so much depends
upon

the wet air and
rain

that made the wheelbarrow
rust

and chickens
*****

My home is not a product
My room is not for sale
My stove is not a bakery
Nor my yard a barbecue
My country is invaded
These strangers in a strange land
Their horses stomp their hooves
As if they own the stables
Their prostitutes stomp
Their heels and ****
In the bed I make each morning
I continue ghosting on the porch
The sun is not my friend
Nor my enemy
He is a battle over my home

A tear is shed
For those who are blind to the beauty of this world
Who can only feast on sarcasm, writhing in irony
        *It soon evaporates.
Pictures of a future dressed in ribbons and lace, cast off and burned
Pictures of the future carrying disdainful dystopia, infamous for invalids
Hung to admire in sublime distaste by those that seek knowledge
And see the repetitious antiquities of time that come to pass
        But others care not for plans and the imminent
Those that keep to the light of the gas
And carry the past to the present
Hoping for trends to try again, reliving what they had never lived
Laconic and loquacious in emotions and words
Against the gossip, but paradoxically
Pushing for the creation of their “ritualistic social Golgotha”.
Those who abuse the glory of their munificent, malicious mentality
Pathetically unable to procure authentic happiness
       A tear is shed.
Inside the recesses of the soul where emotions dare not dwell.
       It too evaporates.
Trapped in fear and the “cliched harlequin speech of suicide”
Begging for the masses to cast them out and find each other
       A tear is shed.
Never seen but felt as it evaporates.
Felt by those who envelop themselves inside themselves
Those who plagiarize their sick self-conscious souls
Those who bring about the very misfortune they strive to devour
Those who are effortlessly envied as they exploit their habitual recreations
       By those who wouldn’t dream of falsified euphoria
Those who bastardise and deface the name of creative individualism
As waters of the soul are purged and discarded
       They are felt by those
And are quickly washed away in doubt and regret
Keeping to the light of the gas, dangerous and warm

sister sinister
mister sinister
sinning through the day
no work and all play
living today, leaving behind
a trail of breadcrumbs too close to mine
the birds pick and choose and I am left a loser
thanks to sinister games and pleasure
the crumbs are gluten-free, but the bread devours me
I am baked, no candied apple tree, not if no one waters it
retracing my crumbs is impossible when birds are pick-and-choosers
better to use inedible yarn perhaps
then getting lost in a labyrinth of hopes that trap me
would be fine if I could find a fine line to walk
but I would only trip as the bull feasts and talks with it’s mouth full
if only I did my research, I could teach a preacher
to ****** a bull and bind him, burn his trail of crumbs behind him
Even then my crumbs would turn to ember
My next loaf won’t finish baking until September.

I accidently bumped
My hand against yours
You pulled away discreetly. It
must have been my fault

My condolences on
your sexuality

Happy day Maddie Fay
Life is great Maddie Fay
‘Go away Maddie Fay’
Said no one, ever.

Are you gray, Maddie Fay?
You don’t say, Maddie Fay..
Maybe play, Maddie Fay.
Life is good, Maddie Fay.

Are you gay, Maddie Fay
Like they’d say, Maddie Fay
In old days, Maddie Fay?
Life is good Maddie Fay.

Don’t mistake Maddie Fay
For a blank Maddie Fay
Just a baked Maddie Fay.
Life is good, Maddie Fay.

You can have one smack
but don’t smack my ***
my ***** are too big
go sit your own *****
who’ll blow you for ****
and you can smack her ****
Don’t come to me to slap a cheek
I’ll turn the other cheek cuz I’m not that weak
Any day of the week you wanna kiss my ***
go right ahead, but don’t give me head
**** up all you want but don’t **** in my bed.

Don’t put off til tomorrow what you can do today
Its always work work work and no more play
working hard or hardly working
well trust me no one’s really working
they would much rather be jerking off
the some hot ***** buxom blonde
they found while surfing
the (alternative to working) world wide web
but that won’t change the ebb and flow
it’s nothing but ******* stop and go
a shitstorm of ‘hurry up and wait’
that makes us indecisive babies
because specialization creates dependence
what happened to the renaissance men on our planet?
a man can only do so much
and woman only gives her touch
what? so there’s no more time in life to learn
and I’ll just have to wait my turn?
what about potential? I’m ready to be educated
there’s more to life than wasting time getting wasted
and self-fornicated
let me tell you how to do your job
you’re in my way, I won’t be robbed
of any chance I have to be the best, I wanna impress
but mere population overflow represses my need to show
show you how I can run this show
all by myself, I know,
I sound like an *******, we could all be fantastic
if we weren’t so fanatic just cuz we don’t fill a quota
that determines our determination
when we fill out simple-minded worksheets or switch stations
that’s messed up
we might as well give up and become chronic masterbaturs

"Just,
Um,
Like,
I don't know,
******* filler ******* filler"

"Um, Oh! I saw a cloud today.
Maybe it will rain. Maybe not, okay.
I think it snowed a bit yesterday."

"Gosh, school literally *****, doesn't it?"
School is easy, you're just being a *****

"Food is, like, the best idea I've ever heard"
Yes, something in my mouth for when I can't find words.

"What kind of dog is that?"
Who gives a ****, it's cute.
I just can't think of a reason to talk to you

****, is there any more to say?
"I literally had no idea you were gay"
That's nice. Is it my turn to talk again?
**** that, I've used up all my conversation.

Day one,
Thought I took it easy, playing it safe
the brownie tasted like moldy cake
half for him, half for me
thought maybe it was the key
to the heart I’m pulling for
he opened up, unlike his pores
Laughing all confused and hungry (called me but love, or mere sweet Henry)
I feel fine and then it hit
(more like slapped) then I was in it
The dock feels heavy and I feel weightless
finally understood why I was so impatient

Next sun,
no more tastes buds
***** in my soul (and then some)
(this continued for hours into
discontinued power over
tactile showers)
no more feeling what I thought was felt
but no more felt a coward
third day, I wouldn't budge

Day break, I think Thursday
Still feeling mighty thirsty
Finally got food in me
on many trips to Wendy's
Somehow I made ends meet
Wonder if it lasts forever
like the freaks on TV

Fifth day started sober
but I knew it wasn't over
Sober states you're back to used-to-be
(still couldn't feel a *****)

It all just ran together
solid hours mixed
irritated as ever
through four, five, and six

now all i see are frozen moments
swirling voices swimming in it
blacked out jokes or any motion
surprise pictures
omitted minutes

****** mind
stranger-friends
Not sure what to say to them
Don’t **** up
Mind your manners
First time hurts, but it gets better
Friends are warm
love, then peace
say thanks and move on quietly

My edge had finally been bent
Still innocent but not insane
She thought it was spice
I thought it was a card game

I am not a simple student
I am more than just a class
I sit and pull my hair
and pull their sticks out of my ***
I will reap what’s mine to sow
and so say I, I’ll do just that
Getting angry won’t make birds
stop pecking, only if I squawk
like them, then they will only talk

Birds of Paradise are only fat
If I feed them day to day
like some
catastrophe with plenty build-up,
I could have stopped but didn’t
find the time
and only then would I have
seen the beauty of nihilism
and let disaster roam and rain

Polite got boring fast
I was raised
a man of quality
but quality was just a phase

there are men in my closet
there’s one on each hanger
there’s one for each scarf, t-shirt, top hat, and trainer

I’m hoarding them all
they’ve been there awhile now
they grow very small
(the old men can die now)

the young men are new
and the children are old
(they make friends with new children
or so i am told)

there are people around me
and people inside me
they all smile blindly
I don't care who’s smiling

Here is the scholar
Yelling about novels and critics
I say I've read or heard of
     But I never will
Crying over language; he wishes he
Was either stupid or genius

He is smarter than I will ever dream

His accidental denim reflection
Begs the world to see him
As a true artist
As an artist he has spent hours
Days, weeks, months, researching
For the sake of knowing
More than men like me
       Spontaneity saves him from the
       Crushing off-pitch reality he is so
       Scared of. Hiding behind his brain
His literary monologues and witty
Criticism,
            he is so troubled with ***.

A large gold and brass gate hovers
A foot above the gravel
As I wonder how much it cost
I drive down it's path in awe
Of the Christian reverence of
The castle.

I stumble through the immaculate foyer
Embarrassed at the depth of my jaw
Only then realizing I was staring

The stairway to materialistic Heaven
Has so many steps,
      a step for every
      Wish that I could wake up and
      forget my dream
At the top of the mountain is a child's waiting room as she waits to age
Beyond her lobby is a hungry ocean and gossip

As the water pressure builds, we
Lose conscious thought and
Delirium takes hold, with only enough
Sanity left to order Chinese food

Cold wind in my face
Cold hair on my head
Cold metal on my face
Cold voices and music and conversation
Burning cigarette smoke