i love the way sentences fall into formation.

i want to light small fires
in every corner of my mind.
not to light the way
but to burn it down.

i cant wait to see it all crumble
and cave in my skull
so i cant think of it.

my lazy soul
looks comfortable here.

and it probably
looks at me
and wonders why
we don't do more
nice things
together

hospitals, for many people,
are the dividing line between them and death.
places of worship, for many,
is the dividing line between them and god.
people, are always,the diving line between them and people.

we didnt talk for hours,
though we did talk about time;
we talked for our own happiness.

the most intimate ive been
with anyone
in a long time
has been with my own hemorroid.

the only tool is your mind.
nothing is vivid.
your own suffering wants to leave you but you dont think you
can survive alone
so you stay.

i know
im in
the middle of nowhere somewhere

if i could go there
maybe i could
find myself.

My apartment purrs around me sometimes.

junkies live in the garden below
a saint dies in the apartment above
theyed wish eachother love
if their paths had ever crossed
they find themselves dying lost

i am drunk
but who are you?

it takes a while to boil,
but it will.
it takes a while to ****,
so it toils.
it takes a while to rise,
so it stays.

goodnight, noone.

i hope youre dead
in the morning
next to me.

its never an edge.
its always an edge.

emotions are
freelance lions

they come and go
as they please

feeding on the free
*****
meat

the burned down cafe
on the edge of the town
of the schizophrenic daydream.

customers are characters.
pour themselves into cups.

the liquid

shows the portrait

of the souls.

i gave birth to a mother snake
who gave birth to a man like me.

it was a battle.

dont feel bad for the old man.
not because hes closer to
leaving this place,
he may not be after all.

after all,
the old man
may win
the fight
between
you and
his life.

broken pieces on the floor

spit up dust

an inhale is a thing so massive
you can not grab it in your head.
a venus-fly-trap
is the crack laughing
from your skull.
busy as bees
trying to meet its needs.
anything that you think,

it ***** itself;

you swallow the stink..

there is no water well enough
you're willing to drink,
you die instead.

you boil on the road
looking to walk
to the place you meet you
when you live nowhere to go.

given a prison
a hell that you sell
is the silence that saves you from
the inside of your soul.

you imagine a life so loud
it screams on through the path of
your life,
tearing the landscape from
black to alright
and, well, black was much better
cuz death was the light.

if i quieted my teeth
the music would have
nowhere to sleep.

finally i can melt into the glass
but must get passed
the two white linen
ghosts of women
who whisper their secrets to me.

we cancer vive

every day
a small slice of skin
from you
to cloth
the family
of passed out skeletons
smoking and shooting drugs
in your home,
while you stay up all night
drying out
in your closet.

the passion feeds regret
then quiet.
the heart is left as a landscape
of dumb colors and clarity.
a reflection is a laughing image
because nobody is there;
there is nothing anywhere.
life never made a sound.
it was a mute portrait
with whom you talk.

its a nightmare
ill never wake up.

the humming in my chest,
the doctor said,
is rock-n-roll guitar.

suffering is your enemy.
do not mourn your suffering.
love it while it is still here.

my hands now
are the chipped
and broken wings
of the giant moth
i held
when i
was a child.

lifes absentia passed me by.

came all over
your broken heart.

killed you.

and ate you.

it is not a set of lips.

but many,   many  lips.

but it is one
that i see.

it is one
that i try
to swallow

because she

has more than most,
hers are the only  delicacy.

hers are trains

coming in and out of
the station
all night.

the door,
the doorframe,
and everything locked inside.

hers are the wild dogs
running around the house.


and the forest

eating every lost thing in it.

to make the water dance
because we ask it to dance.

we are gods.

absently witness
the afterlife of suns.

absently witness each other.

what god spoke
first passed through its mind
but from its heart.
this is where we were born.

a flower lives inside me
reaches past its peak
and im impaled.

they pay good money
to sing to me in the garden.
the statues try to walk towards me
to kiss me but they harden.
a hollowed out chest
with a nest for a heart.
the bones of baby birds
caged in the bones of old birds.

i was terrible
and it cant be undone.
i will never be good.

i was dead
but now im free

Hells the home for me.

endless souls
compose its sea

its but a drop in me.

those who speak their suffering
suffer in high degree

to speak of it it rips their minds
from quiet peace to screams -

- theres music in their screams..

to feed their flesh they feed on fruit
which falls from burning trees.

in their lives theyve relived
all the wicked things theyve seen -

- and theyve seen many things..

.

i feel
someone
in my skin
wondering
who this man is.

a severed hand
walking around
looking for its
master to choke

i dont write well when i drink
but i do drink well
when i write poorly.

take you very away from me
when there are women
dancing in the curtians
and there are eyes..
everywhere looking into you.
to pull you from
who you are.

keep your eyes on
the horizon
for the rising sun

lay down the body
hide in the mind
lost in the heart

now humans
can take
their skin
and skeleton
and turn them
into a tent
and live in it
in the city.

ive scanned every single atom
of your body
and each one says that there are more to find.
they dance and sing
and give birth to eachother
youre my lover
your my mind.

all of the extra words are lies.
emotions are simple and true.
poetry is only free.
it is a glimpse
of the heart
to the heart.

abandon all hope please.

maybe our matter is the anti-matter.