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

can't catch a break on
the curb of a well, casting your
laughter down to jar the
roots of the earth. feign bleak
or black,
with green screen skin which casts
//
projection(a moth in the woods)
or less your hand flicks like
a spider mounting the ***** of
a pin.
convex and all more convoluted;
shapes in the pale darkness
which ebb from view upon sight,
little insects which scurry into
holes when a rock is lifted.
a warm gust carries over the
glass, ruffling
lace and
water.

you
are the
quite whisper.
sad to say the
world too
rough
some go under
some never came up
when the current swells
to pull us down. the
black water meets stale
sky in one unbroken sheet.
the pain that rises and
swells in you also
swells in me
or so I'd like to
think. some band
if roving dogs could
rip me to shreds
but before
gulls feast on
my eyes I'd certainly
hope some
little verse
could make
it worth it
in the end.
the sea th
en returns
no thing.

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

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

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.

in it i have the twist and ****
that falls upon beer caps
and ragged desert fur
that sops up dicotomies,
bathe or dont, fleas or lice,
leaves on battered tarmac
corn that drags its venomous
fangs bare
clogged shitshown *** heathen
explosions decimating wakes
flown over with brutal
stoves; unreckoned
i havent cleaned out my ears in weeks
and its beginning to affect my
hearing.
fast through curves meeting
the brush
glad at the sink
twin teeth buried beneath
long

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?"

the dog would,
under the ground
earthy fetters shiver
as the wind blows black through
the trees.
far away, in mountain streams
the life force of the planet.
caves where no light has ever reached,
deep in the core of us all.
a dog would,
stand high, tongue lolling,
shrouded in a canopy of forgetfulness
the leaves fall
in time with the deaths of each man.
fear
gunning the engine,
stepping out of the car
to witness a waterfall.
a dog would,
as the seas ebb on
slowly enveloping
us
flowing up into the streets,
completely unaware
sea life teaming.
edging its way into our homes
encroaching.
bearing down.
a dog would,
as ancient men danced
around flames glowing hot
as strange beats howled and gathered about
seeking just outside the the shadows
things
and mysteries
still unknown to us.
old ways, old joys,
forgotten in it all.
a dog would.

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.

i sit and strum my guitar tunelessly
listening as each of the chords
strike a dissonant
exclamation in my mind.
i play without intent,
letting my fingers
guide a symphony
of sorrow over
the frets.
it's not the kind of music
you listen to as you cry.
it's the kind of music you
make when you
can't feel.
it's not the kind of music
you listen to for pleasure.
it's the kind of music
you hear in your pain.
it's not the sound of the
oceans driving home
sense,
it's the sound of the desert
inside you drying
your soul to
a shell.
atonal
noise.

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

I roll out of bed
and grab an empty beer can,

curling my fingers with
clumsy half conscious grace
I pull out my **** and
place the head into the
mouthhole and ****.
its

a long one,
rivulets of ***** dribble over the sides
and stain my crusted socks.
I take it outside and throw it away.
I go inside and sulk for a bit,
cracking my knuckles and drawing
shapes in the walls,
the light reflects into my pupils
And I hate it.
I have to **** but there's no water
the toilets are clogged, filled
to

the brim with
hymn excriment

you're upstairs living without me.
who knows, maybe you're having a better
day
or maybe its exactly the same.
somewhere someone is eating caviar
smiling laughing in love.getting laid
enjoying music
******* in a toilet
laying on a couch watching t.v.
instead we're here

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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?

you can **** any time and
any place you want.
I don't need money or stability
to survive.
the global flakes of atrophy
and the dead stink of
routing fish clinging right on
human animals secures
me in antigrowth.
I am a bee or a *****
the auburn eye
scatters empty
and I miss the smell
of your **** on me

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?

Long, bent around clasping
Black and lace
a life stretched out before
Twin history two people in one
Divinity and rebirth
In my faults
Both shared with others
Mouths and *****
A roiling river of filth
Both have pure memories tarnished
To incomprehensibility
By mistakes.
If i could pour my heart into making
A time machine
To correct this.

"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.

hopefully, hopefully,
Your waste builds life
your waste is
an excess of love.
I mark the river
and no
face could
make such town,
trickle this in
misanthropy.
its its its