alone
cold November
looking ******* anonymously

serotonin depleted
hours go as myself -- why not?

pleasing things
used relationship -- wanted ***
desire
supreme union

*** is all
of life
enmeshed forms
penetrate ******

there is nothing
eyes entering one another
nothing more

everything
unable to cut off
so follows the *******
so-called unnatural containers

natural pervert
let it be simple
It's the world
no better
confusion

convoluted nonsense
shoulders of an older age
inhibit our natural blossom
there is work I have prepared

creature flesh and circuitry
pleasuring it's lights
like fireworks of ****** intent
vines creep thighs

apes grunt -- ****** into the jungle
tigers mount
stars operate strange new images
life beckons fungus
devouring bombs
skeletons locked in copulation
boys sit
park & touch
condense into infinite arousal
shadow history
confrontation nature

you may not my body
they not your history
I am not yourself

no words express truth

simple realization most difficult

dead myths

wipe *** on brick

bottle of wine
glass of beer
golden halo, dream, hat, shoe
a puddle of ***** on my belly
endless marijuana and diction
handfuls of disappearing money

born into the screaming hospital
in the grass of a carpet
nothing to do with it
a concept, an idea
a drunken slur
misplaced affection
a hand, a breast, a mouth
in a car, a bed, a bathroom

elaborate play
that's all

passing into morning
barely hidden by a t-shirt
hammering the tires off the wheels
skittish darts under plywood
smells like pizza & motor oil
can you dial for me?
one box hollow point bullets
finger pinched off in the chamber
federal ammunition
federal eagle is covered in blood
against a ****** background
a well-oiled machine
what can I getcha?
what is the boss having?
ontological, ecological, illogical
wildflowers bud, blossom, wither
& decay in a sandstorm --
are ****** into a twister--
lightning strikes them--
they freeze and snap like dry twigs
no television for five days
crying--eviction notices--not much time left
gonna go soon anyways

these words are filling my head as mere stepping stones
as religion or fiction--where was it written?
veiled in an enigma, locked inside a riddle?
the origin is a bright sun
against which

all is revealed
all is broken
all is redeemed

fallen angel
risen demon

existential monster roaming


told as a story

the looming conflict of history

biological arrangement of supreme intricacy

all a representation of another; a metaphor

takeaway flills

in the same way that the dude is the lower dimensional description of the man

nobody speaks here or ends badly

whyn't we suggest a better one?

it is more easy, more long

It is time now

I am only with myself

no more talking, no words

to say  what is is or isn't

just a slightly higher moment

to confirm whatever I think

over costly drinks we discussed what is was(n't)

but now I am alone with these thoughts

no confirmation, no glory of assertion

merely speculation remains

now I sit here, and write

as if to tell you something you could not hear yourself

everybody under the thumb of another

that's how it is as we sit here

under the fancy world indoctrination of the conflicted fat man

you can judge *** at a glance

in the all-too-human world

shared brides, cultural matter-of-fact

they fold in on themselves and swing to Wednesday and Saturday nights

the dominant pattern is an item in the diet of thoughts

for as long as we have ritualized; who knows how long?

our theater; a mathematical dance of light, sound and spectacle

a pun reeling from it's own absurdity

endless laughter pours out of every theater

together we cannot help but be

a retreat from the brink

Is he being serious?

I can't tell

Am I being serious?

I'm not sure

feeling on the brink of something

am I dying?

is this what it's like to die?

I had a lot of good words to say

they were going to come out like a sickly ball of ectoplasm

like a desperate clawing scream up from the floor

but now I don't know what they were

everything I consume is somehow related to who I am as a person

I've spent a lifetime

modeling myself after words, images, phrases, sounds

they are like little helpers

but they are not me

"don't be afraid to care"

"what did you see while you were there?"

I am bursting with joy

I want to laugh, dance, be free to love

my love is all ******* right now

it's all I know

the moon & sky so beautiful this strange winter

deadly sunsets and snow

crystalline space and stars

"how does it feeeeel?"

he asks & rolls over drunk, uncaring

I slipped her something mid-conversation

what was it?: a hint, a look, an eye?

I don't even know really

Was I being myself or not?

"the joke is come upon me"

at last, the irony is concrete

hilariously, beautifully tragic

& yet not at all; more like a lighthearted pun

"we all shine on, like the moon & the stars & the sun"

why & how did it become so difficult?

this is the struggle of every man

this is not my father's insanity, nor his father's

******* now

through words presented as love

we don't know what the **** love is

love is ***

I speak all interesting to her love-making

Neither of us knows what ******* is

we are born of the dead-love age

Love is reduced to an image

I make a sound and goo appears somewhere

Whatever

We can talk and talk all night long

Someone is going to get what they want

However perverse

Saying love to you
A confirmation for myself
suppose it is true in a basic sense
of fundamental human connection
yet it is all too obvious
& too difficult
to correspond
must be something else
something new