Angry young kid
Angry young ideas
Who gets to claim heaven?
When heaven means hell?
We split words in half
To measure the value
Only to find
We know nothing
In a world
Made of
Fragmented ideas
We are the blind men
Circling the drain

life ignites, contradiction fuels
moral quandaries, choices ran from
Mr. Nice Guy, a total *******
plaster smile, bleeding clown frowns
something to say, pretentious crap
I love you, I hate you for it
beautiful struggle, an ugly massacre
sun of fire, moon of ice
inhale, exhale, suffocate
intelligence, total confusion
love letters, suicide notes
and everything in between
so fully alive
dead as a door nail

There were children
climbing onto a big yellow
Richmond city school bus
on Forest Hill avenue
the neon cherry red stop sign
emerged from its chamber
speaking traffic
and the children looked so happy
to be getting on that bus
even though it was eight AM
and they were on their way to school
so pure and untouched
in their lack of days
it's better than driving home
after a party
still probably a little too drunk
to operate heavy machinery
but the children were laughing
the children know
life boils down to little more
than a great big
cosmic joke

Got a job waiting tables
put the two weeks in at the car wash
tomorrow's my day off
It's November,
but the sun still thinks it's September
filtering through the dead leaves on bare limbs the color of nostalgia
at a cool seventy degrees
a last hurrah for sundresses and short shorts
fine by me
I'm writing a poem by my open window
letting the dusty, smoky room breathe for once
sure, things could be better
but they sure as hell could be worse

Scaredy cat
Scaredy cat
what was all you were good at?
making her feel like
less than she was
riding her like a bike
to feel more on top
What are you scared of
scared of a lovely job
loving somebody
who loves you back
too scared to be
too scared to act
a coward

You texted me last night
telling me to come over and hang out
and I was real excited
and kinda nervous
but I tried to clean up as best I could
got in my car
and headed over to your house
and then turning left onto your street
I barely saw it coming
Crash
trapped in my flipped car
It was my first crash
and the cops came
and the EMT's
and the firemen
and somehow I walked out
completely unscathed
and I know I should be thankful for that
but my first upside down thought
was that I wouldn't be seeing you tonight
and that maybe it was some sort of sign
but I've always been one to ignore signs
Nobody was answering my phone calls
and I was freaking out
vibrating in the midst of an adrenaline earthquake
but you came
when I texted you what happened
and you brought me a little juice box
and gave me a hug
and even though my car was destroyed
it was still nice seeing you

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

He sits on the curb
unaware of the time
only knowing
that it is night
and that it has been
over twenty-four hours
since he last slept
his head between his knees
he tries to disappear
If I can't see them
then they can't see me
has a home
but no home worth going to
and he has a 250ml bottle
of whiskey in a brown paper bag
the night is still
cold and dead
people ask him
son, is everything okay?
he smiles
he nods
he goes on sitting on that curb
kissing that brown paper bag
is everything okay?
things are never okay
he doesn't remember when he first noticed
maybe around the time of the divorce
but he has noticed
and now he can't stop
so he sits on the curb
drunk and slovenly
waiting for something
he knows will never come

Sometimes you just can't hide behind jokes
and sometimes you have to realize
that every time we feel overwhelmed
and reach for blunt or bottle
that we are being cowards
a life driven by fear
but who can blame us?
from the moment we came into this world
fear has been our third parent
so technically we're all related
Sometimes being a coward doesn't cut it
sometimes you have to stand up tall
and take it on the chin
over and over again
and turn it into the chattering
of keystrokes
or whatever it is
that calls to you
sometimes you just have to look in the mirror
and cut the crap

the words sliced deliciously
drawing not blood
but ink
furious passionate ink
she was just words on a page
in a human shell
he was just
another who wanted to try
with expendable arms and legs
but still the ink came
the words sliced horizons
not vertically
so as not to ****
only to bleed
and before the cut
has a chance to heal
pens and greedy fingers
jammed into the wound
hoping to take
the last drop
of art

I've loved it ever since
I was a young boy
sitting in the car
heated leather seats
as my dad steered the car
in twists and turns
throughout the night
He could get that car
to move so fast
smoking his menthols
the smoke wafted out
like a cartoon
it formed a finger
and entered into my nostrils
I was hooked ever since

"Look what I stole from My dad"
Martin was vibrating with the deed
A card pack
colored red and white
filled with instant bad ***
"You have to inhale
when you light it"
"I know that jack ***"
the cherry sparked up
and I took the first drag
It was like inhaling
boiling hot ocean water
cough cough cough
holding it out
Martin took it carefully
like a black widow
and put it to his lips
basically the same reaction

We smoked a few more each
and got sick
I walked home
sitting on my bed
the biggest head rush
crashing against my skull
I passed out on my bed
lights on
fully clothed
and in love

Cold in the woods by the mall
Nerves taut
like a deer
ready to flee at any moment
If I perceive danger
I'm out of here

Martin was fumbling around with the bottle
"you have to but a carb in it"
"Shut up Jake,
I know what I'm doing"
He didn't
neither of us did
it was the first time
nothing like it
I hoped my dad wouldn't miss
his socket wrench piece

We passed it around
like the natives that walked this land
under the gaze of oppression
but we were free
for at least that moment
I vibrated like a rocket ship
and when I walked
I felt as if I was on
an airport moving walkway

We went into the sports store
riding around on the skateboards
and punching the punching bags
flipped into a world of upside down terror
when they made me get on
the abs exercise machine
mall security came
and kicked us out
but we didn't care
we had just discovered something
so much better.

I love this venue
that cobble stone alley
I've found needles there before
So perfectly filthy
and the place smells
like ****, *****, and sweat
And we tear it apart with every show
Me and Martin and Jake
drinking beers with one of the bands
before they went on stage
The manager came out
"What the hell are you doing?
I don't want a bunch of drunk kids in my club!
Get your ***** back inside."

Buzzing we made our way inside
God this music is loud
****** fingers shredding guitars
and rapid fire growls
like a hungry stomach
I like this?
I don't even understand it
The pit was going insane
and I was just drunk enough
were I was too
So we jumped in
punching and slamming our bodies
into complete strangers
A thirty year old man
punched me in the face
so I punched him back
and he high fived me

The crowd demanded blood
Jake was hoisted off the ground
crowd surfing a tsunami
they drunkenly neglected
that it was a bad idea
to drop into a hurricane
of stomping studded boots
But they did
and we dragged him out
blood overflowing from his mouth
we had to leave early
and missed the headliner
Jake received five stitches
and wore it like a medal
I didn't go to many shows after that

When his day comes
he will walk out
his head held high
he aint no saint
but he accepts that
he is what he is
and he was always told
to never apologize
for being himself
But still
he's no stranger to shame
or sinning
but he will be judged
with a smile on his face
because he knows the secret
because he lived his own life
and would never be sorry
for that

the sofa was soft
an indent in the middle
molded after a year of nothings
cigarette burns dot the denim
and the smell of stale beer
and cereal
and *****
come out like great dust clouds
shooting poison into the air
only to be hurried out the open window
by the constant whirring of the ceiling fan
a denim couch
a blue jean clad monster
a vampire of the modern world
greedily ******* the life
out of all unfortunate to fall prey to its trap
its dance of decadent seduction
and all it leaves of its victims
are loose change
and a few beer caps
deep in the valleys and cracks
of its ever hungry stomach

when I was a kid
my dad used to put me to bed
every night
now I'm not a kid
or at least
that's what I'm told
dad's not around a whole lot anymore
and the funny thing is
I can't fall asleep on my own
someone has to put me there
or something
something which doesn't disappoint
something which is around
the only things in my life
that I can depend on

They get me up
but always give me
five extra minutes
they destroy me
they reassure me
when the sky gets too heavy
we're here for you
and always will be
so don't be scared
just let us in
and everything will be okay
and they always know
when it's time to tuck me in
without fail
a constant pick up
a necessary sedation
always dependent
on their dependency

ask me what happened to make the world this way
I will say everything happened
we were put here to destroy and destroy
to obliterate all that came before us
because **** those people
We are here now
and they never will be again
so burn the museums
and tear down the landmarks
salt the earth black
and then we can build an ode
to the false idol
of the post-modern fragmentary image *******
and our cult will go on living in caves
in ***** rags
terrified of the thunder
and the night

I'm not Shakespeare, not some romantic poet clad in flowers and doves
I'm no Fitzgerald, a dapper socialite at home with the intellectuals and aristocrats
I'd like to be Hemingway, a man in all senses of the word, guided by a certain wit and drive
Hell, I'd even take Bukowski, or Kerouac, drug addled and safe in the strength of my arrogance
I'm not your favorite department store
no recognizable brand
no jewelry
My love is not measured in the moments quenched with awe
no symphonies or trips to the opera house
In a dime store I trudge through the aisles of shelves
rummaging through the lost and found of people long forgotten and dead
I find a necklace, shells strung together on a piece of fishing line and I think of you
young and happy with a bucket and a *****
so curious as to the motion of the ocean, you slowly approach
only to run away - giddy in your fear - as the cold tide licks at your heels
digging up ***** to show to your Mom and Dad
I think of you, my hand clutching that Dime store necklace
I think of you now
Me so intrigued, I draw up my plans with tact
only to crumble before you
I am the shells you dug up
I am the fishing line your dad cut off for you
the knots he taught you to make
I am your lost and found
helplessly missing you always
I am your Dime Store love

Look at you
you little ***** bird
hopping on nimble legs
between the outside tables
of that coffee shop
that I like to write in
you dart this way
and that
with a fluid grace
which reminds me
of the body of a beautiful woman
you little ***** bird
picking up crumbs of bagel
from the cracks in the ***** pavement
taking cigarette butts
back to your nest
where ever that is
Monroe park maybe?
oh ***** little bird
I admire you
for being able to possess
such a natural beauty
in the midst of this city

Not all monsters have bodies
no,
some monsters are whispers in the middle of the night
the whispers which never stop
they come rising up from the pit of your stomach
the back of your neck
and the lungs in your chest
these monstrous whispers
creeping in from open window
on full moon nights
they say the things
which we know aren’t right
but we believe anyway
these voices
they say things
like you are not good enough
just give up
know when enough is enough
they laugh in moments of silence
come creeping in with self-doubt
not a whimper
not a shout
just a sense of stillness when the lights go out
keeping you up at night on the edge of a knife
too exhausted
to keep up the fight
you worry
how long will these monsters have their foothold
in the panicked pounding of my eardrums?
these monsters which spit on self-love
and lick their gums at the sight
of a broken down frown
of a person wound too tight
but these monsters don’t have bodies
arms legs claws and fangs
these monsters are just voices
all you have to do is drown them out

I am up at night
sending my prayers to anonymous strangers
because maybe they have the answers
maybe not the ones I want, but the ones I need
there is something beautiful about them
human blank canvases
potential for beauty
comedy or interest
their nameless faces
playing on the projector of my mind’s eye
the closest I have come to finding God

She hides behind herself,
picturesque scenery flashing
before her sad doe eyes
only to crystallize before her
like memories
life washes over her
but not through her
at any given moment
she could fade away
gone with a fluttering
of butterfly wings
what is love
(baby don't hurt me)
but a rush of pheromones,
a shotgun blast of hormones?
a necessity
a necessity she doesn't know by name
or by face
but by the lingering aroma
of cigarette smoke
and detestable good byes

In Los Angeles It is illegal
for dogs to mate within 500 feet of a church
and if that doesn't make you
want to host a dog ****
in the middle of an LA church
right next to the holy water
then I don't think we can be friends

I put a pistol to my temple
and told you
just ask me to
nuts insane no good
don't do it
she pleaded
but she knew all along
that I wouldn't
it was more of a showing
a presentation
an introduction to the concept
that we are expendable

what is the definition of us?
you beat the crap out of me
and I come crawling back
they just don’t know you like I do
they just don’t see love like I do
nobody understands
and I’ve always lived to spite
so I keep on keeping on with our swan song
and yeah I could go without you
if I really wanted to
but I was raised to not quit
plus - every time I see you again
you look better than last time
I mean ******* is that lingerie or a ballgown?
and we never get out of bed
which I like
but I never get out of bed
which I hate
You tell me
never change
so I walk around town in sweatpants
and four day stubble
hair always greasy and wild
and the beautiful people I make eye contact with
look at me like a raving homeless lunatic
which wouldn’t **** me off so much -
if they weren’t so close to the truth
but you are a full time job
and I’m getting overtime
dot my eyes again
we both know I deserve it
we both know we deserve each other

don't cry
don't waste those tears
you say you are so ******* ugly
that you wish you
were somebody else
well welcome to the club
but don't waste those tears
on those people
this world
it goes down smooth
like a razor blade
if you need to cry
i will give you my tears
I will take all of your ugly
and show you something
so **** beautiful
I will give you my eyes
so that when you look in the mirror
you can see
what I see
everyday

Don't let your kids grow up to be poets
because poets are a messy bunch
poets are the worst influences
they live in the thick of things
suspended in their own minds
and they are by a very large percentage
worth less than the clothes on their back
and they are all crazy
they all have to be
these mentally unstable babblers
they'd talk at anybody who'd listen
more like drunken tramps
than artists
so for the love of God
please don't let your kids grow up to be poets
because it's a rough time
you'd be better off keeping them in academia
that being said
upon reflection
would I have done it any differently?
not a ******* chance

there are certain caveats of masculinity
which every guy hears at one point
my favorite is don't stick your **** in crazy,
yeah,
unless you want to have some fun

Don't try
a wise old man told me that from his grave
well **** old man
that works for me
i have been a master at not trying
since I failed out of Algebra in the ninth grade
because people are at their prettiest
when what they're doing
bursts forth from them
its the same as how
a pair of fake *****
will never match up to their natural counterparts,
So stop trying to be something you're not
because somebody once told you to
instead don't try
until you find something
where you don't have to

The half man half mattress
My Mum always got down
"You're so smart, Why don't you just study and do homework?"
I'm working from home and studying my craft
putting in more hours than I ever put in Geometry class
because proofs and circular dimensions
never made anybody else smile
and I hope these words have
so sorry Mum
but this half mattress lifestyle
is too appealing
and I know that granny never went to college
but she never lived to see the ink flow through me
so I promise that one day
I won't need to hit up mom n' pops
for some of that evil green paper
one day this half man half mattress
is going to be so huge
like a household name
so don't worry Mum
I'm skinny right now
but in no time
I'm going to be living a three square meals a day life
and today I don't have a job
and one day I won't need one
So don't worry Mum
It may look hard right now
but I'm having the time of my life

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

Do you know how lucky you are
I know that it is sometimes ****** to hear
to hear that your problems aren't the problems
you think they are
trust me
I had the worst year of my life
and today
I knew it had to change
so I changed it
the only thing you need to know
you are capable
of making the whole world stop in its tracks
so the next time
the annoying voice in your head
tells you you aren't good enough
or some other *******
remind yourself
Harry says we are all ******* awesome
with unlimited potential
the world is a ball of clay in your hands
do us all a favor
and make it something
absolutely ******* awesome

she came and went
just out of reach
like a dream escaping your mind
as the night escapes the sky
a whiff of perfume from a passing stranger
that takes you back to some memory
you can’t quite remember
unexplainable
I’m tumbling all over myself
fumbling with the words I know
and the language I do not
silly boy
I have some questions for you
and I would have said anything she wanted
so long as I could leave my message
in fingertip cursive in the steam on her mirror
I wish to catch you beneath back porch moons
a lightning bug in my jar
in hues of red passion
and purple contemplation
my hands running through her hair
fingertips gently tracing the arch of her spine
hobos walking alone through the railway dust
she is the claw game toy which fell at the last minute
I’ve been up late at night
scouring every darkened corridor and upturned rock
pebbles to be skipped across the pond
always looking for another taste of that perfume
maybe tonight
as I am resting in deep sanctifying sleep
maybe we will cross paths
and fall atop each other in a heap of love and sweat
and maybe in the morning
I won’t forget her

is anybody out there
listening to the scrape of heart on rib cage?
ten times over
the knocker sounds
ten times over
the doors remain steady
voices sound from the other side
muffled against the wood
quiet and lulling at times
mostly raging
frothing
the figure stands guard
clad in a suit of dark
and the figurine sits on its haunches
laughing and grinning always
the black is a thick blanket
infinite yet tiny
electrically charged with dreams
and it's easy to get lost
and scared
too easy to flee fast on feet
but to weather the barrage of flowing thunder storm
is to bring closer the possibility
of a greater tale

The sun hasn't risen yet
the black hatchback opens up on the Lee Bridge
in the rear view mirror the city shrinks minuscule
as I forge forward at a steady pace of fifty
No matter where My destination is
the reason is always the same
escape
like a thief in the night
trying to put some distance between me, myself, and I
daydreaming ceaselessly as traffic flows on every side
the front tire has a slow puncture
the door panel barely hanging on
in much need of an oil change
driving alone below the aspersions cast by unwanted eyes
as the rain slowly comes down to blind and cleanse
I never got to say half of the things I wanted
and I know that I won't write half of the words inside me
so I'm impatient
laying on the horn
and flipping old ladies on their way to church the bird
faces not seen enough to be memorized
hands not felt
laughter never shared
these things haunt me
holding their flickering candles to the bottom of my feet
Driven now
the sun hasn't come up yet
which is good
because before it does
I have some things that I need to do

The music blares loud enough to shake the car,
loud,
but not clear, because the cable is kinda screwy
so that every time
he hits a pothole
the music melts into
teeth rattling vibrations
and the breeze gushes in through the temporal openings
threatening to blow
the card parking pass
out the window
into the vast pleasant outside world
the sun burns down from space
turning the world warm with childhood nostalgia
and chlorophyll green lampshades
hanging from chocolate brown trees
paint the world with an aura of emeralds
and the spedometer plays Apollo
rising higher on its arc
twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, ect.
the rush of speed becomes deafening
and the hot asphalt road rises,
dips,
meanders,
and he controls its will
with the easy gliding of the leather steering wheel
and an easy smile
driving with the windows down

it's too late to call for help
once you're already underwater
it's too late to miss somebody
once the tide has already gone out

forty ounce of miller happiness
the champagne of suicide
cut it back
smoke a pack of camels
smoke another
buy another
only fifteen bucks,
**** it right?
7-11 buffalo chicken rollers
to soak up the chemotherapy
track marks from the lighter burns from the space needle injections
smoke a **** pack
then another
then another
and re-up on GB's until the room starts to carousel
now onto the ****** fratboy lime-a-rita's
**** the 12'er
then it's hard stuff
like george dickel, cracken, and Jameson
still able to count the toes on your feet through your shoes
then add another witches brew to the cauldron
go out armed with three good friends and a knife
pavement pavement pavement
ladies
strangers
strange women
conversation
the most addictive drug of them all
take the shotgun in the mouth
and feel everything pop black
wake up next to a faceless face
send her home
go to work
write a poem
do it all again

You aren't quite sure why this mediocre movie is so funny
but **** it Adam ******* is on form
look he's doing the thing with the voice
I want ice cream. Does anybody else really want ice cream?
my throat is made of desert sand
dessert* sand
that's funny
oh yeah OJ thanks
now pass me the rig. the song is changing and we need some new energy
I just want to chill and vibe
the ceiling fan hasn't been dusted in... oh I don't know, a year?
and just maybe it will come crashing down upon us
a black mess of ash, soot, and dust
and maybe that would be pretty funny
and maybe I'd geek out
and maybe I wouldn't
who cares? the next episode of Trailer Park Boys is about to start
and the sun is about ninety degrees from setting

Night now
and moonlight flows as adrenaline
rushing and flooding the parts of our brain
which go
"well **** this could be fun"
a recipe for a good night goes like this:
five cans of beer, pbr or bud light
maybe coors
some of those girly limearitas
because **** it they are yummy and get the job done
smoke break
make it three in a row
working on the chain gang of suicidals
okay now break open the good potion
whiskey *** gin ***** whatever sinks your boat
but make sure to consume in large damnation seeking swallows
and remember men only chase with high fives
who even high fives anymore?
now listen the **** up
because this next part is important
never. I repeat never smoke within three hours of the night
that is unless you want to get trapped in the party limbo
of hanging out in the kitchen, by the fridge
with the two only people you know in the entire joint
nobody want's to **** the guy eating pizza and playing with the cat in the corner
while you're there - be sure to drink as much free liquor as possible
oh me? I'm an exchange student from England. Show me what American college life is like? Sure I'll quote some Harry Potter. Sure I will take that shot. Oh your roommate is not home? Interesting.
because we all know that *** brings validation, and validation is the biggest drug of all
wake up the next morning and mumble something about a hangover and how much fun last night was
can I get your number? I'll text you my life story in emoticon format sometime.

Back in the filthy apartment
your bed stained with ash, sweat, and God knows what looks awfully inviting.
sleep an hour or two
get up feeling less ******
put on a *** of coffee
liquid ******* to set your veins running with productive fire
and then the shakes come
smoke a few cigarettes if you have any left
if not, the pick market is just a block away
and the sun is shining
okay now get into your bath robe and sweat pants
smoke yourself a fat GB
you deserve it
shake off the grime and pseudo-glory of night before
in a couple of hours
it's all going to start again

Crack a hole in my skull
to let some light in
I’m walking around confused
checking out the numbers
on the side of houses
I’m walking around whistling the theme tune
of a movie I never saw
in light tinted green through newly sprung leaves
I bask in the holy midday sun
everything so fresh and new
it makes one forget about mistakes
and tomorrows
and consequence
pour me a strong, cold drink
I want to live life
on an endless back porch summer night
where the insects and the trees make their music
as we slowly let go
of the parts of ourselves
which hold no real weight
cut me to see if I bleed
I bet the blood would never come
too thick from the sweat induced
dehydration
I’m drinking iced coffee
on an infinite stretch of broad street
I’m climbing the trees of my childhood
to pick the fruits of my memories
they taste like nostalgia
and they taste like you
how I imagine you taste
if we were cast together
outside of time
these are the musings
of a mind riddled with growing up

1800
Georgie boy
busch
bud
coors
PBR
they slide down the relaxed throat
of an unrelaxed youth
and these red squiggly lines mark my poems
as if to say
hey,
Harry buddy,
you realize that you make no ******* sense,
right?
and who decides what is and what isn't
nonsensical
All I know is that these crazy ******* yankees
are making me lose my grip on the English stiff upper lip reality
My tenth grade history teacher/JV soccer coach
liked to make songs up about me
There's only one Harry Baxter
true.
only not
there are many of us
the good Harry
The bad Harry
Ugly Harry
and swagger Harry
Violent Harry
and introspective Harry
Romantic and evil
caring and selfish
I get drunk to forget everything
life
money
cares
desires
needs
duty
I write about ten ******* poems a day
not because I'm prolific
or inspired
not because I'm deep
or smart
or romantic
I write because it stems the tide of suicidal thoughts
which barrage my inactive mind
like cannon *****
and I've got great ***** of fire
rushing the pace of every word I spit
but I'm afraid of my own genetic cowardice
From grandfather to father to son
it runs through my veins like people and bulls
I'm drunk tonight
I'll be drunk tomorrow
and what the hell do you care?

Hey what's up
what are you doing tonight?
that's cool who with?
Are you with any guys tonight?
sounds like a fun time
don't tell me these things
I can't wait until you're back
I need to see you
Yeah it's going to be fun
I've been thinking about you
I'll see you then, I guess
*I'm hoping you feel the same

stop taking things
so seriously
I mean,
I'm seriously serious
don't be
seriously serious
about anything
beause when it all boils down to it
nobody will remember
if I forgot the C in because
in some dumb poem

The dining hall was empty
all the smart people
were either in class
or still sleeping
at eight o'clock
the food is fresh
but still tastes like rubber
and the watery coffee
doesn't do anything
to shake off the waking dream
the faces of these people
all say the same thing
"what the hell am I doing up this early?"

She said she wanted an adventure
trekking through the Mexican desert with six shooters
the Lone Ranger and her Kemo Sabe
she wanted to pack her bags
hit the road without a second glance to spare
take the Greyhound bus
or maybe her dad's Jetta
and open it up across endless highways
until the tires are stripped bare
and the exhaust smokes
she wanted to be a stranger
in a strange town
with a cardboard sign reading
    Anywhere but here
mostly she just wanted to escape
the chill of all the old ghosts which haunted her

Being poor,
Has become a certainty for me,
I have rejected my dad's money
To go off on my own
And how do I survive it?
I can survive because
I'd **** and eat your family's
Precious little dog
Before I'd let myself starve

Cherubs wrestle animals to death
and shoot arcing arrows across the sky
it’s a love poem
about love
aww
every car parked on the street
has an owner
and that owner walks around the same city streets
looking for the same answers
standing on rained out rooftops
cherishing the brief respite from the grind
another person
whose fingers intertwine with their own
so perfectly
they must’ve been conjoined twins
separated at birth by chance
I could ramble on about the look of innocence
in a child’s eyes, but spare me the gushy stuff
it’s more about the chase than the checkered flag
and we’re all in the race
and there’s no such thing as last place
just those who take it at their own pace
so enjoy it
you’ll be dead within seventy-five years

hello honey
it's been a while has it not
how have you been?
me?
oh,
I've been crazy
starving
drunk
and drunk
and higher than a choir boys voice
I'm so broke I've been smoking Pall Malls
but don't worry darling,
I'm not dead yet
oh please do tell me about
the hundreds of other guys
and girls
that you've been seeing
they sound great
I know I've been trying this for years
but why don't we take us out for a spin?
oh not yet
don't worry I'll keep trying
Listen baby
I was thinking about you while you were gone
it was all I was thinking about
and I've got a feeling I'll see you soon
I know it
deep in the pit of my gut
but until then,
take care
with equal parts love
and hate
your future lover

I'm losing my mind,
I can't talk to anybody
who isn't a complete stranger
A college dropout
yet nobody knows
big dreams of making it as a writer
inspire and deflate all at once
a lifetime of poverty and rejection and flattened hope
to look forward to,
but I couldn't do it any other way
college was great and all,
only it wasn't
I never felt enriched
just as if I was memorizing facts
and my heart is all messed up
not knowing up from down
and my brain is clear,
cold,
lacking in sympathy
but not in wit
and every waking moment
seems pointless
just doing what I'm supposed to
nobody knows of the double life
I go to "class"
which really means starbucks
so I can write for a few hours
like the king of cliche
and I want to tell people
especially my mother
"school just isn't for me anymore,
the student loan check never came through
because I'm not a student"
but my tongue is tied
locked up
the key thrown away\but I just can't,
I can not,
and I don't know how much longer
I can go on living a lie

Excuses are like *******
everybody's got one
and if you don't
then that's
very
very
weird