if you listen carefully
to that song that you love
so much so that it brings salt
to your eyelashes
pay attention

stare directly at the sun
or into a projector
displaying a map of canada
and witness it

the luminescence
and every tone and shade
of every chroma
flashing with every blink
the liquid provides
a spectrum unbeknownst
to vertebrates
much like blood for vision

clumsy trip up the 17
steps to the paisley sheets
me behind you and
saying the same thing
with a new twist
"hey, know whats trending?"
"your sweet ***"
or
"you smell that?!"
to which you reply
"farts is trending"
no able to erupt
in the uproarious laughter
necessitated by turning
a tired line on its head
i cover my mustachioed mouth
with a sweaty palm
to cover the guffaw
that would most certainly
awake my roommates
you always in the lead
giving *** for tat
the style of humor
i searched for yearningly
and never found
that is
till you released wind
and then told me about it

crochet me a heart
well a heat cozie if you dont mind
i know that mine could stand to be more warm
it could beat faster too honestly
it wouldnt become faint

oh
stitch me a liver too
while youre at it
mines wearing out
bleached one too many times
thanks

**** my ear darling
i listen earnestly
but often dont hear

cobble my feet
that i am nearer

there is no better shoe
breezed and open
leather soles
reeking from my trips
to here
and there
when i go to wash them
on sunday afternoon
i always find a stinging lizard
but i know its mostly my environment
if i could move
should i relocate
there should be far less pain
nothing to ***** about
a new space means
the denial of spiders of the mouth
denial of room temp pasta salad
denial of eat hate pray
please
let me wash your feet

you needed each other

though neither of you yet knew it
each ingesting what each season offered
growing beyond near defeats
each winter bare and shivering
each summer consuming broad and open
laughing all the while
showing bridges
between deep past and next season
neither existing without the water
the other poured willingly
one for the blinding yet nurturing
impending solar singularity
and the other for the pleasant aroma
and the welcoming blossom
and the predictability
the companionship
and when you
our beautiful ample matriarch left us
so did your sister
and her leaves fell
and then her petals
and her pistol
stamen
limbs
as if weeping for the loss of her confidante

when you
my mischievous sponsor
when you fell
so did your rival in beauty
i used a chainsaw
i tossed away her lifeline
turned off the faucet and tossed the hose
stacked her limbs on the curb
for the garbage truck

they wont let you
bury trees at the cemetery any more

Robot rendezvous and electric engagements
Android alimony to cyborg sexists
Weve created our technological truces
Bound tightly to this digital dance
We wont work without electronic easing
Copy and paste emotion
Upload desires
Forward your sentiments
Firewall the insufferable experience
Logout of life and reboot reality
Let the dry bones regain their flesh
The empty eyepits become filled and see
Electro-spark the cognitive cardiac arrest
And reascend the route from the CPU catacombs

Zombie love becomes a thing when
You shake off zombie dust
From writing utensils and shoes
To find another groaning
Aimlessly careening
Toward a blow to the skull

Let's eat someone together
You share

over the phone you might think me
a kindhearted metro-****** with a deep voice
that lilts and appropriately pitches
to accommodate your ear
and manipulate your conception of me
so that you wont put a frowney face
nested in the message that im leaving
for someone else
above any "i" that might appear

but this vocal spirit only disguises
the less-than-cheeerful demeanor
with which i walk around
when i deftly cut of all communication
with the people that need me to be
something that makes them feel better
not only about my person
but humanity as a whole too

i have a
love hate relationship with phone voice
it often feels like im acting
i wrote and approved a script
where a melancholy person pretends
to be the most pleasant thing
that you have ever known

"yes, HULLLOOO! im looking to leave a message for
....[puke in mouth] heather"
and when that dreadful experience
wains and vanishes
i light another cigarette
slam down a shot glass
and growl
ghrryeeeeaaaaah

me again
***** with tobacco stained fingers
happy [through ingestion]
but still not that person
never phone voice happy

she said that she should be laying prostate before me
i said prostrate
it was ruined from the start
her favorite song
"mohammed was a truck driver"
disgusted me and she knew it
i could pretend that when she ***** her teeth
it didnt make me want to stab things repeatedly
i should back up
we met on a carousel
i tripped over the lion and
she
and she
stopped me from losing my two front teeth
still ate **** though
laying prostate at six flags

i cant stop sneezing
it took me fifteen minutes to write that
its my birthday but i dont deserve it
i realize myself in sharp bursts
slices between when its all mechanical
closing one eye to type and record it
look at my filthy fingers
scrub cuticles and continue
what abhorrent keys
clean those
(sneeze)
behind me rhythmic tickling
(sneeze)
pirouette
(sneeze)

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

this whole house smells like pie
or should i say pies
and what does that mean
that my only connections
will be absent and myself
alone
shades drawn and space blaring
my battalion against common fear
that silence means emptiness
that curious jeer means insult
that sweet interrogation means
we will never be apart

there is no such spare part
which could bring my lid
into a snug placement
it will always shake and rattle

there is no sized slice of this
that could satisfy
the space between here
and yesterday
and tomorrow

but how delightful and sweet though!
soft and creamy in its presence
y-h i beg
save me a slice

caressing you
the nape of your neck
towards the dimples on your back
flirting with every finger
to a jazz rhythm
making every pore pert
dreaming about our love
waking you up most subtly
coaxing you back into the bed
back toward the place where we
have the best memories
STOP
that tickles
and to write this
only to the be coaxed back
come cuddle with me
i oblige

It clawed me first
Dangling the honest red loop
That loop from the shirt
That one they tore
That one I cried over
That lover that shamed me
A patient of mine
losing. blood with with
no single transfusion
and you bite your nails
And I listen
Click
Click
Click
Take me to where the leafs are
I need to leave our pizza
And yours
Hold my hand my van Pelt
Don't leave me
Weep and dry your eyes
On my new necklace
Kiss me and share my salt

Why scratch?
I wanted to pet you
Superficially of course
But is that ******?

its not filthy
its just unappealing
its just the grooves
the places between the melody
that desperately need a cleaning
the tune no longer resonates
the tone dull
and crackly
its has nothing to do with
amplification
or projection
its the source material that fails me
im no good at this
at a loss for tools
which could make completely clear
the soaring voice that is love
impassioned and dedicated
but they are contained
within the outmoded technology
wax or vinyl

it could be
though
that my table is just on the fritz

over the shoulder squeals
giggles atop great grandma's quilt
from under the tree
that we have all hit our heads on

way up in the field
screaming up in to the sky
NO POCKET KITE
WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!
diving a dipping
then crashing
youre no trick kite!
nothing but a dollar store impulse buy
ill *** you up and stuff you back
into the belt-clippable makeshift container
the one you shamefully came in
curse you and your inadequately short string
maybe she'll have you
return you to your designers glory
not i

oh but you
i see you
soaring
string waaaay to far out
dangling above the trees
and power lines to boot
aloft at least 100 meters up
today you soared
mathew perry shoot
thats what im going to call you
parachute in a bag
to heights i could never achieve
standing in the sand
waves crashing against phalanges
in those years
over a decade back now
and you
and your potential joy provided
collected dust
in that same place that i left you
all those years ago

but i had to call the dog back up
"TESS DOG, HEEL!"
and i had to wipe the quinoa of my hands
and roll up your string
she had to stop smiling at some point
your stewardess or should i say flight attendant
smiling, no loving.
or staying.
kissing.

oh lets stay here!
in the field
atop the blossoms of berries
yet ripened
smiling
"pulling and running!!!"
under the shade tree
on a blanket
holding hands

give me thirty days though
i have some things to work out

To become aware of the single moment that needs interpreting
To be jolted from sleep between sheets creased in the tribulations of dreamscapes
Clammy hand pressed to neck you remember yourself
And before it slips and crumbles spiraling up to the cosmos it is captured
Pinch your eyes together and draw the cool water from the well

A friend’s arm around your shoulder; a sweaty smile, meandering through
The crowds of faces, each one drab and still, motionless for you
Tendrils of tenderness wandering o’er a body consumed in secret greed and corrosion
And the cheeky faced attached returning curiosity masked in love
Flitting up and down the stem of the one you knew to be yours
Yearning for her to open her petals and reward arduous labor
The repose of correcting ages of missteps and the satisfaction of
Correctly placing lost experience
Enjoying the rhythm pounded out by drums of progress, and then pacing
To one all your own
Reasserting brutal individuality in spite of legions upon legions of conformity
Then ironically setting the trend

Once seized, every vague trapping melts down weary head, past hunched back
Beyond knees bend to reach toe tip
Revitalized by the comfortable shade of your whole self, the parts unwanted, unseen
Usurped, intangible, inconceivable, and most illustrated purely glow
A self if surely sacked, a reanimated soul now softly speaks, and sexuality is assured in
Each slow step

The chill that crawls in the cytoplasm
and
folds in against itself damasked and dynamic
but it wasn't the climate's bite
the pea gravel stone cemented into place
boarding up the fluid monument
poured up and leveled by its creator
but it wasn't the stone
digging into my heel
pressing on the once broken bone
that reminded me that this
THIS
is not the way i ordered my hamburger
and no
it wasn't any thing growing atop
my flimsy wrapping
pale and hairy
and then nothing
inside me and resting
along the walls of my longest tract
digesting my food along side me
even still
more base
it wasn't any amount of matter condensed
shooting
firing between two neurons
reminding me of half truths
or lies
blatant ones
which can careen me back
into places better left forgotten
no
what i felt there
with wet feet and cold quivering hands
was something that
despite what i would love to believe
CANNOT be measured
that which drew me from
every one of the places
that should be connected
but aren't
to a love
manifested as suspicion
that placed both egg and seed
in the same envelope
of
both disgust and admiration
******* Vicky
whoever you are
****
you
and all the cold
******* lice
and the pressure
the memories
they all try to drag me away
to a place where I cant see
what they desperately try to convey
one to another
and
our brilliant star moves from behind
one iridescent pink gossamer puff
sparkling for a moment
back behind another
it's warming
but it doesn't reach back
for your had
no request for your warmth
and yet
every fiber aches
for the moment when you careen
back into it
or when everything you know
is compressed back into it
that
that little moment
where everything and nothing make sense
like two dogs speaking french to each other
as long as they both know how to
howl
not just how to
how is simple.
but when
and why

we left the hills of lebanon
through the fields
first poppy and then through the taller flowers
i need a new shirt
with a taller collar and french cuffs
we simply must
travel to damascus
80 kilometers over the mountains
wheels between villages
barren spaces and us
needing new shirts
on that last hill
we could see the whole thing
******* man look
we can see everything
all the seas and **** like that
****
...
you know i think i might need some new socks too

i would have been barefoot
with cuffs not hemmed
and rolled
but its not fashion
my jeans are aged
but not from design

i wear my life
into a one roomed class
it dons a bell tower
and, post-toll
no one prays
one instructor for all
each led in divergent direction
according to our abilities

and while the greater lot
learns an appealing cursive script
i curse at the blank pages before me
in my simple way
passing them as notes
but they fall on ears
as barren of hearing
as the recipients feet are
of the callous and sediment
that make mine
breathe life into my narrative

but here no lessons are taught
however gleaned from discord
interpreted through grime
grime and rebuke
filtered through shallow waters
through embattled plains
rife with mole hills and ant piles
scattered with patches of knee high grass
spotted with blooming indigenous flora

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

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.

the winner of the sloth fight
is the one who stays awake longest

uh
so i win right

hey
hey
hey
are you awake
you awake

YEAAAHHH
i win!!!

oh ****
i think hes moving

the first person to fall asleep
has awaken
am i losing?
just because he lost
his grasp on sound slumber
i should hang my head in shame

*******

im still prancing
in the forest bed
holding up
all six of my claws
and grinning
in victory
that sloth grin

fine
lets call it a draw
im getting tired

yawn

I know what it feels like
To be isolated
stranded on an island
in a sea of meaningful conversation
so remote you need binoculars
to find people holding hands

thats not us today
not you second mom
not me failing educator
but us
jovial and talkative
skipping down mainstreet
stopping in pocket parks
to plan our towns future

i want to take you somewhere
that place that we used to go
well not together
that breakfast place
's been around for a half century
well
its not there any more
its a bar now
look ill buy you a shiner
and you just sit there
look pretty
and write on this dollar

and thats what she wrote
"b [star] [heart]"
with the shapes there instead
just over washingtons face
and i made for it a frame
just in the corners
and the new bartender
stapled it right in plain view
above the ***** section
down at the end
where the old men talk about
the ways that it hasnt
or never will
work out for them

you embody their silent shrine now
you are reigning over the space
where they come to be lonely
but talkative though
the place where they come
to find people with whom to hold hands
to skip down main street
to stop in pocket parks
and talk about the way
things need to be changed
and how [we] can change them

its not like i traded up
or for that matter down
every cog still turned to the left
each lever, still up and down

it started like an episode
of ricky lake
and ended abruptly
on springer

im in the sound proof booth
judging those who stand encased
aside me
i should leave before this gets ugly

indiscretion led me here
fortitude kept me
embarrassment fed me words
and loss encapsulates all

every stitch
the joy and glee
lost to ants in a wildflower patch
it stings now

verbosity rivaled only by impetus
but quickness
if only counted in months
falls short with words

im sure there's a happy ending
a call in the black of midnight
in a letter carefully opened
through a kiss tentatively given

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

oh its not what it spouts
the obscenity
rancor
its the way that pearly(ish)
perfect parabolas
glean with the best
that almost-yellow can do

the swear and grin get more
mileage than could any "line" ever

nothing of this is intentional
i dont really need to be persuasive
but i could stand for a lesson in etiquette

shaking hands and dictating something direct
this is how it should happen
you say this and ill show you the pearly(ish)
but what are you
and  what could we be
im talking about a power team
if i drew you a picture
it would be on a sidewalk
in 32 colors
i would be *****
and you would be laughing

if you look up in a room
the complete spectrum of light
flashing over your shoulder
like flashbulbs sparkling
first of all
turn around
the stage is the other way
if as you careen the 180
notice all the funny faces
grinding and wide eyed
flailing and stamping
you don't look too dissimilar
now the man bouncing
behind the music he
made last week
jumping
like you
wide eyed
congratulations
you are there
the dubstep show

now calm down

i rode a bike straight up the side of a mountain
no motorcycle
im talking ONE SPEED
im talkin straight up the side
65, 70 degree grade
i mean, i was defying the laws
physics medicine the constitution man
because im the only person
that knew what was waiting
****
she was sitting full lotus
reading leaves of grass
an orchid behind her ear
smiling
whistling when it struck her

and she knew my ******* name
and i hers
we would take a leisurely stroll
floating above craggy cliffs
spiraling downward from the pinnacle
slowly toward the lake at the bottom
where we would pick wildflowers
and then pass them out to strangers

heaving with breath and anticipation
i arrived
to hear her
"youre adlan, right?"
just then my bike chain broke
and with no grace whatsoever
i tumbled down
end over end
occasionally battered
by a handle bar
a tire actually rolled directly up my back
and in my arched position
the wheel took flight as if off a ramp
at the base of the looming edifice
i was plunged into the chilled lake
clothes shredded
i covered my self
much like adam or eve would have
with wildflowers

i only went in for the chocolate fountain
not because i was hungry
i just wanted to stare at it
the velvety mahogany
liquid polyurethane oozing
i stuck my hand in
to feel it
warm and loving
embracing every pore
and thats when they grabbed me
chocolate dripping from each digit
onto a magenta floral pattern
adorning the space beneath
the feet of the sheep
head long
dragged
gazing above me
toward gaudy chandeliers
with the clanging and luminous oscillation
of one armed bandits
secure in my peripherals
i was ejected
lifting myself
i left a very ****** looking hand-print
saluted the floor security
scowling in my vacinity
and tasted my finger

it was over. finished and requiring further complicity for another onslaught of banal narrative to be revealed before my to half opened windows when i sought a habit that, as a friend warns me, is most deadly.
12:15 AM
me
**** it im out. but wait everyone is asleep. so take a flashlight with you dummy. no. the click makes too much noise. a lighter? NO! even worse. grab a phone in the remote chance that while im alone, aside the ever-greening pool, she might call.
12:17 AM
me
that stupid ******* glow-in-the-dark rosary! it ruins me every time and so does the 14th 16th, and 9th step from the bottom with their relentless creak. i should have learned by now their pattern but, then again, i only need it when nefarious action is in play. shame on me. my phone served as an appropriate guide (as long as it shone away from my parents door, of course). tip-toeing over the debris that still remains from a "successful" marriage i arrived at the back door.
it has a trick though.
12:21 AM
me
it depends on which way you are going, but to eek out of it properly you have to pull in and then turn the handle. NO SCRATCH THAT REVERSE IT and vice versa. the out of doors is only slightly more liberating than being cloistered in a room bound by roddenberry. on this night, however, the night provided what might be considered, by people in towns whose greatest income centers around cattle feeding and slaughter, as breezy and cool.
12:24 AM
me
where ARE those cigarettes?? **** it. a **** will do. clip clop around the green until you realize you know where ever piece of debris is. you are stepping over the things that you cannot see. surreal. ****. look up to ascertain your spatial coordinates.
earth.
figures.
12:26 AM
me
**** it. again. some more. if you keep looking up looking at the flaming ***** of helium trillions of light years away and someone comes out they will probably think that you are just contemplating your own existence as opposed to the other...thing. something that really has no name. the place between dream and reality. this place, though, has a certain specificity. a clarity. so i consider what i am privy to.
12:30 AM
me
small dots above me. white dots in a globular dispersion above me. what im told is that they are steadily--NO--rapidly retreating from me. i am told that all of these dots have more dots, that i cant see, that move around them. on /those/ dots sentient things might exist. might. what i know for myself is that I DO. as well as i am able to ascertain, other people like myself exist too. and, if they are anything like me they must experience something similar to my experiences.
12:33 AM
me
well ****. these dots. these ******* white dots, as they flee with their potential other lives, make realize [yet again mind you[ that i have things that might be unique to me and only a handful of other things like me on this sphere.
12:35 AM
me
if i were to ignore those statistically remote similarities here, near me, i would be as foolish as the pin ball that thinks it belongs among the bumpers. i belong in a hole.at least one that fits my shape.
i am no pinball.
but i live amongst those things that tell me what i know. what i have known. what continues to reveal to me the nature of nature.
12:38 AM
me
startled i ***** my cigarette on the bench my father and i once made for an easter get-together with my family and withdraw my phone again to return to roddenberrys lair. over the pile of old coats near the back door. beyond the 52" plasma still playing a re-run of diners, drive-ins and whatever the **** and, shining the light away from my parents door i climbed the stairs. making sure to hit 9, 14, and 16 on the way up, cursing myself at the top."you mind if i pseudo-rant for a bit while," i smashed on the remote keys.

I don’t need it
The red string
Tied around my ring or index

I don’t need it
An “x” or heart
On the calendar

I don’t need it
A programmed number
Within any device at all

I don’t need it
Any fashioned reminder
Of you and your worth

You live with me
Constantly
On the tip of my tongue

I utter your nom de plum
In sleep
And I call after my mother with your name

As if in a canyon
Reverberating your whisper
This echoes in all the places

You are my favorite song
On repeat
And I soak in the melody that is your mouth

I don’t need a string
An “x”
Or a series of ten numbers
To remind me
Because you’re here
Holding my hand

And refilling my ink

im done with that website
im done
im just done

dont send me any more links
im deleting my account
FOR REAL THIS TIME

im done
i dont need to be
in any more of your ******* poems

ill pretend like i dont know you
you pretend like i dont like it
yeah
wriggle like you do

hold your hands over your face
cringe and pluck your ****** hairs
grind your teeth
and keep your fancy
however many ******* hundered
reads
likes
*******

its not just me
NO ONE needs
a stalker with a fountain pen
an olympia typwriter
or home row

get a job ***
cause im not going to keep doing it like this
cause im NOT going to keep seeing myself like i used to
cause i REFUSE to suffer something like what youre giving me
cause you stay there while i kick cans and cat **** waiting for you here

im done
im throwing up my hands
if my fingernails were longer
i would mean it all just the same
i would wave my hands on stilts ******
im done

but oh yeah
i see you down there
that ****** with the ******* dollar
that kid with suspenders and a premature comb-over
asking for an autograph
i see you

but im ******* done
here kid
hullo ******
you can have this leg
and you
the other one
take the other
ill sign both
but im really in a rush

i have some cabbage boiling in the trailer

i leaned to smoke
from film noir
the gritty grey frames
i first saw in cloudy rooms
completely antithetical to the vibrant blockbusters
from my childhood

if i can afford it
i still buy a non-filtered soft-pack
and puff them
three puffs just before
anything is inhaled
mostly for effect
drama

but when i cant
i just think of bogart
tear the filter off
and proceed

but it was never
so much about the act
drawing in a cloud
of overly-processed plant matter
but about the etiquette

if you have ever burned down
something without cotton
you know it is certainly a messy ordeal
but what hepburn and tracy taught
what grant and cagney spoke
with their actions of course
is that there is a reason to this madness

i practice
and i try to teach
that this is an elegant process

while taking in a deep breath
of something
you arent encouraged to love
without any health benefits
simply out of a base habit
some of that **** is going to get in your mouth

it may taste bitter too,
depending on how your buds are aligned,
but grow up
you cant keep just spitting where
other people will soon walk

they never did that
my heroes
instead
they stuck out
the tip of their tongue
pursed their lips
as the face made by
a baby on a commuter rail
staring at you
and you echo back
with a tiny poke
of your front 10000 buds
mostly for spectacle

and when that teensy bit emerges
within or without the train
you have to gently pick
with the forefinger and the thumb
the infinitesimal bits
resting at the tip
pluck them away
rub those two finger together
and pretend
that youre only smoking

and
if you arent looking closely enough
ill tell you
things are turning back into grey
and you turn RIGHT back into
the misogynist you hated
but emulated

youre still smoking though
handing out smokes in fact

holding up "the walls of jericho"
laughing at those
who dont know how
to fold a sheet

oh. but i pledge to quit
and you to change
and us to bond
and my smokes to wain

this isnt about the filter-less
that i had at 3am
its about what i commit
and what you
can respond with
how this can work
and the etiquette necessary

let me
let me
pick the fleck from the tip
of the teasing tongue
just for you
and you tell me
when i have something
in the place that
used to be my mustache

it cant be used
if you toss it out
you wont have to put that
slimy grin
against something so filthy
tattered
and flat
i have an idea
i know a place with geese
fat ones
we can make it there
in five
strangle them
and pluck them bare
a sack full of down we'll have
then to the gin
my cotton blooms are
still fresh and plump
and then to the textile maker
and the seamstress
a fine cloth bag and cover
for those feathers alone
and fluff
and plop under your head
nah
its not that *****
tattered, flat
or
important

darling, admittedly i love you
let me turn this lamp on
how antithetical to creeping
it is always done in the dark
isnt it?
this is your domain
not mine
did you see that one where
i was butting heads with galactic?
wowwsers
you creep so hard darling
you inspire deja vu
it requires me sitting down
to regain the notion
we cant be separated
i mean
you will stop holding my hand
when you relieve yourself
and ill stop holding you
when youre too raw to even think about
this isnt even a poem
its a rant
i should re-title
this *******
BLUE *****: the story of....
[puke]
this has turned to ****.
i quit

i never would write until the night fell
you laugh at me from the light
and every smear of honesty
betrays me
and you stand a thousand stories tall
but i have to leave my shoes
in the door way

the stars arent your eyes any more
they are only the fire
the flame that scorches my rib cage
its as though i payed a mask maker
if everything was in its right place
my reflection wouldnt seemed so skewed
remember
a lemon is a fruit

with every car parked aside the avenue
all lanes free
you can run
lumber
in the turn lane
beneath the big sign
that changes colors
that blinds you with its fascism
with its charges against you
that youre given ninety to life for

***** and beanie weenies
a cats purr
pecans
the writings of a mystic
purrs
and the mask maker
and a sneeze
then love

to stretch out
to cuddle up
to fail at cartwheels
we cant loose

i hear you cheese over the phone
every single hormone
cresting and waining
here i am
the mind of the eye
or vica verse
if you cant
then i will

12:15 AM
it was over.
finished
and requiring no further complicity for another onslaught
of banal narrative to be revealed just before my the half opened
windows creaked.
i sought the most deadly habit,
against which she had warned.

12:17 AM
**** it im out. but wait everyone is asleep. so take a flashlight with you dummy.
no.
the click makes too much noise.
a lighter? NO!
even worse.
grab a phone in the remote chance
that,
while im alone,
aside the ever-greening pool,
she might call.

12:21 AM
that stupid ******* glow-in-the-dark rosary!
it ruins me every time and so does
the 14th 16th, and 9th step from the bottom
with their relentless creak.
i should have learned by now
their pattern
but, then again,
i only need it when nefarious action is in play.
shame on me.
my phone served as an appropriate guide
(as long as it shone away from my parents door, of course)
tip-toeing over the debris that still remains
from a "successful" marriage
i arrived at the back door.
it has a trick though.

12:24 AM
it depends on which way you are going
but to eek out of it properly
you have to pull in and THEN turn the handle.
NO SCRATCH THAT REVERSE IT and vice versa.
the out of doors is only slightly more liberating
than being cloistered in a room
bound by roddenberry.
on this night
however
the night provided
what might be considered
by people in towns whose income
centers around cattle feeding and slaughter
breezy and cool environs.

12:26 AM
where ARE those cigarettes??
**** it.
a **** will do.
traipse around the green until you realize
you know where every piece of debris is
you are stepping over the things that you cant see.
surreal.
****. look up to ascertain your spatial coordinate
figures.

12:30 AM
**** it.
again.
some more.
keep looking up looking at the flaming ***** of helium
trillions of light years away
and someone comes out
they will probably think that
you are just contemplating
your own existence
as opposed to the other...thing
something that really has no name.
the place between dream and reality
this place, though, has a certain specificity
no clarity
i consider then what i am privy to

12:33 AM
small dots above me.
in a globular dispersion beyond
what im told is that they are steadily
NO
rapidly retreating
i am told
all of these dots have more dots
that i cant see
that move around them
and
on those dots sentient things might exist
might
i know that I DO
as well as i am able to ascertain

12:35 AM
well ****.
these dots
these ******* white dots
as they flee with their potential
i realize [yet again mind you]
that i have things that might be unique
to me
and
only a handful of other things

12:38 AM
if i were to ignore those statistically remote similarities
here
near me
i would be as foolish
as the pinball that believes
it belongs among the bumpers
i belong in a hole
at least one that fits my shape.
i am no pinball.
but
i live amongst those things
that tell me what i know
what i have known
what continues to reveal
to me the nature of nature.

12:48 AM
startled i ***** my cigarette on the bench
the bench my father and i once made
for an family easter get-together
withdraw with my phone
again towards roddenberrys lair
past the pile of old coats near the back door
beyond the 52" plasma
still playing a re-run of diners, drive-ins and whatever the ****
shining the light away from my parents door
i climbed the stairs.
making sure to hit 9, 14, and 16 on the way up
cursing myself at the top
"you mind if i pseudo-rant for a bit while?"
i smashed on the remote keys.

ive been drawing for you all day
impermanent scrawlings on the white board
im just trying to keep my hands moving
so my students dont have to see me weep
because today its not going to be pretty
one of those hard lump in the throat ones
i would have taken pictures of them
the doodles
but you know how i am with technology
all thumbs if thumbs werent the only thing you needed
you keep coming to me in my sleep
and in a cold sweat i search the house
for your wet foot prints
and now your visage is imprinted
in orange and yellow dry erase
camera phones clicking behind me
performance art that hurts
wild and swooping gestures
leaving tracers to be erased

leave it to me to awaken
with guilt and embarrassment
oh ****
what did i write
which words did i fumble
how often did i repeat myself
what did i direct towards my family
what did i withhold from my lover
who did i hurt
when did i stop
why are my pillows wet
can i be forgiven
even by me
maybejustahairofthedog

fixed.

i considered it a sneeze
more of a natural expulsion
of that which contaminates the spaces
between our mustaches and our medulla

no
something ejected and the room paused
most placed aside their drink
snuffed their cigarette
to see if you would pass away
smooth

chuckled
thats what you did after
and we breathed a sigh of relief
some glad that you hadnt seized up
others glad they didnt have to leave yet

either way
thanks

i wont buy you a triple meat again

lets stare upward
facing the new constellations
i splattered on the ceiling
glowing specks to fascinate us
while we are here
dark early and silent

playing footsies
i caress you
big toe to pinky
slow and sighing all the while
the deep
im so in love with you sigh

i meditate
and you meander
your fingers across you
and then me
raising every pore and follicle

its night but we arent dreaming
and no
not even really playing
just being mostly
nocturnal

they came
slurred and darkened
angry and
with a tinge of indigence  
let me see those clothes
i pointed to the pile
on the quilt that the ex made
dig through it
i murmured
and i sank
deep within myself
though 20's era deviants kept me
above the "sunk" place

on her side
completely silent
on mine raucous
but i can identify with donning
the drab of a different era
he said as he wrote
and looked at his phone

there is nothing about us static
nothing that keeps us from
killing ourselves only to be revived
in a brand new era
or moment of slight significance

i perform this act in times legion
dressing to impress
or to convey honest slovenliness
or power
or amorousness

this task
these efforts
can never be realized
attempting transubstantiation fails
and its motive with it

with jeans and a white tee
i am this one
lonely
lost
lingering
limitless

by all means
take all my clothes
ties and suspenders too
i have what im wearing

taken under by the swell
dragged and punched by
a wave

[too] high
to climb so far above
to the crest

who needs sea-foam
anyway
its mostly ******* air

hot to drop
to the coolest depths
and be covered over

ill be turned on
over
to reveal the barnacles and moss

taking lichens for a walk now
mon-tue
only twenty clams

the best nut

the best nut
is the one that
can name all the nuts
that develops new spellings for her name
every. day.
the lady that
pokes the out lenses
from old women's glasses
and gives them to me
that snort-giggles
in. her. sleep.
writes fan fiction
for star gate sg1
listens to disney soundtrack 45s
on 33 setting
shoplifts pez dispensers
takes plants as souvenirs
and wakes up at 3
to brush her teeth
the best one
dances alone in a mexican resturant
gives herself dutch ovens
and poses for photos
fake asleep
covered in snacks
hates recess
loves shirt no pants

but the best
the BEST nut
is the one that sustains
the most grueling cross texas trip
to put up with me

I said I would zig
And right then I zagged
I tip toes into the vault
Found the cold box
Numbered 5545
And slid it out
The treasure trove
Of what you never wanted me to see

Oh but I'm coy
Confounding
Slippery and seruptitous
Admonished and allay
Of any blame

Cause you left the key
On my ring
And the doormen know my name
Who needs a Nixon mask
When you can walk right in
With fling flongs and a parrot hat

I came for what's in the back
And when the sword was unsheathed
The container cracked open
The glow of your hidden life
Shone upon
What is now my bug bitten face

But the the glow of horror
A man can stand only so long
And the chest
And it's keepsakes
Crashed onto the tile dropped
But just before I faint
I loose my liquid lunch

im dead asleep
dreaming
looking at the surface of your feet
fly ahead of me
ill glide in your tail wind
gushing and inhaling
those sweet perfumes
conditioners and soaps...
zoom on
im RIGHT behind you

where are we going?
not the flower patch
over the overlook
above the kite
under the tree house
around the floating kayak
amidst but not stopping
the stones in the drive
just to float then?

oh
now youre ringing
uh, hullo
use your phone voice
and tell me im awake
pinch me through the receiver
to tell me this is no dream
to let me know that i
should wake up again
from beneath this tree
to fly
once again
this dusty old kite with you

as long as you are holding one end
im jumping straight up
hop to
scratch the bottoms
of hobbit feet
to make you smile
just one more time
IM UP!!!
run and pull and so on.

**** right this has nothing
to do with kites
this is about us
i find you in both places
among the darkened ether
enchanting me
and under our star
and then all the others
beckoning me
sometimes more than others
but never
never
more than when we are floating
wax paper
above trees
power lines

its pleasant to be warm
yes it was a pun
dont judge
cross my legs
and vent
i never knew my skin was so permeable
so inviting to the radiation
from internal nuclear fusion
well and fission too
puff the oak pipe
of navarro gold tobacco
and nod
smile
that sweaty-toothed smile
and nod
im warm now
but is there anything more active
than being cold
warm always seems false
when youre chilled
at least youre completely honest
NO *******
"im ******* cold"
taut
warm is so slack
investigating the disruptions of the slinky
piling trash up upon the heap

core this crisp fuji
i want the meat only
forget a shade tree
i want pitch black
this is not a time for a rocking chair
time for hanging upside down only

its true though
my epidermis is as holey as a sieve
pervious as cheese cloth
and it goes both ways
in and out
i fight for you
as much as i need to be fought for

no such thing as skin protectorate
or umbrella
or a silent moment for that matter
and never salient
or sober

better to just stare directly into the core
become blind
and be happy

i fell from the stratosphere
leafy and light
and i thought of my brothers
deeply rooted in
the soil that provided me
such sold structure

they would never
my sisters, brothers and cousins
they would have never have guessed
allen would have
enamored her
right below
staring towards me
bright eyes and hoping
hoping

she doesnt know i wont fix it
she doesnt know
ill soon be the makings
of a steaming compost pile

i cant blame her
as i floated down
i saw all of the worlds beauty

i became attached to several things
things that would never wrap
anything around me

paper bag

i fooled her
but not by my own design
i am perfectly innocent
who else could i have been

perfectly manicured nails
snatched at me
and
crumpled up beneath
all ten of them
i was cast off

of the earth
i became
and am still becoming
and will be becoming
matter
for her
love
gia
earth

inside her i no longer need
to remember my flight
my descent
i am as much dirt
as i am american
honest
zoroastrian

my decomposition now
means as much as my flight
as much as my identity
as much as my life as a plant
as much as
well
everything
nothing

i cant read
so i just write
i quickly become tired
with your work
i would much rather pace
wear down the blades of grass
in the familiar place

i cant read
because while the graces of poets
philosophers
and scholars
make pretty the page
syllables dancing
atop meticulously pressed parchment
while this happens
through their beauty
i only think of you

toss the tome aside
and imagine all the ways
i can express
the things that capture and drag
the fingertips to their home
back to the place where i feel full
loved and laughed at
where i carouse and cherish

this was never about the "reads"
never about the ratio
of lit to likes
it was only ever about me writing
you love letters every day
ten max though

fact is, half of these *******
scrawlings these
are returned to sender
but crying alone
is far better than pretending
pretending you were never upset
and begging for something you need
begging doesnt only work if there is a listener

i cant read
i cant read our future
i cant give you house keys
a front or back yard
a cat box
a leash

i cant read
i write.
all 106 of them
garbage some think
but its garbage
i sealed with tears
and stamped with a kiss
spritzed with cologne
(if i wore it)

i cant read
star charts
memos
concert bills
calendars
no parking signs
or the expressions of cats

but i can write
pour out every guttural spasm
scribble every inspiration
leer and laugh toward
a glowing screen
mute and accepting
of the drivel banged out below it

i cant read
i can write things though
some things
good things
things

see what i mean??
i cant even write.
"things
good
things"
hay-seuss x-mas!