I like to leave strands of my hair in the sink of anyone
I have ever loved or hated
because when they clean their bathroom,
I want them to remember how many times I
cleaned up blood and puke and ***
in their name –

I do not want to be a ghost that silently haunts on skin
but so tangible, even their
house will remember how I feel to touch.

there are aliens who do not believe in me
and twice as many men.

there are opals
that get their color from blood droplets.

there are novels that never got composed
just spat onto paper.

there is a trunk full of
vintage clothes and their women.

there are
pieces of dust I have mistaken for rag dolls.

think ha, ha, there is nothing to think
I think it has all been thought
perhaps not all
for I have just thought it
has all been thought
like a chicken that plucks its own feathers
perhaps one should think solitudes
enormous solitudes
such as one may experience at school
during holiday  time when all have gone but one,
leaving nothing left to think, only a tyranny of dreams
that sob and trickle down burning cheeks
making one almost think of grief
but there’s nothing left to think I tell you
all angels have fled and leave only the stench
of cadaverous thinks that have been thought
and having had that privilege die
fall rotten in the streets their putrid smell
an unthinkable contagion lays siege to the mind
there is nothing left to think, nothing I tell you
everything has been thought
by men in black with absurdly tiny heads
and all the thinks that have been thought
form a silhouette around the sun
in unthinking vengeance blocking out the light
though to sure there may be a think left
for I have composed a poem in a language
never before heard or thought of
I think it is the perfect think
what do you think
I think I should not be left at school during the holidays
thats what I think
Roden take note

This was an error 101
it wasn't there, the room had gone,
and me and John or John and me decided on room 103.
Or well's as well and gone that he's not here,we said over a glass of beer and how we laughed, we had 103 and 101 had gone.
But somewhere,where,out there we know,it waits and waits one day we'll go to 101,me and John or John and me
and then we'll see what scares us so.

Walked
down 17th
  under the
   white lights
    & against
     tall buildings
      to walnut st
       swallowed
        by the quick
         pace of
          city life,
           i finally
             stopped moving
              for the first
               time in months
                & just sort of...
                  watched
                   & just sort of...
                     felt

                                                               the butterflies
                                                                       swept in
                                                                  to the pace
                                                              of high heels
                                                            and sneakers
                                                          slamming the
                                                      cold side walks
                                          that surrounded me...
                                               i checked the time
                                                              9:01 PM
                                                       the moment
                                                     i fell in love
                                       with where i was
                                   with where i am

I used to think maybe if I held my breath long enough,
the universe would send me something -
a boy, the wind, the sun's beams -
to get me to take at least one more fresh intake of air.

I quickly learned that, in life, you never get handed anything.
You must either politely ask for what you want
or grow a pair and go grab it.