it is a lazy day
i've slept in
knowing i have little
to do:
drink coffee
smoke
read
and write
i enjoy days like these
no cares
no worries
although
i cannot help
but be anxious
is there something
i should be doing?
if not
why do i feel
that there is?
i guess my anxiety
let's me know
i am still driven
even on lazy days
like today

at the corner
of the bar
grinning to myself
people yelling
singing
****** songs from the 90s
as i empty
my wallet
broke and drunk as usual
i sit in my busted
throne
watching
and laughing
at what is
and what is not
around me

half used
left side remains
empty
although dreams
are filled with company
reality sets in upon wakening
when you realize
the pillow next you
rests unwrinkled
nights are cold
no body to warm up to
nobody to warm up with
so an extra blanket
is the compromise
needing music to sleep
when normally silence
suffices
a bed
can be
one of
the worst reminders

I remember the last time we talked
you called me on a Thursday afternoon
I asked how you’d been
         you were fine
and if you were still working
at that bakery in West Hollywood
         no, you had quit 5 months ago

we talked for twenty minutes
but all I could think about
was how we used smoke *** in your bedroom, watching
cartoons for hours
or when we’d walk to Aldaberto’s
for horchata and chicken burritos
and the days we skipped school and drove to Malibu
to smoke cigarettes at the beach and drink Mountain Dew
mixed with ***** we stole from your dad

you asked me
how I’d been
I lied and didn’t tell you
how I’ve been drinking more lately
and that I still sleep on
the same side of the bed
as if you were going to show up one night and crawl in next to me

and yes, the dog is good
we now go on walks every morning
and yes, my diet is still poor— I know, I smoke too much
but I’m glad you’re doing fine

we talked for twenty minutes
and I hated it
because I didn’t
everything felt like it used to
except no one said ‘I love you’
before hanging up

at the bar
the pub
to be specific

friends get

drunk


in celebration
of near


death

oh lila
you are but a child
innocent in your play
building castles of sand
and breaking them down
running in the grass
and staining your jeans
so much chaos
you create
so much destruction
you manifest
oh lila
no one understands you
your simplicity is frustrating
everyone remains hallucinated
everyone remains vexed
your divine play
is but an eastern thought
however
is something we all
misconceive
when our layers are stripped
peeled off from our infinite selves
we will realize
who and what you really are
oh lila
you run our world

it is raining outside
it is raining
inside
my head
i pull the sheets over
in hopes of protecting myself
from the rain
no use
i am already soaked
so i stay in bed
waiting
until enough of it
dries up
with no sign of sunshine
i might be here awhile
waiting
with my blanket raincoat
and pillow umbrella

the bartender
sops up the *****
tears and ash
left on the bar
after the usual wednesday
night
as he flips up the stools
he can feel the indentations
left by the *****
and empty wallets
of the broke souls
who spent their dollars
trying to forget
that tonight existed
and the **** tomorrow
was bound to throw
in their faces

he felt a deep sadness
for those ghosts
he knew all too well why
they spent their nights
in his bar
yet he thought of himself
as some sort of a hero
for it were not for his bar
their sanctuary
the pieces of skull and brains
their loved ones would
have to clean up
would be too much for
even this society to bear
but he wondered
if he really was
a hero
was he not an accomplice
in their slow deaths
allowing them to drown
in their whiskey and sorrows

no this cannot be right
if they aren’t already dead
then they are dying
just like he is
just like we all are


he knew tomorrow night would
be the same
as tonight
the same tears
the same *****
the same ash
i guess as long
as we are alive to forget
the bartender will be
a hero
and his sanctuary
will remain
open

and it’s cold outside
on the dock
the dog is chasing mosquitoes
and I am drinking cheap wine

I wonder if my mother knew I’d be
as ugly as the world
black and blue and green
but mostly black
and I think back to high school
when I aced calculus
and made out with Ashley in the back of her Jetta
but I’ve always hated math
and Ashley died drunk driving her Jetta, I think

the dog and I head back up to the cabin
for another bottle of wine
as I walk up the steps
I can hear Hank Williams on the Silvertone
             “my bucket’s got a hole in in it
my bucket’s got a hole in it”

a friend of mine
invited me to a party
I decided I’d go
even though I hate parties
people make me uncomfortable
so I avoid them as much as they’ll let me

the house has a large porch with a couch
which is nice
because I’m able to sit out there
and smoke cigarettes
away from everyone else

a girl is dropped off in a car and goes inside
girls are people too
and too I avoid them
but some are different
this one is an exception

she has long brunette hair
parted down the middle
and long legs
her eyes are happy
but not too happy

you see
the happy ones haven’t figured it out
haven’t realized how this **** hole runs
the happy ones haven’t left the city
and seen the smog resting on it

but her eyes have a sadness in them
and I like that

I want to follow her inside and take her home
convince her  we can be happily
sad together
late nights of whiskey and cigarettes
laying in bed all day watching movies the proper way
not speaking until it’s over

I finally came

wiped off with a ***** sock
got dressed
grabbed a beer
and started walking to the party

i see the world
and the people
who inhabit it:
the angry
the corrupted
the oblivious
the lost
everyone hell bent
to find their way
put on this spaceship
we call earth
with absolutely no say
in the matter
who are we to judge
how people go about
their lives?
aren't we all
just trying
to sort out
what we didn't ask for?

“i’ve got the one on the right­—
you can have the one on the left.”
of course the one on the left is the size of two of me
when a wing man’s duty calls, one must oblige

“you’re cute” she tells me
“you gross me out” i say to myself
however, she is nice
and had what could be a pretty face
so we drank beers and smoked cigarettes out on the balcony
i do not remember what we talked about
she works with kids I think, but to be honest
i didn’t care

i wonder where my friend is
he better be getting some or at the very least,
making conversation
i don’t just go around jumping on grenades for
***** and giggles

finally, it is time to go
i ask the girl for her number, because i knew it would make her happy
“you better text me” she says
“of course i will”

i won’t

my friend surfaces­
unsuccessfully
i give him ****

he gives me the purple heart

one day
the world will have enough of me
and burn me at the stake

they’ll sing and dance
in gasoline and smoke
         “the death of the last honest man”

and after they **** on the ashes
and return home
to their meat loaves and ******

i will rise from the ashes
as a pigeon

spending the rest of eternity
******* in their morning coffee
and on the windshields of their cars

she

was afraid of
His touch


fearing

it would send her


into



the *******
of the universe

consumes me
black coffee
fuels me
i am on a path
to know
and never forget
lungs black
liver beaten
books read
pizza eaten
play the game
but keep it short
love your highs
and know your lows

inspired by Gertrude Stein*


Wood turns hard and shows its spaces. This is less convincing. If it spoke more no one would listen. It is solid and we don’t fall through. It reminds there is no remembering.

The pieces don’t touch, just spaces and they are put together. This is what is done without thinking and we still remember. If something is seen and nothing more than that, it should seem normal and grey.

A flag is innocent and spreads. Its colors don’t move and are divided and smoke pulls off more. If it is done where the whole is partial, leave the tab.  

The grey, the color grey, needs nothing more and never asks of anything.

Overalls can be hard, where wool socks are underrated and tired. It stays this way.

How can something so gapped hold calmly? Not because there was a touching, but because of something less. The blanket is blue and grey and holds if nothing more than that.

If hands are obvious, if hands are obvious and touching and hard, still no one listens. If hands are obvious and so is wood, there is nothing more.

Blue is guaranteed. Blue is guaranteed and so static, but ready.

he lied down in the parking lot
at the local Safeway
on a tuesday at 3:00 am

he thought
the tracks would have been better
how pathetic
to fail at dying

a homeless man approached
carrying garbage bags of empty water bottles
and offered him a beer

they sat there
drinking in silence
he lit a cigarette for the ***
     what is your secret

nothing replied his eyes

her ****
are heavy
and her heart is light

as she struts
around


like some naive

goddess



oh the men
she's slain

with the mere shake


of that

***

you’re standing on the front porch
with puke on your shoes
and wondering why you even went out
and where she is

you remember when you first made out
and how her mother loved you
and made you turkey sandwiches
but her dad always cleaned his guns in his tiger camo shorts

you move away for college
you have it all figured out
but she cries on the phone
and you can only hug her once a month

then after three years it all ends
because even when she visits she is still sad
the last thing you say is ‘I love you’
and you haven’t spoken ever since

when your vision turns from one to two
when you’re kneeling down making porcelain stew
when stumblin’s all you can manage to do
that’s the blacked out blues
when you’re strolling down the street looking for a fight
and you find your target wandering by
that moment when you punch him in the ******* eye
that’s the blacked out blues
when getting laid is your only goal
when your only requirements are two legs and a hole
but little do you know your model’s a troll
that’s the blacked out blues
when your vision turns from one to two
when you’re kneeling down making porcelain stew
when stumblin’s all you can manage to do
that’s the blacked out blues
that’s the blacked out blues

my father once told me
to be a leader
not a follower

what does that even mean
to a seven year old boy
with pizza stains on his shirt
and scabs on his knees

i thought nothing of it at the time
how could i have

so here i am
still thinking nothing of it
getting drunk
not following
anyone
and not leading
anyone either

and
vacant sheets
so i spend
my nights
full of drink

two years
of anticipation
was relieved
the perfume
still lingers
in the pillows
and the sheets
two years
of anticipation
laid out
in my bed

the pains
in my chest
from the
cigarettes and the
scotch
assure me of one thing
for certain
i am dying
as are you
and the fish
and the cows
and the trees
so shall we toast
to our knowledge
our ignorance
and our death
for tomorrow
may never come

I found myself wandering around
the truck stops and trailer parks of
West Sacramento
hung over and thirsty, I found
the first place
I could get a drink —THE ***** BIRD
I sat down at the bar and ordered a Budweiser.
it was basically empty
usual for a Tuesday.

halfway through my beer the bartender slid me another,
“what’s this for?” I said. “the fella over there
bought it for you,” he said pointing to a blind man
and a German Shepherd sitting at a booth in the back.
“you allow dogs in here?”
“nah, but Red’s cool.”

I finished up my first Bud
and walked over to the booth, “hey
thanks for the beer.”
“you should be thanking me, not him
he can’t hear you anyway.”  I looked around.
A paw extended out. “the name’s Red,
nice to meet you.”
I shook the paw, “yeah, uh, Louis.
same.”
“have a seat, Lou.
so what brings you to this dump?” the dog asked.
“excuse me, Red you said? I don’t mean to be rude,
but you’re a talking dog.”
“you don’t say huh?”
“sorry, but this is— incredible .”
the German Shepherd grabbed a bottle of beer in his jaws, kicked back his head
and took a pull,
“yeah? so?
you humans do it all the time
and half of that time the only thing that comes out of your mouths is *******.”
“but why haven’t
I heard of you before? shouldn’t you be famous or
in some record book or —“
“ah, **** that noise” he said,
“I’m too old for that ****.
why do you think I’m hanging out at this **** hole anyway?
no one ever comes in here —“

“HEY ******* RED!” the bartender yelled.
“NO OFFENSE JOE, BUT YOU GOTTA ADMIT,
YOUR BAR IS PRETTY ******! HA HA.”

“so how do you know—“
“oh Frank? how rude of me, I didn’t
introduce you.” Red turned to the blind man in between us
and pawed his right hand, the man smiled and stuck out his hand.
“nice to meet you, Frank. you have one incredible —“
“I told you he can’t hear. he’s deaf.”
“oh, right. sorry.”
Red took another pull of his beer, “Frank and I are ex-West Sacramento PD.
we were partners. narcotics unit.
a few years back
we got a tip on a **** lab at one of the
trailer parks near here. Frank went inside to see if we had the right place. then
BOOOOM. the whole ******* thing blew. Frank went flying. it was
definitely the place. now he can’t see or hear ****.”
“jesus.”
he wagged his tail and laughed,
“yeah, poor *******, if he wasn’t ugly enough before burn marks.
nah I’m kidding. Frank’s like
a brother to me, that’s why I take care of him.” Red grabbed a cigarette out of the pack in Frank’s jacket pocket. Frank lit it for him.
he took a long drag, “you smoke?”


Red and I drank until the bar closed.
we smoked, *******,
played dice (1-4-24). it turned out
we had the same taste for classical music,
Chopin over Satie
and we both agreed
Willie Mays was the greatest
to ever swing a baseball bat.

you need
to get over it
i’ve used this title
before
you forget
for too little
and it all comes
rushing back
give it some time
and you won’t remember
what it was like before
please
quite torturing
yourself
it is really not
that bad
yes
love it hurts
but haven’t you
felt that before
it will be okay
breathe in
move on
and fall again
with someone else
who really
matters

the mountain
            burns
while dogs and demons
trade souls for feather and bone

lapis lazuli
face down
             on all fours

far too nice outside
to be cooped up
in my cave
although
normally that’s where
you’d find me
the sun is out today
warming my face and
the bricks my bare feet
are resting on
it is spring time finally
and that means everything
is in heat
the squirrels are *******
the birds are *******
and i assume the reason
i hear so many dogs barking
is because they wish
they were *******
what a lovely season
spring is
with all it’s warmth and horniness
although i know
in good time
i will long for the cool weather
and warm colors of fall
as i always do
every year
if i could only just make up
my mind
that is
if i am able to find the **** thing

once while driving a long stretch of road, I came across a field of dead colts. not mauled, but asleep. I spent the day arranging and rearranging them. first in a straight line. then a circle. then a cross. finally, I piled them up and lit them on fire. I waited for the fire to burn out. I waited through night. I waited for several days. I never slept. just sat there. waiting.

is what it is
as people
say
the grass isn’t
greener
on the other side
for even trees
are cut

down

she gave up on me you know
five years and three quarters

we used to it around all day
smoking *** and
ignoring phone calls
only leaving the house for candy and cigarettes

but
she'd eventually grown tired of shortened nights
and un-walkable distances

I left my heart somewhere in that house
I imagine it's collecting dust in the closet
next to dried flower bouquets and
old birthday cards

too tired to retrieve it
too drunk to care

I'd rather sit here on this barstool
wasting away what's left

unsettled
and in between
on my forward
upward
being my only
direction
although i am
still stuck somewhere
in the mess
of it all
there is something
to be had
yet i haven’t
found it yet
i feel soon
it will come
but sometimes
i wonder how soon
soon will be
so i will smoke my cigarettes
and drink my whiskey
until soon presents itself
and my awkward peace
packs up and leaves

and they're all kind of
broken anyway
she's nice
but I
just blow it out of proportion
most of the time
I sit in my room
trying to forget what I can remember
and settle

is cold when i wake up
in the morning
still hungover
there isn’t a warm spot
or a glass of water
to be found
so i lay there
frozen and beat
listening
to yesterday
laugh at me

the destination
known, but not easy to find
because it finds you

in my cave
the cigarettes dry out my mouth
i am contented
but somehow not
like many nights
tonight
is just like those nights
we all
read about

inspired by robert creeley*

as I look out my
window, I see the
world and the people

who walk it—
the homeless, the fat,
the blue, and lost

each with toes and
*******, teeth, and ear hair
everyone hell bent

on finding something
but what they
don’t know is, that

there is nothing
to find,— just
a line

that we all wait
in, and why not
be okay with this?

i’ve realized that
i want nothing more
than what I have
or what i can obtain
but so far as i can tell
that isn’t a whole lot
i drink the same beer
smoke the same cigarettes
and wake up alone
with the same hangover
people say you are too young
to be sad
but isn’t that what life
is all about
our present condition
the tragedy that it is
to see it as a bad thing
would be more of a nightmare
than it would be denying it
the romanticism
oh
the ever hopeless
romanticism
that is
my life
gets the best of me
i try to drink it off
which works
but only for a short while
what’s sad is i know
this isn’t for me
or at least
what i want for me
there must be some place
i can run away to
there must be someone
who is as sad as i am
someone
who goes to bed
wishing for
that last piece to complete
the chaotic **** mess
of a puzzle
that is their life
perhaps that piece
does exist
or perhaps that piece
is just the beer
in front of me

i fell in love at the bar
sitting in my chair
in the company of friends
i drank my double
because the bartender
poured me a ***** glass
she passes me
i stop
never does this happen to me
never am i taken back
she is perfect in every way
her body
her face
those eyes
those lips
we are introduced
naturally
she is known
naturally
she is on a date
never
am i taken back
yet
she remembers my name
that is all i could ask for

atop the mesa
cold flowers sleep
bathed in suns
long since gone
& the coyote sings
on purple wind
"all is empty"

find a spot
rest and ponder
if done correctly
there will be
nothing
to ponder at all

this business

what
****

some live in a dream
believing
what they have
is really
real

other settle for
red carpets, Tiffany's,
beach front property and trust funds

and then there are those
who are found dead
with a bottle of whiskey in one hand
and lotion in the other

is something nice
about smoking late at night
in the darkness of your room
perhaps its the lack of senses
all you can do is
see and feel
the orange cherry
floating like a ghost in front of you
the sensation of smoke
filling up your lungs
my room is always warm at this of the night
most likely from the scotch
i don’t mind though
it gives me an excuse to open the window
and let the cool air chill me
while i smoke
it is interesting how
something as simple as smoking alone
can bring one so much contentment
at such a lonely hour of the night

to know all
forget everything
and say nothing

he sat on his porch
with a bottle of cheap gin
there was nothing to do,
but forget the little of him that was left

forty-six years
and still nothing made sense.
no one teaches a man (about real *******)
about humanity, its hypocrisies
and ego and greed.
death and the Devil.

in fact,
no one really teaches a man anything at all
check book balancing, dinner table manners,
how to properly shake a hand.
none of it's any use.

he took a pull of the gin
and looked up as it started to rain.
"I know you are there."


                            a moment passed.


the thunder replied.

is like
the nights
you get so drunk
that you throw up
on your shoes
and **** in your bed
when you wake up
the next morning
you tell yourself
i swear to god
i will never drink again
but of course
that time between
sunset and sunrise
you find yourself
throwing up
and *******
all over again

how often
we unconsciously
take **** for granted
so happy at times
times so easily forgotten
until those times are long gone
with no hope of returning
then we remember
then we dwell
kicking ourselves
for not holding on to those times
as long as we could
listening to our saddest songs
knowing it’s unhealthy
trying to fall asleep
to escape the thoughts
that only late nights bring about
we tell ourselves
how dreadfully lonely we are
as we lie in bed
unable to sleep
then one day
the suffering is relieved
and we go back to taking
**** for granted
once again

is a sheep
in a black sweater
not real
not what they say
they are
not
what they do
when it comes down to it
to that specific situation
they fold
they crumble
they do what they do
what i hate
is how okay am with this
i do not mind their actions
do what you want
however
it makes me sad
i feel alone
with my thoughts
with my ideals
with my philosophies
with my mind
i try to help
but all i receive
is combat
i am okay with being alone
but i’d rather be accompanied
someone on the same page
someone on the same level
someone who’d
be frustrated with me
truly frustrated
i shouldn’t be trying to settle down
so young
i know
from stories told by others
that when the time comes
the time comes
so i will wait
i know eventually that time
will come
so until then i will remain
frustrated
with
everyone

we still be lonely
if we weren't reminded
everyday?
does no one
look up at the stars
and realize
how insignificant we really are?
just because we are capable
of having feelings
doesn't necessarily
give them any meaning
don't get me wrong
i do not believe
love is overrated
i am a hopeless romantic myself
however
i do not lay in bed at night
wondering of what could be
for i
right now
and always
am being
to die alone
sounds so tragic
but aren't we always alone?
even if we are
dating
married
in love
we are always trapped
inside ourselves
if only we could understand
the beauty of our own company
maybe then
our lives
wouldn't seem so tragic