unflappable shards
of broken glass
tinted red with blood
in your feet.
you pick and pick and
make it worse
it hurts to walk but you say
**** it
and pull on your socks,
tie on your shoes,
and go about your business.
eventually the pain starts to subside
as you forget about it.
how did it even happen?
you try to remember,
something about being drunk
and broken bottles.
whatever.
you get home, tired,
ready to go to sleep.
you're afraid to take your shoes off,
see what kind of a torn up mess your feet are
so you leave them on and hop into bed.
your sleep is light; you keep waking up.
these terrible nightmares about teeth falling out
and other *******. it's a real pain in the ***
but
you finally get to sleep an hour before you have to go in to work.
the alarm rings and groggily you start to stand up
but your legs give way and you fall.
you crawl over to the light switch and flip it
your bed is soaked with blood.
it's smeared all over your hands and legs and face
you cut the laces with a pair of scissors
and slowly pull them off, it hurts a lot.
your socks are black and crusty, holes cut through them,
you pull those off too.
...
your feet are fine. there's nothing wrong with them.
you look at your bed. the blood is gone.
did you imagine the whole thing?
you stand up and go to the kitchen. put some eggs on to boil.
you look at the clock. you were supposed to be at work
minutes ago.
you grab a beer, open it,
slowly eat the eggs.
its been another half hour. your boss is gonna be ******.
you pick up the phone and dial that number
you've dial tons of times.
your boss answers.
hey, dale, (or whatever the **** his name is)
you say
what the hell! he says
you were supposed to be here an hour early! you said you were coming in but you're *******--
you dont let him finish
hey, dale, (or whatever the **** his name is)
i quit. go **** your fat hedgehog of a wife you pimply *******.
and you slam the receiver down.
you drink the last bit of your beer and look around.
today's gonna be a good day.

A friend once told me
"You can be arrested
And charged
As a *** offender for peeing
Outside,"
She said this as I strolled around the corner of the building
To ignite a fiery torrent of *****
Into the cold air.
I've done it probably 200 times since then
Give or take a few dozen
And I've never felt any less human.
You see, even though
They tell you
That what you're doing is wrong it
May not be so.
Though often they're right.
What do I know?
I'm just an alcoholic.

i live in a waking hell
you wake up, and eat some toast
while the cigarette butts pile up
while the beer cans pile up
i live in a waking hell
drive to work,
stuck in a traffic jam
staring off into the bright blue sky,
cloud drift like your gasping breaths
into the cold night air
a child plays
some friends talk
you go to sleep
and awake from a dreamless slumber
the right combination of words
the right ****** expressions
the right body language
to make everything okay.
you sleep
you breathe
you dream, eat, smoke, drink, ****, fight, yell
and do it again.
never escaping
always pinned down
from day
to
day
the cycle continues. never broken
except momentarily.
the minutes and hours blend into years
what happened yesterday could've happened
two weeks ago,
you're never quite sure.
i live in a waking hell
with no escape
but to pass the time by
idly waiting
for release

"you sack of crap,"
i spit, broken cigarette clamped between
my lips.
speeding by the rIver at maybe
or 60
street lamps whipping
by like faeries.
i'm drunk
we're all drunk
beer cans in the glovebox,
on the seats under us,
filling the car up to our ears,
filling the trunk,
i swerve and suddenly i'm home.
i clamber up stairs,
throw the door open
collapse on my bed
and pass out.
and that's when i dream
these visions come to me
of grinding teeth, flames, screaming
there's a beautiful woman, completely naked
but instead of human legs she's got horse's legs
"what the ****,"
i say to here,
"let's get goin"
and she says
"you'd take any woman that could fog a glass, wouldn't you?"and i say
"no, just ones with horse legs"
and then i wake up. it's morning now.
i feel sick, hungry, hungover, tired,
and forget all about the ominous dream for the time being.
i put some eggs to boil
i go outside and have a cigarette
and while i'm sitting there i remember that night
there was a bunch of people, and drinking
speeding through space time,
what strangeness this all is.
all humans,
some of us drink to forget
but
i drink to remember.
it's metaphysical, it's important,
more important than
money or what the **** ever.
i go back inside
i run cold water, peel the eggs,
it's difficult, the shell keeps pulling off
chunks of egg with it. i get frustrated and
spit
"sack of crap,"
and take a bite of the egg.
mouth full of shell shards, cutting my gums,
the egg wasn't fully cooked. i pour mustard and
paprika on it anyway and eat it.
i get the sense that my life is a metaphor but
instead of thinking about it i go get drunk.

someday,
after the bombs drop.
someday,
after the plagues wipe us out
someday,
after the leaders are gone.
someday,
after the whitehouse burns.
someday,
after the last shopping mall is abandoned.
the last cop dead, the last priest crucified, the last shots fired
the last person released from prison
the ground is scorched,
mephitic yellow clouds more beautiful than anything imaginable
block out the sun's rays,
casting a green glow on the earth's scorched crust.
torrential winds wipe any plant life from the surface
people still, somehow survive.
they fight on, steeling their hearts
against the pain they knew
hate evaporated.
they harvest mushrooms and algae
in caves,
catching the occasional
creature, stranger
than what we know these days
an alien landscape
on our collective home.
these people
they love
they live
they fight
they work together, their hearts swollen to bursting
sometimes the clouds migrate
and for a few moments they catch a glimpse
of a sky
infinite, old,
and an unbearable thought creeps into their heads
what would i do without you?
my friends?
my love?
i'm home.

i should stay drunk, all
of the time
life and
blue rage
through the bottle,
empty my guts,
spill my mind
through shaved truths.
i'll grind you up
and **** the marrow
out of your bones.
i should stay drunk, all
of the time.
i find peace
double ******* 12 point
until the moment,
in which our lives collide
drinking
until the pain subsides
and for a moment
i forgot
and the hole is filled

contained within
a **** stained, blood
spattered, beaten tome
shades under trees,
thriving in agony
life struts about
like a *****
dressed in thick linen,
drab
with drapes of irony.
though you may look
and never touch,
sanctity
slips through thy fingers,
as sand
tall castles which mean nothing
jutting from spaces between understanding
just out of sight,
unbending
yet bending to the will,
a drum carries the dancers on
though they understand not
to what end,
that never comes.
fate which
fires blades of glass
words which cut
more than any knife
and yet as the beat
of another heart does carry
me further,
i dance, not knowing
where it ends.