Please let me have several weeks
So that my anxiety can decompress
Several weeks
That I might feel comfort again
With you
Give me several weeks
So the furniture is gone
And we can properly pretend
That there is no history
Past or future
Only the present

Cause you don't need this
And this is just practice
For your epic
If you don't
Stop for a month of Sundays
And really think about
What it is you're writing
Who you're antagonizing
I guarantee that you'll never
Ever
Have time to formulate it all
Type for a month
And you'll never get far enough
To encourage bindings

NO more
Fix that
All that *******
That makes you RAMBLE
Yeah I said it
You run on at the mouth

Just kiss me
Tell me how you feel
With the mustached upper lip
And your fat bottom lip
Leave me mouth insides
That I have to wipe off

Several weeks before you leave me a poem like this
Don't do it.
I'll leave something that like this
Raucous. On blast. Larger than life.

Don't **** this up.
I JUST got you a job.

Im digging through the log
looking for where it started
at least the clean stuff that i didnt delete

im about 200 taps in
"load earlier messages"
is going to haunt me
my dreams
i hope they have a sound track
sugar ray, perhaps

i need to lay my eyes on
the first thing you said to me
with that fancy new number of yours

seriously
ive been doing this for an hour
ive only gotten back to march
MID-MARCH mind you

but if i had to be honest
the suspense IS NOT killing me
with every tap
of that god forsaken roll-over
i get a different glimpse
of how we used to be
and how we are irrefutably now

there are times where you
dont even show up in my dreams
all i find
a black tank top
comfy black ******
a copy of atlas shrugged
and a signed cannibal corpse ticket

and NO
i dont put them in
my dream ***** pack
OR smell them
OR pass them out to strangers

i leave them there
i leave them there because
i know that your coming back for them
you left them under the street light
to let me know that you
are just popping in for a pint
just around the corner

though my first instinct
jealousy of course
might take shape
before i had the chance to
rub my eyes
sober up
and actually have a constructive thought
i have to admit
a creature as perfectly sculpted as yourself
walking clad in nothing more
than an original colored landing strip
into ANY public house
would get a better pour
than the next ten thousand

so i fold your clothes
stack them neatly
where you can find them
find a respectable framing shop in the area
that would still be open this late
frame that ticket
dead center
on black matte of course
and pick up your book
until my eyes are too heavy to wait
and my mouth too dry
to turn the pages
and i lay down
head atop a tank
toes inspecting the texture
of the sidewalk
until i awake

again
alone
and as ardent as ever

I'd love to be
Instead I swat every bug
Attracted by the illumination
Of my face by this phone

A cold blooded killer me
Reflexes like a sloth
And the wit to match

A thunder clap rouses and reminds me
That these lines aren't going to finish themselves
And half wake
I bang out a few more
Syllables
Consonantes and vowels
In order to fill
In order to feel
The place between
Rolling thunder

That's nice
Something she meant
And I laughed at the thought
No matter how trite the word
Of never living up to it

Callous
Unforgiving
I exhaust the welled ink
Grind down the tipped lead
Make mockery of sidewalk chalk

And yet you read on
Nice
To " like" this or that
And later compliment my
Change of attire

Nice

Timing?
nope
Coincidence?
no ma'am
Destiny,
Fate?
Prolly

Im smoking cigarettes pool side.
Naked.
In a thunderstorm.


It's 30 minutes in and I'm soaked, shriveled.
All my smokes are wet.
Tess dog keeps looking at me funny.
The grip tape on the diving board is scratching the hell out of my ***.
My burn pile is sopping.
My girlfriend is sulking (hyperbole here).
I'm grinning, cursing the thought of not being near you.
As if there was a voice over my shoulder saying, "it's not going to happen."
oh ****.
If the milky way is our home, then we're together.
Though, come to think of it, I'm not really a candy kind of guy.
I prefer pickles.
Take it how you will.
I love you.
And if I have to shake off the rain from my phone to hit send
I will.

i was in a terrible accident
one of those classic floor waxing accidents
scarred my face
FOR LIFE
i cant fill out my mustache anymore
my right side
near the corner of my mouth
BARREN

then there was that other one
terrible accident
folding clothes this time
SCARRED FOR LIFE
standing over a table
repetitive motions
each and every arch absent
DEFLATED

oh god remember that one
scarred for life
accident etched in
ORGANIZING RECORDS
the shelf collapsed
the knick knacks from the top shelf
cracked Funkadelic
NO MORE FUNK

and while i lament
****** stache
flat feet
broken record
real things happen

like that zit between my eyes
overgrown shrubs
1080p overheated

i mean things REAL people care about

i watched today
my childhood unfold as a 30 year old
but today it was different
strangely tempered
but some things never change
my dad still takes his aggression out
in THE most hilarious ways
my mom is still sneaky
and pokes fires
and im giving myself a heart attack
waiting for a high five

i love it
watching the waves roll in
and sweating like a monster
where else do you get that
better yet
how else are you going to cleanse
from the night before
how else can you get your dad
to bite his tongue clean off
or your mom to say "psssst!"

but theyve had 30 years
shes barely even scratched the surface
and im trying to write my will before i die
and ****
this pen is out of ink
ill write it in blood if i have to
and ill leave it all to the allusionist
or is it allusion-ee
all im thinking about is her
trimming
cutting
suffering the yelp of a dog in a ******* dress
raking
yelp
plumbing
yelp

all the while
the image spinning
like a weather-vein in a thunderstorm
pressing me on
into a place
where red hair
in my iced tea
is commonplace

i carefully cut branches from a cherry tree
its blooms in all stages
first vibrant red
buds aching to erupt
and then pinked
full, open with petals that flutter in a warm breeze
until the white comes
with age in wisdom and prepared to relinquish all
these three sprigs I weave  together
graft and plant
until none could tell one from the other


when it grew
with posture that could catch
the exhales of all the men taller than me
i clipped another branch
bigger than my thumb
and began to whittle
an instrument
strong enough to grace
with charming melody
the sweet aroma
the shade
the blossom pressings that now adorn my wall
and with each stroke
and shaving peeled
i realized that i was reaching your core
and that soon you would splinter
break even
so i got to the heart of you
and stayed there
shaving a finer point
until i could poke myself
and draw blood