She whispered to the metal gears
and machine parts.
An incantation fell
from her glossy lips.
Each long held L
and calming O,
every soft, vibrating V,
and gentle E,
plopped onto the cogs,
slipped into the cracks.
Suddenly, the machine melted,
the grey steel becoming red muscle,
the whole contraption
wrapped up in blood vessels.
No longer rusted, my heart surged,
turned human once again.

I don't really think there is a hell,
but if I'm somehow wildly wrong
and a firey pit awaits all sinners,
I hope we are standing in line together.
I heard the line to Hell lasts forever;
we would have eternity to delve
into each other, meld ourselves
bit by bit till we were locked
                       in a kiss-

a symbol for love in a place full of hate.

Cap and tassel,
diploma,
freedom from academia.
A swift, ****** birth
as I'm shoved through to real life,
supposedly born grown,
a bright smile and a firm hand shake,
along with a list of accomplishments.
I have none, my resume made
completely of Diablo Rock Gym
and Chipotle.
Great.
Maybe I can still fail a class,
tell the professor I copied
my A paper, get expelled
and start all over!
Or fade away quick,
sink fast before anyone notices.
I'll slide into some forgotten swamp,
survive on worms,
and my own words,
                                    my own words,
             my            own                 wo,
my                   own            w
                                 my                      own
                                               my          ow
                   my
            m                                                   y
   m
               .

Like a plague they spread
out through the valley,
the shining field consumed
by war machines and beasts
lead by a vile horde,
half-human, cruel grins and shouts
as bile falls from their mouths

The rich scent of bacon
drifts through my window
as I read "The Advancement of Learning."
Curious over Cicero.
Ah Bacon, bacon, both have me stop,
pause,
one in slight confusion,
one in awe.

Transient. Just passing through.
Flit from here to            there.
A split second shade you catch
in your periphery.
The kind that has you shaking
your head.
Don't worry, I'm see-through,
I can't affect you.
Go back to your tv show or book or whatever.
I'll contort, distort, crinkle up into radio static
so you can hear me faintly
between commercials...

A day to celebrate myself feels strange,
a quiet resistance to believing that this year
isn't cigarette nights and one last drink,
isn't getting so faded it disappears.
Attention on me, I didn't do anything,
only stayed alive for twenty three years, so what?
Somehow a girl thinks I'm charming,
I'm in peewee and she's hitting in the major leagues.
A day to celebrate myself,
but I'm no longer burnt out, silent, drowning Dan,
I'm someone else.