
Fireworks, spirits, and you
They burned my lips
Like they stained my memories
I watched the sunset
And the fire flicker and die
As the sun rose over the horizon
I held a seashell close to my ear
Heard a tsunami calling your name
The waves came in and receded
The tide swirled and swirled
Circling the shore
I was there
*When the world split apart

Bring your own ****. I
have plenty of alcohol.
Lets start this party.

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The point is
To always write
Even if it's nonsense

You’re as beautiful as words
Written on a piece of paper

Your body snakes like perfect cursive
Flowing a rhythm of intoxication towards me

Your lips speak like a dictionary
Teaching me the meaning of vocabulary

Your eyes shine with verses and history lessons
Like a book of archaic poetry demanding to be read


I want to drown in the words you write
I want to suffocate to the sound of your voice
I want to be constricted beneath your pen



*I want to be seen by you

Lately I've started writing texts to people
Even finishing them sometimes
But I don't send them
I never send them

I think about how much
I don't really care to start
A conversation with the person
And how very little
I care for their responses back

Their one word responses
To complicated questions
Or their six text page opinion
When I never asked for one

Instead I delete the text
Put my cell down on the bench
And go back to whatever
Other pointless task I was doing
Before I got the brilliant idea
To write a text
That I had no intention of sending

I once had a dream that I went on a hunting trip in Africa with Roosevelt and Hemingway.

We each bagged lions the size of elephants and they each had large tusks that curved upwards towards the sun and mouths that opened as wide as hippos and were as tooth filled and hungry as a crocodile.

They charged at us and we did not hunt until the blacks of their eyes were on us.

Roosevelt shot first and hit his beast in the front right leg before taking aim again and firing, the bullet tearing cleanly thru the neck and the lion fell to the ground.

Next was Hemingway and he roared as loud as the lion charging him and with one shot targeted at the animal's heart brought it down.

As the wildness neared me I jumped into the air and landed on the back of the lion. I grabbed his mane tightly and swung my arm beneath his neck and, with knife in hand, slit the lions throat causing him to slide into the dusty ground and rolled me off into the laughter of both Hemingway and Roosevelt.

The lions were field dressed. The meat was fried, cooked, roasted, jerkied, devoured. What wasn't edible was left for the scavengers to pick clean.

Their heads are now mounted on the living room walls.

This motel's coffee is weak
Even after the 8th cup
Trying to shake off the storms
Thundering in my head
Like too many days
When I haven't felt a reason to be
Out on open roads
I promised to write a letter
To you every day
That these wheels have been rolling
But you've forgotten all the curves to my script

Because it's been too long
Since my pen has scriven
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

Another day and another night
Passes by on the road to another town
And I can't keep track
Of where I was
And who I'm finding myself to become
I call you up from a pay phone
On the corner of loneliness and nowhere
But when you answer
I can't find my voice
And there's a silence that hangs deadly in the air
As you ask is anyone there
I know you know it's me
But you play along like a stranger
Dialing the wrong number
And maybe I'm just a stranger to you anyway now

Because it's been too long
Since I have called
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

This place looks familiarly foreign
Rundown warehouses and farmland
That time left buried deep in a past
That's become more of a dream
Than some old reality
I look around to find the same memories
Playing from the viewpoint of an outsider

Because it's been too long
Since I've been home
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

These tires have lost their tread
On the long driveway
To a house I once called home
That I shared once upon a time
With a woman I loved
I see the embrace waiting for me
Behind that dark oak front door
If I could find the courage
To leave this car
And put the key into the lock
With a twist of the ****
I wonder if I'd still find you
There waiting for me

Because it's been too long
Since I have held you in my arms
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

Because it's been too long
And all my promises are gone

It's not in your best friend
It's not in your high school sweetheart
It's not in your soulmate
It's not in your it's complicated
It's not in your girl next door
It's not in your boo or beau
It's not in your bae or your roll in the hay
It's not in your one night stand that stayed too long
It's not in your ******* telethon
It's not in your one that got away
It's not in your rebounds
It's not in your first or last chances
It's not in your love at first sight
It's not in your second glances
It's not in your some day
It's not in your angels
It's not in your baby birds
It's not in your ol lady or your man
*It's not in any name you call out to the lonely night skies
It's in the piece of mind that everything is right

The silence between the abomination of your voice
Speaks it all, says it all
And it’s all been said before
By better minds and better tongues
In better ways than I could ever describe
I’ve heard the words that you spill so hazardly
From your dry rotted lips
Flapping and gumming opinions
Like your opinions are the only opinions that matter
You should go into politics
And spread your misinformation to the masses
Regurgitate all the those old aphorisms
Into new phrases and praises
Your mind spills uselessness
Coagulating on the floor like spilled milk
I don’t want to know what’s on your mind
I won’t want to listen to you butcher the air anymore
With the putrid smell of your lexis
Watching your scathing irritability rise and decay
Like your chopping on thick slices of grade A meat
I don’t want to know what it is that you see
I don’t want to hear you flail your jaw anymore
I want to be the one to be there when you bleed
I just want this to be over
Your conversation skills are lacking
And you should quit while you’re ahead
But then you would have never said a word
Never would have opened your mouth
And never would have had the chance to end up dead

“Your home is here in my arms,” she said
Moaning her ******* enchantment
We never meant to exist longer than we should
But she would take no for an answer and turn it into a yes
She spoke with her soft eyes and sharp tongue
Promising the world and every moment a supernova

“Forever,” she said
And I laughed at the thought that this would last
As she ran her fingers thru my hair and scratched down my back
The sun would shine and the moon would gleam
The two of us entwined in malted passion
Like love poems hanging in the thickest of air

“It is too early to be this bored,” she said
Her open arms always closing
Just as I reached to touch
Sly coy smile and the breathing of fire
Her dreams were for us to be together
And the breaking of my heart

“Our forever is over,” she said
Twirling her auburn hair between her fingers
And lighting her cigarette with the lighter I bought for her
She turned her back and walked away
Out of my life and into her own dark void
Leaving me wanting nothing but the taste of oblivion

Where are my fevered nights
Locked away in my writing room

Ink slinging madly about
Across paper, table, wall, and ceiling

Words
           Verses
                        Lyrics

poetry in its purest maddening delight

Where is my furor poeticus

Ecstasy of cursive, print, and type  
Words written in divine poetic frenzies

Where is my muse

Inspiration dwelling in the leaking ink on the pen's nib
Or in the soft click and hard punch of a keyboard's keys

... ... ...

Where are you


Because I know that you're not here

       My ink remains untouched
          My walls remain bare
       My notebook remains unopened
          My computer remains asleep
       My hands remain unmoved
          My mind remains unthought

... ... ...

And I'm still here
         Taunted by the missing
                           of you
          Taunted by your writer's
                            Block

Endless nights spent flipping thru the radio dial to find a station worth listening to and settle the over talking of voices raging against the walls of my thoughts when the threat of silence permeates the thickening air and I'm sickening myself with the withering ashes of three too many cigarettes as the near empty bottle of wine laid hazardlessly on the carpet spilling it's last red drops of merlot taunts me into lighting up another smoke and grow weary of the song playing on the radio to the sound of my inner monologue screaming.

Tripping with funeral stars
Random friends in random bars
Prowling bibliophiles
Nature of caskets in the wild
Can you feel the shaman’s rage?
Advice from the poor man’s sage
The summer sun and the winter moon
The eclipsing gloom of noon
This strange life of indifference
Echoing athwart the earth

Wading thru the sun
Waiting to come undone
Wading thru the sun
Waiting for you to come

Wading, Waiting

For our funeral stars
Our random friends
In our random bars

Catherine stood over the bar counter and pored herself a glass of absinthe. She placed the special spoon over the top of the glass and put a sugar cube over it and proceeded to pore slowly the water over the the sugar and into the glass of real Pernod. She watched as the drink turned its green tinted color and she could feel her insides hunger for the wormwood drink.

She loved the preparation of such a cocktail and if she were truthful it is one of the reasons that it was her go to drink. Another equally important reason it was her drink was because it awakened the creativity in her and inspired her work. Catherine was working on her fifth novel and had come to an impasse and could not write her way around nor through her dilemma and she sought hell from the Green Fairy for a little inspiration.

She took the drink to her lips and savored the anise flavored liquor as it rolled across her tongue. She closed her eyes and held on to the affects of it, seeing the edges of her vision go an opaquely luminescent green. She walked over to her desk and dipped her quill into the jar of squid ink and began to write on the parchment, letting the absinthe take her writing on the journey it needed to finish the story.

this blank piece of paper taunts me
as my words disappear before they can even be wrote





_________________­
__________________­
___________________
­__________________
­_________________
_­_______________
___­______________
____­_____________




                 ­              it's full of lines and unintended spaces
                                   It won't even accept erase marks
                                 or a smudge of greasy finger prints




________________­
__________________­
___________________
­__________________
­_________________
_­_______________
___­______________
____­______________




this blank piece of paper haunts me
as my words disappear before they can even be wrote

The silence is maddening
The silence is deafening
The silence is teasing
The silence is treason
The silence is memories
The silence is too loud

The silence is nerve racking
The silence is numbing
The silence is unbearable
The silence is unbreakable
The silence is entombing me
The silence is too much

The strange thing about lonesomeness
is that no matter how many people
you surround yourself with,
be it the best of friends,
lovers,
or acquaintances;
you'll never get to the point
where you feel like you're with anyone
besides your own voice
rattling away insults in your head.

And even that voice
feels a thousand miles away.

There's a cross upon the wall
The burden on me it falls
To reach inside and tear apart
The wretches of a wretched heart

Insurmountable

Every day converges with night
My memories die in dying light
I've constructed death as my art
Purify my flesh and soul to depart

Insurmountable

I've constructed death as my art
To reach inside and tear apart
Purify my flesh and soul to depart
The wretches of a wretched heart

Insurmountable

Stone atop stone
I build a wall
Higher and higher
I'll keep a sentinel
Watch it all
Come collapsing down

**Insurmountable

When    it       hits      me       
  what        I’ve                done

my           heart     begins
                 To              Tremble
       over     you

(hearts   beneath    floor  boards
     beating   so    that    only      I
  can     hear    them        beating)

It’s another late night
(Or early morning
I can no longer tell which is which)
And I sit lonesome
In the darkened center
Of my writing room
Attempting to write something
Anything really
Of value or valor
But as usual
Nothing profound flows out
Neither my pen nor my mind
Seems to be working right
Perhaps they are in dispute
Struggling against me
Every step of the way
Keeping my words unimaginable
And the many verses of vices
Refusing to be written