I have found a reason to
Spite the freckles on his back
Like china speckled with mud
And I despise the way his
Eyes bore into me
Like an earthworm in loam
digging.
There’s nothing to find here.
His small mouth has a poignant humidity as
It makes its best attempt to consume me
Leaving slug-like trails in its wake
of devour
across my brittle shell.
I sling an arm across my eyes lazily
So I don’t have to see his hunger
But still smell his desperation
he pounds into me like
his sour *** will prove to me something.
His fingernails dig into my shoulders
And he’s trying to pull me inside of himself.
I cannot occupy you.
It is the only way he thinks
He can make me his
But I belong to nobody.
I endure encounters like
I endure watching clouds roll by
Softly on my back with no utterance.
You cannot rule me with your passion
Your wanting kisses and timid bites
Leave your mouth bitter
And alone.

you are the ripple of a stream
you are a passing-by dream
you are the hum in my throat,
you are an after-**** smoke
you are the sweat in my bed
you are the noise in my head
you are the letters i write
you are the receding night
you are the smell of cologne
you are a king been dethroned.

somebody told me this kind of love
was alright.
it's just not the kind you make.
why burn cities down
when you can warm your hearth?
the winds of adventure gust
in the sails of a sinking ship
and do i pray for god to stop
or for a life raft
or do i drown either way?

blocks of wood that ought to be
bird houses
and cards that ought to be
games
and hands that ought to write
and a heart that ought to love
and a brain that ought to work.
suffocated by half-baked ideas
and canceled plans
and smothered by
dreamless sleep and unfinished projects.
defunct and derelict
the artists grip
slips off the chisel
and nothing looks like the blueprint.
i spent prestige like coins
on a half moment's respite
and a half moment turned to an hour
and an hour turned to two years
cowering;
i am cowering in my own shadow
of what i thought i was
though i know not it's shape.
i don't deserve to be capitalized.
fluidity longs to take shape
but slouches in the mold
a failed and brittle thing.
my neck is bolted on as
i cannot look forward or back.
my respite is over
yet my palms are empty
and my fingers are idle still.
i can only manage to wave.
adieu, my friends,
adieu.

The precipice of tense-held breaths
gives way to heated sighs and heaving chests
And long before dawn does break
the evening lingers, long in wait
A compass leads us, waterlogged
through obscure forest and cold damp fog
The needle spins with absurd grace
to each wobbling step and choice of fate
Every direction is pointed wrong
When you know the rhythm, heard the song.
And why use it on paths trodden well?
Seeking baubles and jewels and bridal veils.
Walking in circles, for hours it seems
over crushed velvet and heated dreams
The determination of a scholar, wild
Wasted on the ambitions of willful child
The crystal ball need not be
a window to the future foreseen
For one can simply turn around
to see the future, all lain out.

I quiver behind
a benzo escutcheon.
Sick of a delicate nature
and riddled with
gentle constitution.
I laugh at the cat that scatters
'til I see it's me.
I numb loud doubts
to soft murmurs
and partake in the marketing scheme
of the terminally unhappy
in grimy hollers of the ******.
Our awareness for sale
seeking happy days at happy hours.
Brown glass cuts my lip
and teeth
as I suckle like a newborn babe
at a maternal **** so I grow
big and strong and brave.
I hope it makes you as uncomfortable
as it makes me.
I chew my pen like a cigarette filter
and wonder which of my emotions
I will exploit for art today.
There are so many words for fear,
and how can I show you something
when I don't know anything
at all.