goodnight, noone.

i hope youre dead
in the morning
next to me.

the devil lives between us
but we marry.
& the devil lives inside of us
so we make wars with swords
to open our bodies
to let out the devil
to **** what keeps us
from loving each other.

smooth stones.
round puddles.
no corners at all.

there were spirits,
spirits wanting.
someone to inhabit.
a body to be pregnant withem.

the room was a woman.
smooth dress.
no bra.

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.

no two people kiss the same.
they only kiss
the way they kiss
when they kiss each other.

baby velvet shoes
made from the
finest babies.

its a nightmare
ill never wake up.

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

when there is nothing besides poetry
it terrifies me.

the yolk is more achieved than i.

the shell is what
keeps me waiting.

fish swim.
their body floats.
their soul rises.

but fish swim.

and a human catches one,
but catches nothing.

what we want
swims
floats
rises
dies
within.

My apartment purrs around me sometimes.

i know
im in
the middle of nowhere somewhere

if i could go there
maybe i could
find myself.

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..

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.

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.

the trash in my mind
should be burned.

a severed hand
walking around
looking for its
master to choke

keep your eyes on
the horizon
for the rising sun

.

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

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.

.

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

words
tend to become lost
in poetry.

poetry tends to become
lost in
thought.

thought tends to become
words.

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

maybe our matter is the anti-matter.

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.

Screaming into the darkness of the ocean..
hoping that a monster will surface and eat me.

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

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.

i hear electric guitars
and screaming and crying
and people being honest about death
and this is my tribe.

dancing in each others families
we make love to whoever we love.

our bodies arent boundaries
because we see right into eachother.

  we're lost in woods
and in one anothers escape
from a home we're unwilling
                                  to build.

time almost misses us
but creeps in through
the hair in our hands
that is longer when
we let eachother go.

we accept that we were never born
          and live as this requires.

we make shelters in our hearts for     
        everyone we've ever loved.

       a shelter where they come to
               eat  or  rest  or   die


and that is where
our songs are made
until our hair grows clear.

and when the sun forgets our name;

you see
an ancient people
in these woods

and you tell your lover
youve just seen a ghost.

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

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.

abandon all hope please.

i sit and i wait
at the park of the dead
to remind my bones
to sit
and to rest.
but all i can do is stand
watching all the life
that surrounds me.

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

i once sed
if you took every song
ever made
or ever sung
and played them
all at once
it would be
the sound of god.

i speak truth til my eyes bleed
but i can still see it.

when it whispers in my ear though
i grow young and silent and soiled.

life is programming code
and all the good things that
come out of it
are a typo.

lonely park benches
hold hands
with the humiliated.

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.

the objects we create are filled with fear.
the mind is empty floating poetry.
we desire and we suffer
we join souls and are alone
there is no home
we have eternity to roam.

.

in the rain,
a living man
trying to bring
a dead man back.

and the rain will rise and collect
and fall again.

im sitting still
waiting for the paint to dry

breathing it in
it gets me high

i hope
the paint
it never dries

it turns into an animal

it turns to me and smiles

his heart was made of gold
but you stole it
now its sold

:  *        ‡                               ★

tail wagging aligators

the dolls stare at me

waiting for me
to come to life.

but they dont know

im watching.

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.