right before your
cotton candy eyes
it all falls apart

you worked so hard

positioned your
corpse six feet deep
only to find out
you missed the
pearly white gates by
a couple of inches

and someone heard
the tapping of your heels
against fresh lamented
wood floors

and told his brother
and her sister

that you were alone

and vulnerable

and so you hid behind
the tanks, lit the fuse
and watched the battleground
explode into tiny fragments
of new beginnings

made the best of loss
is what you did

but the others knew better
than to let this peace go on
much longer

thus the internal
struggle continued;--

licking your sweet lips
until they parted,

you revealed gaps in
hardwired teeth

and they never
looked so beautiful
as they did now

i walk down this street
keep to myself, head first
into shadows strewn across
the pavement; little images
for big brown eyes,

someone said you look
like the shy type, the kind
the runs away when the time's
right

and boy, were they wrong

if we are supposed
to be here, then why does
it feel like the opposite?

i ask the same questions
in class, stare at the clock
until it strikes six; the bell
signals for my grand entrance

i escape through the exit

only to find myself
knee deep in some kind
of crippling reverie;

leave finger prints
on the walls, the shells
of my limbs somewhere
on the floor

a walking oddity
given life by a
budding game designer

with the pose of an angel

i stand in your way.

how did we end up here
face down in the puddle
of dying fluorescent lighting

our eyes flicker
memories of woe,
(you're
a one digit
reminder)

and gravestones
with ropes
tied to their
sides;

crumble
with days gone by

how benign
it is to see our favorite
lovers arguing with
one another on
the corner with no
name

let's never
cross that street

when i dream

it's of
rotten cornfields
and charred
newborn bodies

a man hunts me down
tears right through me

then i tear right
through the next man

and this goes on
and on...

until i'm unable
to shed anymore tears

a man in the abyss
told me all about you

cleared up things
real quick;
and here i was wasting
so much time confused

i took a question mark
and straightened it out,--

was i too loud?

i am missing out
on your warm breath
at the moment

but aren't we the gaps
in crooked smiles anyway?

something that isn't there
has been here all along

or vice versa
ad infinitum

a woman held you
in her arms once

and fed you
till you became
plump with envy
and courage

now it's a battle
royale among
the voices

hush
you tell them
with your last breath;

an every day occurrence...

like the tongue of a
dull knife against
the sand dunes of time.

take it easy
let the poison
takes it course;
through the veins

seep like a willow,
seek
until there
is no more
desire to do so

and breathe
because
it's all you have
till the truth comes home

what to do with a broken
knee cap, tilted mindscape,
loss of stabilized perception?

comb the hair to the right,
let the fringe do all the
talking,
bang, bang, bang

shoot down the rest
of the face;

for it's smiles that keep
us at bay, until we are saddened
once more

by those despicable thoughts

how they cease to persist.

but persist they must
for what is a being
without opposition?

be it
itself

or a finely structured
organization.

and so as organisms
it's our duty to
rise, expand,
fall and collapse

and continue this
without much reason
and purpose

till it's no longer
a viable option.

sung to sleep
by the various
choices; lulled awake by
auto-pilot actions,--

i am a grievance unto myself

and it's this truth that opens
a multitude of worlds to me.

happiness is a warm slum
where all the villagers huddle
by the fire, and speak of good
old days gone by.

they shall come again,
and again. joy gleaming
with viciousness, pouring
out each pupil as though

it were a lullaby searching
for the ear of a newborn.

There are times when I'm afraid
to ask you questions I know the answers to;
afraid of the night rearing
it's heavy ***** as though it
were something I needed
not something I begged
for when I was at my lowest

(and would soon regret after)

There are days when you're
sound asleep; like a balloon
living on borrowed
oxygen

Laying on your side
your eyes flicker
on and off;

taking in the AM
particles, eyelashes
that sweep dreams
back and forth

back and forth
until the dusk
smothers you in
promising scenes

There are times when I am
grateful I get to hear your
voice at the end of the razor-wire

and wonder, (because
wondering brings me
back to a childlike
presence)

if it's really you
that I love and appreciate,

or if it's just a dream
that continues to blanket
me in it's infinite ardor.

I could be in bed right now.

Under the sheets where it's safe;

like the tongue resting firmly
between teeth; presumably
the gaping mouth of
a banshee.

I could call it an early night.

Dream of you, and the
effervescent hell
betwixt those thighs.

I could do
many things;
and yet, it still
would not suffice.

It's safe to say,
'coulds' should
be deleted from
my lexicon.

******,

I forgot to tell you goodnight

I was too tired to open my mouth

too exhausted to form a thought
but many thoughts came on later
that evening; I was worried
you might get angry with my
silence

secretly harbor resentment;

retire to your dreamland
and keep me outside
the pearly white fences;

I'd whimper to come back in;

and I'm sure

you'd hesitate
(like you always do)

before unlocking the gate

and welcoming me
into your garden of good graces.

Something tells me
you never questioned
whether or not
you have a soul
resting beneath
that blanket of
thick, moist flesh

You see, ma
never sang me
a lullaby to sleep,

and now I rest with
weary bones
and crooked teeth

as though they were
toy soldiers
marching down
the streets of a ghost town

an army of woes

and sorrows stacked
so high, you'd think
the aches were
some sort of skyrise

And on, and on
the trembles speak

shaking what was never known
but could be known

if one only
went through the proper channels.

she hasn't slept well these days,
beneath a brand new duvet
she lays on her side,
and then sighs;
tosses and turns
like holy wine
inside the glass
of night

the drip,
drop of glorious
sun arrives;

then ******,
prods, over her eyes

she'll wake up,
reach for the phone

and perhaps snooze
it for ten or twenty minutes

finally awake,
she tumbles like a load
of ***** laundry
(the aftermath
of bad habits)

in the sweet,
sickly aroma
of a day to day
existence;

another morning tucked
in the back pocket
as she makes her way
to the door,

locks it

and takes the
heaviness of dreams
for granted.

the chaotic movement
behind the bushes
of my neighbor's front yard

the yelps of a dear
caught in the headlights,

she pleads
for the flesh
to sink down
to the depths

where no man
dares tread

the moon shines
upon bare backs
like the dead weight
inside the flask

two pour into
one

and the hush
comes quickly;

sweeps the night
off it's feet
and lays it to rest

by the curb

or bed;

much like the face
of a newly wed
into his or own
hands.

baby, these are eyes
heavy with guilt;
pupils like dandelions
in the shape of used
tampons;

a kaleidoscope
of secrets whispers
through yellow crooked
teeth

you said don't trust
a sailor, don't let her
come close

but i know better

i've tricked myself
into becoming a father

and now i wait
with my hands over
my mouth

behind a wilderness
without a name

the same greens, the same
browns, the same rustle of leaves
in between the same
frowns

it's your turn, you said
as i started to walk away

but this wasn't a game i wanted
to play

okay, you replied

and then you swallowed me
whole in a thick black duvet

i moaned your name

as i started to feel around
the absolute darkness.

a ***** cell,
a gallon of mother's milk,
cradle this heart
in your warm mouth,
teeth like icicles
on a midsummer's
night

the inevitable
death of a lover;
the Other,
so what's left?

the carriage,
hollowed out
like the skull
of Hamlet

haven't you
felt abandonment
yet?

carry on,
skyline of tomorrow;
glistening in the
far right,

flossed nicely

if breathing is this
painful
by nightfall,
i've let each family
member know

how much they
were loved
by one version of
me.

rewind
be kind, i haven't been
so
to others or myself
we are one
behind this teal
veil;
but rather,
i stay bottled up
in a grimed shell;
let's dance,
shall we?
to music unseen,
our hearts soaring
without wings,
but instead
riding upon
the air waves
of compassion

one day, i won't be
here anymore,--

the breath will have
subsided, and my body
given to the coast guard
for safe keeping;

what of my soul?
the mind struggles to
answer this ever-fleeting
riddle by complicating
matters worse: accumulate,
compete, and compare

meanwhile
the smiles, the frowns,
the lips aligned
in parallel design

play like an instrument
behind the curtain that is
the flesh

and what the flesh
desires, it desires
in droves

i hear my mother
in the background,

screaming something
about how i'll never
amount to anything

but she's long been
dead; and what remains
is a dear old friend

those faithful lines of
hers always keep me in check

they dot the i's
cross the t's

i handle all the rest

but let's
rewind, shall we?

be kind, what of that child
who never got much attention
or nourishment?

surely he's still around
here somewhere; waiting
in the shadows to be called
forth, with words such as:

'come out, my friend. no need
to be afraid; death will take us home
some day, but for now

we awake, we live

to love one another'

because I believe
we are birds of a feather.

drained the snake
tonight;
it's still battered
and bruised from
the five minute fist
fight

i could go another round,

that's if you don't mind
getting kicked while you're
down

or knocked up in this
boring old town.

here, let me buy
you a Mexican coke

don't worry, i got
a bottle opener
somewhere in my bag

found it

see,
there you go

don't worry,--

tastes good doesn't it?

welcome, my friend

to America

the coming days are like
a tidal of white walls

as children, my brothers
and i used to put our
crayons and markers
at work

i wrote my name
in cursive on my
wall, my brothers

drew big circles,
then little circles within
the big ones

and we stood back
like a live audience
with our mouths
agape

there was no such thing
as constructive criticism
at the time; 'yours
*****' seemed
to suffice

but even then,
that got boring

had i known i could
have had a hand in
shaping a sibling
into a spray paint
tagging maestro

i would have said:

i see what you're
trying to do there,

it's a human
being plastered
across a blank
sky

give it some life,
a little color;

like you are
handing over
a full heart
to all that empty space

eliminated from the team, refracted
from the equation, put in a bird
cage, flimsy construction
paper soul pressed against
the lips of a thousand blades

vibrating like soil
under the weight
of a nameless stampede

floating away, a distant
but fond memory,

tired of living,

exhausted from trying

let it come naturally...

breathing the sharpest
daggers, open arms for
cruel, sick jokes;

embrace the absurdity;

sleep upon nerves
shot to hell, welcome

the worst of thoughts;

like wicked flames
burning from a holy
candle;

a wick lead by temptation;
fueled by innocence

the tiniest speck
against the giant
wave of grain that approaches...

open eyes that see nothing at all...

but an accompanied mouth
to claim such things exist.

I open up the UberEats app,
order two lattes from Brian's Brew
I wait, every now and then
I check my phone to see what time it is

Time, you're silly

I wish I could slap
you back to where you came
from

I wipe my eyes, the dust from
the lids sprinkle my cheeks
like sugar crumbs on
a cake yet to be baked

Space, can you be a darling
and bring all of our hearts
closer together?

I just want an earthquake to shake
things up

Still, I sit here and wait
outside on the patio,
or inside on the couch
watching re-runs of Jerry Springer

Internet, can you supply
the world with more mysteries
rather than answers to questions
that haven't been asked yet?

It will be okay, but it won't
really

Opening books, scribbling
on white cloaks, and tapping
on keys are all I know,

millennial disease,
I suppose

I wait, listen for
the knock on the door

it doesn't come,

I don't bother with
anything anymore...

Oh, memory,

will you just stay with me?

Even if for a little while..

I weep for the willows
unsung in their
bed of nails

tossing and turning
like razor wires
that cover the
fences

I promise to save
you a seat;

Right next to me,
my precious left rib,
darling *****

Your womb
resting comfortably
in the palms
of my callous hands

pardon me
for peeking
into your window

i was just admiring
your Christmas tree

it's very beautiful

i like the oriental
ornaments; my favorite
one is the the rainbow
colored candy cane
swinging like
an iridescent icicle

don't mind me,
nor the ***** rags
i'm covered in

i'll be on my way
once the snow settles

nudge, nudge

you wake up,

pupils running
circles around
your eyeballs
till they get tired

collapse
at the bottom,
near the eyelid

and then your
mouth creaks,
opens like the
door of a basement

a yawn peeks
out, up
and at 'em

the dawn lulls
you back to sleep

a mild headache,
loss of appetite,
burning rubber, grinding
to a halt

she lets out a whimper

tears take a lovely
stroll down nostalgia
avenue;

tap dancing
across the New York
skyline

she clenches her teeth,
legs spread apart, a web
of deceit, a rainbow head
peaks out and whispers
secrets into my ears

we are all alive now

rest upon my ***** your
worry laden head, sore from
all the oral ***

this grave of carnal flesh
is our only pure rest

***** posture,
this lady, hunched
over behind the counter
tapping at buttons,
clicks and whistles,
***** and pistols

we go bang, bang, bang
on, in and around one
another

and she's there, ringing
up products, pointing
at slideshow menus

which one is
perfect for an Atkins
diet, "The Carb-o-tastic"
she says with a mild grin

she's being sarcastic,
but no one can tell;
these days our eyes hide
behind screens, brightness
on auto-pilot, the human
race pseudo-connected

come one, this table is empty,
come all, i'm free and a loosey
goosey

the windows wiped
down, heads turned
at a ninety degree angle

appetites like magnets
directed towards red
apples

this garden of Eden
used to be the refuge
for graceful angels

now it's all in ruins,

uprooted and discarded
like ***** napkins

she coughs and signals
her youngest daughter in

and tells her to mop the floor

some ******* spilled
a full cup of tomato soup

and didn't bother to
clean it up themselves

I sure could use
a poem about me*

said no one
ever

i brush my teeth;
gargle and spit it
towards the sky

if i close my left eye
and squint with the right
i can see our astrology
signs align

i feel you next to me,
nudging against my tumor,
relaxed i submerge myself
in Arabic

there is no pain here,
no past hurts to haunt
the rest of my days
on this earth

and so i bring you
in closer, more closer
than i have ever brought
anyone

and with that,
comes the almighty
fear of God

i pray that we love
each other like
we loved one another
centuries ago...

never mind the
bullocks.

don't worry about it
the days will go on
without you;

you'll leave this planet,
pretty much like
you left the other
ones before it

your obituary has been
written with writ, your eulogy
eloquently spoken

family and friends
finding and sharing
their favorite moments

your outline in chalk,
your shape in sand,
your legend in stone

all of you, in
all of us, part of
nothing,

and spread out
like birdseeds,--

and once you're
gone for good,

your favorite barista you used
to talk to on every Sunday morning
will wonder where you went;

because it's been 2 months
since you've come by
for a grande iced ***** chai.

what's a minor
setback to a major
league failure?

wallow in despair,
a weeping willow
desperate on never
making things right

sinking further
into the bowls of the
earth, begging
every seed to bloom
and burst

but what of love
for the self? like
ancient books
buried deep
in the shelves

never to be read,

blue as the sky
when it bled;

the mind petrified and
dried out,
pregnant with dread

what is preparation
to the being desperate
for death?

you don't know,
but you speak like you do

and that, my friend

is the end.

What's important?

I failed to see that today.

Instead of enjoying myself,

I turned a form of entertainment
into need for validation.

My relationship comes first;

to keep that closeness, and
and love fulfilled above all.

What brings us together
shouldn't tear us apart.

It's just a game.

After work
I come home from a
half hour bike ride;
I don't count
the miles,

why bother?

As I place my bike
against the bookshelf
I have yet to organize

I overhear people
in the kitchen;
loud like the engines
of trains on a sunny
day in Arkansas

They're talking
about *****,
the tips
of *****

nuts;

blurry waves
of cosmic notes
against the sheets
of empty space

This is what we do
with noise when
our brains
fill to the brim
with symbols,
concepts, ideas
and worries

Do we have
real control over
our tongues?

How they click
and cluck; lash
like bullwhips
against the back
our teeth

As though
they are in a hurry
to get our mouths
to turn the
thoughts into

daggers;

sling them wherever
and hope they
hit a target;

any target will do

you asked for your
'oomph'
and got it

that spice of life,
variety in a bottle

sprinkle our assorted
colors across the globe

we are like falling leafs
on a windy day in the midwest

orbiting around you;

for you are the sun,
the centre of the universe

without your precious
privilege we
are nothing

it's midnight
or close to it

the smell of freshly
blown out birthday
candles fills the
air;

i'm on foot, and
walking towards
the horizon;

there's a rhythm
somewhere, i can feel
tapping along,
like the tiny
feet of a dancer

i peer into
the houses
i pass by

they remind
me of ovens,
televisions burning
the precious logs of
our attention spans

some houses
are dark as the
space i breathe in;

doors unlocked,
windows open,
beds made,
rooms occupied,

the rest of their souls
stowed away in
basements and attics

i'm almost home,

there is no porch light
to welcome me, no open
arms to embrace what little
there is left of my wartorn
body

but i'm far from giving
up on planting roots;

this earth is a battleground,

nature is doing what it does best;

beating like a drum,
marching on like a fleet
of soldiers

towards it's only true destination

tonight i've come to learn,

there is no heaven

or hell

for what only comes natural.

are we more than the brittle
bones that occupy
our lonely vessels?
they bob up and down
aimlessly, like forgotten buoys
littered across this vast
deep blue sea;

you call it life,
i tend to lean towards:
the subjection
of the 5 senses

you and i are fragmented
wholes, divided into a million
and one categories

and somehow, i don't feel
as lost as i used to be

the air pushes it's way
out of the womb, it takes
the shape of something
soft, warm and vulnerable

it cries when surrounded
by nothing

it coos when everything
satisfies it's hunger

and who's to say
it's time is up?

those bones, like our bones,
will grow old and turn to dust

lovely, it is
for cause and effect
to have mercy on us

i am damage per shot,
a weakness of the lung,
collapsed, i fold into
fours and then submerge
as easily as a freshly
baked American apple pie

i am a 24 hour diner
without a place to sit,
something like
a sack of grains
pouring into closed
mouths and filled
bellies

it begins, another year
around the neck of
two thousand

starving, i wander
the earth in search for amazing ***,
a fertile egg to implant my indecisions
and imperfections in,

one more breath
against the tidal waves
of suffering, we all continue
down this path

not as if it was chosen,
but as if it came naturally

littered with multitudes
of ideas,

i fall into place,

the center of a crooked
angle

Ever get curious about
how important you are?
Whether or not
you're pulling your weight
or dragging the whole world down?

For every center of a universe
there are pounds of flesh to mask it
call it what you will,

Human, homosapien,
the individual,

or Norman.

This planet is littered
with biases,

and each one
counts just as much
as the ones that don't.

"I'm gravitating
towards the shiniest
object in the store"

We say to ourselves,

unaware our consciousness
is simply a loading screen.

silence, i remain

'profound, deep,
intense' she said

'very creative,
good ideas...'

the web was sewn

it isn't the woman
we despise, but
the mother that was
never there

and what of
the thousand year old
tree sitting out back?

where is he?

'you're just like me
when i was younger,
you've got to carry me
to the end, put me
in another,

watch
me get stronger'

more seeds to sow

it has to grow
and grow
and grow

until i am not here
anymore

until i return home,

the unknown

Wonder who's
next

behind a steering wheel,
or in the 5th row
seat next to the window
looking down

or in front of
a gun, staring
into the barrel

at the mercy of
a stranger, or
on the knees
begging a jealous
lover

someone's
gotta go

here, now,
there

in the distant
future

it's got your number,--

but till then..

give meaninglessness
hell, kid

Visualize
then execute
tomorrow is
your open grave
lie in it, kiss
the walls, appreciate
the silver lining
it's all for you
every one get's
one, feel special,
uniqueness comes
in droves

with eyes closed
your heart opens

I'm inside of you
always been

because I am sound

what do you do with a
knife covered in blood
that you found under
the fridge?

you just wanted a
leftover piece of
your birthday cake;

you turned 30
and didn't want to celebrate

but the parents surprised
you with an old family
favorite;

double chocolate,
double vanilla,
double sprinkles,
double everything

the blood looks fresh,
there are drops of it
that lead to your
roommates room

let's not go in there
just yet,

let's have another piece
before calling the cops,

before saying goodbye
to Charles

before we muster
up the courage
to go catch that ******.

My socks are soggy
with yesterday's dinner,
a couple of nameless
heads laugh in the background;
what is empty space
without the concept
of occupation?

If it isn't the tiny
dots that string
our precious molecules
together, it's something
else entirely.

There is no brain
without the fluids
of perception to
saddle it down;

the weight of thought
consumes our shadows
tonight.

I take off these socks
and put them aside,
I'll wear them for the third
time tomorrow.

If it doesn't rain,
I'll be fine, I promise
I won't complain;

it's such an easy action
to commit oneself to,
but like I said earlier,
I promise I won't do it.

The lapping of water
emits rays of subtle sound;
as though it were routine-like
calculations of the complex kind.

I bite my nails, I count to ten
in my head, but there are only
images of said symbols,

the number one is a man
resting on stilts
reaching for the sun.

The space
between the skin
and the star that
melts it

is a parallel reminder
of the thing all of our
vessels contain yet still
desire to obtain.

I'll wash the dishes tomorrow,
or put it off till next week.

I should call my girlfriend
it's been a few days since
we last talked.

Its been even longer
since I've seen her naked.

Guess I'll open a book
I haven't read in a while
instead.

He lays on the couch
his gut peering
over the valley
of camo shorts;

He yells for a beer.

No one comes.

So he tries to get up
but in doing so,
knocks over the
small folding table;

Yesterday's dinner follows.

It's a new problem to fix.

But easily avoidable
(for the moment)
with internet ****.

Google Browser Incognito
flares up. His wife will come home
in half an hour. Gotta finish soon,--

before she cleans the entire mess.

You are a bundle of baby blue balloons
tied to the rail of a gate; the entrance
of used car parking lot.

A man, who
goes by the name Joe is doing his
damnedest to pawn off an old mustang,
the year: unknown -- he has yet
to be familiar with specific car models;
he was the manager of
Costco for 20 years before
getting fired for ****** harassment.

His wife is at home.

He speaks two different languages.

You over hear him, and can't help
but giggle to yourself, each of You
swaying in midair like the fur
of a dandelion.

It must be nice to have two sets
of limbs, upper and lower body
movement; it looks as if
a clusterfuck of genius
has taken the form
of flesh.

Perplexed, You
let one of You
go. You never come
back down.

This is easy
You think.

Joe has failed again; this is 3rd time
today; unable to muster up the courage
to call his wife for support he turns
to a little coke he has in an old
Altoids case kept in his left pocket.

The restroom is where
all the *****, shameful
practices of humans take place;

You call it: "The Encasement of Perserverence"

Clever thought, You say to Yourself

drifting there, alone in Your
grave of gravity.

I see You and wave, but You
pretend to not notice me
and continue to float
like a cloud.

Joe comes back, sits on a red
chair outside the main entrance;
where the sliding glass doors
no longer slide. He hums
a sweet little tune; Simple Man
by Lynyrd Skynard.

You sing along, but through
your film so no one can
comment on Your bad pitch.

It's another day in Tuscon, Arizona.

The sun begins to set.

And we're sulking like undiscovered
mermaids under this umbrella
of 'what the **** do we do now?'

Night will come soon; hinder our progress
with it's unique way of settling the score.

There is no stillness, and You're
no longer a bundle of baby blue;

You are a bomb bound to burst
once the needle of morning
discovers where You live.

don't over think it,
she said to me
as we stood
under the fluorescent
light of the post office
sign

knee deep in our plight
she kneaded knots
into my thighs, tied
me up tight

I couldn't move

I was still as a mountain
on fire

I could feel the pain of the
entire world

and they felt like insect bites

We are in harmony she
said to me, but I was too
busy checking the time,
I had somewhere to go
somewhere to be, I was
a thousand times
more important than
the land and sea

This is flesh at
the mercy of thoughts,

sight bound by the
force of darkness

I can move through
every element labeled
by Man, praise any God
without consequence,
speak a hundred languages
and understand nothing
all at once

but she held my hand
firmly, collected every
bead of sweat from my brow
and wiped it against her
skirt;

kissed me on the lips
and held me close

she whispered
don't over think it

and I was asleep
once again

Ever since I moved in with
an old friend from High School
and his girlfriend I've got
nonstop texts from my grandmother
asking if I'm okay, if I need any fresh
water from the well, and am I
getting a full night's rest. As much
as I'd like to say no, because it's the truth,
instead I say yes, because the truth
would hurl me back into
a place where personal space
doesn't exist. A couple of years before leaving,
I went to a friend's house down the street.
I had left my laptop open; it was still on
website I frequent on the loneliest of nights.
I remember the blood curling screams; the howling
for me to come back and explain why there
were guys doing questionable things to dead girls.
Telling my grandmother those girls were just
playing dead didn't wipe that scowl off her face;
it only made things worse. She canceled our
internet service provider and made me give
my laptop to my older cousin Nick.
It isn't so bad here. My roommates smoke ***,
play video games and most importantly don't
ask where I am going or what I'm doing
on the weekend. I like it. I could get used to it.
My phone vibrates almost every hour. But I'm
getting used to not answering every text. Sometimes
I feel guilty for imagining my grandmother dead;
sometimes I let the thought delve further into darkness
and imagine terrible things being done to her. It isn't
that I don't love her. I think I love her too much.
When I'm tossing like a fish out of water
in cold sweats; I wake up and lie there, breathing,
trying not to swallow my tongue; and like clockwork
the AC comes on and hums a little tune, as though it
were only meant for me. I mumble along until
I fall back asleep. I dream the same dream.
I'm small again. And I'm chasing a thousand
dragonflies through a nameless field
somewhere in the Midwest.

Anywhere, really.

California is burning with
premature smiles, highways
littered with mechanical
insects, foaming at the mouths

They make a beeline
for the stairs, going
nowhere they sigh

and wonder how

or why

they got packed
in so tight; we're much better

than sardines, much
better than peas

Another valley
is carved across

a November
sunset

The bridge smiles upon
these fiendish ghouls, sheds
a few fall leaves and opens
it's arms wide;

welcoming the ever flowing
upper/middle

class tide.

Speaking of...

Loosen up the bowls,
body tremors are normal;

get the shakes, pass them
around for goodness sake

Ear plugs, wear them
when the voices start to
arrive;

don't worry
your head about it,

they
were invited

You don't understand
when it comes to laying
around the house

like a carcass you rise
up with fists, six feet
deep in the misunderstandings
and commitments

Sound the alarm,
it rattles a sweet
little tune, something
like a warning,

or better yet,

a future full of prospect

*** in your hand
and smear it all over
the plastic spirit

Do your best

to trust yourself,

lover.

You don't want to wake up
anymore

okay, that's fine

stay in bed and watch
the clock knock space
upside it's head, like it's
a cosmic episode of
the Three Stooges

let the doors close
themselves, and lock
whatever is left
of eternity
outside

You hear someone
speak, and it makes
a little sense,

something like,
he's still in there,
should we wake him?

The eyes roll
back into their
respectable sockets,

the mouth locks
back into it's rightful
hinges

Functioning
never felt so
good, especially
under the weight
of mortality

Your hand revolts
against your mind's
fiendish desires
and coils around
the doorknob

like a thirsty desert
snake

It turns the ****,

it resembles
pouring frosting
all over a bland
bundt cake

It tastes good,

the bed no longer clings
to your body, but still
carries your sweat stains

just in case you ever
want to go back to that
sick, sad,

escape

You've been discorded,

but you are no enemy of mine,

for we are one in this battle;

the violent dance of

harmony.

How do you spell your own
name without falling over
backwards? Desperate
to piece a Self together,
as it simultaneously unravels;

the floor is muddy
with wants, needs,
likes, dislikes

"I'm not that
kind of person"

leaks from the mouth
like gasoline from
an open sore
of a brand new car

And we limp
forward, as though
our souls were
built upon stilts

This is a good start,
mind you,

Because without
the trouble you don't
have the nightmare
and without the nightmare
you can't have a world
full of suffering, and without
the suffering...

There is no meaning

behind your name,

no sticky blue
plasma that emits
personality rays

Oh, you know,--

That poor ole thing we call

a soul.