The day you tried to live,
you could not,
and passed on to the
Superunknown
and let us fall on
black days.
You finally let yourself drown
in a way much
like suicide,
a spoon in your hand?
Spoonman?
You could never quite break
your rusty cages,
outshined by your own light,
burdened by your own hand.
You roll on like a stone,
the final hunger strike.
Someone forgot to
show you how to live,
and now you will be missed.

free spirit caressed
we danced
and there was no place other
to feel more blessed

its a
post apocalyptic,
polyurethane
pullover
party.

we've got our
sighs of relief,
stop signs,
superficial sorrows.

so please let us
rest our heads,
righteously
railing against
roaring wrongdoings.

its our
right as
rolling ghosts
ruining
really rare
riots.

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

In the
City I see;
Bright stripes
And city lights,
Sky high fives
The high rise.
Cars beep on
Busy streets
Tired sleep to
Sluggish beats.
Violent colours
Streak & blur,
Toss and turn as
The night burns.
Convenience,
We bought,
Peace we lost,
Sleep it's cost.
And so I lie in
A world dyed.
N.   E.   O.   N.

and i am eleven again
feeling like tomorrow
is a couple yesterday's ago
smothered in cayenne pepper
hot enough to take off taste buds
and tonight i am eating a meal
only worth burning
it tastes like my parents anniversary
it tastes like a zinfandel
left on the counter too long
it's a bad story, see
there's no silverware
'cause my mom sold it
to keep the lights on
and somewhere in heaven
somebody in a suit
doing commentary
on this fiasco
is telling someone else
in a suit that
"you have to eat love with your hands"
so we sit, four plates on the table
for the two of us
my brother's long gone
dad's even further away
& he's not the one who's buried
i carry both their names like anchors
that i cannot unmoor from
while she looks at the empty table
and says something about the news
she says something else
but she's not talking
we aren't proud of this, see
my dad likes to wax his car
he's proud of it
and my mom says
she sees a lot of him in my hands
says, i touch the things i find
like they didn't belong
to people sleeping in the ground
she says i touch photo albums
the same way-
you know,
i never used to believe
that history could repeat itself
not until i could
fast forward seventeen years
and still wake up to smoke alarms
how i would go into our kitchen
to find it empty
and the dinner smoldering
& my mother in her bedroom
looking through family photos
like it's a just another summer day
and the sirens are just the birds
i don't ask, i never say a word
in this moment
i am an archeologist
afraid to dig up the past
cause history repeats itself-
you see
my brother is dead
and my father is gone
they have been for some years now
and my mother
sometimes forgets
and sets their place at the table
like they're still here
and in the confusion
ends up ankle deep
in pictures of how it used to be
she let's dinner burn
and douses it in red pepper
hoping i won't know the difference