I don't know about you.
But I've had enough of me today.
I'm going to go stand in the rain and laugh myself to sleep.

Three dogs walk into a bar one day.
The oldest one says “I’ll go up and pay.”
“Excuse me sir, may I have three beers?”
The bartender can’t believe her ears.
“******* a talking dog! Let my customers get out their phones.”
“Yeah my name’s Huey I chase cars, **** old socks, and bury bones.”
The bartender gives Huey his three cold suds.
The second dog offers the next round for his buds.
“Hey lady you think can I get three more?”
She waddles over, feet all sore.
“*******, you know the other dog who talks?”
“Yeah my name’s Duey I chase cars, I **** old socks.
Can I get three beers if it’s not much trouble?”
“Of course good boi on the double.”
The third dogs turn he goes up to buy.
She toddles over she’s thinking she’ll try.
“Lemme guess, your name’s Luey, and you chase the mailman away?”
“No, it’s Old Socks and I’ve had a bad ****** day.”

Should I write another batch of words
to appease and placate your ego?
Or should I write about us, when, and
those places we would go?

Honestly my hands grow tired,
they're simply losing steam.
They're starting to wonder if you're real
or are you just another bad dream.

Forlorn emerald eyes gaze out,
over fields in crimson hues.
Skin of buttercream frosting,
and a heart that sings the blues.

Wherein would I have found you,
if not I needed a drink.
Probably somewhere in the back of my mind,
where I go to think.

So you found god?
You sad pious ******.
Hypocrisy reigns.
A minute a sucker.

Now wail my friend.
Tell of your sorrow.
How jesus saves.
And rises tomorrow.

I don’t mean to mock.
To tell you the truth.
To be so condemning.
So boldly uncouth.

It’s just that you see.
Religions not needed.
Your god done failed,
where the devil succeeded.

He told me to drink.
You were drunk already.
Your moral compass,
a smidge unsteady.

We watched you go
from pious to heathen.
Then came nihilism,
with not to believe in.

It’s now 3 a.m.
You’ve forsaken your faith.
You cursed your god.
The holy wraith.

Sunday is here.
Confess your sins.
Speak of regret.
Your odds and ends.

Tell him your sorry.
For getting wasted.
For roasting his will.
The sin you tasted.

Say “Hail Mary.
So full of grace.”
With unbrushed teeth.
White **** on your face.

Alas! You’re welcome!
Your sins are forgiven!
Now go get drunk!
The Pats are winning!

See what I mean?
Hypocrisy blaring?
If truth is a fabric,
your end is tearing.

You need not forgiveness.
For just being you.
If you are an *******
To thyself be true.

We break upon each other
Like two waves
One retreating, one forthcoming
Melting into one another
An ethereal dream
Where a thousand sunsets meet a thousand sunrises
Exposed like a nerve endings
Shapeless, we converge and fall apart again
Over and over
Fingers outstretched over an event horizon
Never quite losing sight of one another
Lost and found and lost again
Where will I find you when

Cut your tongue on my apathy and paint me a picture of your woes.
Make the contrast sharp, so that I understand.
Don’t go muddying up the image with intricacies, get to the point.
We don’t want any misconstruing.
Untie the tongue of your callousness. I’m sure she’s got plenty to say.
If I’m going to bleed for you, I’m going to need you to lick my wounds.
Because the stars are starting to fade again and tomorrow just won’t mean much if you’re not here.

To care, or not
Caring elicits emotion
Emotions arrive in waves
Waves bring turbulence
Upsetting the quo
It's
better for both of us
That I don't care

You’ll smile again
For passing glances
A frosty beer
Moonlight dances

You’ll laugh again
At a random thing
You’ll run again
You’ll cry and sing

You’ll see again
Blues skies dear
Dragonflies
With wings so clear

You’ll feel again
Something new
Butterflies
And something true

You’ll love again
In spite of time
That other poem
That silly rhyme

You’ll do these things again one day
On your own path, in your own way
And maybe once
Under the stars, overlooking the sea
You might **** and think of me

Weep for the nihilist!
If you must cry.
Do so for the sake of something tangible.
Love,
Although a construct in nature and design,
Is about as real
As mankind can hope for.

I remember the moss. It looked like a worn out dried up mop. Silhouetted against the moon in a puddle of rainwater in the parking lot. I wandered the celestial remnants of history. Running my fingers through starlight just to feel the photons slip over my palm. I thought about those times, the people, and the places. Bytes upon bytes of useless data. I understood in that moment. As the smell of raspberries filled the room. That I alone can't even determine my own significance to the universe. Whether or not I served a purpose will forever be a mystery to me.
I thought of you. I didn't smile.
Then the timer went off on my toaster and my pop tarts were ready.
Oh well.

Would you meet me by the Red River?
Robertson County, Tennessee.
Would you find me beside the black oak?
It's there I'll wait for thee.

"Ole Jack Bell" she called him.
Ma heard it and so did Jesse.
But the one who got it worst of all.
Was my lil sister Betsy.

That witch would hit my sister relentlessly.
She would curse her and call her names.
She could barely rest. Let alone do her chores or play some silly games.

The spirit says it's name is Kate.
And she often sings to mother.
She'll stay up late and have conversations with Johnathan my brother.

General Jackson had heard the tales about the witch.
And of course he came a calling.
His horses stopped up on the ridge,
a neighing and a ballin.

He spent the night and met our guest.
She **** near killed one of his men.
And just like other witnesses,
we'll never see them again.

My father he had taken sick just after Betsy left.
Our witch would torment father, she secured him to his bed.
Then returned to laugh and sing when she learned that he was dead.

That is I suppose all you need know of our family's witch.
That retched hag, who put our family through some awful fright
So beware of what you shoot at, lest it be a demon.
Or it could be you who hears the screaming, of a starless winters night.

I’d write you a poem but my hands are too cold
There’s little light where I am
And my will is growing old

I’d say the last time I saw you, under an electric moon
Was the last time I felt warm
And you took that warmth too soon

Bast and I still speak of you, over fires and amber soaked rocks
That smile that lit a world
My sadness that memory mocks

I have no one to send this to, no one I’d expect cares
Perhaps one day you’ll read this
And see I’m always there

Yesterday I thought of you
No less than the day before
But not as much as today
I don’t suspect tomorrow to be much better
If it rains
I’ll think about your smile
Should Apollo feel like doing his job
I’ll think about your laugh
Crimson mornings, bloodied by my dreams absent you
Puddles that hide their depth in your reflection
The shadows between the stars, the beautiful unknown
I’ll think about you
Somewhere out there laughing at a good joke
Singing your heart out to a song only you know
I really must increase my drug intake

Pride lies slain and strewn.
Splayed out before the Morning Star.
Eviscerated Appreciation still drips from the rafters.
Ego is a writhing dance floor for the flames that eat as they sway.
Envy, Admiration, and Love cower like beaten dogs.
And Hope. She fought well.
Now she dares not leave the well.
So what’s left?
They’re all dead or in hiding.
Can I know now why I’m here?
And
Can I smoke in here?

I'll start this prose,
with a pleasant verse.
I'll keep it friendly
and try not to curse.

Puppies and satin
and curtains and ****.
**** it I ****** up
so much for my lit.

Well it's said and done,
I'll just continue.
I promise I'll try,
not to offend you.

A baby elephant
was born today.
It came in to life
it's own neat way.

See? It's happy.
I'm doing quite well.
A few more verses.
This'll be swell.

This baby pachyderm.
A chipper young lad.
Perfectly healthy.
No cause to be sad.

This happy baby,
he loved his hay.
Why he could eat
that hay all day.

Until one day.
The hay was bad.
He killed everyone.
Caused he was mad.

The baby elephant.
He tore off limbs.
He ripped heads
Like flowers from stems.

You never saw
such carnage and fear.
This laddie was cross
and he made it clear.

When the swat team came.
They surrounded the zoo.
They never expected
what they had due.

That little baby,
arose in the roof.
It wasn't a stunt,
it wasn't a goof.

Well before that calf
could say what he wanted.
His life became
sunndenly stunted.

They put a few bullets
in his pudgy body.
They

**** this **** is way too long.
It's like the very last verse.
In a very bad song.

There’s a cat staring at me, the internet’s out, and I guess it’s time to start drinking.
If I thought that it mattered or thought that you cared, I’d tell you what it is that I’m thinking.
But since you’re not here, and I’m all alone, I might as well forget your name.
We could stare at the moon, from under our lovers, hoping the song is the same.
Or I could light up the sky with a thousand house fires so that you could find your way.
You could sit on my porch with me as we listen while the fires turn night into day.
You’ll smile at me, I’ll laugh out loud, and then we could pull out your hair.
You’d wake up to ruins, rub your bald head, and smile because I’m still there.
Another drunken daydream, another moment where I bask in the sun.
Before that demon sobriety finds me, and reminds me I’m not the one.

Ive penned out my illusions and I knifed them to a wall, now I’m going to have a **** to watch them bleed and fall And won’t it be a tragedy if no one cares read, these nets we cast before ourselves like pornstars spreading seed

My scales never found balance.
I'm not sure I'd ever want them to.
I've managed to elude serenity so far.
By keeping my plates in sway.
I find solace in the rarity of those quiet moments between the sun and the moon.
The high is better because it's fleeting.
Or at least that is what I tell myself in those moments of chaos.
My nirvana will be here soon.

Do not praise your children.
For I ask you what have they done?
Have they accomplished some great task?
What battles have they won?

They’re weak and insufferable creatures.
Riddled with stupidity.
I’d just assume have a yak.
Then a child here next to me.

I saw one once out on a farm.
Crying and wailing away.
If I hadn’t had found that well.
It would have gone on all day.

My friend had one, a girl I think.
It did nothing but ***** and ****.
Then it would laugh like a demon I say.
Until it latched onto a ***.

Horrendous monsters these children are.
They only want and whine.
Consuming all that was good on earth.
And breaking what is mine.

All those words overhead
Are simply just untrue
Not a day goes by that I don’t stop
And smile when I think of you

I’d like to think there’s a time and place that suits both you and I.
Where we sip tea in a lil cafe and watch the angels die.
It’s sorta the end but not for us because we’re both just passing through.
You’re almost at the edge of me and I halfway to you.
Tipping celestial windmills while laughing at illusions.
Shooting the fools in mid air as they jump to their conclusions.
I kinda hope that they ask me what I’d like to do.
And honestly I wouldn’t care just so long as it’s with you.

If you didn't believe
in gods and ****.
You wouldn't be having
such a fit.

Believers don't think,
they've been told what to know.
They operate solely on
pride and ego.

Meandering about
hating on queers.
This **** ain't new,
they've been at it for years.

If your god promotes hate,
violence, or torture.
Your god ****** *****
and needs more culture.

Put down the cross
and pick up that bowl.
Ima tell you something
you oughta know.

It doesn't matter in
what you believe.
This ******* morality
tucked in your sleeve.

It matters most how
you treat others.
The poor, the different,
the sons, and their mothers.

The answer you seek
isn't that subtle.
It's out in the open
not under some rubble.

You don't need a
******* priest.
To chug some juice
and eat old yeast.

You don't need a
book that's too ****** long.
Or a hymn, or a psalm,
or a baptized thong.

The answer is simple
just don't be a ****.
Treat others fairly
and your game'll be sick.

An amber moon painted against a silken sky in hues of blue
She sighs out of relief as her maiden steps out into the light
The southerly wind bides it’s time, knowing just where to find her

The same place I find her. The maiden. Between a thought and a dream.
The steam from a cup of tea floats up like a specter
And reminds me of her.
How it is she moves.
Between a thought and a dream.

The maiden looks upon the moon and smiles.
As if acknowledging an old friend.
She rests herself in the grace of its light and embraces it without gesture.
Just in spirit.
They have a mutual understanding of what it means to be alone.

A book lies before me on the small table in front of the tea shop.
Odysseus and Penelope.
I wonder if she’s read it.
Or would she let me read it to her.

She takes three flowers from her garden and nods to the moon.
Before retreating back into her home.
Across the street from where I sit.
Every Friday night.
At the No. 13 Tea Shop.

My days and nights fold over one another, going unnoticed.
I do not suffer any day save Friday. Wherein I’ll find her again.
Across the street from the No. 13 Tea Shop.
Right about the time my tea is placed before me by a man with seemingly no tongue.
Because he never speaks to me.

I’ve watched Odysseus slay the cyclops a hundred times.
From my chair, before the ghosts that spring from my tea.
And again she steps outside her home. Rinsing off the day in the light of the moon.

I’d longed to approach her. To tell her of the feelings that stir within.
Just at the sight of her.
To tell her a joke so that I may hear that laugh of hers.
I’d heard it once before.
While she watched the stars play amongst the grass in the park.
Where I first saw her.

Since then. A hundred cups of tea later. I sat here still.
As if I were watching a doe in the wood.
Hesitant to move to suddenly.
For fear that she’d somehow escape my dream.

Finally I’d decided that I’d haunt her no more.
That I’d cease my foolish endeavors in trying to muster the courage to speak to her.
I begrudgingly withdrew myself from my favorite chair.
Heeding the chance to see her one last time. To bless my soul with the knowledge that she still exist.
I’d resign her to being just a dream.

For how would I approach her in anyway.
To tell her that she is ether for my heart.
Alas, I should let this lion of a moment sleep.
To stir it couldn’t possibly bode well for I or my heart.
Someone as wondrous as her has only to be visiting. For I do not see how heaven could function without her.

I approached the shop keeper to settle my tab. He silently refused my payment for the tea.
I insisted that the tea be paid for.
His smile, seemingly etched onto his face only grew.
“Your tea has been paid for, as has every tea of yours for the next month.”
“You owe me nought, why would you do this?” I replied.
“I didn’t.”
He smiled once more at my confused expression.
Then he looked past me and motioned behind me.
There she stood. At the top of her steps.
“Seems someone has decided they don’t want you to go.” He said.

Just by coincidence.
On the day I’d finally decided that my courage had failed me.
She lifted my weary soul.
In front of the No. 13 tea shop.

It doesn’t take long
For words to go stale
When there’s nothing there preserving them
Left to sit out
Dust settles
And the valiant poetic endeavors of love, rage, loss, regret, and hope
Become forgotten
Silenced by apathy

Wistfully floating down a stream of amber elixir I crash upon the rocks and take my place at the bottom of the glass.
Staring up at a setting sun I stir at the sound of your voice as it floats down like a feather.
Her pale features stare down my soul with an expression of sadness ancient in origin.
A river of dreams within the dream carry me off to where I saw you last and I try.
I try to make my way back over to you. Cut to ribbons by the shattered images of what it meant to me.
Crimson hues fall like curtains over my eyes and the skies grow tired and cold to my hopes.
Basked in the heat and hardened by the cold, it’s just a shell now. Rolling with the tide.
This soul that was mine.

I decided to see just how important I was to those around me.
So I wandered off.
To see if anyone would come looking for me.
Turns out,
I'm not important.
Go figure.

Because if there was anything I was ever meant to do on this ****** planet. It was to make sure you never knew the soul crushing loneliness and sadness I feel everyday. So whether you have any love for me or not. I’ll die by the sword that does anything but make you feel otherwise.

Amber mornings and sapphire nights
Your misty eyes, in my mind, forever changing
Your nails like black tourmaline
Gliding like skates across my memories
Lying awake at night
Blowing smoke in the moons face
Writhing under the weight
Like the snake to the eagle
Twisting and fighting for the surface
For just one more breath
To tell you
I love you

Get a skill, go to work, do something that you love.
I happen to love ******* with my favorite latex glove.
Well no not that do something that will make you feel empowered.
Like that time I did coke while getting golden showered?
Not so much I just think you could find a good vocation.
I did, last summer, in Detroit, I got arrested for solicitation.
You could find a job in which you’re proud of the sweat upon your back.
Well I put down in my resume that I’m a urophiliac.
A job is something of honor into which you could place your pride.
I’m working on an **** **** that I call slip n glide.
Don’t you want to be able to buy those things that you really want?
Nah, not really, I’m happy here, just a worn out silly

I take my morning walk.
Through tunnels of bleached trees. Over the remains of names long forgotten by those who promised never to forget them.
I close my eyes.
To check on the multi car pile up of words in the back of my mind. A twisted burning wreckage of things left unsaid, things I’d like to say, and things I wish I didn’t know.
It’s been going on for so long the death toll of ideas is immeasurable.
There’s nothing to do now but listen to their screams.