Down my spine and up my fingers,
Wet tobacco sweats and lingers.
Small infernos in my chest,
Stoking fire with every breath.
Both fickle days and longing nights,
Butane flame my iris lights.

Post-midnight smoke.
nothing's Amiss Dec 2016

swallow your non-apologies,
I'll smear death on your eyelids
like a balm--
a bomb
to soothe the rouse
of your sympathy,
of your sorry speeches.

swallow your non-apologies,
you've assailed the right to breathe--
a crude oil
sink hole
your death bed, still
cut your belly to loose
cash and coin, your dick is

a noose.

swallow your non-apologies,
eat to shit
and
bathe in greed

nothing's Amiss Dec 2016

To the Death
of womankind,
I say the death of humanity.
Preserving us for mere utility;
thus the greed of the matter.
Your whim is mad as a hatter.

Ent

I awake to a rustle of leaves.
I find that I've my potential,
And I'm embarrassed to ask you
If I have grown past you.

Well I can spread seeds at the flick of my wrist
And I convert sunlight to sustenance-
Don't really need you...
Find your own soil to feed you.

With that
I uproot,
And I take the squirrel's nests with me.
It's hard to pull both feet out the grave, but
I've still got the stars to uplift me.
I've still got the stars...
They've still got my heart...

I'll
Bleed
Sweet
If I
Damn well
Like,
And I want to.
Please carve your initials
In
My
Hips
Before you leave.
I tried to tell you, that
I'm
As
Simple as this.
But you
Got
Caught
All up in the
Webs the spiders weave
Between my arms...
My arms,
My arms,
My arms.

A crack and a tumbling of dirt,
You know dragging roots are so clumsy.
Don't touch me as I'm shambling past her,
This is
Something that I'd like to master.
My blue birds shake off as I move,
But
Slowly they're warming back up to me.
I think they're getting used to the motion,
I should
Stay steady, serve their devotion.

But:
I'll
Bleed
Sweet
If I
Damn well
Like,
And I want to.
Please carve your initials
In
My
Hips
Before you leave.
I tried to tell you, that
I'm
As
Simple as this.
But you
Got
Caught
All up in the
Webs the spiders weave
Between my arms...
My arms,
My arms,
My arms.

This is a song, not a poem, but I lost the chords to it, so it's now a poem, not a song.
nothing's Amiss Oct 2016

Disappearing like a wounded dog to die
puking up your insides while
smiling, smiling gracing ground with coping mechanisms rendered absolute
like a redneck barbeque, cultureless culture
both choking you mute

Getting high, casually mentioning suicide
like some necessity of existence,
last January she died last January
it happens.

All victims of circumstantially internal
trajectory outcomes,
statistical sadness-
yet
I cry,
With tears your experience dies
And becomes mine.

  Oct 2016 nothing's Amiss
Akemi

Holy rot. I cover the street.
Breaking, breaking.
Loose glass, filling with blood.
Teeth on the pavement.
Teeth in the sky.
I’m sick of these smiles.
Blood flowing laughter.
The body turned inward.
Crossing a river.
What connects me to you?
The hunger. The horror.
The wretched maw of time.

laughing through the pavement glass breaks and the ocean rises bones teeth hair stupid smiling faces thursday night the earth is flooding but the children run fingers through empty palms cans runoff spoiled dirt faces pressed into the earth like bottle caps dead birds wrapped in rubbish and oil drinking black bourbon death puking why fucking why wrists pills exhaust fumes rope around the neck no wonder life wastes through itself in this post-ironic age
  Aug 2016 nothing's Amiss
Jack

Woke with the sting of regret, it’s been too long since I fell,
I missed the rush of fresh air, I missed the taste of the smell,
I was in love with the tightrope, the stained glass of her eyes,
Bowed by the weight of surrender, I settled for compromise,
Watching those false idols dance, turning wolves into sheep,
As we played coy with the monsters that sang us to sleep,
I had a million places to go, and so much I’d hoped to say,
But I wasted another tomorrow thinking about yesterday,
And those sticky situations where we all came unglued,
While I daydreamed a sky that wouldn’t mirror my mood,
A slow dance with routine, and every face looks the same,
I was choking to death on the stale taste of my name,
So I started sanding sharp edges, hoping that I might fit in,
I spent a year writing my ending, so I could finally begin,
Dusting off open road acrobatics, I twisted south by the sea,
Searching for the rotting remains of who I thought I should be,
But it was just another battle that I lost to the war,
The same wrecking ball feet with new roads to explore,
Nothing quite felt right, my fingertips became springs,
I’d lost the girl to save the world, and other foolish things,
It was my first last-ditch effort, my best second guess,
I painted myself into a corner of the picture of success,
Fifteen-hundred miles, and still felt so far out of reach,
Until late one night my phone rang as I walked along the beach,
I told my story to the old man as he listened patiently,
When I finished, he calmly asked me to turn and face the sea,
He said, “The ocean is the journey, the sum of all you gave,
Do not lose perspective; this is but a single wave.”
I drove home that night and slept for the first time in half a week,
And when I awoke, the path before me didn’t feel quite so bleak,
I realized there’s no shame in letting someone catch us if we fall,
And that being lost is different than being nowhere at all,
I learned that each story is a lesson, not merely a scar,
And that all we have left is not the same as everything we are.

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