My bones were once tender for you.
It's a muddy road you're strolling down,
and I don't know if you know,
but your shoes are untied
(of course you ******* know).
Or are you wearing slip-ons?
I wouldn't recognize you anymore.
I considered taking the same road
to church this very Sunday
but I was stopped by the discomfort
I felt in the presence of a cross.
Faith cannot mean that my life is safe.
Though my bones were once tender for you,
it is unfair that we are both on a hook
but you hold the string
that tugs on guts
whenever I try to breathe.

She dragged a steak knife
  across her forehead.
I said,
   What the **** is your--
Hey, we all have problems.
She killed herself with
the memory
   of a system.
Everyone was begging.
Beg. Beg. Beg.
   Make me a star!!
I want to be
   Kurt Cobain!!
So, they dragged blades
and did smack.
Tweeted lyrics
and took selfies
with a poster of--

But she was never alive, right?
There can't be a her
if there's a me.
But I suppose what it condensed
is bound to
  shoot out into
itty
    bitty
stars.

Good ******* Christ,
redeem the men and women
slaughtering genitals.
Grinding against
  the hole in society.

Are you ******* serious?
  Oh my god,
I will die if he takes off
   his skin!!
What a hunk.

It was all elaborate
and people were saying
  "droll".
That's a thing.
Everyone was ******* lame.

Then, the men stripped.
One, Jupiter.
One, Titan.
And what was stopped
was a hurried whisper,
traveling the confines
of the classroom.
  And the men
clothed. And the instruments
  unused.
Sketches ceased before creation.
Paint without purpose.
What a Greek tragedy.
Boo-*******-hoo.

What I could only imagine
a slurry of too many words
aiming at my brain.
The mention of us all.

You don't understand.
*******.

She dragged a steak knife
across her forehead.
I said,
   What the **** is your problem?

It's raining.
And people are dying.
Somewhere. Everywhere.
Nowhere. On television.
And I don't care.
And their life is static
stuck in the waistband
of some dude's underwear.
And he scratches his *****.
He's shocked and ****.
He calls himself a "God".
He sent his son to die
as a guilt trip
and to spike book sales.
But he's scratching his *****.
And his wrist brushes
against his waistband.
He's pinched by the shock
of electic death.

It's raining.
I'm sitting on the edge
of my bed.
Closing my eyes
and pretending
my feet are hanging off
a shopping cart.
My parents are pushing me
and I'm facing my mother.
She looks young enough
to avoid
   every thing.

I don't care. I don't care.
There are snares
  hitting the cymbals.
And there's
a jazz musician. He's
nodding his
   head
back and
   forth.
   Back
and forth.

I don't care. I don't care.

It's raining.
And we zoom in on God.
And, clearly, I have a vendetta.
Have I been subtle?
He answers, "No."
Did I meet a jazz musician?
He shrugs, "Yeah, I guess."
And the room slows down
to a jumbled vibration.
And he smiles. Smiling.
Smiley-smile smiles.
There is no ******
like the second hand.

It's raining.
I don't care. I don't ******* care.
My dad yelling.
You have daddy issues!!
You ******* *****!!
And the room slows down
to a jumbled vibration.
What's true is a tumor
and it grows and grows.

It's raining.
Music is the shout
in a raindrop.
The wrists we forfeit
is the church of
an eternal solitude.
And we is I
and the mixture of
animal-speak
that swallows my
   brain.

It's raining.
There are joggers
in the park.
Their feet are smashing
the cement.
Slow down.
They don't care.

Then seven billion
joggers enter the park
and smash the cement.
My family is unearthed:
the swallowed inertia
of an undying thought.

It's raining.

Random dates.
Random times.
Useless words.
Stupid rhymes.

It's not cool being
less than you can be
so I urge you--
urge you--
to be happy.

Because there was a man
who was a clown
and he danced for the children
as they were being lead
to the gas chamber.
And it was 1943.
And it was
**** Controlled Germany.

The clown wept,
each time the lever
was pulled
and when the children
became silent.

To stop crying,
he told himself
that existence
is just random dates
and random times.
There was no meaning
in reason
and no order
in lines.

All he could do
was all he did know,
and that was to give
happiness
before they'd go.