The clacking of keys
Doesnt sing like the
Scribble of a pen
And then
When
The next line has begun
The thought has run
Off
The pc cannot loft
The vision of choirs
Instead mires
In the new age of funk
The increasingly drunk
Sounds of clacking
Feels like its lacking
Its own song

If i never drank  
I don't think
I would understand
How people work
When i've been drunk
I wouldn't have tried
I think i wouldn't
Have opened my mind to
Who people could be
Or was it before
the drink and muck
That i understood what
Lie underneath
Most of our skins
It was within
That i had to defend
Who am i
The drink decried
What is it that i satisfy?
The answer i sat
And had to contemplate
I do not know what of me you sate
Is it the lonesome parts of my soul
And the inevitable toll
I had to pay
Drinking may
Make me feel like dust
And like water can rust
The metal it touches
Drinking crutches
My own mind
I find
That when i embibe
I scribe  
Out some trivial trouble
Like forgetting five o’clock stubble
To alleviate my soul
I repeat the rhyme with toll
As to make something known
It is not that I am alone
I have passed that part
Of me. Its the art
That i've seeked out
With the rhyme
Rather than some superfluous
Amount of timing  
I've forgotten the purpose
As always.
When I drink
I listen to myself

i woke up with something i wanted to do
until i realized my life was through
and when I sat down and calculated it all
I found that I had let my dreams fall
I spent too much time in the comfort of my bed
I spent too much time in the comfort of my own head
And when I realized there was nothing i could do
I remembered I could have left with you.

Don't talk about it.
Within the whole fit
Of alcoholism
There exists a skism
Of sorts,
That exports
The deviant aspects
Of life, expounding on regrets
Future and past.
Bombast
The standing
Circumstance.
Don't talk about it,
But the though doesn't quit.
Just permit
One lasting comment
Each one out of their mind.
Each one looking to find
Somebody,
Or, some shoddy
Example of another life.
Each one is hinged to strife
And dismay.
Looking to one day
Get away.
Looking for someone else to just stay.
Or to say
Something pretty.
It's ******
Enough just being.
Each one only seeing
The bad side of it.
...
Don't talk about it.
Just one more thing...
It will bring
Absolutely nothing, but,
Remember the bite.
Like a small, lustfilled, light.
It, felt, right.
A small touch
Isn't a crutch.
It wasn't much
More.
One can deplore
Desire
But admire
The effort.
Except for...
Don't talk about it.
I quit.
I can't
I won't
It's scant
That I detract.
There exists desire
And not an aquisition to aquire.
But, I
Can't help but sigh.
Even though my
Other shifts to cry,
I won't speak.
A hand she seeks.
And I give,
With the warmth of a shiv
To touch her face.
She's come from a strange place.
I won't speak.
For once, one, is not meek.
Friends before
But for a second, a little more.
Don't talk about it.
Don't let it persist
Like it was pretty.
Remember the city
And the stars.
There was no trip to Mars.
Remember "mistake",
For it can make
Friends...
But to what end?
Why is it important
There are no memories to sort and
Nothing to find.
In this mind
It exists as nothing.
No bluffing
No feeling
No realing
Just two
Of a few
Who
Wanted
Nothing left stunted.
No whelp
No cry for help.
Don't talk about it.
Yet, I sit
And think,
And no it wasn't the drink.
It was lonliness.
What did I miss?
Placation of desires and Nothing more.
She walked out the door
And was gone.
I sang no sad song
And it wasn't wrong.
Don't talk about it?
Fine, I submit.
I quit.
This is it.

I try to make
Poetry for my sake
Instead of submitting
To others. I am permitting
My words to do what they
Want. Despite what people say.
But I remember the rhyme
Every time
I write a line.
Can they be mine?
Because of my limit
I come off too timid
To shake the words
Around so the verbs
Make more sense.
Should I move without intents
And structure?
I can rupture
Every line I learned
Just to spurn
Some basic element.
I can be reticent
For the rest
Because I am not the best
Poet alive.
I dive
Into this whole thing
So I can hear people sing
My praises,
But it raises
The question.
I won't stop
When I flop,
But if I can't bend
When will I end?

I can not save anyone
Yet on the inside I do not feel any
Pain. I just feel free.

You say I am a child
but i am also a dragon
With wings that make wind
cut through the trees like blades
with voice
that burns down countries
with dreams
that die when boxed
and cut
and sold
till we are no longer dragons
but worms on our stomachs
you want us to be like you
but why not fly



you exist not as a bird
but a man
You exist not as an ideal
but as tangible thought
we watch you fly
and remember things
but we watch you burn
and crash
and cry
for we remember things
i wont break your wings
I show you to control wind
for you can fly straight
and never touch the ground