When will you give me the “let’s just be friends” talk?
It took me 10 years to not do the same.
It’s really not kinder this way.
So much I want to say I cannot find the courage.
I’d do everything different if it were up to me.
The sadness I know, do you know a piece of?
You feed it to me like a slice of sweet cake.
If it were up to me, I’d do everything different.
Is there a key to unlock this prison?
I really had hoped it would be different with you.
If it were up to me, it would be-
but is it really kinder this way?
I’d sleep but you are not next to me.
Would I stop crying if I could?
There is not enough smoke or mirrors on this whole **** planet
to make me forget what you’ve promised to me.
Will I never see my white horse or baby flower?
Will I never stop searching for the one to set me free?
You’re not the only one who would like to fall off of this planet
and I really believed that we would jump together.
Feeling so foolish, and so much like a child.
I’d just stop breathing, if it were up to me.
Involuntary thoughts, like involuntary functions.
Necessity breeds invention.
Now tell me, what should I make of this?
If I could only SPEAK all that I’m thinking.
That which does not **** us will make us stronger,
but what about those who are better off dead?
I need a clock like I need a hole in my head.
The opposite of King Midas syndrome
where everything I touch turns simply to ****.
Drinking this wine, in lue of your breath
which is far more intoxicating, treasured, and sweet.
I would replace it for the air,
if it were up to me.

25 years old, and I had never seen a vulture.
Now 100 or more are circling my head,
Begging me for dinner.
Sweet hell,
I’m half tempted to give them
A taste of me.
Found out last night
My lovers been *******
With the demon of pleasure.
Now I know how it feels
To be bitten by my enemy.
I’ve drank my share of two large oceans.
Maybe next time I’ll listen when
She lulls me out to sea?
Problem is,
I never listen.
Least not to the voice of reason
Or anyone who knows what’s best.
Can someone please tell me which direction up is?
What kind of vessel propels you deep into this yonder?
Who has put a leash on you,
My devil dog from hell?

relish this moment
of playing the fool.
one day you will grow
to be an old woman
who knows everything-
much like all the old women
who’ve known before.

The walls were being ripped down around us
by our hands-
no one elses.
We were out for blood; you and I.

And the kids were the next thing to go.
Door-jams are replaceable,
but childhoods?
These don't come easy,
and I hate to say it but
nothing is worth that.

Not all the kings horses
or all the kings men
would have been enough
to put us together again.
Such a pity,
when broken things can't mend.

No matter how much my body resists it, the internal dialog never stops, cant destroy it. with my cigarettes, or junk food, or my bad attitude, can’t make extinct the thing that’s possessed me.
right in front of you
like a worn out tune of blues,
looking like leftover food, but not so tasty.
it’s a dream of mine, and in time i will learn what it takes to
make the seed grow.
never know? doubt kills like
pesticide,
insecticide,
boys at columbine.
with vicious and preconceived certainty.
no humanity or humility, only cruelty.
like the beast of nature, (pardon me)
nature of the beast.
the nature of the beast
will never cease. like the internal dialog, never stops. can’t destroy it with my cigarettes, or junk food, or my bad attitude. can’t make extinct the thing that resides inside of them, that’s possessed them.

Can dogs remember?
Your scent lingers- so she stays.
Will not leave until every last whaft of wood and moss and musk has dissapated.
Can you imagine? What that feels like?
Waiting, holding to this eternal faith of your return.
Girl olfactory loves you.
Will not leave-  until you fade completley from the air.
She has the taste of you.
In the carpet, in the matress, in the blanket, in the woodwork, blood-hound loves you.
In the meantime,
she's been getting to love the stink of me too.
Underfoot. Under-bed. Waiting, snapping, snarling,
Tumness.
Belly rubs and train-whistle cries.
No joke. No story.
The Days of Our Lives.
Locked in tiny tin trailers which now contain the wild beast.
Thank God for super glue and how Justin fixed that door.
Now scratching backdoors, bent and made of cardboard,
I work in my toxic office
for a leg up and a way out. A key to that locked door.
And of course the children ask for our story and wonder where you've gone.
So I tell them
you've been hit by a train.

It was never my intention
to jump wildly, blindly into the abyss
not knowing of what beasts
might devour me whole-
without blinking an eyelid.
The soul is a fragile thing
and when pushed closely to the edge
oblivion will greet you
without judgment of your sins.
I want to be that kind of friend for you.
I want to be that kind of mother for my children.
I want to embrace you despite what kind of tragedy has beset you.
I want to love you like death,
wether or not you’ll love me back.

You find comfort in the arms
of women who do not hesitate
to **** their own children;
your children
just like flushing a **** down a toilet.
Because its poetic?  Or tragic?  Or just f-ing sad?
Or because in their company you become the effortless hero,
replacing stale smoke for oxygen
and trying to die?
If life were a sinking ship, you'd be the first rat a running-
so the women and children had better move fast.
There is just no room in your one man life boat.
Why with your ego,
and your lonliness,
and that grudgeyou're holding
against God.

Fumaça por oxigênio

Tu encontra conforto nos braços
de mulheres que não hesitam
em matar suas próprias crianças;
tuas crianças
como se estivessem despejando merda descarga adentro.
Porque é poético? Ou trágico? Ou apenas triste pra caralho?
Ou porque com elas tu te transforma num herói sem esforço,
substituindo fumaça mofada por oxigênio
e tentando a morte?
Se a vida fosse um navio afundando, tu seria o primeiro rato a fugir
é melhor que mulheres e crianças se apressem, portanto.
Simplesmente não há vaga em teu barco de um homem só.
Com teu ego, e tua solidão, e esse rancor
tu segue desafiando Deus.

There’s a boy in Miami
Who’s perfect to the T
And “te quireo mucho baby”
About me.

Keep hearing how love
Is something should be fought for.
How can that be?
That’s not what love’s for.
Love can tame the wildest beast
Into a gentle giantAnd should do so-
Now THAT’S something.
On the subject of loveI will bury the hatchet
And offer the branch of an olive.
There are many sleeping dogs
Who should be left lying
And many white flags in the air
Could be flying.

Toothache and heartache.
Potatoes and beer.
Bald head, fuzzy beard
And a world in-between us.
Dogs with no owners
Must beg for their food.
The cats are a crying
And you listen to them.

Blue sky, blue ocean.
Horizon is vacant.
Never again to smell your sweet scent.
Thousands of miles
Have stolen you from me.
Time to remember
You’re not even there.
Dug from the earth
The flower of our wild love.
Planted in a ***
And it died in 11 days.

i worked in the mountains during the hot summer
there were un soldiers there who didnt speak english
rumors of mile-long underground prizons-
who could tell? we didnt speak russian
they were blowing up caves that tunnled deep into the stone earth
the last great sanctuary straight from revelation
silicon chips have been implanted into entire families in california
and the beast truly has many faces.
i remember the day war was declared and i cursed president bush for being such an infintie man
but he shall be remembered forever in history as a brave man (who has only felt the blood of another human on his hands in sadistic ritual) because he was not afraid to fight (unlike our dear sweet kennedy who they killed for not doing the same)
oh life! you have never ceased cleaving the meat that is mankind
and humans, will we ever cease to see that life is before our suffering of birth and waits for us after we suffer also in death?
some say that the world is spinning slower every day and will stop all together in 2012 for three days of darkness. they say in these days we will gain a new dimension and life willl never again be as we have knwn it. and i wonder, will we ever be ready? 5/30/02

May the willows grow through your dog cages.
May the mice die and rot where they lay.
Half-moons of black dirt once filled up my fingers.
Prayed more than once for owls to carry you away.
No longer my ritual to clear sludge from the spillway
as your orchards grow barren
weeds cover your everything,
And mushrooms lay seeds
in your brain.

IF you ever decide
the dream is NOT dead
I left you my pillow
laying on your bed.
There’s a drop of my blood
on the floor of your bedroom
from when the fan almost cut off
my long clumsy fingers.
I have shed my gold hair
all over your city.
Just like the cat
and the dog
that I am.
This would be enough
to concoct a magical potion
IF you ever decide
the dream is NOT dead.