I am dying stars
I am locked doors
I am smoke
I am steel
My eyes burn
I learned to make gold in your shadows
Now I am priceless
I am industry
And I am angry
I will rise on clockwork flight
There are no wings to melt on me

A satellite is watching its ants,
Broadcasting the pixelated sins of your fathers,
Just
     like
         snow
Go on sew,
Sew your seams little one,
All this humanism is bound to bust when you all find yourselves-

Eating cotton

Turn on the television,
I am naked,
I need to hide,
Turn off the lights,
I need darkness,
To abide,
And Babylon is seeping through the screens,
Demean us all,
Demean us all,
As long as I can be seen,
Demean me please,
Ease the curse of this vulnerability,
How do I survive on this tilted planet?
What's the use of living,
If I'm not alive?
Was man meant for this?
All these cages,
My job my house my car my body,
Is anybody conscience of this missing bliss of life?
Who can see,
All
    the
        nakedness
                       like
                        

                            me


The world washes over our bodies
The world washes over our bodies
**The world washes over our bodies

Tripping on small stones,
The path of least resistance,
The path of tangled demise,
They said I was made of monsters,
Because I hid my face from the sun

Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows

The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves

The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
I cannot sleep tonight,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net


I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
                                   Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
                                    Will I stop myself?
                                                      *­Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
                  Where can I find it?
                                    Will I stop myself?
                                                      Ti­me moves too slow
I shouldn't be-





                                                       ­                        And The Sun Goes



Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,

Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island

Where I washed ashore

A cold room for puddles of blood,
Yes its true,
My conscience is slowly dripping down my fingertips,
Can you see me becoming the monsters that grow teeth over us?
Listen,
Just listen,
Wolf Queen,
You know I can't give my hands to you,
Matchstick man,
How long will I have to burn away my roots?
How long do we have to burn?
The self destructive gene...
Ashes-
I have no hands to catch the ashes
You know I loved the sound of rain more than the sound of my own pulsing blood,

Dreams spill over these days,
I told you,
When I release the spectrum in my chest,
It would absorb the colors of this world,
Hiding from my own face I,
I have become,

Nothing

I sleep with a ghost,
For it cannot be I that has flesh,
A specter for a dying town,
Memories trapped in dusty pictures,
Scattered everywhere here,
I stood still in this place and watched the movements of decay,
Decay into

Nothing

All my colors are bleeding out
All my colors are bleeding out
All my colors are bleeding out

A sea of gasoline's,
Grace of novelties,
Cars and halogen,
Social disease,
Manufactured dreams,
Scream on screens,
They glean from all living things,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
Such a contumacious existence,
Results in an animistic decline,
All things that once made us strong,
Oblivion has made a meal of them,
I walk around this town,
I see the colors,
I watch the scenes,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I live in a world without a heart,
But machines keep it breathing,
And it has many sons,
Crowned with clockworks maturation,
Am I the last one beating?
I don't tick,
Not like them,
I just watch men bite one another necks from the steps of the front door,
They call me the queen of the creaking floorboards,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I have matchstick eyes,
I twist fires with my fingertips,
All of these people made of wood,
They are like smoke to me,
I breathe slices into them with teeth that have no number,
I am December,
I fight,
Take,
Hide

Stereotypes manifesting always,
(Always)
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
(Anonymity)
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Scattered,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Right?
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars

I see the demons in these people,
Tired eyes carrying the weight of self infliction and the sight of monstrosities,
They do not see the sun,
And their breath is a tax

Silence has opened it's mouth,
I unfold before it,
Strands come undone,
The story of a man gets swallowed,
The strength of my youth falls with the wind,
A veil takes the stars from me

They said,
"You are Icarus!"
Because I dared to hide my face from the sun,
I do not build these heights on wax,
And the wind is not my champion,
I shall not melt my man made matters,
Under a star setting on days doomed to dissonance

They're Everywhere!, The Beautiful Badger Skins, All Of Your Things, To Conquer The Ant, Feces Feline, ******* Traffic, The Coloring Books, I'll Catch You With Nets, A Truce To Trance, Pale Nosed Girls, Jars In June, Fake Fight Fridays, Just Like Madeline, Cats And Dogs, The Poor And The Smiling, So She Says, No Strawberries Please, Bicycle Chase, Chickens Don't Fly, Behind The Shed, Cars In The 90's, Carl's Disease, Anthropomorphic Crush, A Cheer From The Waves, Bubbles Bubbles Bubbles,  The Floorboards, Suitcase Joust, Beneath The Forest, Myspace Meltdown, Call Me On Tuesday, Take Me Out To Pho, Grave Of The Cameras, Toothpicks And Cigs, Wax On Wax Off, Bad Days For Good People, Burnt Bacon.

I drive a white truck big and clumsy,
It's a whale,
But today I get to drive the BMW,
It's just a sedan,
But I'll make it a fireball

Your name is sweet,
That is why the flowers bloom,
There is the Spring in your movements,
There is a lost world in your eyes

Nakedness and manifestations of the white noise mind traffic,
I watch the world turn before the fabricated glory of torches without flames and chariots without horses,
All saturated with the molecular movements of the air made with melodies not played for You,
This is the concrete sea of gasoline’s grace of novelties I once spoke of when I was a prince of sleepless men and my heart was determined to germinate the seeds of wicked kings,
Now with a crown cast down and cracked,
I am a dystopian eclipsing a dying sun to cast shadows on sleeping silent sinking houses,
As I watch them go down to where I've made my bed before,
I recall how they make me turn in my sleep before You,
Keeping keys deep below bowing floorboards whining with the weight of weeping willows grown by ghosts of a life once sewn and patched by my pity of distorted desperation,
My fingers keep my dreams from unraveling,
Locking them up tight tonight by hiding my face from it all,
Closing my eyes with my palms,
My lamps are bathed in blackness,
Darkness covers darkness,
And then I feel your hands lower the veil,
I see holes made by instruments of death forged in time,
Scarring You in a place that Kronos nor Thanatos cannot consider to tread,
I put my fingers through them,
I remember now that you paint such beautiful pictures,
Color me with your dreams now,
Your pigments have been poured out,
A gift was given to the dust,
Now I live to give it back to you,
And the haunted fluorescence of Babylon grow dim before your face,
The orchestral cries of mans machines grow silent,
Deep touches deep,
Sharing the oceans between us,
A love infinite consumes me

I am a raccoon masked self sabotage tycoon specialist with a self inflicted past-biased hit list peeked at through urban eye sags pulled down by years of troubled pleasantries now darkened with giant grey glass fingers touching the skies and casting shadows on their own concrete feet providing my disguise wrapped in a capitalist bow tied blessing,
Oh forward progression,
Pathetic Fraud 101 is in session,
Catch me if you can,
I am my own cynical supremacist nemesis thief in the black and white mellow drama trauma,
I play all the rolls,
And these places take their toll on my soul because fossil fuel herds have replaced the sea you see,
Peel your eyelids back and allow me to derail your ignorant yarn sewn seam day dream from it's crocheted track,
Societies a chemical fire train wreck attack,
The difference between metal and wool is fire and flesh,
They're bound to mesh within a Chinese children tears committee calamity tragedy,
You think your H&M; hemmed subliminal photo-shoot suit is moral free?
Or is it that you refuse to look past your own pictures hung around your face by D.O.S. operated framed fixtures screaming "ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME!"
Or whatever O.S. you bless your shrine with,
Our world is a glass screen neon pawn lit mess with a p.o. box address,
Completely impersonal!
The true core of this horror lies within your head on your bed that morning you woke up and realized
"I can't fix it!"
I applaud you for having such a great start!
You're heart will settle and the city sunsets will become beautiful once you're full of this revelation:
**"I am not my own salvation."

I love how you can see your breath in the winter,
It's like some sort of poetic justice,
A beauty to make up for all the leaves that die in the fall,
Something to cope with the tragedy of it all,
Funny,
It happens every year like clockwork,
And no one notices,
This is proof that magic is taken for granted

Over sleep
Undercook
Picking Scabs
Laying myself out for the day
Pulling my feet down to the carpet

Here I am again,
Confessing the sins of my father manifested in a broken crown prince cracked over kingdoms falling from his tall walls to the rust and the moths before plunging on his polyester floorboard swords,
Yes,
Confessing these things to the carpet strands,
Tidal tales of the waves crashing ghost ships against my chest,
The strength of my youth is spent as a suburban castaway staring through the bars of my island cage built for birds without a voice,
There is an ocean between us,
And I do not know how to swim,
And I see no sign of my tugboat friends,
And I do not have any life saving self crafted defensive mechanical preservation devices to float through my insecurities with,
I am Icarus against a sun setting on these sleeping house that my feather wax weathered oars seem to snap against,
Dimmer days,
Shimmering street lights grab the dusk from the sky,
It is projected upon my midnight eyes,
Dead eyes,
I,
I could cling to these bones but,
They sleep below the earth,
And I stand before the sea,
Do you see me,
Oh God,
You have watched my wells grow dry,
I have set all of my hope on men,
And to you,
I come carrying this broken crown,
Can you hold my hands,
When it is filled with these,
Can you pull me from the water which folds over me

I miss the heavy static grunge of your music muffled by my walls,
I miss your glasses,
I miss when you showed emotion,
I miss when you would drive me to school and give me cigarettes,
I miss when you would show me new indie bands and unlock a whole new world for me,
I miss our explosive and ordinarily magical science experiments,
But you dived into the blood contract of the world,
Now you are void,
Now,
You are not you,
You are a puppet to a mouth,
I have never stopped at my every intention,
To rips it's tongue out,
No matter how much yours scorns me,
Brother

Everyone has a god

Outside the barn ached weakly in the autumn  cold,
The air was still against the magic movements softly exploding in the parallel rows of the hissing sparklers,
The bride and groom would soon pass under their faux glory,
You said I was a good man,
"I know, so are you",
You turned to the ground and stumbled over your confession,
Tripping over the light fog of alcohol in your breath,
"No,
"-no,"
"-I"

"I'm not."

And you walked away
Then the photographer came up to me looking through his one black glass eye and told me
"Say four of the most profound words you ever said."
The hissing stopped,
The light died,
I looked into his magic eye and said
"My sparkler went out."

I stopped smoking ***,
So I had to play Super Nintendo games to neglect any thought of you,
Oh so temporarily

It's cold outside even though it's summer,
That's why I can put my ear to the ground and hear you humming,
You only hum when you're staring down,
Because that's the only time I can look at you without sweating,
Or shaking,
Seismic me,
And your quiet dynamite

I am the bone man,
That's what they call me,
Can you touch the dead like me?
My closets are full,
With skeletons we dance,
A candlelight trance for me,
I collect my bounties under moonlight,
No sight for sore eyes on the horizon,
Guns in hand,
Cold steel for the warm ones out tonight,
I've done this for five years in my Ford Falcon,
That's the only thing he left behind for me...
I've had no other choice than running,
My fear of self engulfs all things,
I have no room to be afraid of any other,
I am the bone man,
That's what they call me,
Can you touch the dead like me?
My closets are full,
With skeletons we dance,
A candlelight trance for me,
Maybe I'll dance five years more

I am on a quiet planet,
The only voice I hear is the wind,
It is a never ending mass of land,
And its eternity is orange,
I was left here alone,
I walk along the surface of great angry craters,
For me here,
Time is equivalent to madness,
You left me here for judgement,
But you,
*You should have let me die

I am a chameleon to you,
Or some kind of ghost,
My colors shift according to your proximity,
Or change depending on how lucky and bold I feel,
Placebos and foolish superstitions are usually my best hues,
But I still notice you in my little submarine with my peripheral spy glass,
That's right,
I'm a spy,
I know you wear cool and faded hooded sweaters and jeans in the winter that probably smell like closets and dead leaves,
And skirts that you picked from flower fields in the spring,
I know you have light allergies like mine,
As our sniffling during class seems to be contesting in some secret and unspoken competition with no rules,
Despite my quiet attention,
I feel as though you will never know these things,
All my attempts to tell you will be locked away by the pursuit of other men,
My own deep murky fears,
And the summers between us

Hide my face from the spurious hopes of autumn,
They bloom from summer's desperation,
Their fruits are rows of teeth,
And they are planted in night seasons under cold stars,
Which stare down upon the children of those who turn in their sleep,
For they become sleepless men,
And I refuse to be their king

You make man made gods with your colors and screens
But can you knit hearts with holding hands?
No
For you are far from the keys that turn to open these doors
To slay the selfish dragon
And behold the wisdom of selflessness
This is to become humility

Piano keys clang like breaking swords in dissonance,
Their vibrations transcends my sleep,
I lie awake parading the past in the moonlight,
My shining armor crumbled to rust like dying kingdoms,
All the dragons chased me away,
Because my youth was spent,
I warn you,
There is no hope for a recluse

My apparition is now animated
Born from a dream dimly projected for a time
It lies here
On this bed
Not sleeping I ask
What altar is this?
Less glorious than marble and fire I know
Yet something dissipates here
The hands of pale lights reach beyond the veil of the window blinds
And guild the empty spaces above my fretting body
Almost caressing the only consequence to this
Yet I abandon paper devices for my petitions
They break like glass as they pour from my mouth
Ascending, they shimmer in the urban eclipse taking the stead of starlight
From it's heart a name has fallen
Speak it for me oh eyes
For we say
She is called Night

I,
I drift between starlight,
To forget it all,
Trying to hide from pictures that reopen blinding wounds,
Like magmatic pillars,
Rising,
Spitting,
Gasping,
Combusting: I cannot hold them down with my hands,
They settle and vulcanize around my heart,
A thick thick crust now...
Even though they are seismic,
These spaces keep me safe,
Drifting,
Breathing,
Dark but not dark,
Dying but not dead,
Breathing,
Just Breathing

I told all of my friends why I wanted to get married
They told me there would be no more "weekends"
They didn't understand why I didn't care

I look for the drifter,
I search for the wild heart,
I am drawn to the loner,
The quiet one is a song to me,
I long for the one who will prove me wrong,
The one who smells like rain,
And speaks of spring,
The one who is my teacher,
And my friend,
The one who shines in the summer,
And glows in the winter,
The mind of uncharted borders,
And an ocean soul,
The one who will watch the storms with me,
After all,
Lightning shows are free,

You're the one to pluck the pricking rows from the gathering rose
Gracing heads in the hours of cowards
I saw you wishing at the well speaking spells without change and a bucket full of mouths
No nickel
Sans silver
I know no drunken night will get rid of the bones you have hid skin deep without fair or fond beauty
I thought you knew that broken boys were made of burning wings and puppet strings
Sticks
Bones
Glass
Stones
They bow down to my crown
So please speak the mind of your weak and shaking knees
Ease us all and tell how tall you can scrape a sun-less sky before I judge this trail of wax and feathers with a burning back
Call the red light whistles: I'm having an angry young life mistake heart break attack
You never said whether the weather was flame or shower
So my marching men cower you see, being made of wood
In fire or water a daughter of either nemesis elements will make them all fall down
You should mourn you thorn torn mess wrapped in a pedal-less dress
You dared to reckon with the second son of death
And I did not breathe my first breath being born between two eyes seeing any form of life out there
And I did not believe you'd relieve the constant arch sparking the greener side no longer cleaner than the duller parallel due to forest fires
Button up that shirt, and have you tied your black tie?
The beholder has died
We must mourn the values torn between flawed judgment cawed by a bird’s eye view watching you from petty pictures and a meaningless word they heard from the latter mentioned bucket as two of them are cracking your glass with one stone like
"You foolish fool, hasn't life shown you heaven never listens at 11:11?"
And melting the unleavened within my frowned mouth with spit and a tear I fear for you while my eye is watching it all from a distance in an instance of sickness and sadness
"What is this madness? My body is not made to witness a price paid with another laid down and made dead. In my head there are funerals, in my head there's parades; both celebrations for a nation in heartache full of memories bowing down below the crown that they break. And I refuse to let the pieces of my transparent house be collected by mavericks. Time ticks on the dawn of dying days. With words up my sleeves, I continue my melancholy ways."

Plight for sore eyes,
Dreams made in the dark,
Drawing circles around you,
I fill the air between the stars and me with desperate measures,
Pray that I'm not sifted,
I'm fighting nets at night,
Exchanging hands with waves,
Why do I embrace the sea?
This struggle....
Always defining the world around me,
It's not real,
But the waves swell beneath their master moon,
She pulled me under,
My paper boats with twisted black ink answers have unfolded,
Escapism: A kingdom has crumbled,
A ruin beneath an ocean,
Admitting I know nothing,
I wash ashore

As red draped pride runs down your shoulder
You'll only get older with paper cut eyes watchin' your crush wrapped round with chain sand ties while the gap between the ocean and the land swallows every one of her pretty little red feather strands as you stand on the beach with each of your bleeding iris television screens screaming back at the black hole tide of the wide wide guilt you've built with that consumer brick and mortar
Making cookie cutter chimney smoke houses for people to scream
"All hail the order of processed foods and artificial moods" out of
Yes, let us revere with a hungry ear those advertised emotions promised with the motions of the afternoon beer commercial and smiling twinkle twinkle billboard and then the next day hangover
Over and
over and
over and
being sober is just too civilized for these vicious cycles of primitive fickle trickles of substances that tickles the top of your mouth with either smoke or bad water jumping over the south of your gums that numbs the border patrol security of your conscience all because that pale skinned red bird beauty keeps flapping you by to skies too far away to count all the stars in her eyes that you kept a record of,
You're slowly losing your life and your soul with a sharp knife highway toll for the tax benefits of a bleeding black and white Lobo hell that exists back inside those paper wounded pixelated water works we were just talking about
Get it out
Get it out
It's ok,
Let me comfort you with the pleasure of the day
Over and
over and
over and
over
and


[Good news! With all this television static you wont have to look at her face anymore! Enjoy the rest of your day!]

If I don't see your goodness,
I will forget your face,
And there will be no sunlight for my life,
To dawn on the days of tomorrow,
Only the deep darkness of machines and men,
Where there is no innocence

I guess I'll sew my fingers together now
And swim to some green shore out there that no one really knows about
Right after I sweep the remaining string under the carpet

So I sew stitches around the crown made of fingers twisted like a tangled dandelion strangled garden worn as a closet to hide my crafted paper daft boxes that I keep my skeletons in because their keyholes keep appearing on my face,
If you destroyed like me you'd see that ashes are the outcome of a matchstick man,
I cannot rest my head yet on my pillows made of dead rabbits feet and fox tails until I store them in their little coffee can tin jars far under this mattress pad of nails,
Warm words in cold rooms subsumes the silent night screens projected over by my rising motion picture smoke breath that my eyes watch alone now at a distance starting from my lucky lucky steel dagger full sized sheet set and ending at an omen reflecting my separation anxieties coming from my lungs,
Yet loneliness is the only person neatly tucked between it other than my own broken battered body with a shiver and a quiver discretely manifesting,
And like white ghosts the stars watch me sleeping at night,
You can flog all my windows,
But I'll still be sleeping at night,
I'll miss all your wake up calls,
Every single one,
So I let the music play,
Because noise cancels noise inside an introverted fire starter

I can see
Pixels wash away
Watercolor dreams

I can see
Generations
History
Recede by technicolor tides
Into a grey scale sea

Regardless of origin
This cycle resonates too much for

Me

I think there is a time in every man's life when he finds himself in a quiet place and he gently puts his hands on his face and lets them drip down his skin as he thinks "Oh God, what does my father think of me?" It is this very thing that happens to me every day, and I find it difficult to release myself from the idea that finding a quiet place on a daily basis for this ritual is not far from destiny. I remember when I was a child I had such a marginally religious fear of thunderstorms that it would cause me to turn the television to the weather channel so that I could reverently temper my dread according to the forecast ahead of time: this is the same horror that washes over my heart when I see my father slowly approach the picture of my life to make his first appearance of the day. He is both ghost and man: a man that I know now as someone who lives teetering on the fence-post between acquaintance and friend, and a ghost of the person from my childhood that was once in a marriage to my mother that was full of teeth and rage who was not my father, but rather an incarnation of shame and disappointment.

My eyes say to you,
Behold,
A man crawling with fear,
Who smolders with anger in his bed,
And clenches his regret with fists below the smog,

I know these forms of men,
Encounter,
Unravel,
Suppress,
Reject,
Oppress,

Drown me with flowers though,
I wish not to see these shades,
Let the waters take me to my island,
Alone in my room,
Hiding like the rest of them

A man of fragments,
I can no longer choke my self with these white picket hands,
You see,
I saw the small holes in between my parents fingers,
Where the worms sleep,
Only one made it across the fence,
The other is somewhere bleeding on the side not so green,
That is the testimony of their termite lives,
And I am it's harbinger,
Oh!
*Their termite lives...

Wait,
Shouldn't I have used laundry detergent?
I should have,
Shouldn't I have loved her,
Shouldn't I?

Why do these things exist-
These vices of our own invention?
To numb the mind,
To numb the soul,
In these black emulations,
Or to step outside and truly live,
To be vulnerable in the wild dangers of risk-
Beating from the arteries of the unprecedented freedom from circumstance,
To live truly,
Or to die within simulation,
That is the question of the twenty first century,
And I am stuck in between a choice,
So with shaking fingers I sew my eyes shut from it all and think,
"Thank God it's not 2 P.M. yet."
If you've ever fallen backwards in front a television you aren't watching,
You know exactly what I'm talking about

She was the devil I swear,
She would be naked,
But she wore loaded guns for everyone,
For all the selfish are murderers

I can't pretend to be happy,
I can't pretend to be successful,
I can't pretend to be confident,
I can't pretend to be strong,
What comes first?
If I just tell myself I am, do I become these?
Is that my chicken?
Am I it's egg?

**** mine eyes,
For I wrap them in the sun of days made shade by these specter hands,
That's right you're a nightly spectacle set upon a dial counting days with your fingertips sewing these lips with a strand of the melancholy black band string,
Ring the twelfth bell toll to tell tales of the twilight nights not kept by dreams, it seems my seams shall not snap against these silent sounds of reasoning,
For I am bathing in the bath of my backwards ways,
Oh emotions ocean, will your motion swallow me?
Can I be like your sons, walking on water with wooden ships,
No,
For by my burning rights,
My heart is embers,
I remember that my covenant would sink me,
So think of me,
I'm at the bottom of the sea,
You'll find me in the grave of lesser explorations,
Where all the sailors sleep,
Reaping seeds of defeat,
Sewn into water,
Water without end,
Lo,
Waves wash over my body
Crashing against your feet
The sea has taken me,
Whole

Two chairs are out from under each end of the table,
They are facing me in a very angled and personal way,
As if people are lounging and having a conversation with me,
That's because Saturday's and Friday's ghosts of myself are sitting in them,
Maybe having drinks,
Or supporting their titled heads with one hand,
Cracking knuckles with the other,
I've been alone for five days now,
The house is very empty and quiet in a loud and crowded kind of way,
I become a ***** man when I'm alone for that long,
But maybe today,
I'll give the house a nice scrub

A life in broken glass,
A reflection-
One million pieces,
Impossible to see myself rightly,
Tell me who I am,
Which of my pictures fit together,
This curse-
     this curse
This curse of suburbia,
The unperceived ritual,
Take
Regurgitate
Build
Charge the culture gods,
Update the computer shrines,
Dam them all,
They replaced the spiritual encounter:
Our birthright,
Traded for ***** water,
Our entire lives,
Washing nothing away,
This murky bath is our judge,
Confronting our condition

If I could reach into Apollo's cloak,
I would pull down the stars and put them in my eyes,
Drowning myself in pedals of flowers,
Give me stimulation,
A temporary satisfaction,
But dislocated from the natural idea of rest,
Wilting away from their stem,
Ready to die