Somebody once told me
no matter what you say -
if you believe it to be true -
speak it with volume
My junior year of high school
I interned for a week
teaching English to middle schoolers
they were working on the creative writing unit
classrooms covered in posters which read things like
no tears in the writer, no tears in the reader
and other good inspirational stuff
some of the kids wrote poems
others wrote short stories
others wrote I don’t know whats
but they all told a story which to them
was an essential truth of life
just waiting to be heard
and when they got up
to share in front of the class
from the shy girl in the soccer shoes
to the tall joker
they all spoke with volume
because some things
are impossible to ignore

Me - “My Mum’s getting worried” skinny
You - “God I want you right now” beautiful
Us - “Are they hanging a painting up?” loud
It’s release kindled with belief
that you could find that corresponding jigsaw piece
and I’m a corner piece - easy
and you are an outdoor cat - hardly tame
in that pair of black workout pants
and that flowing dark hair
You are like Spanish
beautiful, strange thing I can’t get my tongue around
I’m like somebody lmaoing on a chat room
efficient with my lack of substance
laying on the bed watching you get dressed
I drag on my imaginary post-******
because I know you hate the smell of the real thing
unless its staleness is imprinted deep in my clothes
this disease has no known cure
the way the images slideshow their way behind my eyes
the way my blood is rerouted
every time I catch a smell of your sweat
or a memory of your taste
like faces on passing trains -
eyes locked momentarily
I went from student to drop out to student to lover of life
if life were a metaphor for the way you move those hips
you said you don’t know how to dance
well your tongue must’ve been taking night classes
maybe one day I’ll ask your last name
maybe one night you’ll say mine like a confession
but until then, special little stranger, keep bringing that *** over to my place

We're all stars
each and every one of us
some light up the world
like the sun
others light up darkened corners
like a trash barrel fire
and others are never seen
light years away
we only see the memories
after death flashes
of quaking brilliance

When I was still a young kid
following dad's job all over England
My granddad died
and I could only have been eight or nine
but I remember my Mum told me
sitting on the windowsill
of that old house I miss so much
"Do you see that star up there Harry?"
I followed the vector of her finger
gazing up to a diamond cluster sky
because this was the sticks
so the stars came out in numbers
But I thought I saw the star she was pointing at
I nodded
"That star is your granddad
there's a star up there for everybody."

Now being a young boy
I of course took this as the whole truth
and now that I'm a slightly less young boy
I figure
why can't it be the truth
Standing in the vast field
that was my back yard
I remember talking up at the night sky
Talking to granddad
knowing he was too far away for me to hear him
I just wanted to know if he was okay
and what it was like being a star
and maybe I will never get my answer
I just hope that when I go
when you're feeling lost
you can look up
at the stars in the sky
and I can tell you
that everything is going to be
just fine

I'm just starting out
there is so much which I haven't seen
or done
so much life I haven't tasted
and more that I never will
but it's good
for the first time
I have the reins
and I removed them
and my horse became wild
bucking me off
but I clutch
arms around its thick neck
and soon it forgets about me
It takes me to strange places
unseen by a civilized eye
beautiful temples
which steal the breath
from within your lungs
emerald forests which go on for miles
canyons carved out
by ancient warriors of old
abandoned alien metropolises
and the image of God
the universe is gigantic
but it's only getting bigger
I may just be starting out
but I am so excited
for what's to come

these jeans aren't clean little lady
a months worth of nights forgotten still clinging to the denim
and no
I don't know what that stain is
but you keep twirling your **** back side
to the back end of the beats of this song that I don't know
and yes I do have an accent
came here tonight from all the way across the great big Atlantic ocean just for you
just for tonight
just for tonight let's pretend like we've known each other for a lifetime
no,
no costume for tonight
I'm a college drop out wannabe wordsmith with a tongue sharper than this wit
Mr. feet never been cold
I like my whiskey neat
and you look messy
let's take a midnight stroll back to my place
and yeah it's messy
what's it to you?
I don't like the way my bed feels when I make it
or when I hit it alone
like the voice in the back of your head
TV white noise
radio song stuck in your head
I'm a hard habit to kick
so keep kicking the game that your spitting out of your mouth like one too many shots
and I'll show you a me time

I don't know man. It just has been different lately, you know?

No not really. What do you mean? Like, explain it.

Okay so you know how you do it and you feel everything dissolve? You know? And that warm fuzzy light fills you up and the back of your head sags all the way to the floor? You know how you can't stop smiling? How nothing matters because everything is going to be chill in the end? You know?

Yeah? So what's the issue?

Well recently, and I mean very recently, I just got this feeling. This ******* feeling for two hours and all I want is for it all to be over.
The thing is - I know that everything is fine. That it's all chill and that I'm just geeking out, but still, the way it makes me feel. I can't do that anymore.

How the hell does it make you feel dude? Jesus can we get to the point sometime soon?

Right, my bad. It's my heart first. I feel my heart going at a thousand ******* miles a minute but when I check my pulse or heart beat - everything is normal. But still I feel it in my chest yapping like a dog at the front door and I can't convince myself that this is chill. Then it's my chest. You know how Jesus died of suffocation on the cross?

I thought they stabbed him before they suffocated?

Whatever, you know what I mean, how people on crosses couldn't breathe because of their arms and lungs and chest or whatever? Well I get this feeling that my chest is thinner than a sheet of printer paper. That every single time that I inhale it's never enough. Then I get this electricity in the back of my head. It creeps up from my sternum, through my throat and then to my brain stem. Like an itch you can't ******* scratch no matter how many layers of skin you go through?

Jesus dude.

Then I convince myself that I can't move my right hand. Convince myself I'm partially paralyzed. Only I'm watching my right hand move. But I feel like it has to be an illusion, because how the hell am I moving a paralyzed hand? It's all gotten so ******* twisted that I don't know which sense I can trust.

Well are you sure that that's the reason? Why don't you take a small geeb or something? For the sake of the scientific method?

Listen to me you fool. There is no method to this. Just madness. But I suppose, in the name of fairness, I should do some more research. Maybe just this one last time. Just to be sure.

Exactly... So you wanna smoke some ****?

Yes. I want to smoke some ****. Just for science and all that. I kinda have to. It'd be unamerican to not smoke, right?

Right.

Don't approach
the humanity encroaches upon the macabre
I dance pencils, pens, and cigarettes across my knuckles
like hypnosis
I drink and smoke until I'm hypnotized by Hippy free love ideals
This **** makes no sense
but I'm fine with being sensibly nonsensical
It's a character trait
when you're strange
the doors and good old Jim
couldn't capture it better

strength doesn't mean courage
suicide takes courage
persevering takes strength
approaching that pretty girl
you saw in starbucks
takes courage
loving her
even at the times
when you think you might hate her
takes strength
fighting takes courage
pacifism until you find something
worth fighting for takes strength
encased in our ideals
they catch quite the beating
and if they still stand
once the dust has settled
the smoke cleared
then you know they were strong
I might not be brave
and I might be short and skinny
but don't relax that guard
I have strength enough to know
that you are mistaken

I'm stuck singing the whiskey blues
left in the apartment
feeling the looseness overtake
feeling the who cares
coming to the front
feeling the love yous
aching deep

The whiskey blues,
nothing better
nothing worse
for a hungry soul
hungry for
soulful hunger
and a sense
of the poison

The whiskey blues
left singing
tunes of a time
which never graced
my presence
Left looking at pictures
which rock the idealist
sensibilities which dominate
my gut

The whiskey blues
you better believe
that I'll be thinkin'
of you
fluttering through the tunnels
of my sleep deprived brain

The whiskey blues
just another excuse
to express
my thoughts of you

They call it substance abuse
but I'm always the one
who wakes up bruised and hungover
catching the morning after sweats
soaking my bed sheets
and besides from a few broken bottles
and certain plants
which I burn to ash
the substances always seem
to be doing just fine
what a bunch of ******

The children are all going back to school
glum looks on their glum faces
and the days are slowly
becoming more and more
gray
Summer sings her swan song
as the sun sets for what seems like the last time
Summer's end feels like a funeral
for the death of childhood nostalgia innocence
as the sky makes way for fall
and biting winds
blue skin
and *** hoodies and cigarette butts
and you'll see those friends again at thanksgiving
maybe
but they won't be the same person
and neither will you
so take one more night this Summer
to spend with those you love
before we are all thrown back to the lions

I didn't sleep again last night
my yesterday is still taking place
as my fingers gently press these keys
so as to not wake my brother
restless,
I realized,
I've seen a sunset
but never a sunrise

the streets were still asleep
the only ones about
only the down and out
the poor black folk
the aimless hipsters
the homeless
the single mothers with three jobs
who wait alone
under a flickering street light
for the bus which will take them
to their deadpan jobs
the puddles from last night's storm
rest with not a ripple
and the pretty little birdies
start finding their voice
restless,
I realized,
after the sunsets
the world opens up her eyes

periwinkle horizons
blend easily with the grey skyline
and the line between man and God blurs
the sky is tropical mango cocktails
and pillows of white Caribbean sand
the smell is left -
like a residue -
chasing after the tail of a storm
but the air is wet to the touch
hinting at repeat of the downpour
and I would've sat on the arm of that denim sofa
hour after hour
until the world was ready to wake up
giving me a chance to sleep off their insecurities,
only,
I felt like writing this poem
only,
I felt like a sunrise
or maybe a sunset?
or just maybe
a ******* supernova
I felt good
brimming with peace in my gut
like a warm fire
restless,
I realized,
that after all is set
I will still love the sunrise

You need not walk alone on this path
at times it seems like you are completely alone
in the middle of an alpine mountain range
surrounded on all sides
by thick snow so white it covers your world in blackness
no you needn’t walk alone
in fact you can’t in some spots
you need a support net
a network of supportive people
with hands waiting to catch you
when you fall
and you will fall
I can guarantee it
do not be the hermit
slowly losing touch and losing his mind in his shed
be the person who people would want
standing beneath them
waiting to catch them
when they inevitably fall

people operate under the wild belief that
survivors are strong by nature
strong is a weak word
adaptable is better
The meek shall inherit the earth
the strong will die trying to save it
Me? I’m a survivor
an actor master of disguise
playing the part of a self-righteous anti-hero
but when the bombs start falling
you aren’t coming in my bomb shelter
hell no
and when the mobs are chasing us
I’m tripping you for a few more precious seconds
too stubborn to die quite yet
but don’t worry
when the dust has settled
and the cults have left their caves
to repopulate this rock
I’ll tell the story of your heroic sacrifice

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

It's such a beautiful relationship
like birds cleaning crocodile teeth
feeding on what didn't make it to the stomach
these words rely on me
A vessel
and hopefully they don't
act like hermit *****
because without them
I would just be a ***
who drinks and smokes too much
But as long as I have the ability
to manipulate the world around me
in the chaotic rush
of my infinite mental expanses
and nooks and crannies
I can give them life
like a midwife
I bring them into the world
and name them poems
or stories
so that they might live forever
burned in the retinas of strangers
or etched on the wood of my desk
I hope we will always
need each other

take this as a warning
college life is like
treading a tight rope
yeah it's easy street
but consequences
are put in the back of mind
and getting black out drunk
on a thirsty Thursday
with your boys
is fun
but Friday morning
with four cigarettes left
from the pack you bought the night before
isn't fun
and neither are lonely hangovers
and it's a slippery *****
to say that
you aren't an alcoholic
until you're done with college
so take this as a warning
go to college
and have the time of your life
but just make sure
that you don't lose yourself

"Keep quiet
why do you always have to yell?"
If I kept it down,
I fear you wouldn't hear me
well enough
"Just slow it down.
You're talking at a mile a minute."
If I talk fast it's only because
I fear I don't have enough time
to say what I need to say
"Do you have to swear so much?
it sounds ugly. It doesn't sound smart."
If I swear
It's only because I fear your loss of attention
"Why do you always sound so sad?
Just smile.
Lighten up."
If I sound sad
depressed
upset
it is only because
I fear for you

Salt on the back of my hand I know so well
shot of tequila to remember you scent
**** the lime down to bring the balance
How are you tonight
better than me,
surely.
My chestnut girl
my top teeth too long
upper lip too short
best friend
making me feel saintly for taking your nerves and melting them in my palm
pleading to Gods I never met
for this last bet
to end up winning
I'm losing my sanity with every breath expelled
but who want's to be sane
when in the land of the blind
the seven eyed man is king?
Sane insane saints and sins cast across the wall like suicide grey matter
the children wouldn't understand
It's probably for the best
but when tequila clouds the back of my throat
my sinuses remind me of the sound of you
playing guitar
and singing the songs
which held you close in childhood

When I was a young(er) kid
I was asked to play a lead role
in the high school play
The only kid my age
and dreams of fame
and Hollywood
crept tantalizing into my skull
And when I got on that stage
all of the nerves melted away
and I know I'm supposed to be modest
but I ******* killed it
the school gave me a drama award
and took all of the award winners
to a book store
with a one free book coupon
and that was the first time I fell in love

I picked up a book by Darren Shan
it was for teenagers
but I devoured it
cover to cover
in one sitting
It was an addiction
and every time I got a new book
I also got the old warning
"Don't read it all at once this time Harry"
Not a ******* chance woman
I'm tweaking out over here
It all became very clear
It wasn't the acting I wanted
It was the audience
and with acting
I was always telling
somebody else's stories
but my words
were certainly mine and mine alone
Until I decide to give it to you
the audience
the only people I've ever wanted to impress
or help
or move
or even just make them crack a smile
**** the money
the women
the food
the real world
They would all come in the end
if they were meant to
So to everyone who has read
my throwaway little thoughts
Thank you
and I am so sorry

for the people who made my days
the people who perked their ears up
when my unattended fire hose
started to spray bile like rainbows in the sky
for the people who put their word behind my name
the silent friends who never knew it
for every single person who took the time
to define the way my mind unwinds
the people who had advice to give
the people who had nothing but adoration
these words sometimes fall flat
and my mood can be at rock bottom
but I never stop thinking of you all
the ones who pulled me up
when I was all but ready to give up
a simple thank you is order
thank you.

I don't know what happened
somewhere along the way our feet must have slipped
because this place is cold and unfamiliar.
Look at the jester as he dances with all the ugly girls
A poet is a poet is a liar is a liar is a pretentious *******
But I never let you read them
no because if you did
you'd realize that a large chunk of my blathering
is about you
then you'd probably say something like
what the ****. this is odd. no creepy. stop calling me. I don't want to wind up in saran wrapped pieces in your freezer
but I do write them
and that's what counts

Cascades of brunette beauty
A night of lost potential
Dancing in the still darkness
Lost in a flash of ivory
Deep in a pool of brown eyes
It could have been so pretty

Fluid enters and we move like machines
Graceful machinations of the weary
A collective howl into the empty
Wandering through fog no star to follow
No wise men just lost travelers
Bringing gifts to the unfaithful masses

The night goes on and the sun starts to rise
We come out with tides of golden beach
Crimson skies drip red with ****** tears
Painful thoughts rush away beneath waves
Razor blades melt and become smooth satin
Next, repeat
It could have been so pretty

Poets these days
take Bukowski and the Beats
much too seriously
I mean come on
Bukowski is great and all
for a selfish *******
and the if the Beats make your heart beat
well that's just swell
for a group of pretentious purple prosers
and don't point those fingers of outrage at me
my library too is full of them
all I'm saying is
the line between inspiration and imitation
is awfully thin

We met in the beat hotel
a room
or two
or three
or some other number
brimming with
expatriots
hiding from society
they shared ideas
and art
and passion
and life
and through their drug fueled dreams
they helped change the mold of the Earth
a hotel for people
not afraid of the different
or scary
or challenging
the hotel which brought forth
lyrical music in written form
and freedom of spiritual apathy
drugs and drink and danger
and a sense of the footloose
dominated all
they used every aspect of life
the unspeakable and the unhearable
the beat hotel
I wish there were more

These gears grinding in my head
the most dangerous part of my body
controlling the switch
icy and collected
         to
eyes pinpoint, sweating and shaking
      on fire
mixing my metaphors
with heavy handed similes
and **** headed diction
cocky connotations
lock stock and barrel
shock collared, shattered
tectonic plates are shifting
     alignment
and it is time to be
      bold
to risk/gamble win/lose
*to try

the change has been decided
I'm burned out
from too much ultraviolet rays
and hazy days
can't see for the smoke
that I'm going insane
I forgot my name
to escape from any pain
and I don't tell my loved ones
what's wrong
I just it put on the page
The change has been decided
it's time to climb out that pit
and get a grip
before I resort to something violent

because I'd rather be smiling
than waking up hungover
with a mouth like a fire pit
I'd rather be sober
but my head is split
I usually do the opposite
and end up doing dumb ****
The days last forever
I'm too bored to appreciate nice weather
and I've skipped all my classes
glued to my mattress
sometimes I move slower than mollasses
smelling like I need a shower
one too many night cap glasses
a classic addict
all my friends say
"It's just college habits"
it's tragic
but I'm trying to change my ways
turning all my lazy days
into work
I don't want to be the ****
who throws his entire life away
who needs it anyways?
not me,
the change has been decided

The city breathes. It sweats and cries and knows of love and strife. The endless grid of connecting streets and alleys are veins which carry the tales of all its inhabitants. Passing them to vital organs and tissues and muscles as needed. The journeys we take - the paths we walk - are all strands of the web of humanity. We all add to it, we all take from it, And we touch each other's lives in some way, even if we don't know it. A girl walks down Broad st until she hits Bowe. She is alone - carrying only what she could fit in her pockets. She gets to the starbucks. Goes in. Orders a coffee or a tea or maybe a bite to eat. She goes outside and, takes a seat, and reads the paper. Two tables away a black family sits discussing their daughter's plans for college. Radford? Longwood? ODU? She just wants to make her break. She sits listening to her parents in her camouflage jacket and black leggings, occasionally nibbling at her sandwich, two tables away from the girl who sits alone. Alone in her wool cardigan and her pinned up red hair. Alone smoking her cigarette.  The old man who lives at the elderly home for the mentally unstable and composes great feats of musical beauty stands off to the side in his worn slate suit beneath his snowball hair. He walks up to the alone girl and asks if he can maybe get one of those cigarettes, please. She hands it over and he lights up. The grey and blue smoke lazily wafting over the grey and brown tops of the city. The only evidence of the intersection of their paths slowly becoming part of the very city air we all breathe. One table away I sit with my notebook and coffee and cigarettes and sunglasses spying on the world. Making my little observations. The stained ink on the page the only evidence that our paths ever crossed slowly being read and recycled. It's the circle of life

The sound of clattering plates
as a voice in the kitchen yells
we gotta sailor walking in hot
and the waitresses walk around the place
always just beyond the breaking point
wearing voices which say
we hope you have a great night
the plates they clatter
as the men at the bar grow drunker
as the redskins lose yet another game
No sir,
we regret to inform you
that you can not take your beer home with you
in a kiddie sized to go cup
the plates clatter
as the bus boys and dish crew
bounce to Mexican hopping beats
bustling and jostling their way through the six tops
a cart full of leftovers and the crayon drawings of little kids
seven o’clock sees the dinner rush
come and go
and still that sound
the endless clattering of plates
as quitting time rolls around
and a hundred people throw a hundred exhausted punches
at the same juggernaut of a clock
as they always have and always will
outside fresh air smells chemical
and in the car
alone on the ride home save for the passing
of headlights: strangers navigating the same dark
you still think you can hear it
the clattering of plates

She said
“Oh you’re such a ******* comedian”
and I laughed at her face
I believe the term is
more than kinda *******
did I ever tell you the one about the
cynical poet with a substance abuse problem?
I know I have a punchline somewhere
in between all these smudged lines of ink
and then she said,
“You over think too much. Just shut the **** up and live.”
and I didn’t say
I live to think of you just shutting up and letting me *******
but instead I went with -
you are probably right. Let’s take a shot
it was a shot in the dark
no I shot the dark
for all the nights I spent barricading my closet door
because I am vindictive at times
and you are so full of vitriol at times
I call you little miss snake bite
and I’m allergic to antivenom
“again with the jokes. When was the last time
you said something actually real?”
when was the last time anybody said
absolutely anything?
“Sarcastic remarks again, huh?”
you’re **** right smarty pants
Then we got drunk
a risky proposition I found myself facing
you swaying to music I couldn’t quite hear
THAT made me nervous
I’ve always been terrified of turning ******
then you said,
“What music?”
and that made me feel a little better
knowing you were possibly
a little ****** too
did you ever hear the one about the
probably in way over his head love struck
funny poetry guy?

it's rained all week
grey drop
after grey drop
the city is crying
the bums rush to shelter
in doorways
and under bridges
the people sit with their feet up
in their comfy sweatpants
and hoodies
drinking warm cups of tea
the animals
are out in the wet
grinning
and howling at the moon
drinking up the tears
of the crying city

I am scared of the dark
not because I fear the lack of light
might let all of the monsters out
and will make the skeletons chatter
I fear the dark
not because it's violent
but because it's peaceful
not because it's chaotic
but because it's calm
I am scared of the dark
because I am left alone
with myself
with my mind
which can be the worst monster of all

A rabbit walks into a brothel
after surveying the place
from every ***** corner
to every strangely clean counter top
he noticed
that there was no women in the place
only children
confused,
He asked the manager about this
to which he replied
"Silly Rabbit
Tricks are for kids"

There's this small diner
across the street from my apartment
a small segment of culture
suspended outside of time
they serve good coffee there
by the ***
and they serve cheap breakfast food
which is greasy enough
to absorb even the sharpest of hangovers
I was in there
the other morning
sitting at the bar
spending my last spare change
on that old diner coffee
and the people around,
the beautiful strangers
they talked and laughed or read from paper backs,
the man next to me at the bar
ordered a Budweiser in a glass
at ten in the morning
and you just don't see that as much anymore,
the waitresses had a strut about them
like they were straight out of an old New York movie
and the cooks in the back could be heard
laughing rambunctiously over the sounds of the kitchen,
it's a small diner
suspended outside of time
and it is a place you could get lost in
a place you don't want to ever leave

the diner closed down
a sign in the window
but i'm still hungry

Don't smile at me
especially not with your eyes
it's just not fair.
Every single one of you has the upper hand on me
I see you at cafes
at parties drunk beyond mischief
I see you in the elevator
on the streets
through my window
in my high school year book
In my dreams
the first poem I wrote on this site
about three hundred or so ago
so **** romantic and cheesy
but that's how you make me feel
your blonde hair
your chestnut hair
black hair
green, blue mahogany eyes
the natural born mothers
the rebels
the ones who just wanted me to feel good about being me
all of you so **** special
I've loved you all at some point or another
but that doesn't make it fair
when I see another one of you
at the party
smiling, dancing, asking me to take shots
I can't say no
the only thing I want
validation from making you feel validated
and beautiful
like you are
all I want to say is this
Whether it be one conversation lasting from the lobby to the second floor
or a life long friendship
I'm thankful for all of you
the doe in the forest

I was forged in the pages of books
where I hid from the life I was living
they called it fiction
but, ****, it all felt pretty real to me
I was the shadow of every character I threw myself on
on rainy Monday or beautiful Saturday
So I hid away in my room
patiently waiting for something
I might never know
with a spiral bound notebook full of all the things
I couldn't say out loud
It all started with a dream
I wanted to steal the shadows of kids just like me
from NA to EU
Africa, Asia, selah
So I hid away in my room
full of all the words from all the books I loved
and I gave it a shot

I know this guy
who deals *** out of his apartment
and yeah you can probably guess
how I came to know this guy
but you know what?
I'm a bad guy, so what?
but anyways
this guy has it all figured out
he takes a couple of classes
at a community college
and he travels the south
following jam bands
not my thing
but to each his own
and every time he returns
he brings back a lot of product
and when the summer sun graces this city
you can see him
getting high on the hammock
which he strung up on his balcony
what a life

We were clean. Pure.
Trekking from pine needles to sand
time slipping away from
the mountainous routine of
laughter and tears smeared across cyberspace
when I was younger
my Mother told me
that when the people we love die
you can still see them
the brightest stars breaking through the night sky
we were wandering away from smirking academia
clawing our education from
the comedies and tragedies of early mornings
calm like the kiss of diamond tides
and long nights
weighed down with thoughts and drugs and alcohol
shutting off each night
on each sunrise
drifting with nomadic intentions we
raged for rage’s sake
on green lawns with signs painted
dig deeper into the blazing structure,
the momentum is shifting,
and the Kingfisher is watching
proclaiming from mountaintops
that killers hunt these city streets
with a pocket full of bad ideas
the prey a sparkling barfly
clean and holy beneath a neon color palette
potential squandered in a scream of confusion
knowing that not every leap
is a leap of faith

the roads were slick with ice
at 2pm on a saturday it was 13 degrees
the wind wasn’t a breeze but a bite
the light reflecting from the snow
was blinding
I was going on a walk
because I don’t exercise nearly as much as I should
and today
I felt good
step after step after step
picking up pace
a smile spreading across my face
the strangers I passed
weren’t strangers at all
but long lost brothers and sisters
I never got the chance
to stop and sit with
but when eye contact connects us together
something in their face let me know
that they felt it as well
we are all navigating the ups and downs of this city
the ugly the witty the pretty the ******
just bricks -
on our own, we aren’t much
but at times when we come together
we form odes to the fact that the human spirit can weather any storm
when deflating lungs feel worn
and some bonds become torn
there will always be someone rooting for you
standing on the sideline
saying good luck
I know that I follow in your footsteps
and that means that we have to tread carefully
avoid the thin ice
and pitfalls
no more runner’s walls
cars stalled in the winter morning
but whether you tread towards nicer weather
or walk tight circles around the city blocks with a song stuck in your head
just know that the important thing
is you have to take that first step

The flavor of my youth
was skateboards and punk rock
heavy metal and mischief
walking through Cary town
with pockets full of change
and crushed singles
sodas in hand
and skateboards under the other arm
in the gated community we lived in
we would find the houses
where we knew the owners were away on vacation
and we took to the stairs on four wheels
to glide through the air like arrows shot from some towering bow
made of concrete and asphalt
and we went to shows in the city
dressed in the armor of wristbands, ripped jeans, and faded band shirts
drunk on our parents’ beer and skunk ****
drunk on the promise of a night open to any footfall we chose
and we jumped up and down in mosh pits
just trying to feel anything real
anything which tasted like living
we stalked from house to house cloaked in the witching hour
and pillaged our knick knacks from the garages of neighbors we never knew
padded fingertips pressing against doorbells
1...2...3…
now run
we didn’t have time for school
or the teachers trying to bring us down
but we always had time to trek through the woods with a bowl
smoking **** until we got to the mall
where we ******* around until mall security chased us out
we did not always make the greatest decisions
but I am **** glad I made them

The girl who played guitar
had me in the palm of her hand
from the moment she started playing
my hands began drumming
a rhythm on my thighs
which I didn't know
I was capable of

And when she opened her mouth
The songs which came pouring out
contained paradise
within each note
each syllable
and she sings with her eyes closed
just alone with the music
no longer human
but a vessel for beauty
I think that's what heaven is.

I saw her today
busking in the streets
and I couldn't help but grin
and go over
standing in front of her
throwing my everything
into her guitar case
I listened to every single
god ****** song
and before I knew it
Hours had passed
she stood up
put the old acoustic
back in its case
and left me
standing there
stunned

I'm sitting here,
at my regular table
and in through the door,
waddles a stream of gluttony
bodies like melting planets
and a look which falls somewhere
between pride and entitlement
is plastered on their sweaty bovine faces
they come into an area
graze while the grass is good
and slowly meander elsewhere
chewing the cud the whole while
like an old trail hand
chews a thick *** of tobacco
these people
who don't know the meaning
of living a lean life
what do they do?
besides propagating fast food franchises
and big and tall clothing stores
what do they do?
they sit in their cubicles doing the same
mindless
mundane
pointless
task for eight hours
with lunch and breaks
and then they drag themselves back home
to the herd
and sit down in their puffy couches
in front of the T.V.
with a microwaved meal
staining their beat up wife beaters
before they fall asleep
on the couch
their mouths propped open
drooling
with a still half full
can of coors light
balanced precariously
between their cottage cheese thighs

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

Medicated through calming hushed tones
stating that everything is fine
everything is going according to plan
but in the back of my mind
I feel it pulsing
the feeling that what tides me over
is not going to last
and that one day
all of the smart choices in the world
won't save me from the serrated teeth
of the beast
which stalks us all
from womb to tomb
the cackling maniacal laughter
of an abomination set and ready to feed
on your mark
get set
flee
flee from the path which leads to slaughter
flee to safe havens of solitude
flee to the crowds
lose yourself
to the thrashing ocean
of accepting the free fall
the ground won't hurt worse than the sky

The day fades away
Black and grey
And black and grey
Until all that is left
Is cerebral thoughts
Bouncing against the shattered window pane
Which shows the way
To everything we are too scared to know
The sacred truths of our flaws
Too beautifully ugly to be recognized
Too perfectly imperfect to fit the leftover jigsaw pieces
Jesus pieces ring with fibs of green backs
And crack was distributed to poor neighborhoods
So a lot of the time a welfare check or food stamp
Ends up more like "my bad"
And no news crews roll through
Unless the person who died
Shares my skin color
White guilt making me feel less stable
In my bitchings and moanings
Like my bad feelings couldn't possibly land heavy
Like haymakers
Growing up we used to jump from hay bails
Landing in loose straw
Running away from farmers and their
Combine harvesters
Now I run from life
Too afraid to jump from the ground floor
Into the clouds
Life is hard
Living it the way you want is harder

We tight rope walk
down our double edged sword
we wage war like the Gods
atop Olympus
We cultivate life
like the farmer tends to his crops
We are that of
flesh
blood
heart
emotion
strength
weakness
grit
and steel
We crack the earth
with our footsteps
and call it industry
A species of slaves
who enslave each other
because it is all we know
dark times pass above us
like thunder clouds
but in moments
we produce unthinkable greatness
like forks of lightning
across the black canvas
of the night sky

It gets real hard to
keep track of the little imps
that run around inside my head
a healthy dose of ****
television and video games
keep them occupied for a while
but then their right back at it
a devilish whirling dervish
that keeps me up far longer than the sun
and when they get hungry
I crave a cigarette strangely enough
and I give them words
to keep them big and strong
but not too strong
I can't have them breaking out
and leaving me all alone
so i keep them hostage
praying for Stockholm syndrome
It wouldn't be real love
but it would be enough
because I would be so happy
if anybody read my work
but never satisfied
being an unknown poet
The imps in my head
are prideful creatures
that want to be known
in the legend books
as the biggest strongest imps around

I downloaded my honest expression of feelings for you
but it came as a zip file
and I’m hardly tech savvy
so It sits in my hardrive with the other long lost files
like that first bike ride without training wheels
and christmas back before it all got so painfully awkward
two spaces above it
is the memory of being chased by angry farmers on tractors
and the file I edited last
was my self-image profile picture

I want you.
but sometimes wires don’t connect and the connection tends to
falter - lag
so I sent my mind to the pornographic district
where the lights flicker so red, like your favorite shade of lipstick
and for a few minutes there I committed biblical abomination
which is a fancy ******* way of saying I jacked off
before checking my local news site for the five day forecast
rain, rain, rain, rain, but a hint of sunshine

Woah! That’s a risky site! Are you sure you still want to continue?
not really. But last time I checked I never asked you for anything
so I’m buying the ingredients for happiness on ebay
two parts forty ounces of malt liquor
three parts resin stained smoking apparatus
two parts the wrong crowd
and ten parts stupid *** decisions
now I’m stumbling upon locked door keyholes
to see bootleg copies of your next summer blockbuster
they’re worth the ten dollars a pop - I’m just broke

I tried to upload a **** shaming video of you to youtube
but it was taking too **** long to process
so instead I tweeted all 140 of the characters I have played
and wrote you a bittersweet, scathing review
4.5 stars out of 5 - would not recommend
#FuckYou
I would still swipe right to your front door on silent nights
smelling like a bad rock and roll cliche
saying the same one liners over and over again

I listened to your swan song on spotify
and yeah, I’ll admit, It had me swaying
but that might just be the new “Twenty dollar a week diet”
I was forwarded online
so skype with my self-esteem
and IM me your holy of holies
and I’ll pretend whichever God you follow is up there somewhere
maybe I am just a post on your blog
maybe I’m just the virus causing you to curse at low speed internet
but I think you should leave your ISP a nasty voicemail
because this headspace is corrupted
and this computer is crashing towards an eternal shutdown