I don't think people keep in mind
how many wonderous cultures
have been stomped out
and erased by Christianity
In Norway the Christians
tried to burned all the records of the
native culture.
They moved a church
from an unconfrontation position
to directly in the middle
of a native sacred circle
then put up an iron cross
defacing the spots of old gods
forcing ideas onto the unwanting
it's haunting
and scares the **** out of me
that so many people cannot see
or will not see
the evils done for someone who
hasn't ever, ever shown his face
No man can win my battles
or erase my sins for me
that's my right,
that's my fight
Jesus may have died on a cross
but I didn't ******* ask him to.

I      miss      the       days      when
   things        were      good    or
bad

Stella! Stella, I'm sorry
the last words before
I stopped
getting the dog
l          i            t

I'm sorry I'm debris,
I collect in the corners
slowly cluttering,
until you bonk your toes
against me,
but never enough to pick up
and toss out.
This feeling is prickly,
constantly picks at me.

I'm sorry
I can't shake it,
it has grabbed hold, twisted around
my intestines.
The worst is, I know that it's empty--

that it's an old enemy,
who used to claw at me,
since grown tired,
now gathered it's wits
to come back,
commit more atrocities.
I hope it won't tear you

from me.

my least favorite trait,
that surfaced late at night
with the speakers up
a little too high,
is when you try to tell me
what I know
"You have heard this song"
No, I haven't
you have no idea what
thing I've done in my life
or what I've heard
or seen
or felt

I'm envious of playing cards,
played according to the game,
unashamed for following the rules.
The suites mix seamlessly,
pressed together to make the deck.
When they're drawn up
they're played immediately,
know their fate
when their face meets the light.
Then they lay discarded for awhile,  
before being shuffled up,
and brought back to life.

through the h a z e  
o f  t h e
s m o k e
                I could see
                your face
more clearly
than I had
                   since...
you died

I swore I'd leave this place
Knew the whole time that I was
running away
from that shattered home,
that dead friend, that distraught heart pump

I knew it from the start
of the words that dripped from her tongue
                        It's
                             o
                                v
                             ­      e
                                       r
I knew I'd be running
that was the last straw
I'll use it to drink up
Jägermeister
snort up powder
crush up pills
I knew I was running but still
it's really hard to be a fugitive
from myself.

I can feel it in my hands
simmering deep in my stomach
I'll be 26 and have just lost
the 5th "love of my life"
so I'll grab a knife,
then decide a shot to the head
instead
or I'll be 32
with a newborn
and a happy home
but something in me won't work
so I'll take a whole bottle of Vicadin
determined to leave but
not make a mess
or I'll be 55
looking back on a life
an exwife, a long road of
forgotten dreams
then put a noose 'round my neck
and jump
hung from a second story porch beam
I don't want to **** myself
but I feel it in my hands
simmering in my stomach
clawing at my ribs
a self wrought end
to a laughing kid
who I think died
a long, long time
ago

Fine rain falls onto the reflection pool,
tiny ripples bouncing off each other,
transient touch.
Mist hangs on the mountains,
shrouds peaks.
A bell tolled out,
reverberating purity,
find peace in obscurity.

It pains me deep
that I spend so much missed sleep
thinking about money.
It sickens my heart that
cash is more valued than actions
sweeter than honey.
What I despise most is that
here I am writing about money
so I guess,
go money, go money, go.

I hate the phrase
"College is the time to try new things"
because it excludes the idea that
you can try new things your entire life

got back to my apartment
got ****** up as hell
to remind myself
of all the things that are me
stars and mountains,
an idividual gravity
sang sad songs
filled with Eddie, breathing
and seasalt
to bring forth my occult
the little witchcraft in my skin
I washed it down with a cigarette
to remind myself
*don't give in

I just want to cry
Christmas Eve came accompanied
by a trip to the ER
dad in the back of my car
his breath
uncovering his secret
"I have prostate cancer..."

When what makes them
t i c k. is known,
they are thrown
away like beer cans
in sand.
My wife must be
a lady
I will never understand.

Pages of intricate ink
speak of nights spent
white knuckled at
the sink.
Not meant for anyone,
just there to be.

woods surrounded us
full of clatter and charm
we lay beneath a woven blanket
you fit snug into my arms
that dark hair twisting in my fingers
your laughter and gentle kisses
complimenting the words that
filled my ears
I hate it, I hate it
these dreams abound with you
I don't even love you anymore
I don't even care
I don't even remember how to love
so why do they haunt me?
why do they taunt me?
why can't I let them
go?

She's got hands like home
that open doors
when I'm alone.
Her arms are walls
that hold me close
with memories, sweetness
and all of the most
wonderful things
she has shown.
I swear I was homeless
till her hands like home.

Now it's my turn to rant
I'm so ******* tired of being
held to higher standards
of being the one with a halo
of being something more
I'm always labeled
song writer, poet, college student
I'm just Dan *******
just Dan
my blood runs red and blue
I just want to leave
I'm no one's savior
no saint
but I'm always painted up
some perfect picture for someone
some safe haven
some heaven
it's my turn to rant
I'm nothing more than
Dan

I don't even have words
We crested a mountain
In down pours and
60 mph winds
now I'm home
Wrapped in clothes
and blankets
full of
memories

How could such a small,
inconsequential powder
generate such a gravitational pull.
Strong enough to rip me from
my seat, to my feet, to the kitchen sink
then right down the drain.


Take a a step back,
let myself think, I just have to shake
my head side to side or utter
"No"
But somehow that is oh so
so
so
so
so

                          hard.

one of my roommates
is very similar to a mom
except he doesn't nag to help
he bags when things aren't his way
I gotta say
it annoys the **** out of me
like, he lives with two other people
it requires bending
compromising
learning
not constant complaining
or telling me how to do dishes
despite the fact that I never leave
dishes in the sink
(It's him and the other guy)
plus I worked in a restraunt
I've done a thousand dishes
and I do them better
ugh
I'm just hung over
and complaining
but ******* A
let me be

I ache for the pinch
of the coiled steel beneath
each finger tip
pressing down sloppy
thoughts and sheepish
wishes.
The polished red wood
sliding across my palms
each pluck sending out
the perfect tone to settle
qualms
and topple empires
while building up cardiac muscle
never mind the fumbles
caused by unuse and long nights
of abuse
But even if I had the strings
it wouldn't change a thing
not a thing

The screen gleams sending out
blinding beams, Zach is in the shower,
forty minutes now and I've been back,
once,
twice,
three times,
he responded and I went outside,
an empty peach and beat
couch seat,
welcoming my silent musings
as they wander off,
I'll cough and spew,
a few words, a few verbs,
a few kicks to the curb,
then bounce back,
It's okay,
I promise,
relax,
I promise,
but you promised not to
die