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

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.

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.

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."

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.

there's a place
once
greatness, such massiveness
so huge,
i was humbled.
i cried when i saw it
as it was slowly fading
away
piece and peace
laughter
and
love,
the parts of that which all people
seek
now this place
seems like a shadow
almost
invisible,
every
once
in a
while
i see
it out of the corner of my eye,
glinting along with the rays of the sun on a window,
the reflecting beauty in a brilliant Iris
in the strut of my cats (any
of the 5)
in the dancing smoke of the first cigarette of the day
in the danger of life,
in the peace of sleep, as i sleep, i see it
this vast space
now so empty.
there's a place once
now lost

"I think about these moments
everyday," she breathed
into my neck,
running one finger up
and down my arm
stripping bare an
electric wire,
short circuiting
my skin
"fifteen,  twenty times a day
and my knees buckle."

your love is pure,
unaltered with self interest,
it is passionate
unconceited.

but your love is also thoughtful
and direct.
you are strong
your strength inspires me
to find my own strength,
to fill myself with my own love,
so that together we
can share the best of ourselves.

with the embers of our souls
we'll start the flames that engulf
the world.

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.

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

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

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.

whatever you
do
don't
let the
grind
get to
you.
bottomless pits are made by wizards,
hell is a mythological location,
there's no black and white without gray
the peace
of life
comes at you
in the strangest, depression-fueled
drug-crazed moments
serenity
is only a
revelation
away.

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

The sting,
Its always there.hope
Will fail you.
Nothing is as good as you
Imagine it to be

They will leave you.broken
and grasping at thin air,
As you draw
A tortured breath in a murky
Puddle in a gutter
Time heals no wounds.

Its funny how those who you hurt
And who hurt you
Always.seem to bounce back
So much quicker than you do.

you are the triprych,
the eternal extrapolation
of an ethereal concept,
the masterwork of the heavens
twisting perfection
from tier infinite chaos
of infinite space, drawing
wisdom and breath from the soul of
the uncreator.

the dog, as man is such.
bring, the stick,
shall i?
do as your master tells you--
unless,
under the glimmer over darkness
doth thou
wish death upon
thy self
self?
do yoU let yourself
be this?
hands twist under sheets
minds real beneath the
written word.
or ****.
and in it.
upon it.
easier i bet
the words
escape.

(mad ramblings transcribed from a mass of
jumbled scribbles i made whilst drunk)

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

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.

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.

torn out ripped up pulled apart
pried open crapped in
it's beautiful how the people
grow up like weeds
brainless mindless
some weeds are prettier or
more useful than others,
I'm probably one of the uglier
less useful dandelions.
I can't lead the battle charge let
some other starry eyed poet with
his face on the college paper
and dozens of limp boring
verses dazzle the illiterate
and academic alike.
id rather feed the cats or water
the plants drink beer and
hassle my neighbors
or lay in a parkinglot letting
the hot pavement cook my skin
or sit in my room amongst
perfect still aloneness.
for the last week I've been having
this recurring dream of a beautiful
woman ******* me in the *** with
a strap-on screaming about what
a piece of useless trash I am
blowing in the wind and how I
should **** myself.
she's completely naked except for
6in heels and bright red lipstick.
I can't begin to tell you how incredibly
hard I am when I wake up.
then I drink coffee on the porch
smoking
and stare at the world with
a tempered disinterest
thinking about the pros and
cons of skipping breakfast

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.

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.

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.

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

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

"that's a difficult question," she said,  "thus the answer will be difficult. for both of us. it isn't a matter of loving or not loving. does the sun love the tree? assuredly, the tree needs the sun, but does it love it? without the sun the tree would die, but without the tree the sun would continue shining. continue pulling satellites around it,  continue burning.
someday the sun well begin the process of dying. it will switch from fusing hydrogen for fuel to fusing helium. it will expand. it will enter its red giant phase. it will grow so large that it will envelop and vaporize the earth, tree and all.
so does the tree love the sun?"
I didn't know what to say. after staring into my eyes for a moment she walked off. it was so strange. dreamlike. I had never met that woman before. now she was gone.

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.

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?

write for myself, for the spaces
between my atoms,
for the spaces between a caress
for the absence and longing,
when a woman, as women are prone,
eventually vaporize and leave you with
a few articles of forgotten clothing and
other detritus, almost purposefully,
so that you find it Weeks or months later.
I write for the days with no beer,
for the nights with too much beer.
I write when there isn't enough to eat
as if i've can satiate themselves with charred
thoughts
or aching soul soup.
I write for you, too, as I write for myself,
which ever you may see it,
whichever eye may brush these rushed errors

(green, brown, blue)
it is yours as it is mine,
just as you are me
entwined in this plane, in this planet together,
like lovers in the sheets
momentarily inoperable.

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 *******.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

Everybody is elbows and knees,
On a planet of beauty and warmth
A race of ugly grows which has none of these.
Elbows & knees, bent back and forming
At the shoulders and hips,
splayed out and thrashing violently.
you can't open doors for these dickers
You can't walk around them,
They can't see because instead of eyes
They have hideous orbs of filth that only
See hate and
X ray straight through your wife's clothes
They have no noses. Those have been cut off at the bridge.
They have mouths. Plenty of that. Their tongues are two sizes too big
And no cheeks
So when they chew their food you can
see it a mile away
And hear it for ten
Disgusting muchings and crunchings
drooling and bleeding because
They've been doing nothing but mashing their
Tongues with their huge pure white, flat teeth
huge throats which scream instead of speak
So loud you can't hear yourself think
Fuckfyckfuxkdhdjcdjxjdhdhdiswjdvdhdo
I hate people

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.

Terror sought in the faintest smell of blood,
I am deacon of the catastrophic night in.
Flickering lights and musty growth on
Old plates,
Dried beer stained into the table
The season grows cold and weird memories
Rise to the top of the symphonic ceiling,
Staining that too.
If I dont **** soon I fear I might write an opus

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 ***.

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.

for her birthday I bought her
a lawn chair
for my bitthday
she chucked my guitar
out the window.
she bought ad space
on a dating site
proclaiming I'm a cheating
*****,
so I poured hot coffee
on my head and walked into
traffic high on quaaludes.
I woke up strapped to a gurney
with this **** nurse in
a
rubber nixon mask
******* spilling out
of her candy stripe
she was installing this
metal cockroach in the
side of my skull.
my first thought was a little Steve Ignorant in the middle of a conceptual framework for the same time to get the best of all the time to go to a few days I have a lot of
my second thought was 'that's
not proper medical attire'
my third thought was
OH MY GOD I'M NOT SURE IF I CAN BE ONLY ONE MILLION YEARS AGO AND IN THE GREATEST BAND OF ALL THE GREATEST HITS FROM YOUR PRIVILEGE TO WORSHIP WHAT IS SHE DOING TO MY HEAD
but it came out like a stifled
squeak.
then I passed back out for a few. I dreamt
someone bent over me, 69 style,
******* on me
while simultaneously *******
all over my chin neck and chest
it smelled like the jungles
of a dead planet
I couldnt move anything but my head.
and in the corner there was a fat man eating raw chicken and staring

123456789
68747889392020292
92829299988888888
because that's how numbers
work.
I was back at my job
standing in the toy section
for little girls
there was this label
for a disney princess toy
it was labelled
"SPECIAL ***.
DP
$19.99"
and I had this rock hard
******* thinking about
*******.
***** that triple.
every hole oh my god.
right they're between the legos
and hello kitty.
there was a splash and I
awoke. the nurse was standing
in front of me with
a
bucket in her hand.
the mask was off now and
I could see that her head was
completely shaved balled.
both eyes were replaced with
cybernetic lenses, looking
like unblinking insect eyes.
I couldn't feel my arms or
legs.
-that's because we took them
she said
took them?
-yeah. cut them off. they're hanging over there. she pointed
and there they were speared
on meat hooks dangling
from the ceiling like dried
flowers.
I looked at my new stumps
they were patched at the
ends with stemcell bandages
looking like a cross between hamburger
and peat moss.
why would you do that?
-it was part of the procedure. she
didn't think you needed them
anymore
she?
-dalia.
my girlfriend.
oh my god im going to ******* puke
-not possible. we took out your stomach too.
WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?
-a girl's gotta work aye?
she flipped the bucket over
and sat down in it, crossing her legs high. she smiled, without
showing teeth. a big smile like she
was barely containing a laugh.
combined with the lenses
the effect was that of
a praying mantis preparing
to take down a sparrow.

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 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.

I'm a dulled edge,
getting dressed, put on your shoes
and sit on the couch, waiting
for the love of your life to come
walking in through the door, singing.
but she doesnt come,
fate stood you up.
no smiling face to greet you,
no reason to get up, to bathe,
to leave the house,  to cook,
to get angry, to feel anything.
the nights are long and full
of drinking with whoever can pass a
bottle. beer. wine. pouring *****
in the wine. blowing half your check
at the bar one night,  and the
other half the next.
and I keep thinking 'where's she at?'
today I woke up early,
took out the trash,  smoked a cigarette
watched the sun rise for a while,
turned on the radio, they were
playing Rachmaninoff, turned the
radio back off.
let the cat chew on my beard for
a while.
I've done just about everything,
what else is there?
so I drive to the store. grabbed
a little basket and put in
soap, two apples, an onion,
buy the wrong kind of cornmeal.
some kale and mushrooms.
instinctively buy some things the
last one liked (I'm terrified I'll never
be able to break that habit).
drive home put down the bags.
start taking out the contents and
looking at them,
placing them methodically on the
table crowded with paper and
***** dishes and crumpled
beer cans
and I stare at the sink
full of the same
and then I look at the
floor covered in garbage
and finally to the kale in
my hand.
"my god," I said to the kale "this
is how suicides happen."
I put it down, smoke
another cigarette and watch
the tree growing in the
courtyard. it'll be here after I'm
dead, one of the ugly stains
left in my wake.

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.

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.

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?

it's a fact in the course of things,
like iodine in dried seaweed.
men in nicely pressed collard
shirts pick up their kids from school,
watching a lover clip their toe nails.
it's a fact in the course of things,
the sparrows building their nest
the city reeks of dust and
mouths agape we breathe in
the ashes of effigies.
text not sent,
calls not made,
faith in the faithless.
it's a fact in the course of things,
like a stone ground to dust by
a waterfall,
I am too ground to dust
by the column of air
which holds up the sky.
a drifter in malaysia smokes a
cigarette he found on the ground.
the dead girl ******* on video.
right in the palm of your hand
the world is made or broken in
your intestines,
it's a fact in the course of things,
your lost thoughts pool in a
pit somewhere until it's full,
and then you can swim across.
I'll never have children.

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