Neil young speaks over the radio,
helpless, helpless, helpless.
something in me is ignoring the intoxication,
and rejecting relief from an untamed mind.
but the floor looks like a ceiling in here,
so i know theres enough danger
in my blood to flood the red sea.

all these many deceptions
just running gleefully through my veins.
         and i am
                 finally back
         in Lucerne.
The early morning gray that hovers
over the ambient light
settles in my stomach,
with all of the other toxins,
but that light--
that light is not strong enough to travel
the static air above the clouds where
Pilatus sits, littered with broken windmills
and snow caps in july
its peaks white with my tomorrow.
there is nothing like this wind
that will soon ******* away soon,
into a new love.
To a city that enjoys my drunken presence less,
where i might get the urge to run again,
but inevitably disappear into a collective disaster,
and into men who have fewer things to love with their eyes.

all these symphonic shifts in my pulse
as the universe chuckles
at my attempt
to be a part
of
anything
at
all.

lucerne, your hot smoke hues will
soon be missed once again
as my blood spikes with every word.

in between every thought,
a new poem shuffles out from
my finger bones
and i don't know how to ease
the restless movement
in that pseudo-extravagant light
that starts out in my hands and
works its way down my back.

the red stained wood panels
that dress the four walls
around me in permanence - - -
torturing my restless pursuit to run
in any direction
towards some freedom
from
a
        m  i  n  d
                           oh
                                   my,
oh
my,
it's
all
really
happening
even
before
the
damage
is
done.

seeping in through the sidewalk cracks
hot water burns my hand
and this paper is yellowing by shadow light.
black tea slips down my throat
and a bug is stuck in the honey puddle i leave
behind.

the lights are ugly,
but i'm thinking about Pittsburgh
rolling around over hills and
housing a past lover,
always teeming with the blues
if you listen to the right places.

trapped in capital Nowhere, Ohio,
i miss the city that birthed me
and i'm never going back
to the arms of those
who have held me before,
and i dearly hope
i forget about writing this.

He sleeps like the continents drift
In some wholesome solitude.

I’m watching the shadows grow
Quieter
And I can’t sleep next to someone
Who can’t feel the air pollution
Inside every unconscious breath.
It’s you
It’s you
It’s you
It’s all me.

wait —
saturating under
less-than-flattering
fluorescence.
something good will
come.

all these sad girls
with naked eyes
and mine, red.
hands full of
a messy mind
and more of
the same shade of
red.

laying down on the ground
in that diner
off the one street
i’m always walking around on,
putting poison in my own
coffee,
tying knots in my hair
and crying about the tomorrows.
and all of those yesterdays
yeah.
i don’t know.

athens is a dizzying place
and here i am
trying to increase the distance
between me
and here, and now.
starting with that boy
who told me
that i was too frightening
to understand— cause
i guess i’m more
and less
than i wanted to be.

or the place i live
falling in on me
while i sleep,
the sad girls with
their naked eyes
and drug addictions.
all of these things
sickening me
through the pasty
walls
i’m between
trying to hide some place
that feels safe
while my father
dies in a state
that is not this state
my mothers
paper hands
on his forehead.
her favorite color;
red.

4 am and i are closer
than ever before.
truthfully though,
i’m tired
of these
heavy boots.
i wear sadness like
lace
but
i’m addicted to
fast paced, blood rush,
and melted eyes
in the summer time.
the details feel like
poison
and i'm made of things
much less than skin and
bone.


searching for beauty in places
that don't exist, so
i’m alone on this nowhere road
kidding myself with every step.
ohio looks like **** in the winter.

the cold painted white over
my hot breath
in the middle of the day
might be drunk
or even on fire.
i don’t notice much anymore.