I havent had a good shower
in a week.
or washed my ****-reeking
clothes in
three. the electricity
and gas are shut off.
there's no beer or *** but
I don't think the cats have noticed.
mid June and it's already starting
to push 90.
before long the water will evaporate
right out of your bathtub,
taking you and half the house
with it.
sleep is dreamless, just a quick cut-
to an unwakeful day.
all my time energy and money
spent working a job i dont
give two ***** about
(maybe 0.7 *****)
or helping others.
I haven't gotten a **** in months.
if this is the path to enlightenment
you can take nirvana
and shove it up your ***.

befitting of laurels,
saint of the mountains, usher
of calm winds.
befitting of apocalypse but less than
apocrypha,
stepping between fish, guiding all
to bliss and sleep,
as the one who exist only in
eclipse, pushing tides that sink ships.
basements and quarries quietly mutter your
name, unsure of what comes next,
they who live between life, tombstone
your makes
fleeing your breath
child your touch
unknown your thoughts

this is a poem about happiness.
this is also a poem about how great life is, see? here's a metaphor
comparing nature to the faultless
form of a pedastalized lover,
here's a description of the
effect of changes in air pressure
and localized temperature
fluctuations
on physical matter in a given area.
here's a bland truism that
anybody can relate to.
here's a couple rhyming stanzas
about the ethereal shifting of
connecting threads which
cause all life to dance upon
the cosmic stage like food poisoned marionettes.
here's an ode to the wrinkles of
my ******* and
the bits of fuzz that occasionally
find their home in my *****.
here's a sonette to the drop outs
doing better than me
here's a dirge for the businessman
that hangs himself
and a jubilee for his widow
who earns nothing off his death
because he left his entire estate
to his catamite.
I'm writing a symphony in color,
notes of fermenting wood
dogshit and coffin dust.
the violas swoop and drone
the piccolos trill fast enough
to excise your gastrointestinal system
the barotone sax wheezes
and the timpani drum rumbles
(the flutes sit motionless because
**** flutes)
the pianists fingers are bleeding
hes banging with stumps now
his face contorted in ecstatic glee
as if the face of god has parted
the clouds just to scrape his gums
clean with his dietous ****.
and lo faint is the whisper
which climbs and slithers
between the
false,
bash upon life with both hands.
here is life here is death
let me show your life
let me breathe your wretching
like squandered
like roots in the soil,
paint your everlasting cave drawing
in the face of your kitchen
and dance around a fire
let the embers lick your heels
til pagan viciousness overtakes
your quivering form.
gasp it in

pestilence and
rapture,
two key elements
of
western civilization.
what is the difference
between a moth
and a
butterfly?
coffee stained teeth
catch soft whispers in the dark.
as we sit, surrounded by people,
frankness and penitence,
the priests, cops, postmen,
stockholders, school teachers,
slaughterhouse workers,
dishwashers,
garbage truck drivers,
prostitutes, strippers,
and hobos,
all working towards
what they believe to be the common good.
while we sit
in our chairs, wearing nothing,
clipping our toenails
each fractured fragment a whole.
we aren't alone anymore.

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.

I still feel you
in my heart.
what wrath visited on me,
perhaps I see in your eyes sorrow
the green sea swells with life
the lone seagull cuts
the air,
scanning the waves
which belch and break
on the gray shore.
a fisherman thinks
drowned by the white noise
his rod cast aimlessly
he considers tossing off his
anchor and crashing headlong
into the rocks,
****** underneath
legs shattered as hes dragged
along the bottom,
his thick blood like oil
curls in clouds around him
his lungs burn
he screams and isn't heard
hurt but not forgotten
he drags his sloop ashore,
snaps his rod in half and casts it into
the foam.
fishing makes for terrible metaphors,
he thinks.
the seagull screams in reply.

sauntry and sultry,
a fraudulent check written
in a moment of disclarity.
if you've got a bridge to sell
I'm buying.
I've got stakes on this land,
broken with till,
seeded with pain,
nourished with blood,
razed, salted, travesty, and sown again.
a faulty playpen snaps shut on a toddler,
a man trips over his Pekingese
and puts his hand in his brand new
20% off buy two get one blendtec
brand blender,
showering his mother in law
with shards of wrist bone
and strips of lacerated flesh.
this is my foot.
these are my fingers, broken,
distal, intermediate, and proximal
phalanges.
these are the carpal and metacarpals.
I am a Spartan of a shitshack.
I was trained in the wicked art of
long arduous bowel movements.
squeeze one out for the ones you love.
in some small musty room
in new York city
there is a cocknballs paying $200
to get ****** on
by a wombwalker
and thinking about his ******
Pekingese.
you know its true.
don't try to think too hard about it
or you might lose an eye.

i'm staring at the computer like i
usually do,
not doing anything to it
just sitting there.
staring at it.
depressed
more that depressed, i'm anxious
and nauseous.
i haven't eaten anything in three or
four days
i haven't slept more than two hours a night
for a whole week
i go to work, my job as a sign holder,
and i read a book
or stare off into space
trying to fight my thoughts, attempting
to remain with my mind in a void.
when i'm not at work
i drink water
and i stare at my computer screen.
well, these staring contests can last hours
hours and hours, all day if i'm lucky.
without a thought.
thoughts destroy,
thoughts are evil.
i do not like thinking.
i don't like thinking because i ******
everything up recently,
i won't bore you with the details,
but i can't shake the feeling that i found
a hole in time-space
i slipped through that hole into another
universe
in which my life is ****
in which my friends don't talk to me
in which going to work is the only time
when i can have peace from myself.
it's all completely backwards.
it's a weird universe, though not
that weird.
everything else is normal.
the only
difference
is my unhappiness. but that's a big
difference.
i'm not all too sure how i got here. one
minute i'm drunk
the next minute i'm in this other
dimension. (i've got this
theory that the small
change
is because the universes were so close to
each other,
so physically close (as far as d.d. is
concerned) in fact
that they pushed into each other for a
split second,
imagine a vinn diagram,
and after that small point on the cube that
is our universe,
they intersected and were exactly the same
but just for an instant,
and when these coiled arms of the 11th
dimension moved apart,
i was pulled back into the wrong dimension.
the other matt from this dimension (the one
i'm currently in,
where my life is ****)
got extradited back into the one
I'M originally from
(the one where my life is awesome)
i don't know.
maybe he wished for that to happen.
he wished 'my life ***** so bad, why
can't i trade places with a me from
a d.d.?
and he got his wish,
the ******* *******.)
it's like a dream, lemme tell you, a
nightmare actually.
y'know how in dreams you have this constant
feeling that
nothing is quite right,
but you push that away and
continue with your business?
it's this tiny inkling that "hmm, could
this be a dream?"
but you ignore it and continue catching
those ducks,
trying to catch those ducks,
you don't know why why these ducks are so
important,
but you've gotta get 'em
and you've gotta put 'em in a basket
problem is they keep hopping out of the
basket
and running away,
SO YOU GOTTA KEEP CATCHING 'EM ****.
anyway,
this dream is kind of like that
but actually its a lot different.
in this dream
i'm living a life that *****
i don't know how i got here
and i've got this dread that follows me
that when i get the chance, i'm not going
to be able to stop myself,
i'm just going to die.
it follows me everywhere,
and i know that as soon
as i let my guard
down
i'm gonna jump in front
of a car while at work.
i'm gonna down both bottles of my pills.
i'm gonna take that knife while
i'm making guacamole
and slash my wrists
and run out into the night
and leap into that creek
and i'm going to **** in water
until i drown
bleeding
there in the creek.
that's not all.
i keep losing time.
i'm falling through the
th dimension at an alarming rate,
this has of course been happening
for a long time,
not just after i slipped through
into another universe.
this has been happening my whole life.
one minute i'm doing something
the next minute i'm doing something else
but i get the sense of the time in between
but i don't know what happened for sure.
the jumps started out huge
and continued shrinking,
like some sort of reverse big-bang
is carrying me along,
i've got whole weeks and months
that i don't remember,
whole years in fact,
that seemed to speed by or have sped by.
time jumps, i don't remember
those times, but i know they happened,
and i've got a sense of it,
but i don't know for sure.
anyway, the jumps have shrunk down.
but now they're more obvious,
now that they're smaller.
so i'll be sitting here staring
at the computer
as usual
and suddenly i'll get the
feeling that i just smoked a cigarette
(this one just happened in fact)
i'll think "man, i wanna go smoke,
wait, didn't i just smoke?"
i know i did
but i don't remember it,
it seems like no time has passed.
i check my pack and, sure enough,
there's a cigarette missing.
i go to get a drink of water,
but then i realize i have a
glass of water in my hand.
"when did i get this? just now? what?"
time jumped forward a couple of seconds.
i'm losing time.
i don't like this.
i miss when time jumped by a lot.
the gaps were so big i
didn't even notice them.
"sorry, i don't remember that."
"did you say that?"
"wait, that happened?"
"where are we?"
"what am i doing here?"
"what do you mean i didn't
come into work on tuesday?"
"what do you mean i've
been missing for three weeks?"
"what do you mean i've been
asleep for 34 hours?"
"how did the food i was cooking burn?
i literally just turned it on!"
this is my life.
this has been my life.
this will be my life.
anyway; i mentioned that other matt.
he's exactly the same as me,
except we switched places.
he gets to live in the
dimension i'm originally from,
and i get to live in his ******
******* dimension
where he ruins everything he touches.
the ******* wished for this
so he could have a better life,
the dimensions pushed in on each other...
you remember
me telling you about that right?
so yeah.
i'm going to find a genie, i'm going
to build a dimension hopper,
i'm going to jump through a black hole,
i'm going to run to switzerland
and cause the
hadron collider to have a meltdown
and
i'm going to ride the shockwave back
to my own dimension
and i'm going to go to that other matt
who'll be laughing, sitting on a couch,
and drinking a beer,
thinking about how great his life is now
and i'm going to walk up to him,
he'll know who i am the instant he sees me,
and i'm going to grab him around
the throat with both of my hands
push my fingers into the part of the throat
right below where the lymph nodes are
and i'm going to choke him.
and he's going to see the rage in my eyes
and he's going to pass out from ox-dep.
i'm going to then carry his limp
body to a bathtub
and i'm going to chain him to the bath tub
and i'm going to start hitting
him with a hammer
first in the feet, he'll wake up after
the first blow,
and then in the shins,
and then in the knee caps
and i'm going to work my way up
i'm going to hit him in that spot
in our knees that
hurts so bad we puke when it gets hit
and i'm going to hit him in that
spot we're both
afraid of getting hit in because
it's so ******* creepy
and then i'm going to pound in his ribs
and he's gonna start puking blood because
of the fracture
and them
I'm going to break his collar bones
with the hammer.
and then i'll sit down on the toilet
and just stare at him.
he'll know not to talk, since we're the
same person,
but if he does i'll hit him in the teeth
with the hammer.
then, i'll just watch as he bleeds to
death.
one living matt
one dying matt
the exact same person except one
of us is a ******* *******
and the other is a regular *******.
i will watch him bleed and choke
and puke and cry
and finally die.
and then i'm going to get a hack saw,
cut him to pieces,
put the pieces in separate trash bags
and i'm going to disperse
them across the country.
or maybe i'll just throw them
in the trash
or burn them
it doesn't matter if someone
finds fragments of him
because we have the exact same DNA and
the exact same finger prints
the exact same tongue prints
the exact same palm prints
the exact same hair follicles
we're the same.
so if he dies, whatever. there's an extra.
and that extra is me.
and i will take his place
and in the other dimension,
the other you's
will not say ****.
as i come back into the room,
sit calmly back down,
grab the beer the other me was drinking
and say "sorry,
i had to take care of that doppleganger."
you will not say ****
the these you's (the ones reading this)
will know what happened when
suddenly
i disappear under
magical or paranormal or
simple
strange
circumstances
and you all will not say ****.
just in case i'll leave a note
and it will say
"sorry, had to step out for a bit.
also: **** all of you"

because so help me god,
i will find him
and i will eat him.
fin.

p.s. i feel a bit better now.

it's the smallest voices that scream the loudest
I've never been a fan of the trending hero
or the underground superstar.
slam poets make me sick.
your attitude is a well concocted ploy
to touch indie hearts and
I hate it.
I love the ignored
the militants
the trashman painter,
the gas station attendent that
makes ****** artcore ******
in her boyfriend's garage
the sixteen y.o. with a tape recorders
and a circuitbent casio
howling blood into an old
speakercummicrophone
slash and burn
leave your best work sitting
on a park bench for me
ignore the plight and shove
your fingers down your throat.
I love the broken. the hurt.
the misanthropes the schizoids
**** victims
homeless
suicidal
single mothers
drug addicts
if that fire is in your shattered
legs reflecting the age of
a
billion dead scaffolds
soul of revolution raging
knife in paw
I will fall in love with you
and sigh at the detrious
in your wake.
let me see you naked and crying
my own wounds fester quiet
when everyone else is asleep.
have a drink,
you earned it.

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

you park with the windows
rolled down for a kiss
that doesn't come,
and now you're pressed up
against him with his chin on your shoulder.
painfully hart crane knew
what day it was,
but I'll never look at the
calendar.
its better,
the gulls would just get sick
the old folks in power scooters
cant handle much more than
a jigsaw.
if I were to choose how
I die I'd want it to
be hungover and by the
hands of a silverback.

the odious and onerous qualms
I have to sleep in,
everybody's getting
married because they have nothing
better to do
or they think it'll fix their
brokenness,
I just want a ******* behind
a mall dumpster
I want roadhead going eighty
on the way to louisiana
I'm halfway with bourbon
sweats and the crank
smells virginal like young nun ****.
it's funny in that.
the weeds in sunset rains
raids of storm clouds in
mild December
******* pressed firmly against
the vista panes painted
in some somber hues
and we pant quietly
to listen to the spatter of
rain, ******* slow to the
rhythm of the swaying trees,
you draw a peace sign languidly in the fog from
your breath,
and as you come the storm
breaks
and as I come I pull out and *******
on your ***.
everybody's getting married
and having kids like
the ice caps aren't melting
like the jungles aren't burning
like the rich oil barons
aren't playing hopscotch
on our ****.
the idiots.
I admire smokers,
I won't be around when I'm
that bored

i haven't written anything in months
my blood is dried up and my eyes are rotting
my muse is gone
i bleed beer
i never sleep
the dreams of wicked faces haunt me
terror is most real in broad daylight
as the bodies lie in the streets
as the ichor fills the gutter
as the pungent stench of ten thousand
miserable lives
*****
in the distance

the explorer of mountains dazed
mindless at the first glimpse
of primal space.
viceral worlds, diamond marshes
orbiting decaying stars.
the earth is nothing from here,
crags of tibet even less still.
could it be that
I never truly saw
what lay beyond the horizon?
now.

Thus world is too cold
and painful to be alone in.
its a deep loneliness, something draws
my soul at, chewing me up.
I fear to wonder how the other must feel
Lest I sink down too deep in the dark
And am eaten whole.
This world is too cold
and painful to be alone in.
You need a light to guide your way,
humans weren't meant
to be self reliant.
That's why its a virtue.
Doing things you don't want to do
is considered...
What am I saying?
This world is too cold
and painful to be alone in.
Lost, seeking what can't be found
A ship with broken sail sinking
in a freak storm.
The captain got drunk and caused it
Albatross around his neck
Stuck to his flesh like a trophy
of his misery
The sailors consider hanging him
from the bow
But instead clamor into lifeboats
and leave him to drown.
He waves them off
And in the cloud and steel rain, that lashes against
Their arms and faces stinging,
The first mate turns back and looks
A peel of lightning strikes the
broken mast,
Splinters explode out from the wood,
Shredding the captain, still waving,
Still with that dead albatross
on his neck,
His words ringing through the
din and shouting men.
"With fate we part ways,
Yet in death I'll see ye all to safety.
I failed my crew twice,
And in once
Never again."

american culture is
a sanctimonious gutterfuck

the credentials of superiority complex
include ignorance and bloodthirsty rage
there's people out there
who think they're better than others
honest to god kings
among a sea of pitiful shitstains
i wanna burn it down
i wanna ******* raze the land,
and overthrow the crown
i wanna ****** my boot into
a gutted pile of ******* *****
make an *** of ourselves
instead of an *** of it all

bleeding luck
a triumph in enmity
love and cantankerous
betrothal.
willingness, nobleness
and destitution.
i'm in love but not in love.
i'm in lust but not in lust.
i am confused, i
am drained,
i am wasted
i am feeling unborn
and reborn.
i remember drawing ragged
circles in your flesh.
long flutes of water playing
off our bodies,
pooling on the ground.
a touch a smile a hug a laugh.
but at the same time each
thought is destruction.
where are we?
who are we?
what are we doing?
i can do this,
i care enough about you.
though
to simply be friends
is good enough for me.
don't make bad decisions,
and i'll promise
to do the same.

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.

life is peace like death.
emboldened by spurs we
charge
ever more gloriously
towards destruction.
catch me in
my descent into savagery.
an aching hunger
gnaws
in each of us
mistrusted by evolution.
proven friend to humans;
the accident of nature.
life is peace like death.

the walls of the b ward bleed unseen blood
the gore of the shattered minds of
those who dwell within.
if 'dwell' can be used in such a way.
no life exists here.
nothing resembling
who we once were.

time does not flow
forward for me now,
its movement is crooked,
like a confused river flowing north.
I don't ask questions anymore.
I don't steer this ship towards my
own destiny.
I keep my head down and listen.
and continue working
smiling in pain.
yes yes this is good.
this is great.
I don't have the nerve to ask for more.
what you do is more than
I could ask for.
yes yes
see you later.
nightmares rend my sleeping mind
I awaken soaking through sheets
the room is freezing.
I blink and hope the waking
amnesia doesn't disappate before I can crash again

a serpent boiling in a tin can
threads of fate
twined in a robe,
empathy
never coming
strange places
to find
a cure for
a disease
like a dog, hell
waits at the door
for you to come.
sweat drenched, clinging to sheets
stinging like an acid
you shrink away from the light
edged ever closer
like your feet
to the earth
unknown, but feeling,
i sit and wonder
what dreams do end
this sweet death?

gentrified entanglement
a week dismembered,
full of craven gullibility
bags of flesh mouthing
silent words
in the hollow earth
stained red with leaking passion.
as an oil spill tucked neatly
away in the purest parts of the sea,
swelling and gathering speed
to blacken the earth.
angels dance with a cadence of
indeterminate in origin,
lacking in self preservation
a hundred thousand pretty words
wrought of iron,
worn down by the ebb of time,
which drives all
towards infinity.
there are things in this world
which we choose to believe
because the alternative
is all to terrible to abide.

its great
I work 6 days 35 hours a week
and earn minimum wage
tips I get from taking people
soggy sandwiches
go directly into cigarettes and gas.
Im on food stamps
I donate plasma
just to make ends meet
and I still can't afford to
get the water turned on.
the only time I eat is
when I get half priced garbage
from work
or buy stale loaves of forgotten
bread for 50¢
I have health insurance
but I don't pay for it.
I don't pay my phone bill either
no internet,
no computer,
no heat.
I have electricity.
the rich drain us of resources.
they need US, we don't need THEM.
they say 'I'm here because.I worked.hard,'
imply I don't work hard.
implying nurses in hospitals don't work
hard scrubbing **** out of old peoples
diapers,
implying immigrant construction workers
don't break their backs working for half
of what I get
making a.descent living for their family.
the rich are a product of privilege
sure you might work hard,
but what did your parents do?
let me guess.
they were business owners
or lawyers
you went to private school
had braces
played football
went to the doctor whn you.were.sick
taught things
were sent to college
yes.
hours so much better than me
because you work hard.
while I'm doing your *****
and starving because of you.

gritting teeth,
smiling through the hate and pain
thirst quenching rain like death
bleeding gums
sewn to dead flesh
my mind like a opossum on the side of the road
each fetter breaks
as a new one's bound
timely sickness dancing on the wind's breath
there's no escape,
no escape,
no escape
from the poison fumes
that gather in my house
silent, building pressure
til it leaks through the cracks in the walls
and kills us in our sleep

a store near my house
has 75c energy drinks,
if I cant find adderall
I'll get geeked on seashells.
if I cant get god ill
get blown by buddha.
if I cant get the forest
I'll settle on some pure
white orange ****
it crawls makes steams
dreams shakes eats
sees sights you could
never reproduce
in the books they say it's
the return,
I brace myself on
the table to come hard

I threw the backpack down
shattering the 13$ jug of wine
I lifted it and saw all my precious lifeblood
oozing out the bottom.
pouting down
two blocks like a child before
pouring the clot of broken
glass is the street.
bad relationship.
put my fist into a metal
sign, ripping up my arm
dropped my wallet losing
100$ to the gods of failure,
dropped a bag of beer causing
one to rupture and spray all over the apartment.
when I find a piano I clang
on the keys til everybody has
a migraine, myself included.
it's a light form of
sadomasochism.
I do the same thing with
women,
and they prove to be better
players.
slipping around in sheets
with somebody else
a sultry look on your
face like a saxophone solo.
light a cigarette and immediately
break it
drop my new phone in a cup
of wine
rip somebody's door of its
hinges.
meditation is foreplay of life
you gotta lick the ****
be the last one with
your shirt off
last one to the finish line
the last to fall asleep
the first to wake on
the 76th hangover this year
so far
so long
too bad
who cares
eat my ***** while I
shove a ******* in my ***
like the queen of France on
a ******.
you can lead a camel to
water but the **** thing
still can't play an
oboe for ****.
satan sold me a *** music
box
so if you see him tell
him I got pictures his wife
******* my **** in tumblr

effervescent chaos; sizzling
in the blackest reaches of the untapped
psyche. dreamscapes woven from
the fabric of ten quadrillion crystalline spiders
working in perfect harmony
to construct a thin coating of sound
upon all of creation.
you run your hand along a stone monolith
that looms into the sky, reaching
on and on longer
and higher than the eye can
perceive; off to stroke
the face of god.
a fine strand of hair on a blastula of
atomic pulp.
the hills around you, bathed in silvery
strands not unlike silk wisps wafting
the smell of baby powder into the
air, stretch off for miles,
slowly undulating away to meet an unseen
ocean of oily water.
the sound of a knife being dragged
across the strings of
a piano emanates from the monolith.
you gaze up into the reflective,
glistening clouds.
you are alone in this.

sometimes I forget to breathe
when I think of her,
perhaps because the long unused
parts of my guts heart head
have forgotten what to do with
these sensations.
sitting, laughing quietly at ourselves,
at the absurd yet comfortable silence
that fills the air
as we, stunned, curious,
satisfy in simply breathing
the same air.
I stare at the tobacco stains
on my fingers
and imagine your kind, honest
smile in the dark.
i call myself a poet,
but the words shrink from my grasp
and settle somewhere, kindling.

the soil is baked hard and crusty,
I dig in my toes but barely manage
to scrape it.  a dry wind
like hot breath scours,
soaking into every fingerprint formed
in the landscape.
I stand on a rock face some hundred feet
above it, the arrid plain featureless
allowing the eye to see endlessly
til the edge of the planet rolls off
into the horizon. the sky
like a sentinal with stone clouds
moving quickly, pounding their way
along the glittering dome.
for a moment one obscures the
sun and I am bathed in
shadows, the edges of which
like torn paper against
a bare lightbulb: blinding.
I scream and my voice is absorbed
by the dirt and rocks and smal
tufts of wild grass which crinkle
dry: the sound is hollow and
seems to burst from somewhere
that isnt me.
here ambition is meaningless
and humanity is dead ear
and I am nothing and
so are you.

The universe
Plays a sick game with
Its occupants.
Dumping salubrious suffering
In droves
And igniting climactic pleasures
In the same breath.
Through death we are
Reborn
In life how we
Decay.
The interweaved oblivion
Of our united souls
dwells fierce.
with a touch we are destroyed.
In losing friends one makes
Them too.
Even if its just yourself.
your horrible worthless
Digested detestable selves
Always there for me.
Livid diatribes.
Loveins and loveless.
That sinking feeling
when you're born.
What a life its been.
there are those in your
World
That would do great things for you.
People are the blood in
the universe
It doesn't torture us
It bleeds its crazed idiot blood
When we bleed.
it merely takes solace in the fact that
Fear and courage are not so different.
It relies on the fact that
You
Exist.
Peace, my brothers,
I live a life of losing friends
I do this with tenacity.
Whats my score?

i save bugs, when i see them in danger.
i return spiders to their webs,
i scoop up drowning pillbugs
i take ladybugs to flowers that look
particularly infested with aphids.
it gives you a good a feeling to
act as a benevolent god
on those who have no choice
but to succumb to your immense power.
unlike the real god,
which may or may not exist
(i bank on no)
who,
no matter how you slice it,
is pretty much just an *******.

life is peace like death.
emboldened by spurs we
charge
ever more gloriously
towards destruction.
catch me in
my descent into savagery.
an aching hunger
gnaws
in each of us
mistrusted by evolution.
proven friend to humans;
the accident of nature.
life is peace like death.

No breath without a shudder,
No thought with my guts stirring like the
brew of an ancient witch.
I feel like I'm dying
Slowly but surely,
Withering away without you.
I had found something that gave me reason
And without this reason my body has little
patience for me
My mind has resumed its onslaught
No matter what I do
there's a constant thrumming
That floods from my shot nerves, flows
through my skin,
Echoes in my lungs
forming into a mad cacophony in My skull.
Tense,
heart lazily pumps blood like that of a
man painfully dying
My eyes are filled with a haze,
seemingly at only half capacity
I am dead without that which gave me life
I either without that which gave me hope
The world is no longer a good place.
It is rather
A cracked, evil wasteland of twisted metal
And concrete,
spires raking deep cuts in the sky
Eviscerated, the ground belches poisonous
gas,
Vomits blistering magma
The rippling heat is enough to
**** a man, but in my sorroi am deathless
Tortured in the flames of a corrupted earth.
That is to say, I have reluctantly returned
to the homeplanet upon which I was born
From which I was rescued
Returnee to the desolate
To die in the desolate
A wretched actor
rather than a free man
A heinous villain instead of the hero
I am the beast of darkness that lives on
the screaming minds of reaved souls
Not
Peace
Not
love
Only agony my constant companion
They tell me to live, the voices,
to come with them into the light
Heathen gods, mad swirling chaos.
I am in hell

time,
like raindrops
bleating against the woodwork outside.
pattering against the windows.
i watch helplessly as each drop
hits
and bounces.
i work my way slowly
through
a case of beer
and a few packs of cigarettes
smoking, drinking
and sitting.
minutes are hours
i wait
for someone to come.
i begin to drift,
not into sleep,
but into a fog
a haze, the fourth dimension.
helpless
i see my life
happy moments,
sad ones, painful ones,
over and over, they repeat
in my head, skipping about
dancing playfully.
"Why do you do this to me?" i ask,
cigarette ash drifting into my lap.
there is no response.
the rain continues to patter
and i'm almost out of beer.
i drink, i wait
as time
slips away.

wet earth
curled between small white Toes.
puddles of light
dance between
dead leaves.
spiders
and centipedes
crawl out of your ears
and into mine.
like a spider web
between dimensions
coating
in
a thick layer,
solitude,
and loneliness
are the
palate of
a friendly mind.

AT 20,000 FEET
such as it
reciprocates
our biological rights demands.
our genetic material reciprocate magnetism.and your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device
how couldn't i?
at 20,000 feet
drunk as ****,
clinging to a chair,
clinging to each other,
clinging to the air,
this plane is quite obviously crashing,
but betwixt flames,
and screams,
shouts
of the crew
as we
all know
we
are
to
die, through
the shouts of all this
through every waking moment
through the snow
and the rain
through death
through pain
and ****
i would climb through sewers
i would swim through a lake of radiation
i would overturn every stone in chernobyl
and never
would i find.
ten whiskeys deep
and i think
"oh ****,
what am i getting myself into?"
and then
"really,
i don't even give a ****"
and then
"christ,
i need a cigarrette"
and then,
at the end of the day
all that really matters
is whether or not
you
svghjkgtorijhbnjkcvf

also known as a lesson in anatomy 2:
this is my heart,
it is both a metaphorical
representation of an oversimplified
concept of a highly intricate
detail
and
a thick ball of senew
which throbs to pump
blood through my veins
distributing oxygen and nutrients
to the backwater parts of
the clusterfuck known as my body.
sometimes I like to take it out and
look at it,
turn it around in my hand for a bit
before pitting it back.
sometimes I can't remember how the
arteries fit
so I just jam them in there
and its a real mess.
the thing is molding a little on
one side and kind of wrinkly.
think of an orange that's been hiding under a cabinet for too long.
they say when I person burns to death
the last part of them to turn to ash
is the heart, since its
so tough, the thing takes forever,
just sitting there in the fire.
I don't think that's true.
I think its the first thing to burn.

sick and ruinous are the acts of your past.
you will always lose.
you will always be trampled underfoot.
the moment you think everything is grand
is when it will collapse
and you will be crushed to death under the weight.
always be paranoid,
never speak in anger.
every moment you are writing your own ****** up future.

"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.

ready when the pain subsides
drunk on seagrass and
stains imedded in the
contours of your brain:
50% gelatin 50% bacteria
paper and pen or clear glass
to cast words which flow
faster than matter can keep
up-the buffalo careening mad
over the cliff to oblivion
of lost thread
let sink your mistakes
open up your chest
and let green rain drown you
whole
only the stop of-you-can
display that inner jewel,
and your inner jewel shines
ever so bright
that with it, if you let it,
will guide your way

Believe it or not
I actually feel worse now
Than I did before I got taken to
The b ward.
I came out feeling like
A new man, full of hope and love
Now I'm more depressed than I ever
Have been.
That edge seems do much closer
Now that I know where
it
Is.
Emotional and physical
pain are the same.
I hate it and I don't
know what to do
I don't want to do anything
I don't want to be.
I think it has
Something to do
with the medicine
They prescribed me,
But
It doesn't matter.
Nothing does.

finding streets with names standing bare back against the wind,
trees a spirit of the times step look
;;can fingers//twisted//ebbed//
gross indecencies ab.ate masterful pieces, works,, looks unlike piercing glances
trancing, truncating Euripides a species of deer unlike peace
so, canned fingers
happ
ens
a shame when you consider.
Does this make Sense to you?

"reperio vicus per nomen superstes patesco tergum obviam ventus ,
to meet with village very name survivor of another's death to be laid open back on the way wind,"
no?
good.

ding
light shreds you,
rending you apart
burning you to ashes
until just your dingy, second-hand
soul is left.
that soul is your candor,
it is what people spit on,
it is the thing they want to ****
it is thing you try to ****
filled with grief each time
you are stuck deciding whether
to dust it off, smile and say
"there's a good chap,
lets put another mark on the wall
and have a drink."
or crush it under foot and
forget you ever had it.
it is your love
your solace
you desire
the dreams you have of love
your soul is that scream as you
awaken from a happy dream
cut down by reality.

The age old question,
Climbing back up from
Rock bottom,
Fingertips straining against clean hewn
Limestone
Piece by piece
Taping yourself back together.
"What happens now?"

you took parts of me
and parts of the world,
and sewed them into a shawl with
a needle and thread of music.
i breathed garbage as you took the mist thin
amalgam of bliss and wrapped
it around your,
shoulders
held tight
soft folds spilling down
forming around your sloping curves
gently, with your practiced
grace and poise,
white legs tangled in the fabric, pulled high
to reveal all and nothing,
draped over knees,
cascading from porcelain arms.
a drop of dew gathers at the blade of grass
and
drips.
kept pure and clean,
not a bare stitch.
tucked into a
box and under your bed
never to be worn
again.

beauty
indifferent triangles,
shapes and fading shadows
and orange tint,
blood red,
payne's gray,
death,
through life
bring a Purpose.
understanding, or mimicking,
clefts in reality.
my mind
waking up every day
gnashing teeth
in a world of violence,
something,
burns
an oasis,
pokes through
a
faint
glimmer.
then,
nothing.
who can love
like this
i could probably make it on my own
but why would i ******* want to?

breath trickle
through skin;
gathers in the wheat
gained: shared of shape
  under cool stones
overturned
the dragging
  of cubes
bombastic nether
drenched glass,
there padded earth black
in nutrient
bristling small pines
ruffle quiet
shaken in their roots
from the mighty wait
nothing but the glaciers
nothing but shade
nothing but ebb,
nothing but desert of
water,
sup of binding energy twitch matter
'perhaps perhaps'
cry the cubes
in the thrumming gentleness
  crystalized automated
pure white light.
yes, to me
in such bath as this
the clamor of man silenced
and I can hear the hum of
the planets sliding along
alien planes
and a laugh plays
forth
e;
from me?

in the height and heather
warmly brushing against
make and muddle
omens speak unerringly
in the voices
between mind and nobody.
lost in the sense of death hand
or forgotten in sensing of collapsed
landscape
burning blindness dots horizons
scan sharp
charged into faithless
trampled wordless
left behind and struck
upon else and whether
when little is borne
upon tangential lines.
a hundred brands
of pillow soft
toilet paper spread evenly
across tobacco leaves
like decorative mantras
on the scarred face of christ.
bliss is upon those who can
give up quietly