small miracles,
she loved tea
and birds,
I was neither,
just somebody
to pass the time.
I wrote her a poem
once,
about a pirate,
but she said
she liked
TV better,
so I fell asleep hurt
and dreaming
of other times
sailing
the seas
with the wind in my hair,
and when
we broke up
it was like
walking the plank only I
knew
whatever
was in that ocean below
would be better
than what was above.
the end,

These conspiracy theories are killing my brother

one video at a time,

as he inhales each line

like a Colombian drug lord with ties to the CIA,

as he withers like a grape on a vine full of GE pesticides.

I told him to lighten up, go for a walk,

visit grandpa in the hospital,

but he wouldn't listen,

and thinks it's more important

to spend his time waging war online

against the armies of the unseen.

Six months later, he lost his job like a *****

who od on ****** supplied by the US Army,

and though I have never trusted the Gov

or corporations or politicians,

neither do i trust documentaries

made by lonely people

who need a computer

to feel safe,

as they tell us

the computer is evil

and going to overthrow us all,

which is really a metaphor

for the problem

I have for all conspiracy theorists

like my brother,

who think they're fighting

against all the ill gotten spoils

of an empire built with bombs and technology,

yet can't go a day without logging in.

we drank,

and we fought

and we cheated on each other,

and i thought i was tough,

could get away with being numb

because she cried first,

but after she left,

not even the whiskey

could keep away the pain

and no matter how much

i drank,

it just kept falling

through the cracks

of my soul

and spilled

over my body

like sweat

or blood

or tears,

it didn’t matter

what word

i used

to describe it

because

only those

who have

been there,

know what it feels like,

and by then,

all poetry

is useless.