Look at you some ******' hieratic figure
Holier than thou prosetylizer
I wouldn't **** on fire
To put you out

Make me sick tellin' me
how to live love lie loaf
Fay çe que vouldras
Day's new motto

Got new job today
After hanging up phone
Went for smoke on deck
Looking up at gloom laden sky
Down at wet vermilion leaves
Felt nothing (empty blessing sickness)

Bored
Want for whole charade to be over
All this *******
Therapy and

ADD meds
That make me feel like a zombie
(Dead eyes in mirror look through you)
Abuse them anyway
I don't want to stop

Pretending
To be so much better for family
Really still useless (dead weight anvil)
Really still high dreaming
Of tall buildings on rainy nights
Or ketamine bathtubs
Ready for the end

Tired
Of worrying about the girl
Remorseful poison
Afraid it will take her away
Says she can't stop
Don't want her to go

This insomniac act is growing old
Limbs become cold

Sat on plane little saline tears
Bead like rain on window
More sentimental ****
Sick of it
Miss you that's nothing new
Same ol me same ol you
For all my grand gilded words
I'm just a coward and a child

Can taste copper in back of throat
Ringing ear still
Blood sinus smell
Reminds me of you
Pale face
Honey

i am the body at the center
the nut of the problem gnashing
i hate to write

my soul and heart and singular being
they were gummed up i tell him
like cholesterol in arteries
call it soul phlebitis explaining
have to stand on head meditation
to drain blood from leg
fill brain to align yr dharma

yr too caught in how others perceive you
tells he, jacket over shoulders
having found soul swagger
handsome pride brotherly love
yip o yab yum

higher than everest
she makes i am her mark
we kiss hard in loud booming bar
biting my lip til nearly ******
i squeeze breast when
you move my hands to where
they wanted to go anyway
you jump in arms
hug and sway

it's nice to see you
i yell between kisses
eating each other
small fervent little bites
and it is

and it pains
dull hurt, an ache
still deep down feels good

collapsing on bartop bar stool reverie
old home away from home
warms cold bones
old ocean growing
swells inside me
forgetting there was ever an ebb
henry miller's dream of paris
is alive and well
walking thru streets of debauched
tradition
a place where people still remember
how to live without shame in sin
as if the simple act of being is enough
to curb fire in belly hunger