It's not about the fact that I can get the dress on, it's a about how quick I can get it off. And the answer to the equation is that boys like sleeping in there own bed. The problem is that the sum of life is ***. The square root is love, but no one rounds it up.

A poet is
a low rent god.

He gets
to name things
and insist
on meanings.

Even broke
and out
of cigarettes,
he is
the absolute
divinity
of the universe
of words.

Keep your
pecker up,
buddy.

Better days loom.

I insist upon it
and I am the keeper
of the keys
to the Garden.
  ~mce

I used to be able to forgot who I was
The easiest way was to stare at my hand
I was young
Nine or ten was the last time
After a while I would look away from my hand
and I would not know where I was or who I was
I would be fearful and magnetized
And question where I was,
Who I was.
I remember asking
"Is this real?"
"Whose eyes are these?"
Yes...eyes,
It was through rapid blinking that would bring me back
to life as I know it
I never knew what I was experiencing;
A seizure
A mystical experience
A temporary return
Whatever it was
I cannot go back
No matter how hard I try.

Gandhi once said,
"Your Christians are so unlike your Christ"
or something to that effect.
He was right.
If god was real why would he not avert his eyes?
As we maimed and ***** and slaughtered,
for the seven hundredth time.
Human beings were broken from the start.
First we killed with sticks and stones,
then transformed warfare into art.
A bitter joke indeed.
Cavernous capacity for compassion competes
with the inner beast.
Rapid acceleration  towards the exit,
planet's just gaspin' it's last breathes, death rattle.
Perpetuated by laws of desperate escalation,
accessible weapons outweigh the estimation.
Lack of communication marks the end, tower of babel.

my fingernails short when i scratch them through the dirt, carving furrows in the ground. my dry mouth stinging with hot air. you say that we're unlucky but we're lucky to have each other. you say we're birds of a feather but i suspect you are a wolf. you found the open parts of me and thought to fill them with your name. REPENT!!REPENT!!REPENT!! REPENT!!DEATH DRAWS NEAR AS YOU LICK THE FILTH FROM YOUR FINGERS, SINNER!!SINNER!!GOD HATES UGLY GOD HATES ***** GOD HATES DESPERATE HANDS TWITCHING LIKE DYING FLIES YOUR YELLOW TEETH ARE PROOF OF THE SULFUR IN YOUR BLOOD!!YOUR STICKY LIPS ON THE WHITE CLIFFS OF MY TEETH, YOU CANT KISS AWAY A SNARL!!REGRET THE WAY YOU PRESSED YOUR PALMS TOGETHER WHITE KNUCKLED AND STIFF!!REGRET YOUR SELFISH PRAYERS!!GOD HATES ANGRY GOD HATES SAD THE FIFTH CIRCLE OF HELL HAS A SPOT SAVED FOR THE BOTH OF US, SINNERS SCARLET LETTERS LIKE RASHES!!!REPENT!!your favorite dress, hem brushing your ankles, dust in the stitches. your soft hands with fingers in my arteries. your eyes squeezed shut when you cry. i am living out of spite. im living for revenge. im living to prove im better than you. look me in the eyes when you pull your fingers from my heart. SINNER!!WIND CHAPS YOUR FACE RED AND YOU PEEL DEAD SKIN BETWEEN YOUR FINGERS, I PRAY MYSELF IMMORTAL THE BACKGROUND RADIATION SCREAMS ILL ******* **** YOU I AM SPEAKING!!I SPEAK THROUGH COSMIC NOISE ILL ******* **** YOU!! IM SPEAKING TO YOU!!SINNER!!SINNER! REPENT!I AM DIVINE I AM SAINTED I AM HOLY I AM GOING TO HELL

a person walked down the street they did not have a face
they cut off all their hair in front of me with a pair of kids rubber scissors

all the kids in front of him were built for blood
everyone behind him vomits according to the amount of hair the stranger cuts off

they stand up and take off their sunglasses and hat
they take off their pants
they are naked and they are nothing
otherwise occupied by a worthless punching bag or a warm trap

the stranger ran to my doorstep and they threw their wallet on the ground
they scrambled to grab the identification cards and such
and they proved to me that I was them

Gnosticism guacharos, live disorderly, in the thick of the juncture. Junkyards plethoric, plagiarized with pandemonium, adapting to the actuality that were all inanimate commodities in well built bodies. Garage permeated minds...you cannot preserve a disposition. Then I shall have the upper hand my friend. Cracks in the side walk lead me home...

i wrote a letter on a napkin,
Left it in the break room for all to see,
Butterflys & dragon wings,
Dented brains,
Zombies are lame,
Apostolic Atmosphere,
Coke pancakes,
Canadian convos,
Metaphorically you're a drawr in reverse,
I'm not ****** just lonely.

They played in the Garden of Eden,
After hours, when the street lights when out,
And the pavement cooled down,
They drank from green hoses,
Fine aged wine in a different world,
He gave her a boost,
Soft hands on bark,
So close to touching the moon,
The earth beneath her,
No fragile wings opened,
They chopped down the tree the next day,
No Garden of Eden,
And no little girl to play,
He spends his days making paper airplanes,
Thinking of the sky that took his bestfriend.

When I am done with my poem today
You might see it.
Well, if you're reading this
then you did see it.

I'm sorry.
As the fingers strike the keys
my mind is sodden.
Vacancies available, as they say.

Anyway, cast your thoughts
to those who will not see this.
Either occasional lookers
or Hello Poetry zealots
may let these pixelated words slip by.
They won't be affected.

But you are.
Now, I'm not expecting to change your life
but maybe I've got you thinking
at this moment,
when already in the past I've finished this
and sat back silently,
wishing the dull pain
of the past's barbs in my mind
away.

You are potentially similar.
Or maybe you already switched away.
****.
I forgot again.

I got up to talk to my dad.
I took out the garbage.
Did you stop, leave in the middle of this poem?
It's okay because me too.

You have read this poem,
maybe considered it.
I am almost done.

I'm not sure how this is going to end.

I guess I'll just put out my poem now
for people to find and to not find.
But remember
that the small stuff
from insignificant sources
feels for you.

I’m drinking a 40 on a ***** mattress wanting to carve his name into my leg. Drunk and wobbling in my 6 inch heels with daddy in mcdonalds. Giving him hickies with cheap ***** on my breath. He says I make him feel young again. I no longer put my menthol cigarettes out on my own heart. I wear blossom pink lipstick now and started brushing my hair. His mouth against mine feels like I tongued an electrical socket dipped in honey. His teeth are rotting out of his pretty skull but he tears through my star white skin like a rabid dog. Holding each other’s hands at random gas stations while he buys me alcohol to get rid of my bad thoughts that swell my brain. He takes care of me and pets my angel hair. Calling me his princess. Promising me slushies and gold teeth. He let me choke him in the parking lot along side the highway. I asked him if I could be his baby in the back of his trunk. He kissed my neck like a solar eclipse.