please Lord this boy need's Jesus
**** that
tell God he needs to find a shrink
no a priest
no an altar boy getting ****** by the father
woops that one slipped out
like they slipped the boundaries of good taste and human decency
I'm a nightmare for the nice folksy people
I take their money
put in the church's biggest mausoleum
and burn it to the ground
take the daughters and sons
to the state border and set them free with a 24 cent phone call
inhale the night until we're all exhaled
pack my heater close to my business
walking with nerves taut
the breath breathed out by every man before the electrical storm
drinking fire in purgatory alley
until the gut glows hello
I slug back another PBR and let the night current take me
it's all alright
tonight we howl at the moon until it picks up the ****** phone
and we domesticate the domesticated in the art of the primordial
take a life tonight
yours his hers
it doesn't matter
we're all sprinting to the after life
and digging through earth is easier than ascending from earth on clipped angel wings
keep on slitting your wrists
and I'll keep on drinking your blood

Hey Pops,
things got a little crazy back there
huh,
the funny thing is
whenever people would say to me
"You're just a spitting image
of your dad"
I was proud
Proud to think that
one day I could be like you
A family
and riches
and land
and the love of a great woman
then came the move
another country
only meant new troubles
Big city American troubles
far beyond the Drax farming village
I remember the night
you were drunk off of
gin and tonics
which was a feat for you
and you cast iron liver
you told me
to not go to college
unless I knew exactly
what I wanted to do
This surprised me,
you said you wanted to be
an archaeologist,
you climbed the grand canyon
and visited Australia
before your career
which you pursued for us
took its toll

You told my Mum
that for your 25th anniversary
you were taking her abroad
the location a secret
then a week before
you dropped the bomb
"I'm not happy
I want a divorce"
which I could have understood
if it wasn't for the cowardice
which ran through your veins
Old Man,
and I hate you
because I love you
because I can't forget
what you've done for me
the opportunities I've been given
and maybe it wouldn't hurt so much
If I hadn't heard my Mum
sobbing her eyes out on Christmas Eve
so here I am
a prospective college drop out
with nothing but words to cling to
and a determination
to prove everybody wrong
who made comparisons between us
and like I said,
I still love you
but that doesn't mean
that I won't dedicate my life
to undermining everything you wanted
but never had,
Dad,
I'm going to be your worst nightmare
evidence that
You can follow your dreams
and still be a good person
free of coward blood
evidence that
you made the biggest
******* mistake of your life
I will be everything you could have been,
but failed at
Old man,
I love you,
and I thank you
from the bottom of my heart
but at the same time
*******
for teaching me the most important lesson
To let your passions die
cut's deepest of all
Love from
your once and always
son

The neo-hippies were all in play
dancing from the hips while playing the bongo drums
talking about love and peace
feeling like a mix of molly, ***, and pbr
and the anti-frat guys were there
everything they do is just to be the opposite of the norm
they don't actually live a life
they just deny others
and my friends were there
bombed out of their brains
seeing strangers as if they were old friends
with smiles on their faces
and arms around shoulders
and a resounding chorus of slurred pub songs
and there were the strangers
leaning up against fences
or standing by the fridge
hoping somebody they know shows up
or hoping that somebody would talk to them
hoping they aren't as awkward as they feel
then there is the wannabe DJ
he brought his ipod
and his taste in music is just so incredible
that you need to hear it before you die
and wouldn't you know?
it's nothing but bass and generational fads
all of these people mesh together
and together they create
something which is just
so
boring

You were trying to cover your footprints in the sand
and only ended up leaving more
a spiral of your perfectionism
look over there -
over the beach houses on stilts
and the fauna - scrap metal bushes and dry, lonely trees -
see how the sun’s kiss sets the sky on fire?
the water is licking our heels with an icy, arctic tongue
we could walk westwards until our silhouettes are vaporized
but the sand is relaxed and this beach is empty
the acoustic guitar is talking in its sleep
ADD children are doing backflips in the backyard

Night crashes and crashes and recedes into the horizon
we climbed atop one another with visions of lunar satisfaction
time slows down and each drop of condensation on the window
contains the secrets of this muggy southeastern air
the strangers are encroaching too thick to think
warped monstrous faces ripe with desire
we couldn’t answer the questions so we burned the test
tinder to our fire so we could ward off the predators for another night
but the ground is growing smaller day by day

Mr. Demon do not deviate from this round of double dutch
my shoelaces are tied together
and I am hopelessly drunk off of your ideas on romance
that mix of sunscreen, sweat, perfume, and your breath
as my fingers prune
we mistook the blinking jet engine for morse code from the stars
once the clouds part we will have an escape route
taking flight with the startled panic of street birds
the earth will shake, the seas boil over, and the clouds will applaud
with wings made of coat hangers, brown paper bags, and masking tape
we will arr through the sky
like fireworks

There's an old road
where I spent much
of my childhood
back in England
that I miss
more than anything else

I tell all of my friends
"Yeah Virginia is ******* beautiful,
but you haven't seen real green grass
until you've been to that
small farming village"
yeah I'm from the sticks
it wasn't strange to come home
to stray sheep
which had escaped
from Farmer Neville

But where was I?
the road
that absolute beauty
on one side
proud oak trees
some of which are older than
the entire United States
covered in a sickly yellow moss
chlorophyll green shafts of summer
when we walked around
in shorts and t-shirts
the other side
is a field of grain
which was set ablaze
once a day
when the sun came down
to plant a kiss on the horizon
and we spent countless hours
playing on that tire swing

Now that road is closed off
overgrown
after we left
on our transatlantic journey
nobody was there to take care
no more children
whose laughter
echoed off of those
proud oak trees
and I do miss that road
I don't regret leaving it
life wasn't meant
to be spent
longing for old roads

Buy yourself a masochistic combo meal
for the loose change and buttons in your pocket
the fish are thirsty
and the dogs won’t stop barking
I’ve got this itch and It’s just out of reach
would you mind?
I fell in love with your nightmares
and stole glances of you through the rain drops
string theory seamstress
running wild with jungle cats
you’ve got a little me in your teeth
white supremacist **** heads live ten blocks away
but they mostly stick to themselves
do you feel the paranoia closing in?
the sun sets behind a skyline made of fire
all of the fire hydrants in the world wouldn’t be enough
to sooth these burns
nothing makes sense anymore
so let’s just say **** the world and be done with it all
I’d rather walk down aimless avenue
than check into the jaws of life motel
for every drop swallowed
there are three of four dead children
we don’t take them for granted anymore
because we know they’re waiting for us
waiting to catch us when we inevitably fall

"I think I'm done drinking and smoking."
He says to the near empty room
the lights all off and the blinds down.
suicide is easy if you have enough time on your hands
being the devil's plaything isn't all that bad
The left side of his index finger
the right side of his thumb
stained yellow by oral fixation he never quite shook
More of a skeleton than a person
with hands that don't stop shaking
until the liquid sterilizes his soul
"Yeah man,"
...
...
"I think I'm done with all that ****."
he says between **** rips
"Hey,
if you're going to the kitchen,
could you grab me a beer?"

reflecting upon a cigarette
I discovered a small fact
the middle burns stronger
any ash comes from the edge
the same is true of people
we age,
wrinkle,
decay,
rot,
die,
but  we still burn incredibly bright
from our centers
don't let the fire
ever die

my brain is dotted with burn holes
craters on the moon
like the ones on the denim sofa
from when I fell asleep
beer in hand
cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of my mouth
like the dot that comes at the top right of a cinema screen
change the reel
in the industry we call them cigarette burns
thoughts get lost in them
only to be found covered in tar and ash

And from his lips leapt silence
silence which says so much
beneath the layers
of its dead nothingness
And in his head rests madness
like a tire fire
he breathes out black toxic smoke
And in his heart
he screams out
Won't somebody help me,
can't you see I'm drowning here?
but they don't
whether it's pride
or arrogance
or whether those two things
are one in the same
his silence shrouds him
Nobody hears your silence

frozen lakes
leafless trees
blank faces
numb
everything numb
self medicated
desensitized
he misses the feeling of tears
he misses the feeling
disconnected
and the life boats
are slowly going out of sight
people, people everywhere
with no thoughts to think
he looks for something
which can crack the shell

under all the beds
in every closet ajar
these things are very real
the thoughts suppressed
the last cold breath
the moment before death
the void between all things
all the green paper life rafts in the world
won't stop the blood from seeping into so many lungs
and one day
long after recess laughter
and birthday morning smiles
these things will dance under the harvest moon
they are drowning the children in the rivers of Madison Avenue
and shaping them to soldiers of the dull
shooting innocents point blank in the face
with pop-up ads
The fry cook king
laughing at the bloated corpses
holding up his monuments
a shadow will break through the clouds
and consume the flickering candles
waiting to go out
in the metaphorical cave

Chivalry is dead
and it was killed by the fairer ***
lipstick red cigarette butts
and wine glasses
squeezing the trigger
to complacency
and if romance is dead
then I guess I'm a necrophiliac
because I still believe in the chase
and the grand gestures
and don't tell my male friends
but I cling to the stories of true love
like a kid too stubborn to believe
that Santa is really just old ma and pops
blown out in a haze of smoke
the dust cleared to clarify
that crazy chaotic chances
won't always land on snake eyes
but I keep throwing the die anyway
and one day I'll die
and then I'll die a second time
when my words die
and maybe I'll be proven wrong
and be alone
but I won't stop
I can't be an atheist
because I understand all too well
the depth of the well of faith
so I'll keep on walking like a blind man
carrying my romances around with me in a hobo sack
until I find what I'm looking for

everybody watch the **** out
there's a nineteen year old trying to get profound over here
it all started when I was kid
thinking
why am I not one of those poor bloated African kids on the TV?
why am I an English school boy sitting to close to a TV?
meaning
meaning
meaning
meaning that there has to be some reason for all of this
but I got older
dumber
jaded and bitter
and I think I've figured it all out
no really just hear me out
the meaning of all of this
from womb to tomb
is that there isn't one
deep,
right?
but life is like a cartoon fight
a cloud of dust projecting fist
boot
asterisks
wavy lines
and we're all in that melee
and we're all going to get our teeth kicked in
life's one tough sonofabitch
and it's been doing since before there was a before
my point being
you can't beat life
and you can't avoid it forever
all you can do is hope
that when that ball of cartoon extravagance has settled
you'll be clutching onto the things you need
the things you want
the things you love
and you'll still be able to stand back up

David was waiting. Always waiting.
David did not know for what.
He didn’t speak until three years of age -
regardless of the speech therapists.
School came and school went
David the underachiever
who always got good grades
his mind wandered
and he spent most of his time inside of day dreams
he moved around a lot
always friends with the outsiders
punk rock, heavy metal, hip-hop
skate boards and ink
comic books and stand up comedy
one summer he met drugs and alcohol
and fell in love for the first time
with altered perceptions and thoughts
all the while -
David was always waiting,
but now, he was searching
searching for something -
******* anything which would bring it all full circle
whether he was shy or reserved is up for debate
but he always sought solace behind the locked door
notebooks began stacking up under beds
and thoughts began finding their way out of the nest
until the day he graduated high school with honors
He came upon the realization
that the time for waiting is over
the waiting - but never the searching
and David is out there - somewhere
looking for answers that he might never find
but at least he took the leap

I’d write you a love song
but my ears lack the right components
and I would write you a ballad
if I actually knew what that is
I would make the hands on the clock
stand still so that we might share an infinity of moments
but all of my clocks are digital
I would buy you a whole closet and then some
fancy restaurants and swanky clubs
but I have five bucks and bills to pay
I would be honest with you
only I have such a hard time being honest with myself
I would be brave at all times
only I am riddled with fears of what comes next
I’d paint you a picture of perfect
but perfect is a word made up to make us want more
I’d give you more
but right now I feel I’ve got nothing left
I’d love you and be with you
but I only want what I can’t have
I’d be everything you need
only I’m a lazy assed poet
so I wrote you this

the children are all running wild among the crab grass
eating the wrong colored berries that their parents warned them of
just to find out for themselves
they play cops ‘n robbers
cowboys and indians
a gun is a stick is a gun
and I’m sorry to say
but that kid over there just shot you dead
you have to fall over now and play tragedy
a mess of sticks, plywood, and leaves is a home
they all ate way too much candy
and are throwing up rainbows all over the new carpet
crying over spilt ice cream melting on the pier
cringing not from the ****** skinned knees
but the expected sting of the alcohol
the only thing they fear is sitting still alone
now watch them as they try to ride the neighbors dog
and climb trees so that they might have the view of Gods
gambling their future for fun
not fluent in the language of consequence
and they don’t get too worried about what they don’t have
because they haven’t developed object permanence yet
not yet are they jaded from life
they run around in the hot sun with red ears and noses
until the sun goes down and their mothers call them home for supper
and we envy them only because they know so much less than us
and ignorance is bliss

Let me be your drug
stimulants to raise you up higher than any peak
setting your veins on fire and tickling the bottom of your feet
Let me hone your mind to a fine focused edge
lethal, right?
Let me take your inhibitions and crush them
teach you how to dance
and egg you on to violence
standing up for yourself is just that
depressants? Yeah I've got that covered
make you feel so low the sun light falls short
I've got a book full of lullabies to put you to bed
and I can make those cuts and bruises
feel like loose, easy sunlight
let me alter your perception
DMT, Shrooms, and Lucy
I'll show you a God you forgot to believe in
hallucinations so real they send your nightmares reeling
back into the comfortable dark of closets and bottoms of beds
Love Drug?
I'm an easy E to pop
Molly Molly Molly
Moon rocks
prompts for the closet romantics
and **** machines
light this stick of TNT spliff
and ******* out into the dead air between all things

Excuse me, Ma’am, but do you accept rent
in the form of formless loose poetry?
no?
I guess that makes me the jack ***
Prometheus stole fire from the Gods for us
we re-gifted it for a pair of Nikes
sorry
but ******* don’t we look like hot **** hot shots?
you look good in those clothes
and I can say whatever you tell me to
in a way that sounds almost original
for just a taste of Eve
her kisses taste like bad apples
and I think I’m in love
I think I’m drowning because I forgot how to swim
Nobody wants to listen
we all just want it to be our turn
our turn to cry and make a ******* scene in the grocery store
no I’m not as high as I look
I am way higher
Cheech and Chong? Honk on my pipe of poison
then we can all get goofy paranoia
don’t escort me out of the Garden
it’s cold out there and I’m scared
beneath this mask of calculated courage
all of our friends exceeded the recommended dosage of cough syrup
so they bob and weave through my toy box
with eyes never fully open
**** it, right?
anybody can buy white powder, mirrors, and razors
but not everybody can’t
that’s funny… isn't it?
waiting on the heels of my next paycheck
because hotpockets aren't cutting it anymore
and jah never paid the bills
the lights in my room are burned out
and it is so ******* dark
just close your eyes
run from the monsters which own the shadows

The angels are playing their instruments
as the ship goes down
lifeboats made of billboards float through
the riptide of endlessly mundane adventures
icebreaking the callous apathy
one of these days the sun will tire of
dancing with the moon in the celestial ballroom
and one will fall
down on one knee
whatever the opposite of a proposal is
we ride this rock but don’t listen
when they tell us to keep our arms and legs
inside the car during the duration
the young smolder until they are quenched
or suffocated
and we all worship the first tree to flower in the spring
the line between ADD and stopping to look at all of these miracles
is as blurry as **** on the tv
but feed us with pills, pop-psychology, and poetry
stenciled on the bottoms of bridges
by wandering beaten down heroes
of St. Paul, San Fran, Richmond
Planet Earth
the to-do list consists of
find some paper and a pen
and something to do
country folk with straw in their mouth
a good hard day’s work
But I just rolled out of bed
and the world is flirting with me too much today
to simply ignore it

"Do you like me?"
the words took courage
courage which would go unnoticed
"Not really, that's why we're so good"
words cushioned by a teasing smile
it was that same **** smile
which chased her dreams
all night long,
"You're bad"
"I'm certainly not good"
"You're nothing but a quick tongue,
aren't you?"
it made him laugh
"I'm hurt you didn't mention
my killer ***"
she had to admit,
it wasn't too shabby
"I think you love me."
"I love pizza,
but let's not get into that"
she looked cute
colored by the flush of frustration
"God, you're an ***"
"You wouldn't have it any other way"
"You wouldn't let me"
"No,
No I suppose I wouldn't"
they stood awash in a comfortable silence
she wished he would agree with her
he wished that he could
he knew that he did
"What do you want
to love me for anyway?
You are leaving again
after the summer"
"So what?"
"So that."
she was a ball of energy
and he wanted to take her in
and feed off of her,
wanted to keep her fire going
yet he feared,
his ice couldn't be melted
she tucked her chin
into her breast
and he cupped her face
by the jaws
leaned down
and gave her a kiss,
"Things are always better
in the summer"

call this college drop out a cab
to take him back to the good path
and find some gauze to stuff that mouth
because it's full of too many
**** its
but the thing is
it's easy to worry about the things which don't matter
when you're searching for a reason for the spawning of your matter
and I've never had that problem
I used to wonder why I wasn't born
some poor African kid with a bloated stomach and a war lord
then I figured that it's because I'm real freaking lucky
but it's funny
to see so many people
hopping around like bunnies
worried about the fight between what's good and evil
when all I'm thinking is
holy mother of God
that girl has a nice ***
or Jesus Christ
is it really four O'clock already
I think I sold my soul
not to the devil
he's a real *******
I think I sold it
to the people born in the shadow of the hill
because they really could use it
then again
I probably just dropped it in the toilet
when I was taking a ****
so ***** my soul
and ***** yours too
because we are all about to die
in the grand scheme of things
and nobody one hundred years from now
will probably ever say
*at least he had a good soul

flying high,
set sail for broader horizons
try not to die
or disturb my comfortable silence
don't even try
to spark up any violence
just sit back, unwind
and listen to the guitar strings

melt into that couch
and block out the world
wash away all the ouch
and money and girls
become a total slouch
and laugh as the room twirls
just sit in that pouch
of a world undisturbed

but don't fly too close to the sun
best not to end up like
Icarus, the fallen son
because we don't end up in an ocean of water
we just burn ourselves up like lambs to slaughter.
so remember, take it easy
when you are trying to take it easy

Crazy
one word
which says so much
what is more crazy
than defining sanity
they say I'm crazy
I say who isn't
I'm sane because I know
that to be sane is impossible
my mind wanders
and sometimes it races
sometimes I think so much
that I get paranoid
and hide beneath the covers
so that maybe
I can sleep forever
But if I'm crazy
then it means there is no hope for the sane
a massive army which covers the globe
from pole to pole
tropic to tundra
seemingly infinite
they walk around
filling their humanity
with nifty trinkets
like magpies
they see something shiny
and take it back to their nests
where their malnourished children
feed on the neglect
I might be crazy
and thank God for that

I know I did my thing
whatever the **** that is
but I have never
been more graced
than the moment I actually met you
you perfect ******* girl
who is so not perfect
our lives are intertwined with ****
I know it better than most
but baby listen here
it's a wild world
and we've always had fun
so i know the time is coming
where our fun
is less fun than actuallity
but I don't want that to happen
I cling to our time together
like a child
clings to his first memory of Christmas
because you have shaped me
to be good,
******,
mean,
loving,
caring,
desperate,
and as time goes on
My life shrinks away
like the time we have left
so please
ignore my flaws
and perfections
show me how
the world ends

I'm writing this from my phone
Winter forgot to wake up
So now the kids play in the streets
And it's one of those days
That attacks you with a smile
You can't quite shake
Give me your tears
And I'll make you a tall glass
Of half full
Excuse me ma'am
But your self esteem is showing
And it looks like you could use some more
I have an ego
Locked away in the basement
And occasionally I feed it
Smiles from pretty girls
And likes on my work
The car has no gas
I have barely enough dough
To pay the power bill
But everything's all Henry miller
Because I decided to start living in day dreams
So if you pull up next to me at a red
And find me laughing to myself
Feel free to join In

caught a slug from the green bullet
as blood vessels rush to the surface
of tired eyeballs
which sit atop
a mountain of wrinkly black trash bags
he coughs up everything but his blood
blood which visits every *****
every muscle
every hiding place
bringing the body quaking
rips of sad clown laughter
tearing through strained necks
and tears
the monologue is off the leash
echoing down hallway after hallway
finding an empty abandoned room
to hole up in and wait for respite
the green bullet
which he loaded himself

Natural light pours in from open windows
and my room turns gold
until the sun passes behind the clouds
and my room is a mess
and my head aint too clean either
everything smells like cigarette smoke
and stale beer
like homeless sweat
I only sweat the small stuff
and wade carelessly through the big
like a child playing in the ocean
My tongue gets tied
when I try to scream
help is charity
and who wants to be a charity case?
I'd rather just drink a case of beer
and let drunk Harry play with the reins for a few hours

She had a pair of bright eyes
somewhere between hazel and green
he was never much good at colors
there's a spark in those big eyes
which carries a hint of
I don't know what's going to happen next
and her pouted lips
raise at one corner
to suggest
she prefers not knowing what's next
"Oh Miss bright eyes,
won't you come for me?"
he sighs
in the early morning
and before his drunk head
rests on that pillow
She makes the closet romantic in him
want to write a whole bunch of things
his friends would call gay
and he doesn't care
she has him now
caught in the spell she cast
with the gyrations of her hips
in sync with the drum beats
which ring out from the basement speakers
his bright eyed girl of mystery
and adventure
and maybe love
He has always had a thing
for bright eyed girls

I knew a kid
who would skip school
and get drunk
every other day
he's in rehab now
and I haven't talked to him
in two years now

I knew a kid
who would go to the river
every weekend
to do *******
and whippits
he's in rehab now
I haven't talked to him
in a year now

I knew a girl
who was an alcoholic pill head
every weekend
she would parade around parties
trying to find a man
who could make her forget
she was nothing but trouble
I don't want to see her again

My best friend
spends too much time
with his nose pressed up
against upturned mirrors
and I worry about him
I wonder when I will speak to him
for the last time

My own brother
every morning
can be heard inhaling
keyboard duster
with the added bitterant
to disuade abuse
and I worry that I might become him

Everyday I stay inside
too many problems
wake up in the real world
so I either get
really **** high
or good and drunk
to keep everybody outside
I haven't talked to myself
in quite some time now

We all have our problems
all of our heads are ****** up
in one way or another
but we'll be alright
everything is going to be
alright

I'd sign every letter I write you with a kiss
Only Manila envelopes taste like ****
Besides,
Who the hell writes letters anymore?

I used to pray a lot
knees to carpet
elbows on the edge of my bed
hands in the humble position
Dear God,
say hi to Granddad for me,
I hope he’s doing okay up there
waiting for us
I’ve been doing good
but I would really love it
if you could give me super powers -
I swear to use them right -
thanks God
-Harry

God never favorited any of my tweets
never liked any of my pictures
never poked me back
but that doesn’t mean much
in the ways of existence
I think He just doesn’t like to be bothered
and I never heard back about my Granddad
and I still have no super powers
but I am still here
and the weather outside
is ******* magical

We were dandelion seeds cast out by the aimlessly reaching kick of a child
a God who we had never heard from
as we ran amok the coast of North Carolina
the beach calling to us a challenge sent forth from the end of all things
an experience that would stay with us well after we had washed the sand from between our toes
The world was lit up through a golden screen of carelessness
and our sunburned skin quickly hardened and the salt made it leathery
drinking from the chalice of fading youth
we came alive like machines and hailed the night
the nights where we became a wash in lust and solo cups full of tears
tears we never let loose because we needed all the water we could get
we ate space cake and counted the stars as they blinked at us
urging us to communicate and comprehend the message of the forever unfurling cosmos
The mornings were ruby and sapphire clashing where heaven meets the horizon
and in the cold grasp of the Atlantic we were baptized
emerging fresh and innocent and smooth
The seagulls left us alone after sensing our leap into desperation
and every face was the face of a long lost friend
we never knew we even had
Police cars were taxis and untold punchlines
and the word adult was blasphemy
we bathed our arms in holy fire and sent smoke signals out to nobody
which read:
we are here in the midst of all things. We are what we make of ourselves and we reserve the right to not know the answers
dancing inside the expansive night of your mouth
where each tooth protruding from pink exclamation was its own full moon
and your tongue an opal rendition of the sisyphusian tides
we eroded our soul against the ceaseless crash of waves
and fell asleep where we were last standing
we took hallucinogenic mushrooms and spat in the face of the old ideals
and in the chaos all we were really trying to do
was forge ourselves strong
in all the places we feared were most vulnerable
we wanted to come out of it strong
unchanged
wholly us
…
but did we?

It's funny, y'know?
every guy
dreams of
a girl
around eighteen or so
wide hips
a tight ***
firm *******
flawless skin
perfect hair
kissable lips
and eyes you could drown in
then a guy meets one of these
magazine girls
and she tells him
she wants nothing to do with him
at which point
she changes in the blink of an eye
from an image of divine perfection
into just another
******* ******* ****
it's funny how that works out

got a new health system for the new wealth victims
take it on good good faith
why try communicate
when the fake and faceless
don't seek illumination
all across the nation
we've got nothing except teenagers coughing
racing each other to the coffin
dear God will this globe stop spinning long enough
for me to tough out these spins
I'm sweating on the bathroom floor
losing all the words I could never ignore
and yeah I like to live in the similes and metaphors
but I'm just looking for a ***** of Babylonia
moaning on the phone as again as I **** my paper n' pen
give me an acoustic mariachi quartet in the morning
urge me from snoring dreams of soaring
because rent is due
and I'm way too broke to waste so much time
sitting here writing for dimes and nickel spots
fraudulent paychecks not enough to cut it
no room left to say **** it
something has to put a stop to this
we've been playing chicken for too long
with your favorite song on repeat on my radio
the flowers are now in bloom
until another winter brings their doom
and we ally say it's too soon
so pour another tall drink into the kitchen sink
and make some time to think
if we keep treading water like this
eventually we'll all sink

If I were Jesus Christ,
I'd take all of your insecurities and taboos
and turn them
inton beautiful hymns,
If i were Jesus Christ
you wouldn't pray to me
instead,
once a day
you would tell the people you love
how you really feel about them
If I were Jesus Christ
cheesy teenage love letters
would be in the book of gospel
and if I were Jesus Christ
you wouldn't just love your neighbor
but your neighbor's neighbor's neighbor
and If I were Jesus Christ
I would take all of your tears
and transform them
into wine
so that we might forget
the harshness of the world

Like Lynyrd Skynyrd
I'm as free as a bird
and lord help me
I don't want to change

Get drunk
Or high
Work out
Apathy
Hypersensitivity
Violence
Witty
Fathoms deep
Feel the swell of a universe
So full of life
It all repeats
Make the canvas
Something beautiful

Paper runs the world
it stands off
just behind the curtain
counting the roses
taking in the standing ovation
a knowing smirk
beneath hollow eyes
Paper is a vampire
pale and white
it tastes your blood
and takes it from you
drop by drop
an empty husk
to be tossed aside
Paper is a politician
a smooth talking
travelling salesman
come and get your snake oil
you wont live forever
but you will have a lot of stuff
a tribute to your vast
amounts of paper
Paper is green
an embodiment of pestilence
it is the monster
underneath your mattress
or in your closet
locked away in that safe
Some try to live without it
the victim was found bled dry
in a cold empty room
he would leave bread crumbs out
for the mice
that's one hell of a paper cut
and the audience laughs
that's what we're paying them for
all of the precious paper
ruling the world

Open it up
fill up your cup
like gulp gulp gulp
it's the drink of the lord
it's the **** you abhored
its my lifeblood
back from on tour
and it tastes like PBR
and sounds like broke guitars
it smells like ash and tar
and is sticky like cali trees
cold enough to freeze
thick like spoiled milk
poured down the kitchen sink
but feel free to take it
I just can't seem to shake it
all of these mistakes and ****
listen up kids
if you ever had a dream of making it big
you gotta follow that *****
so lace up your stiches
on the bottom of your feet
let your heart skip a beat
and chase it
because
not everybody lives
quite the way they wanna live
but as long as you give
everything that you've got
you won't stop
drop and roll
until your soul goes pop pop pop
it's out of control
so reach for the top shelf
not good for your health
but nowadays what is?
you've got nothing else
to hold on to
pierced heart like a harpoon
feel it in your chest
the rise of the slow doom
just throw on a vest
dance around your bedroom
You'll hit that success
your own little boom
boxed up and sold
to the young and old
to people outside the fold
but I guess
what I'm really saying is
don't get upset
when they say you're just a crazy kid
go ahead and take this life
and make it a vacation trip
because honesty
is the hot commodity
and you have to let them take it

Take the bottle of Jameson
my favorite one
triple distilled like a loaded gun
Imported Irish whiskey
makes you feel frisky
so drink up quickly
before the bottle's gone
Pass it around to and fro
lost in a thousand gulps
a quickly slowing pulse
my favorite flavor
my one true savior

Make me famous
take my name and stake it in the ground
call me your savior
a blazing stranger
ranger of your unsaid thoughts
make me famous
give me the limelight
and kiss my picture each night
before you fall to sleep
only so you can dream of me
let me tell you how to be
how to live
how to give me your attention
while all the kids sitting in detention
quote my ****
make me famous
I’ll sell your shoes
I’ll be the brand logo of your clothing line
I’ll be the most loco average Joe shmo
to ever come winking across your television set
my Mind set is set in its ways
ready set go
and let the words flow poetic
so all the people can worship me: Pathetic
Make me famous
so I can reach apathetic kids
and convince them that I have all the answers they need
and for a small fee -
a tithe of everything you are -
I can teach you things you never knew you needed to know
while I drive my flashy, new car
I’ll crash it on the strip
flip a few bills to some cops
before blowing my intake at the *******
I’ll sell you a page of happiness for your soul
the sole survivor of a time the history books burned
my life takes a turn towards neon tribute
while I look for something a little stronger to shoot
If I were a little younger I’d probably be knocking on your front door
after your loot
looting words from the thin air and ****** them
making them state the statements that I hold dear
just so I can have your ear for a few minutes
and I’ll never be finished
long after my body is dead and gone
my name will be spoken in hushed tones
by young poets, scribblers, and thinkers
across the plains of save us
once they make me famous

She was everything he was not
He was everything she wanted
She was a nervous wreck
he was too, but in denial
She wanted to save him
from not wanting to be saved
He wanted to protect her
from whatever might come
they were young
and yes,
they were stupid too
just like everybody else
She went away
He stayed a hometown boy
who wasn't at home
She could sing
He could listen
she was a wild child
looking for a port to settle
he was a nice guy
looking for something
not so nice
children of divorce
kindled a feeling of
let's make this work no matter what
and maybe it won't
they don't seem to care
too many romcoms
and too many chipped shoulders
all they wanted
was to write
their own love story

You are on the wrong side of thirty
You the white cliff of Dover
the passing of days the waves of the ocean
chipping away at you
wearing you down
You are on the wrong side of thirty
and maybe you’re starting to notice
your fleeing hairline
the creaking which starts in your ankles
and connects your milestones
to knees and back and neck
maybe you don’t see the point of getting out of bed today
or tomorrow
maybe your wife has started to let herself go
after the kid came
love handles and cellulite thighs
sagging **** and a birds nest atop her wrinkled face
You resent the kid
because for him
the world is so open
full of choices made on his fickle whim
while you wither away
giving every part of yourself
so one day he can be on the wrong side of thirty
and you can rest easily
on the wrong side of a grave
a wry smile stretching the skin of your corpse
*It’s your turn now you ungrateful *******

Look at this guy
what is he even doing
He has been walking laps
around the mall
all ******* day
There are some real freaks
out in the world, I swear
Me and David
In our favorite spot
a model gazebo
In the Sears
We people watch
or shoot the ****
just hanging out

"The universe is infinite,
think about how small that makes us,
doesn't that freak you out,
to know we don't matter,
to know we're insignificant?"
David looked calm
that lazy *******
always so **** calm
here I am
telling this guy
that his whole life
is worth less than a grain of sand
and he looks like
I told him American Idol was on

"So?"
"So what?"
"Scary, right?"
"Comforting maybe"
"It means a hell of a lot less
responsibility"
This guy
I could tell
That he wasn't
going to amount to anything
not me though
People would remember me

At the desk of my childhood bedroom
the chair with no stuffing
the window open where I stole smoke breaks
the wood stained ink and graphite
a pen: black
a journal: leather bound and lined
I used to doodle in classrooms rather than take notes
and that's what these poems are
silly squiggles from a mind too preoccupied to listen
and I'd like to hold onto this habit until I'm old and grey
and I hope
that I am still not listening

That’s why they call it falling in love
because at best it’s going to hurt
and at its worst
you end up splattered all over the concrete

It is so **** tempting
to leave this place
these pages
and these faces
just pack everything into my car
and drive west
for as long
and as far
as possible
never stopping
until I reach sunnier pastures
when life is like broad street
in rush hour traffic
and I'm trapped
stuck to street dividers
it seems like a good idea
to stick up my thumb
and see where it takes me
but I'm scared
scared that whats out there
will swallow me whole
a forgotten poet
penning his words
on the inside of a whale
and the truth is
I've been running for a while now
never moving anywhere

It's been a long and strange trip. but don't fret - it isn't yet at the end point. I've always loved the morning, but I'm far from a morning person. Which seems pretty symbolic to me, but I'm an English major so it's kind of my job to be overly analytic. The hardest part about growing up is keeping track of who you are, and trying to figure out if who you are going to be matches with who you want to be. The smell old Bukowski's ashtray clings to my clothes. and everything that I don't have the courage to say out loud can be seen in my eyes and the lines of my face. And I know this will sound absolutely ******* ridiculous - but in modern society it's hard to be a man. gone are the days of Clint Eastwood kicking *** and taking names. All we have now are morons and ****** bags. I read somewhere that we are the quitting generation, and that ****** me off. Because the faults of the current generation are always due to the previous generation. But people are ******* by nature who can't take responsibility when their plants begin to wilt. And my Dad quit on me - not the other way around. And I know that this probably isn't fun to read - but frankly I don't give a ****. This isn't something which is going to be published - more so some much needed venting space. And I'm trying to figure out how to bring this thick wall of rambling text to an end, but endings don't really exist. Just unknown places which can not be followed. so instead of assaulting your eyes and your poetic sensibilities for another ten lines I will say this: If you read this and didn't immediately think of killing me or yourself, then thank you. If you did, then feel free to pretend I never had the gall to write such an ugly, boring, self-indulgent piece. And I hope you all have a nice a day

A mother is a nightlight
a mother is the stinging of alcohol on grazed knees
I know it hurts
but it’s good for you
a mother is the seat belt
which saved you from hurtling towards the street
on forest hill ave and westover hills blv
the scene of the accident
a mother picks you up
and a mother pushes you into the deep end
a mother is four phone calls in a row at eight AM
okay I love you, bye… and one more thing…
A mother is your first happy meal
and your first time using the grown up menu
a mother is kitchens full of the scents which bring us home
no matter how far we might stray from the path
A mother’s love is unconditional
a mother’s love is maddening
a mother’s love is keeping you from going over the edge
and clean sheets
and bike rides to the park
My mother is calling me home
yelling out the living room window into silent earth
urging me to come home for dinner
and I’ve gotta get around to going home soon
because I am hungry
and a mother is your favorite meal
every single day