"my identification lies in the hopeless psychedelic absurdities of ninety year old existentialists and the macabre **** trails of industrialized ghosts

Slaying scissor handed dragons of whirlwind dimensions from plain abject boredom
Smashed with broken Knuckled collisions against walls of mimetic iron and steel
as territorial **** measuring fanatics play out semiotic fantasies of heroic rigor mortis but i don't want to get political
because the cosmic play is of the ancient masters repeatedly tripping over each other
and i don't claim to know the rules if there are any
So for now i will bash my brains and hair against this black holed vacuum of being in itself
and try to remember that the uncertainty principle doesn't allow us to know position and velocity simultaneously
and that by observing the world it is irrevocably changed by the power of Schrodinger's Cat

I would tear that ******* ******* to shreds if I looked in the box

So next time around i'll mechanically saw off my arms and see if they will grow back
and burn gasoline in a shovel mesmerized by the blue flames and melted animal ecstasies connecting all to the light of infinite unknowing"

Said the dog with the bone in his mouth. I asked him

"how can you talk with food in your mouth like that? it's dreadful"

He did not reply.

I pondered his speech on the train home and filled a balloon with nitrous,
tide it off and began to punch it while holding the rubber band attached.
a man with knuckle tattoos next to me popped it with a pen

I miss my nitrous balloon

But i didn't have time to think about it because a Hottentot venus in yoga pants with that *** like bow! just walked past

Walking down the street with beads of sweat and agonizing anticipation
involuntary smooth muscles clenched tight
I walk with a robotic posture
Almost afraid to bend
in fear primordial and ancient in scope
of a shame known by all but spake by none

Burst through the swinging gate born of coy mystery
chasmic porcelain, grit lined
a benign stench under the surface that treads on the minds invention
the coffers line the walls spattered yellow and wet
chambers pestilent and poorly designed
with cracks peered through by perverts and the curious child

I sit down
A pinch and burn and then
I am instantly filled with relief twice fold ancient and primordial in scope

I sigh
and then of course the wafting and comfortable smell of myself
Then a rush of cold water by the premature mechanism
of faulty eyed modern laser beams

I hear the door latch next to me
the spattered burst of spice and rank *****
a redolent splash and froth of exotic fury
the sounds and smells of a sick beast

Folded paper and a scratching scrub of cheap manufacturing
appearing from my mausoleum of privacy
fear tingled spine hairs stand straight at the sound of the latch again
my own eyes betray and my neck cranes
to exchange an awkward glance and uncomfortable smirk
I wash my hands metaphorically and otherwise

In case you haven’t noticed I’m taking a ****

Filthy with an itching stink on the dog day subways of choking humidity
every pour on my body screams
but there is a comfortability in the commiserating faces of greasy passersby
we all deal with the heat
without warning the smell of a sulfur **** fills my nostrils to the brim
and i hear somebody cough

this is the beauty of language

a glance upward yields an advertisement with enlarged *******—deals on plastic surgery—the women bellow it eats a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich with coffee

it is my choice what to put on this page
my choice
the words and images
my choice
the moods and emotions

for there are, in fact, six people on this train with their noses in books
the one next to me is Game of Thrones

and the girl across uses the most advanced handheld piece of technology in history as a makeup mirror

Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah
Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah
High art for Mel Bochner
an ad campaign for the HTC One
and representative nonsense for everyone else

as I sweat my headphone chord makes me acutely aware of a lump under my ear
as a homeless man sleeps without shoes on the bench opposite

is that a juxtaposition of images I see there?
or did i just make that up for dramatic affect?
that is your choice my friend
Just as it is mine
to use that patronizing tone
to create an air of highfalutin significance
despite the fact that I am just another dumb privileged straight white guy.
I feel like i should apologize.....
I just missed my stop
I do that fairly often

Thank you! oh universe! for your resounding reply
The answer to our infinite begging the question
In the face of indiscriminate pain, love, and will
You gave us your only consistent truth
And without it we would not even have these wonderful happenings that we call humanity
Without your blatant disregard for everything we have ever wanted and needed
We would have none of them anyway
for it is only against your antithesis of will
that we find ours
And only now do I see why I can't embrace you
because will is all I have
In your infinite lack I find myself
And in choosing to not act one still makes a choice
And that is the rub

An animal and a man rolled into one
With the desire of the id
And unabashed self-determination of a Sartrian dream
Or a Nietzschean *******
With viral hairy arms and mustache
And throbbing uncircumcised member
(any takers on the reference)
And with a Nihilism that would make even entropy blush
My ultimate goal and ultimate fear

I am a ******* artist
I ******* my way through ******* conversations
And I ******* all of my ******* poetry
I ******* my daily life
Spewing ******* to people around
Who themselves are really full of ******* as well
I do this to hide the fact that I am really full of *******
You see it is a recursive cycle of *******
Me bullshitting them, them me, and everyone full of *******
And don’t get me wrong I’m not trying to feed you negative *******
I even believe my own *******
And their *******
I guess you could say it is some Buddhist *******
Or some ******* like that
But really we are all so full of ******* that it’s coming out our eyes
Even this poem right here is *******
I don’t even buy this *******
ah ******* is there any sifting through you?
any escape from *******?
It just seems like the more you try to sift through the *******
The more you get your hands covered in *******

So you see how I fall deeper and deeper into *******
It really is appropriate

Sometimes I say to myself “you are not alone today”
And sometimes I say the opposite
As a mere blip on the radar
Less than a blip
A drop in the bucket
Less than a drop
That contributes to the whole

In prefab modern rooms with red brick walls
An architectural reference
But just a reference
And not even a load bearing structural element
And so many other infinite layers of metaphor that could never be fully explained

Standing on the edge of abyss the krutch looks out and spreads his arms wide
Drops and swan dives into the pavement
He picks his head up bleeding from cracked skull and looks up at the ledge he jumped from “what a rush”

As the words slowly fade into residual tedious meandering
the shovel smashes off the dry dusted ground
only leaving but a minor scratch
and the up-kick of dust
which settles leaving no visible significance
or change

I feel the pain of utter helplessness
And uselessness
And self pity
In the wake of a torrent that seems cheap in retrospect
Only now do I see