there was a man,
he had no plans,
he collected cans.

he had a fear of time,
said that clocks would lie,
and lived inside his mind.

all of the neighbor kids
would fashion fibs
about how he lived.

they said, "he's actually rich!"
"his life is a cinch!"
"he doesn't need to live like this!"
"he chose to live like this."

one of his days
it went astray
to an opposite state.

six feet he lay
underneath a grave,
an unmarked grave.

all of the neighbor kids,
they're kicking cans,
a forgotten man.

I.

you're cracking me up.
you are not cracking me up;
you have caulked my cracks.

II.

countries like play dough:
controlled by the hands that mold,
not mountains that fold.

III.

to those that marry,
happy anniversary!
enjoy your divorce.

IV.

then i had a dream
that my teeth were falling out,
how ******* cliche.

to grow
in a town with only one
road

there are two ways in
but no way out

now i'm lost
in the hills
of my mouth

so i fill up my cup
and flood them all
out

for now

we wouldn't last
in the past
*** it's gone

we're wrapped up
in the now
and we don't
know how

sing!
let it ring!
*** you can!

you have hands
so cover up your eyes
and learn how to fly
high
in your mind

oh we're stuck in a dream
of our own,
where the stars meet their end
to live again
as our skin

in the way that a vine
doesn't mind its climb
upward on some brick wall,

this familiar soul is lonely
in these new halls.

i'm staring at the ceiling:

nothing but a hideously gray shape,
but it's forming into something.

i am a table with three legs
i am a monster with no fangs
i am a rainbow of blackness

would you like to join me
on the rooftop
to look up at the
madness?

you can find a seat
up on my shoulders
to get a little
closer.

there's something more than a hideously gray shape,
and it's found its way to my mind.

i am a table with three legs
i am a monster with no fangs
i am a rainbow of blackness

there was a bus ride for albert
when he got lost in a
lightbeam,

and an apple for newton
when he got caught in the
fabric.

where is mine?
where will i find mine?

there was a cave for muhammad
when he discovered the
oneness,

and a mind for the buddha
when he found something
bigger.

where is mine?
where will I find mine?

my laundry's on the counter
your hands are like warm water
underneath your borrowed sheets
holding on to something sweet.

it's impossible to see
where all of this is going
but for now we're underneath
your lovely borrowed sheets.

after the dream
provokes consciousness,
whether by false death
or a surreal sense of awareness,

we again realize how sick
we are of being vertical.

How we long for endless
horizontal pleasures
wrapped in blue sheets

and that's when i realized
that your lenses show me nothing
that's behind those eyes.

Why try, if i'm stuck
within this body
all the time?

The sun is staring
at the snow today

The flakes holding on
as if to say

That they're frightened
by the journey back
to the sky.

*** we all forget
what it's like
to be there.

The house burned down
but the floor remains

The vines and the grass
will take it within


Back to the place
where it began.

*** we all start out
with both these hands

a part of this land.

The ocean holds our thoughts
between its waves

The sand reminds us
that we will change.

*** we are but a grain
to the greater land

But that tide will pull us in
so to understand

The beauty

Of you and me.

An unfamiliar bug
finds its way to my page

It settles between the words
"committed" and "published"
but then contemplates to the right
of "suicide"

Gets its footing above
"precious" and,
tiny wings aflutter,
takes off.

music is the interpretation
of everything humanity desires:

individuals connected peacefully
in time and space by one,
powerful and inexplicable
something.

just focused on the
orange-filtered
rainy grays.

heading toward the steam,
but just can't get away.

it's not a race.

like voices being mixed
amongst a crowd;
i don't understand them
until i sort them out.

i'll take the train.

but at the end of this horizon
the rails will meet,

where everything is pressed into
the same thing.

but as for now
the in-between
is far from seen.

screaming out the windows
of moving cars,
the breeze will take it nowhere

but look at these stars;

we can see through
the clouds.

trees being bent
by sliding hills
are much too slow
for these human thrills.

drive, just ******* drive!

but at the end of this horizon
the road gets small,

and regrets are made
for all those things
we passed on by.

so from time to time
appreciate the growing green.

the ting-tang!
of the wind against a flagless pole

the scent, the depth, the seasons
of another soul

Like my hand
inside the mirror,
I'm going at this
all wrong.

Looking at the sky
like down a hole;
there's nothing  at the bottom
except my mind.

Sleeping next to walls
just to feel support,
we focus on the silence
'til we fall apart.

Searching for the keys
heading toward the door,
we're pulling out our pockets.

Let's go anywhere.

Falling into cracks
and sorting through
the folds between our bodies
just to find you.

Hidden in the space
that rests between
our two little heads
contemplating.

Oh, Well.
Oh, Hell.