somewhere between
misery and euphoria
i lay my sunken head.

the grass peaks out between her arms and her shoulders.

"lets stay here forever"

"why would we ever do that?"

no mountain too high they said
i rip the wood from the trees,
to build the road to Juneau
and bathe in the endorphin river

dry my ankles
and let them breathe the cold air
so the people know
im just a nobody

break my hands
to feel my legs again

break me down
so i can love again

I really thought I found her

3am
the unbalanced mixture
of that putrid smell
of stale beer and a
myriad of ashtrays
lingers through the air,
revolving records
snarling at me and
impatiently waiting
to play the overtures
six pack of tall boys
floating around in
a bucket of ice just
lolling in the cubes
like a dogs tongue
while the flies fly an
unapologetic patterns
that taunt me
under this dimly
flickering light in
this musky cubicle known
as my living quarters
it’s easier to go insane
than a dentist
committing suicide
and my vitality is depleting
out of me like a ghost
searching for a body
cigarette holes burned
into my favorite chair
that sits in the south corner
where I have wondrous
conversations with
my dead friends...
all one of them
outside those blinds
they think I’ve gone mad
the neighbors think
I’ve been driven to insanity,
the women across the street
who is cheating on her husband
with a younger man thinks I’m insane,
the little girl who swings in the
backyard behind me thinks I’m crazy,
the little Indian man who runs the
corner convenient store thinks I’m mad
nobody calls
nobody contacts
nobody wants to deal with the lunacy
I don’t blame them
in fact, I wish them well
I wish their profiles are all
monotonous and feasible
as they want them to be
it’s safer that way
silence is the scariest sound
I’ve ever heard
so I’ll sit here and have the
raw materials of madness
sit on my lap and share a bit
of laughter together
while we wait for better times
but like the taste of French fries
that have been reheated
in the microwave
its just never the same
but of course,
I never made it happen
either

dont talk about it
today
if you wont talk about it
tomorrow.

the day might change but we never do.
stuck in the mud
stuck in the mud
stuck in the mud

i think he breaks more
than he puts himself together;
because once he shatters,
he doesn’t try to piece things back up.
instead,
those million pieces
break into another million pieces,
and then he is dust
that won't blow away.
instead,
he wilts in the back of the universe,
watching the dead activity around him;
he is only collected
not put together, i guess.

gardener
I am not ready
don't pluck me