Soy milk and cereal in our underwear.
What a morning!

I waited for hours
On that stool
Watching the ghosts
Pass come and go
Arriving upright
And quiet
Leaving dizzy
And loud
So loud
As if
Trying to shout
So that the cruelness
Of their days get scared
And not come back again
I ordered for myself
A drink
And another
Trying to decipher
This puzzle
They didn’t drink
For fun
For enjoyment
They drank
Same as I
To ****
Sadness
Loneliness
I sat on that stool
For so long
The specters
Unrecognizable
Blurry faces
Buried in mugs
And glasses
Bodies tied in coats
Workman's suits
Smeared makeup
They stank
Of dead dreams
Here’s to
You
Me
And another round
Please
Cheers
Fellow ghosts o' 13thSt.

my writing could be worse.
i could be writing about
cigarettes
but i'm not
so...

Stranger things have come and passed
than dreams of you and I amassed
huddled above a rainy moon, umbrella,
waltzing to an angel's choir sung a cappella,
but there we were **** and arm in arm
protected by love from any and all harm,
so when our lips did touch a silence crept,
even God's help knowing our coming end wept.

a poem written at 5 AM - no sleep that night*

seen too many faces
melting into backdrops,
concrete boxes
where gray air
paint lungs gay,
where diamonds
fall too ******
frequently
blurring the windows
of colorless rooms,
tiny rooms,
that suffocate,
garrote
and wash the trees
and the flowers
into frail state,
where the moon
is nothing,
just a ***** coin,
where the dogs
howl and howl,
cry and cry,
in agony,
where everyone
is lost,
them you and me,
lost

The fog was thick that morning
The forest wept in silence

We walked towards the kitchens
The smell of food struck the air

Footsteps marched ******* the stairs
Echoing down the green mountain

The metal tables were set
At the end of the hall, ghosts

Pouring the meals on chrome trays
Hungrily we hurried, lined

Each receiving their own
Then we sat, ate, on metal

Not one word was spoken, quiet
It was cold, not one complain

Food finished, the ghosts came back
Carrying off the gleaming plates

It was only us, alone
Once again, we stood and left

Through the doors, down the stone steps
The forest fog swallowed us

If I were a tree,
I'd be a good tree.

while i do love
the taste of unhealthy
t.v. dinners for every meal
and i do enjoy
the slobbery salisbury steaks,
extra salty ramen noodles
and those little tuna cans,
it's great to come home
after a long emotional
roller coaster week
and have abuela cook up
some arroz con garbanzos
and unas buenas chuletas,
get the latest family gossip,
comments on how
el gobernador is being
the biggest pendejo
in power at the moment,
watch the news,
see how many were killed this week,
and just shake our heads
as the island crumbles into Detroit like
madness (at least we've got great beaches),
ah but yes,
abuela's cooking,
what i need to forget
the girl with the pretty hair.

I've lost
the touch
and writing
has become
a damnation.

Alone*
          **I watched the midnight fires
                   consume the madmen and liars.

I will soon devour the sun
on my quest to become
the brightest thing
this side of the galaxy.

there once was a nerd, in his pastime he led a pony herd and drank mountain dew while his patchy mustache grew, he fingered a bag or three of Cheetos and studied tuxedoes, but the point i try to point is the point that this nerd was a sir, true and fair, and how dare you put him, leave him, in the grim grim world of the friend zone?! now pick up your phone and call that mountain dew can armor wearing amour back into your life and be his wife because *** is only for the married.

Another bowl of chili!
Another!
Hit me!
Oh.

Tongue burnin' belly shriekin'!
Don't stop now.
Hit me.
Oh.

........what happened, doll face? Chili?
I fainted?
Spicy?
Oh.

You get a card
some girl
some guy
we've gone to school
for what
7 years
they are nice and
they've shared
the school
it's their birthday
"you there
should come"
picking it up
the card
reading
I don't want it
don't want
to go
it mean talking
with them
people
that's something to
dislike
so much
not hate, not that,
but yes,
dislike
never been good
at it
having
fun with others
I feel
awkward
I feel anxious
what's wrong
with me
in the garbage
it goes
their card

Art is dead. Poor Art.
Poor Art's kids and wife.
Art, you will be missed.

Dilemmas take over
Phone ringing wrong caller
The truth packed in boxes
That all are sly foxes
Sparkling drink
Have you on the brink
Rotting wood
Of guitar should
Tell you about our blues
Detectives lie about clues
There was nothing but sand
And a diamond ring on her hand
Little boy
Buried his toy
In the beach of despair
Washed by waves
A state beyond repair
We know what he craves
So please don’t cry
Or you’ll fall from this heavenly sky

From the cabin near the stream I'll witness the atom bomb fall.
I'll wave a hand: "goodbye, trout neighbors." Flip off the bears.
The Cubs are **** and so is deep dish pizza but the trouts,
the neighbors, they've never hurt me, and now we'll flop on
the mushroom cloud grill, and so why shouldn't we say so long?

Diner
Hidden
In a cloud of
Blue nicotine
Sits near
Our home
Serving up grease
Burgers and fries
To men
Women
Gripped by
broken hearts
Bad luck
And rain
The cook, waiters,
Stare at the food
Mad eyes
Wishing
For some change that
Will never come
Through those
Yellow
Doors the newly
Dead men, women,
Walk in
Ready
To order fries
And burgers, shakes,
Diner
Opened
Forever so
Take your good time

i'm a loose hair on your diner scrambled eggs:
undesired.

A dot of red
like earth springs
naturally
releasing
from beneath
those holy
waters that
haunt and run
our bodies
pricking thumb
let off all
the worries
rivers and
oasis clear
the sick realm
that plagues me.

There's a mouse in my room,
she's silver and white,
mom's chased it with a broom
and the fella's put on a fight.

From the kitchen KABOOM
did shout one cold Christmas night,
dad was the bringer of doom,
he and his shotgun's great might.

Turns out our little mouse
slept in our house

with her husband and kid
but hungry they came unhid

by father's twitchy right eye
so they met his gun and goodbye,

our mouse friend is forever now
a lonely Christmas night widow.

It's a circus
Without the tent,
Without the colors,
Without the fun.
A mad circus.
And the carnies and the freaks,
That's you and me and them,
my friend.
To whom do we perform to?
Ask yourself that!

Coke holiday commercials got me drinkin',
New Years day, expect to pass a kidney stone.

Kids like him
spending nights
dreaming about
traveling to France
and sitting
around in a
café
wearing a beret
and black turtleneck
and smoking with
a cup of wine
on their other hand
that dream about
romance in the streets
a kiss beneath
the Eiffel Tower
musky hotel rooms
I'll never
understand
you kid
I just can't
dream that.

you and me,
let's make sure
to drive far
and so fast
and when we
reach that line
at the end
the engine
will smoke, burn
and we will
stare at each
other and
shout "Wow what
a crazy
ride we had!"

drive like a
maniac and
just enjoy
that long road,
don't miss a
chance to speed
up on what
waits ahead.

"Eee Eee" says the pink plastic rhino
melting onto the pavement
and so goes your childhood but
you must wonder who bought
that pink plastic rhino that shrieks
"Eee Eee" so loudly that nobody
hears it and why?

Boom.
There goes the neighborhood.
The trees, the house, the swings
and the pink plastic rhino
that so lively once "Eee Eee"d.

i don't know what it is about this airport,
maybe it's the fact that i've a plane waiting
to deport me back home for who knows how long
and this is something i don't want; home is a prison.
this airport is making me think,
what awaits after four hours is a return to bad things,
and maybe i should **** myself.
i've thought that an option for years,
it's there and most likely it'll happen in the future
but maybe i should speed up the process.

this isn't a poem.
this is me thinking out loud
into the ear of a paper.
this is me gathering
my thoughts
attempting
to make sense of this
overwhelming sadness
and desire to give up.

the three or five people that seem to care about me
live hundreds of miles away so for them, no matter
how much i want to do it, i can't **** myself because
they wouldn't hear of my death,
they wouldn't come to my funeral,
and it'd be like i'd disappeared without saying goodbye
which is the biggest crime and betrayal i could pull.
if i told them before hand they'd say anything to stop me
and i don't have the heart to listen to that.

i'm tired and i'm crumbling.
i'm not sure this is a life i want to pursue.
what's the point of it?
fighting with yourself
morning after morning for control.
that's no way to live.
and living for other people's sake
isn't quality either.

this isn't a poem and this isn't a suicide note
or anything of the kind. this is me letting it out
inside a ***** airport restroom stall crying once again
for the first time in what'll be many nights to come.

the paper is getting soggy and a thousand people
heading in every direction of every corner of the globe
stroll unaware outside. i suppose it's time to put the pen down
and leave.

good bye for now.
maybe next time we can write a poem together.

The
last
flower
in our
garden bloomed
yesterday.

It’s smiling.

Earth's lower mantle
is composed of magnesium iron silicate.
The lower mantle is 2000 kilometers thick,
so magnesium iron silicate makes up 38 percent
of the Earth's entire volume
leaving it the most common of our minerals

but You,
You are not magnesium iron silicate.
You are painite, our rarest kind of mineral.
You are painite reflecting all that is good and bright in the world.

You're made
You're born
You learn to walk
You learn to talk
You go to school
You slowly grow
You cry teenage years away
You graduate
You go to college
You get a degree
You get a job you hate
You meet someone
You get married
You slowly begin to hate her
You have kids
They grow
You grow older
You lose your hair
You hate her even more
You work that job
Your kids leave
Becoming a part of the cycle
You retire
You become angrier
More bitter
Sadder
Your kids are disappointments
You get grandkids
You become frailer
You die
Where did the time go?
What happened to dreams?
What a crazy show!
Get me off this ride!
I don't want to be a part of it!
This vicious cycle of life!

i've dreamt of you
for the past 5 nights.
that sunshine hair and
that almond milk skin

won't let me be.

i'm tired of kissing
your ruby lips and
holding that body
tight in these dreams that

won't let me be.

the fact that i can't
run these fingers down
that goddess back of
yours makes me mad. it

won't let me be.

every night your
angel face appears
and your angel voice
says "i love you" and

i can't handle it.
you're so far
from me
and
i can't
have you. it's
all so twisted.

Of all the things I said and did
when farewell to you I bid
never had I felt more horrid.

And since, when I watch the sky at night
your face appears made out of starlight
shining above, bathing me in white.

And in my dreams where we're together still,
then and only then will joy me fill,
after I'll wake into a nightmarish chill.

All I wish is for your forgiveness.
Every moment from now in my existence
it'll feel like a growing distance.

Though you've made it clear it's over,
this love, this bond, unlike trees in October,
it shall never wither; with me you remain forever.

Mercilessly attacking the wall
forehead front bashing back and forth

What does this mean
this open ravine into nowhere
nowhere where the darkness lives
here i am knocking against my skull
opening windows of my skull
asking screaming and asking
what does this mean
and the voice out in the void
it answers and calls me a fraud
what does this mean

Mercilessly attacking the wall
forehead front bashing back and forth

Van Gogh
Cut his ear off and mailed it to a ******* in a box
For you I'd rip my heart out, ship it on a silver plate
And you'd
Reject it, like they've frequently done, every one,
Van Gogh's *****, you, her, all of them, cold souls.
Perhaps
Not, quite possibly I'm wrong, the reason
For rejections isn't cold, concrete souls,
And it's
Our fault, the writer, the painter,
We, the foolish artists, that
Decide
To package organs in
The mail for our loves,
That is,
Now that I think
It through,
Very
Strange.

Also poetic.
Artsy even.
So please,
Send a thank you note in return
At the very least.
And no, not a restraining order.
(And to end with a generic line
About poetry and the bard:
All these poems are my heart.
All of them.
So, here, take this,
I'm bleeding out for you.)
(Wait, what do you mean you only take cash?)

My girlfriend
Recently
Moved in with me
So she decided
To call her friend,
Who was also
A close friend of mine,
For a couple of beers
In the now 'our' house.
Carmel Scotts
Arrived, knocked,
At around 9,
And girlfriend let him in
And his motorcycle
Sat outside near my
****** old car.
He was a skinny
Ill skin tone guy
Due to his being a
Poppy aficionado,
And he dressed
Like he belonged at
A London punk rock
Concert in the early 80s.
He came in
With his huge mohawk
Flipping God and the system off
And his boots
Knock knock knocking
On Satan's roof.
'Sup' 'Sup' 'Beer?'
'Yeah man, of course'
And we drank and drank
And the now 'our' clock's hands
Moved and struck
12.
We were quite drunk.
I put on
That record
By The Stooges
That we loved
And went to take a ****.
When I came back
Iggy was moaning about
Some Deathe Car
While on the now 'our' floor
Carmel crouched
Like a tiger
Above girlfriend's opened legs
As she too moaned
Being eaten alive by
the now 'our' friend.
They were really going at it
And didn't notice I was back.
I was mad,
Really ****** mad.
I was about
To slam him
Off girlfriend and beat him
To a pulp
When suddenly, I woke up.
I remembered
That I don't have a girlfriend,
(I never have had one)
And I don't have a punk friend
(Or any friend really).
So from mad
I turned sad
And got drunk without both of em.