you* : its just not the case that i see you more than the regulars at "that place"
me : i never see you

you : you need me to see your home
me : you never saw mine

you : im taking this  art. oh and this work. ...next time
me : only because you know im going to toss it.

you : come here.
now.
whats so terrible about that corner bar?
i hope you learned something while you visited.
i would imagine that next time you would keep your work.
me : i
love
you

truly convienent
to be able to tell your boss
im just taking a break
right back to it when i finish this poem
****
you can hang dry wall
AND
write something to make someone
smile
cry
point a finger in your direction

yeah
about that
there isnt anything special
in my portfolio
just stuff i scribble on bar napkins
next to the doodles of you
maps too
in the small spaces that are left
i write those down
i mostly leave them for the barkeep
but not always

sometimes i bring them back to work
here into the room with
the tarps on the floor
cans full of paint
and joint compound
to reread them

and if i werent lieing
about smoking all these cigarettes
i would tell you
that im going to my car to write
just ONE more
before i send you those TPS reports

if only i could upload
all the doodles attached to them
people would know
that im PROBABLY better off
sticking to writing

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

Everyone wants me to leave
Some going
Some coming
but that doesnt tell me much
about the next kind
of house cat ill be

the one that spurts foam
or shovels in snow

the one that brings you the paper
or completely gnaws your bone

if you arent taming me
youre handing me treats
not dangling string
then ill emblazon a kitty spot on the ****

what can i do but
coo near your ear
nip at your thumb
bring lick to your toes
sniff the parts
and curl up

one more time
i can use these keys one more ******* time
one more time
just one more
if im not asleep im writing
if im not writing im dead
if im dead then im wandering
if im wandering im not finding

possibly finding

i swear to god
swear it wasnt me
i was here the whole time
holding your hands
im innocent

well
now that you mention it
i might have something to tell you
**** more things than SOMEthing
i lied

ill try not to take that tone
should i whisper it
i mean i kind of need to
after all that yelling

forget i said anything
lets just act like adults about this
heres all the terrible things
puke on the page

you know,
if you ate better
you might not get so sick in the *future

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 pace the long way
all the way in the wrong direction
all the way away from them.
everyone i love.
only to walk all the way back

past every hurt feeling
apologizing for every wrong turn
spending time with the people i hate
until i find the one that makes me remember
exactly who i am
expects it of me.
yells.

a long pace.
one thousand miles up and then two back
nothing changed
i still pace
i still worry
and escape from a revisit
the hurt

thats where i ****** up
swearing everything i penned for you
oh ****
i just realized that this will never trend
i said **** and ****
well
this one deserves it
you champ
me chump
and you dance like the butterfly
in the next life
and i the bee
bumble that is
swollen and noisy
im doing circles around you
pacing more than anything
while you flutter
i beg for a pace like that
something that is literally lofty
hold me up
and ill give you the pressure
in the opposite direction
a stress that compliments
a slow ascension
as long as were going up
in the appropriate direction
cloudward

cast aside
and with the passage of time i find
forget the constellations
i prefer compressed sediment
casually given to the shore
your door frame beckoning
from the glistening overlook
wild and overgrown
lush-sheik
come place me on your shelf
smack on the googley-eyes
and keep me in your purse
nightstand is fine too though

its like when you see in those vampire movies, you know man, and the main vampire ***** that one mortal and gets all ****-hurt when she dies. yeah. like that.

im immortal compared to you here
ill have googley-eyes a million years from now
****.
i didnt think this through.

OOOoOOOoooO!
in a million years...
youll be a rock too.

done

its now apparent
there is in my midst
one who seeks to usurp
a throne built with my own two hands

not to rest comfortably between
inlaid and intricately carved clawed feet
but to see it empty
for nothing more than the sake of watered down bloodline

yet calmly i tap toe
half impatient and watching
as a small axe hacks away a mighty oak
but not the roots

of the next growth
boughs spring forth more mighty
than the last
from which to fashion not one more but two replacements,
imperial palisades and a porch for a palace,
rocking chairs with armrests,
a mantel and mirror frame

so that we
my queen and i
can be seen together
as we should be
with no hovering specters

this one doesnt count
its on private
no one else can read it
you dont have to worry
about what ill write this time

i swear to ******* christ
i wont cuss in this one
i wont talk about you
at least not as the "******" woman
you admit to being
your words not mine
but i wont use them
i dont even agree with them
those syllables would never
spill from between these lips
guilty conscience perhaps
nah
if i can muster something like that
then you couldnt

i dont think the next lines matter
the supposed resolution...

i know that im at fault here
writing lines that point to and accuse you
on what moral grounds do i stand?
if any they are shaky

i must hold out may hands as if to surf
(i have never done that by the way)
to steady myself
and through my accusations
and through your actions
us

to use the queens plurality
we dont need this
in fact
we
we dont need
a single other thing, dingus

but you knew
and i did too
and as much as
EYE
and EWE
despise all of it
im sure
sure of it
that we can come out the other side
more willing than ready
to tackle
THE MOST SERIOUS SNUGGLEFEST

snugglefest for the win.
bi

we should both stop using our language like this
the way that i can turn a phrase can be malicious
the expressions conveyed may harm our constitution
there is no border between negative & positive infinity
our limits are extending between the length of x-axis
without fail we are divided by infinity without separation
its not fair that i heap more on you
and us
between the effort of shoveling it all
and it being dropped
steaming above the plane equal
where out hearts met and our souls touched
and we wept in turns
youre first
no me
no you
and drip and drip and drip and drip

its not midnight
someone just turned out the lights
on my party
of one

its not bright out
its the fire blazing without a coal
in a hearth
with no screen

thats not a flower
its a **** with a smelly bloom
in a pasture
with no fence

im not a comedian
im only a guy with pratt falls pocketed
with a pun
and a play on words in hand

there is no love
there is only a trust between two
there is a kiss
a late night call

and sanity
there is no sanity
there is only a belief
a trust
in what cant be robbed
in what cant be...
what was i saying

what time is it?

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

i leave your name
floating in the ethers
unless i see you
then its shouted

you couldnt imagine the life of my muse
her hair whips me
atop levels of down
cherished interminglings
clasped hands
SHE is the one that inspires me
not you

it wasnt about you
this time or ever
your delirium must be setting in again
if it was about you
... though it never would be
if it WAS about you

i would paint your picture
just as it should
caricature style
with sunglasses you dont need
and a bow-tie for a hair pin
something that screams
"HEY ...
are those more lighters..."

if i was writing about you
this would be differently titled
something more
....
just different

i used to write
the ink that dripped from my quill
formed paisley and damask on the page
syllables rose from parchment and became tangible

now its just chicken scratch
illegible drivel
carved into chalkboards with dull knives
footnotes to a glorious view

i use to draw, paint, tag
whimsical illustrations or swirly oils
on objects both dedicated and found
a distinct style all my own

but now it's all devolved
mediumless and barren attempts
glaring at a skill long left me
clutching and shivering with a brush

i used to hike
i would traverse a plane or a thicket
at altitude with all teeth showing
looking for a place to set up camp

but now i just pace
wearing a rut between the front and back door
studying a tired environment
peering out the windows

kick turn and flip up covers
replay
and again
i touched myself
and was held
i dont need you
but to be loved
replaced the things
visage
and my reflection
return
interluded
my behavior
connection discarded

necessity

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

oh i searched
for that one lane that lead me through
the connected boughs above the sod
where the setting sun shone in between the trunks
the patriarch at its tip
i turned frustrated toward the triangle
that one remote turn-around point
to return home to a tune jangly
remorseful
that more time wasnt spent in awe
of all the places that have yet to be seen
remorseful
of the places below the rising moon
yet too be seen
of the places where puke has not yet been spewed
scrawling poetry on the back
of a dusty trunk
alone only with the spirit of her
laughing and chastising
this can only become more respectable
more
more
constructive
and wheels meander
and gears shift
until
im beneath a willow
long dead
cartwheel in
flop down
eyes closed
and dream

this is a right and true story.
nothing is embellished.
each moment
each movement
documented
no slight of hand
only straight-forward speach
minorly misinterpreted

it looks likes sorcerery
but falls flat like a ****** on a plank
walks crooked
back and forth
going nowhere

it IS a story
but it holds water
like a sieve

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.

i thought i heard the ******
of the blue bell around your neck girl
i paused my creative trickle
to chase you
all around this property and that one
i hugged your mom
washed my hands
rolled up my sleeve
and you were still gone
into the cat ethers

you werent even meowing
hell
how are we supposed to feed you
when you wont return the "HIIIIII!!!"
we yell at the expense of our own self-esteem

i opened all the doors for you
just to return and keep my seat
on that armchair warm

the only place you could have been
more removed from my line of sight
least advantageous to your keepers
most absent from your natural environment
least accommodating to our directives
the only place you could have been

curled up and purring
after all that???!
seriously.
i had to get on my belly
to see you laughing at me
cool in your aunts room
tail wagging

"I FOUND HER!!!"

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

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

i crafted an exquisite note
to be sent along
to the exquisite woman that no longer deserved it.

i sat down in a wildflower patch
with an empty bottle
which gave me the courage
to roll the parchment

the ants in all their fury
held no charge against me
and the strategically buried daggers
left nothing more than an impression
on my bare feet

nor did the canals
formed by tears' errosion on the cheek
the largest tree now long dead
a landmark lost to time
a love
a partner

im a writer
mostly on the mirror
when you're not looking
i wait patiently
no longer soapy
but squeaky
until those curls are
being lathered and rinsed
until your eyes are pinched tight
thats when i
carefully remove myself
from the place where we two
spit on each other for fun
and while you rinse
i make absolutely sure
not to disturb
the ringlets that
give weightlessness to
our privacy
to the mat
and then forward
to the reflecting surface
to my canvas
glistening
it invites me
and i paint
single finger extended
i eek it out
it squeaks
prints against glass
this is my textual dead drop
an espionage of love
scrawled above my sink
only for you
hurriedly i escape
before you know
whats happened
before you know im not there

now you are
squeaky
and wet
and upset
that im not...
what the...
"live long and prosper"
?

waiting for you
clad in narry a single article
i hear you lament
until
a heavy sigh emits
from the tiled "bachelor room"
adjacent to mine
a half curse and
then a swoon
and then squeaks

you traipse in
naked
earthly hips swinging
fling open
and then shut
the edifice that marks the barrier
between the real
and the imaginary
you
force yourself into
the place between my eyes
and the place that knows

"brush your teeth again real quick"
you want me
but
who wants to smell
the cheapest whiskey
while you make love

obliging i shuffle off
hoping to please
my only muse
when i read
below mine

"make it so"

keeper.

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

this all could have been mine
geometric shape wallpaper
and dashes, dots on my sheets
mom making my bed
smoking non-filtereds
and staring in the direction of
old globes and stuffed squirrels
posters of campuses i should i have attended

shirt no pants
no shirts
scribbling something partially worth reading
legs crossed
listening to that song for the fiftieth time
ashing on the floor
waiting by the phone for you and only you

but this isnt home
i didnt grow up here
i slept here
i embraced those who meant something
i giggled till tears
dripped into my oil paints
but even watered down they were made of use

a spring in this bed is
right the **** up my ***
springy is what they call me now
ill scrape those stickers off
a six inch blade till dawn
and i would be no closer

to those days where i cheesed
where you begged for me
where i began to loose myself
where i became less of a person
and more of a character to you all
cartoonish

no
my home is not here
and if you try to get me to own
a single element of it all
ill decry it
i know its not healthy
but i was thinking
that i could make up the difference

in my bedroom
not only with my hands on you
a gentle graze
or light and deserving
application of the pucker
but with my pen to pulp
and a gush to the world
so that a secret might
be known to us all
not just me

i curse myself
for the anxiety
i feel for those near
chomping
crystalline version of that
which makes us up
the cold that kills
or at least affirms death

for the stress
felt for the tears
shed
in times when i am away
or at least when
were apart
pulled in all directions
disoriented

for the swears
i murmur chilled
leaning
from the window
and the cold May breeze
blows back in
last weeks last smoke
two years ****** growth
can no more capture
the shameful smell

for the death
that arrives on my door
sandwiched
between what i need to leave
and what can open doors
door stop wedged firmly
needs to be withdrawn
call it what it is
ego

the curse
that lies between
choice observation and opportunity
im teaching myself
to ignore and adopt
curl up next to
failure finality
and future
without regret

regret?
to spit in its face
arms akimbo
nose neptunes way
grinning
and i pray
holding your hand

oh im ******* fine
so are you
stop it
wake up
turn down the music
walk it off
quit your job
get a new one
job?
punctuation
things
poems that make people
read things
bass down
cheeks up
joy and animosity

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

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

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.

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

Under your door
     While you crept
          Toward the edge
               Of consciousness
I hand delivered a message

Finely creased
Highest quality pulp
Atop which I wrote
"I love you."

I never signed it
It fact
It took me ten years
To climb the stairs

I hope it finds you grumpy
As you always are
When the sun is breaching
Our horizon

And you think
"what is this
Wonderful paper on my
GO AWAY mat?"

Coffee in hand
You unfold oragami love
Smile
Go back to bed

You'll find me though
Fingerprints
Bloodhounds
Private ****

Only to reply
With a knife
to my bare chest
"I hate your guts."

im not going to let
this go to "yesterday" status
though ill probably write this tomorrow

why would you do that
cut me off of all the terribly wonderful things i have to tell you
this stopped being a poem a stanza ago
i have been working for this
a chatter
failing all the while
with a blessing
never been mine
or yours

ill meet you in the morning
when you are grouchy
bitter
and i
and i am hung WAY the **** over
in fact
i woke up
waiting for you

to be moody
to chance what im getting now
i woke up to
harass you
to make you hate the whole thing
ill stick that badge on my skin
pierced for the first time
ill do it
take me

soon then right?
ill take you with me
again,
where are we going?

i found it
buried in the couch
stuck between two cuushions
next to an old cheeto

come home
be with me

i let you throw
your shorn leg
along side me
requested acutally
but before

"come here
be with me"

i leaked
me

i got a minor in dogs
who knows what i was talking about
you walked in and shook me to my core
no not apple
what was i saying

I paused
On the road to pick those wildflowers
Yeah I stopped
ill indignantly pluck
roaming buds for you
without warning

here
hold these

I paused then too
When I tried to kiss you
And that show was playing
Stars and septette timelines
im sorry you were saying some-thin
but look
shhhh
grab my hand

I paused
before grinned
that round-toothed smile
you so love
or at least write about

i paused to look at you
to smell you one more time
before opening the window
and then again
when the window didnt matter

when "full on" was a demand
when you asked me more questions
when we fought about our limits

ill pause
because i have to
bring you back to
we imagine
careen and just not crash

somersaults and strobe lights

were pausing
for a moment
to change each other
who COULD like this

i wont lie about it
im begging
on two knees

it started as a mean joke
i pray that it ends as no suicide letter
i mean
this poem will self destruct

pause at JUST the right second

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

its not work if youre playing
youre using all ten
but me?
me?
im doing two thumbs
what im doing
practicing being articulate
literally ornate
is so much like the melody
that you bang out with ten
the creativity ratio
ten to one and two to one
but yours is extensive
and mine
mine is too plosive
sharp
dissected
and yours lofts
and swoops
tricks the ear
and swirls

nothing pushes us this way
in this direction
not a person directs my fingers
or yours
and yet there is something to be assimilated
something to take home
a bit to stick under your pillow
the fairy will trade it for a nickle

take off that ring
its clicking on the keys
thats what we said to each other
the click gets agitating
but i tie a knot on my side burn
a ribbon really
and grin

welcome back

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

i never pledge
i take that back
i stopped a check once
to a radio station that i really love
a breaking-all-the-molds station
i listen to NPR
like that **** is going out of style
like im going to break this milli vanilli tape
after one more blame it on the rain
im dating myself
but truth be told
i would rather buy another carton
you showed me the most life changing radio
songs that made me weep for humanity
retreat deep within myself with universal contemplation
and yet a cottonless dromedary takes the cake

around others i curse these lapses in reporting
this evening news wrap-up banter
and i fake laugh at you
or should i say with you

but i feel your pain
i tried to sell time shares
rich with fake laughter
every time i hear it
you begging for money that is
im taken back to a place
where
i was foolhardy
and manipulative
knowledgeable
anxious
and vibrant

i use those moments of nostalgia
to think of her
you know who im talking about
im looking at you RADIOLAB
IRA GLASS you arent getting away with this either
you know her
i dream about what could have been
when i was foolhardy, manipulative, knowledgeable, anxious and vibrant
and how it would be like today
if i had the guts then
or time travel now
AND
if i wasnt even any of the above

but i have her now
and we listen together
we just talk over the drive
and the sponsorship ads
oh yeah
and the international news
its just depressing
OH and the bbc stuff
i dont "get" their accent

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.

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

jarring wah-wahs
atop the high hat rich
rhythms that any teenager
could bang out with two
ball point pens and a palm heel
a voice like yours moans
squeals and asks for moar

we are calling that pr0nstep now

take me out
and dance till three
you dont even have to talk
ill be fine
squinting and flailing
cherishing wild gesticulation
raking my fingers through the head
giving you a new hairstyle
to make fun of in the morning

i gush through my body language
throwing hands out
making public seem private

this is the dance floor
we can scour for whats left at close

IS THAT A ***** PACK??
here
stick my stuff in there

forget that parking ticket
i know a guy
drive me home
i have something i want to show you

i had to move my pitch counter
after it was lifted i reset it
0000
i never told you what that was for
but now that youre 0001
i dont think it matters anymore

it was moved to aid in the removal
of those tacky though plush covers
the pink ones with the cat
those that you harassed me over
pointed with other people and laughed
well they came off but thats not the story either

when they first became unsnugged
i found the liquid gold
small black bottle by europeans
as pure and as innocent as it could be
hiding right in plain sight
but you neednt hide when no one looks

as i held that child
and looked over my shoulder
for you mostly but him too
trimmed the rosebush and piled it
atop a smouldering heap of ashes
i knew that it would
be acceptable to sleep again
if only for a night

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

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.

one and one is
two
i think
and two by itself
is more than three
and so on
my wife to be
is not her yet
and our adventures
will become memories
and our math will
equal each other
and joy
prosperity

until then
we are one
and one
two and
whatever the next is
twangy tickling forever
equality
and then nothing
until tomorrow

and the next day