Not all of us are going to heaven
The news starts at eleven
Not all of us can be angels
Some have hearts clamped with staples
Not everyone gets the happy ending
Some of us are sick of pretending
That’s what it is!
What it is –
Straight/no chasers
Stop looking for replacements
Nothing can sew up these holes
They’re fatter than all your rolls
So, fix your place with candles and paintings
Soft music and wine
You’ll be waiting a long time

Digging for a new tree
I find bones in my garden
that have lived
where I live now

in a house like mine
maybe the same
dressed with flesh
two eyes and a mouth

a stranger like the neighbour
with his wild hair in a bathrobe
in front of the window
like so many people

staff and passers-by
people who are busy
and people who are bored
extras, all of them

they act and fill the world
of others without playing
in a play, including me
with the bones in my hand

He ate flowers.

this mentally challenged boy
from the countryside
I used to watch him
in the fields
when I visited my grandparents
as a kid
He was like an exotic thing
a wild beast chasing
static pray
They had no chance,
the flowers
he would assault them
with a killer's smile, frothing,
and would grab
and tear and rip them from
the stem and
would eat them

Nobody knew why
and the only explanation given
was that he was insane

then the men and women
who saw him would
scream at him
to stop and he would raise
his head and watch them
like a deer surprised by
headlights
Then he would spit the colorful
froth from his big mouth
and would run home
hopping and leaping like a horse
through the tall grass

He was mostly inoffensive,
this flower eating boy
but they all told me to stay away
from him and would
always chase him away when
he got too close

Time passed and I moved to the
city and went to school there
and stopped visiting the
countryside and its wonders
I got busy
and my busy life drove away the
magic and mystery of childhood

The flower eating boy is now but
a memory
neither good
nor bad
just strange, interesting

He doesn't eat flowers anymore
because he doesn't live in the
countryside anymore
No, from what I've heard
he's in some mental facility and it was
his last flowery meal that sent him there

I don't know,
maybe if they hanged signs with
"Don't wear flowers in your hair!"
around the village and the fields
that little girl would've been saved
and the village would still have its
magic beast.

I linger here
on the edge
of the sea

like a mermaid
waiting for
a man

to trap

with the great
cavity of my
mouth

teeth yellowed
by age and
cigarettes

I linger
like a ghost

the taste of
death is a
salt

that preserves
my body
on the outside

whist the inside
has vanished
into the ocean

like a wave

i'm doin all i can
but nothing seems okay
i only know what i've been taught
but i'm too young to understand
that no matter what i do
and no matter how i fight
i cannot change the way
that i saw her look at you

The sun rises and coffee drips
I sip the bitter sweet blackness and think
I light a cigarette and I sink
Into another day another show.

Put on the mask and let go
Cause the real me can't survive
But no matter how much I hide it the real me shows.

I think of the world, the pain the suffering the wars.
I think of my friends and try to put a smile on
I think of my family and its cover me in emotions of a sad but sweet song.

I think of anyone to get my day on
But no one sparks me up and no I'm not in love.
And I'm not sure if that might ever happen
If I'm stuck in the state they call "madness"
Existential questions constantly on my mind
Why are we here, and does god really mind
My "sins" and how deep can we fall
And it seems like my life is on thin ice .

And I recall my dreams that are so vivid every night.
And I mix them with reality, painting an abstract painting in my mind.
Coding myself more, as meaning is held in complexity.
Or so I heard once said to me.

I sip my coffee and I think.
I used to write meaning and now its this thing.
Whatever you may call this.

I want to go after my dreams but my dreams aren't ever pretty
They're complicated and ******
And myself is nothing but this whole universe in disguise
In this case I call mine
And that makes everything matter and nothing matter

Coffee is my favorite drink
I dont do juices and other things
Just coffee or water
Black or white
Nothing inbetween

And so my mornings begin