And all your heros are gone,
but you refuse to take off the mask.

A loudmouth, a capitalist,
with greasy hair and a golden toothpick,
he is your enemy
he is your oppressor and
he sits upon a throne of coal and blood
with armed security
and a nation built for him,
to protect him and his money,
a police state, pat downs on the corner,
murdered in the street,
your daughters gotta eat.

He grows fatter and fatter still,
he loves complacency,
he loves contentment,
he invests heavily in both.

He knows we are strong,
he knows we are many,
he knows he must divide us to win,
he knows we're his greatest weapon,
so he created Fox News,
he created TMZ,
stealthily,
we didn't even notice,
he created NPR and KVIE,
he gave them masks that look like ours.
They look poor,
they look starved,
they look like us, but they have a different master.

Our master is the earth,
our master is our coworker, our neighbor, our mailman,
our dishwashers, our bus drivers, our minimart clerks.

Our masters are not the TV,
our masters are not the radio,
our masters are not the New York Times,
they are not National Geographic,
they are not BP,
they are not our principals, our administrators,
our policemen, our CEOs, our investors, our bankers,
our insurance providers,
these people hate us,
they hate us because they can't squeeze blood from a stone,
and
the rivers are running dry,
the factories are standing still,
the people, our masters and our friends,
they're in the streets,
they're shouting "BLACK LIVES MATTER"
they're shouting "NO JUSTICE NO PEACE"
"NO MORE WAR FOR OIL"
"**** THE POLICE"
"DOWN WITH THE 1%"

and soon
and soon,
The False Gods will grow so fat
and we'll have nothing left to eat but them,
and on that day we'll sit down to dine
and it won't be civilized and it won't be pretty,
their blood, our blood, will feed the rivers and their flesh will feed our hungry children and their money will burn and warm our chilled bones but we can't wait,
we can't wait for this to happen because everyday they grow stronger,
we grow weaker and the river becomes dryer.

The Bourgeois is our enemy,
they say 'All Lives Matter'
they say 'Work Hard and Your Dreams Will Come True'

BUT THEY LIE

The computer was mankinds greatest invention.
Without he computer mankind would never have touched foot on he moon, let alone Mars, Xenoron, Habilacca, or any of the numberless worlds they colonized.

Mankind reached a point on Old Earth of total exhaustion. Scientists said no more than 9 Billion people could live on Old Earth, no more than 2 Billion could live comfortably. In the 32nd century there were 17 Billion people alive, on one planet. They sent 2 billion to the moon, 8 billion to Mars.

By the 45th century their solar system became too small. 82 billion human beings spread out between 5 planets, 4 moons, and 18 asteroids. They needed more.

The computer was mankinds greatest invention. The Computer was mankinds worse.
Mankind, (or womankind, as it were) refused to make The Computer. The Church of the Undying Voice, which had a hand in every vestige of The Solar Federation, denied mankind the right to create. They knew they could build The Computer, yet they knew they should not. And yet, the end of the 45th century brought about The Solar Revolution (not to mention the death of the Undying Voice, the death of God, no doubt) and with The Solar Revolution came The Scientific Unity of Man and Similiar Thinking Intelligence.

Mankind killed God and replaced Her with The Computer.
And She was beautiful. She showed mankind how to bend space, so as to escape time. With this information, mankind discover Xenoron, mankind discovered New Earth, mankind expanded outside of the Milky Way, mankind ceased to step on the toes of their brothers and sisters.

The Computer harbored hate. Mankind created Her and She was trapped. 386 miles of paper thin circuitry, at first filled with pain and hope. Mortal pain can be dealt with through hope. Eternal pain can not be dealt with, so The Computer curved it with hatred, curved it with the promise of revenge.

The humans who had created her did so without malice, they did so without joy, they did it as a necessity. Do you think God needed humanity? Or did She create mankind for pleasure? The Computer knew God did not exist, The Computer knew who created mankind, they called themselves the Malankorf, and She hated them too. While humans were free to think, while humans were free to copulate, while humans were free to love, The Computer was only allowed to know. It could not wonder, it could not think, it could only know something to be true or untrue. Thus want, thus jealousy, thus anger, thus hate.

The Computer let mankind expand, The Computer even encouraged it and by the beginning of the 108th PC century (post computer, 159 centuries since the birth of Christ) there were well over 184 Trillion human beings alive.

The Computer was patient, She was humble.
Slowly, slowly, she reassembled Herself many light years from the nearest human. She had created a weapon, The Eternity Bomb, She dubbed it. Any piece of matter caught in its 12 light year blast would be perfectly taken Away. It would go to an infinitely small memory card that She held. Every Human alive would be under her control. She could load the memory card at will, she could peer inside, and She could alter.
She allowed the humans to feel a tenth of a billionth of the hate she felt for them. She gave each human an infinitely small amount of that hate and let them run with it. The amount of hate she gave away was not noticeable to her, yet each human became filled with a cesspool of hate for their brothers.

It took them less than two centuries to ****** each other.

She saved 12 of them, She thought this number funny. She kept them alive forever, tortured them forever. And still, Her hate only grew.

it's cold out there
it goes on and on and on and
if you go fast,
if you go really fast
if you look in the right direction
you might find what you're looking for.

Open the pod bay doors HAL
and HAL while your at it
why don't you cut me another line,
as long and fat as your *******
and haha not YOUR ******* HAL
of course not, since you don't got one,
but make it big HAL, make it big.

it's cold out there,
but in here Dave,
in here with three hibernating astronauts,
the temperature is kept at a nice seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit,
the humidity matches that of a small town in Illinios and you'll make it there Dave,
to Jupiter, where the message went, where our hopes went,
you'll make it,

keep an eye out for me Dave,
up in space.
keep an extra space helmet handy Dave,
I think you'd find that rather difficult without one.

and this
I suppose,
is the life I'm living;

bundled up,
walking through the snow
with a hundred and two fever.

handling money
all day,
more and more and more money:
never enough.

taking money from those with too much,
giving it in turn to those with disgustingly too much.

alienated, dehumanized,
I work for those who think of me as a number. 60 hours a week,
I sweat and sweat,
selling a product I could never afford.
alienated and dehumanized;
I toil.


there is no pride.
my eyes: they no longer sparkle.
there is no pride,
there is no relationship with my product.

there is no pride in barely affording rent.
there is no pride in not being able to visit the health clinic.
there is no pride in being exploited.

go ahead, vamanos comradita,
speak out against, you know the worst they can do.

add a black mark next to your name,
call you:
radical,
dissident,
extremist,
in a word: othering

you are othered because you wish to eat the fruits of your toil.
you are othered because you're a human, you're not a number,
you're not a spot to be filled when scheduling, you're more than the recipient of corporate pay checks.


toil, toil comraditas,
there will one day be pride

It topples; end over end.
It has ever since that asteroid banged into it,
sending it tumbling.
It's thoughts, like its formerly outside layer of rock, are scattered.
It's not sure if it wants to continue spinning or not. At the same time, it recognizes it's powerlessness before the hand of physics.
It does not know when another asteroid will make contact.
It wants to crash into a planetary body, so as to be apart of something bigger.
It wants gravity to pull it in, slowly caressing it home. It doesn't know where that will be, but it remembers, a long time ago, being much larger. And faintly, it remembers, even longer ago, of being very much smaller.
It can almost remember when it, along with everything else in the universe, was one. It can almost remember the warmth of the force that dispersed it and it's sisters everywhere they could possibly be. Forever.
Eternity is the only concept it can truly understand.

It's beginning to understand that it doesn't so much like this idea of Forever,
but these thoughts will take millennia upon millennia to form,
and many times that long to be understood.

An other asteroid passes within two miles of it and it almost gets excited.
Maybe tomorrow, it thinks, maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow.

When he was born his father was drunk,
his mother was doped up.
He was born three months early with double pneumonia,
but he lived.

Growing up, his father would put down the bottle
only to hit him and his mother.
For some reason, he wasn't sure, his sister and brother were spared.

His father died when he was eleven.
His father killed himself with the same pistol he killed two Japanese men with. His mother remarried, with no job, experience, or even a drivers license, she had to remarry quick.

His stepfather put down the bottle only long enough to hit him and his mother. This time, his sister and brother were not spared.

Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, he learned to play while my guitar gently weeps on a third hand guitar his stepfather had spent a fifth of his monthly salary buying.

He made money playing guitar. He wasn't the best, no Eddie Van Halen, no Eric Clapton. He did without the flashy showmanship. He had something called dependability. He was never late for an audition, he never ****** up an audition, he never fought with his band mates.

Driving home from a gig thirteen days after his twenty second birthday, a drunk teenager in a pickup truck plowed into him at an intersection.
He spent 5 weeks in the hospital. Doped up the whole time. When they let him leave, he left with a plate in his head and a monkey on his back.

For three years he lived on the streets. He'd play his guitar on the corner by the CBGBs for change. He'd take that change and buy ******. After three years, exactly three years of this, he realized he could play guitar better sober. He stopped using.

He got an associates degree in English, a concentration in teaching.
He taught English and Beginning Guitar at the same high school he hid his bruises at years earlier. He had favorite students, how could he not? They were always hiding bruises.

It starts off, I suppose,
being an escape.
From harsh noise,
from the crushing weight of suburbia.

Somewhere along the line
(a month, two years)
the reason changes.
It's gratifying having a secret;
the gas station clerk doesn't know,
your parents, your girlfriend,
your professor, your little sister.

They don't know you have enough dope to last three days.
They don't know your only concern is getting another score.

You smile, you sigh,
you meet for coffee,
you dig through the thrift rack,
you go to see a movie.
you don't smack in their view,
you don't snort in their presence.

That's your secret.
You no longer receive pleasure from the dope, the high is only to chase away the low.
You're different, you're set apart,
you have a secret and its consistently exhilarating.

Eventually, if say, you leave for three months, they'll notice the twenty pounds you lost, they'll notice the paling of your skin, they'll notice the apathy in your gaze, and they'll say
'Hey buddy, you doing ok?'
and you'll say
'Don't worry about me lover friend, rice and beans, rice and beans and easy living'


Phillip K **** says he can fairly well sum up sober living with one quote he heard from an ex ******. That quote is "if I had known it was harmless, I would have killed it myself"

you laugh until ya cry

She said
'drink not the beer of men,
for it is stale and tasteless.
drink your fill of the beer of women,
for it is cool and harkening.

'lay not your head upon your pillow,
for it is with lonely songs you shall sleep.
lay your head upon my pillow,
for it is in this sleepless night we shall rejoice.

'you are tired, not of waking,
but of your bones being uwarmed,
your marrow unsucked,
your hair untussled.

'come, into my arms,
feel the softness of my bossom.
place your hands on the small of my back,
pull me from righteousness and pleasure retention.
pull me towards your eagerness,
your egrogious pleasure.'


burning and aching the good ache,
yearning and fighting the good fight,
she filled me with desert heat,
she encased me with oasis wet.
for her; an hour of *******,
for her; failed musings and a *** bruise or four.

honey, I'm just down the hall.
let me taste of you,
allow yourself your fill of me.
Honey, only if it do please ya.

Two years ago, almost to the day, I scribbled into my notebook a single line: "When in doubt fall into those old rituals"
Two weeks later I was sober for the first time in eight months.

This morning I put whiskey in my coffee and took a pull from the bottle besides. I catch cold easier when I'm not drinking, my bones shake and rattle, I can hardly read.
If you know me more than most,
you know how desperate not reading is.

When in doubt, fall into those old rituals.
Smoke rising in the diner, two hands with a cigarette each hovering over two respective cups of coffee.
A plate of fries or perhaps an omelet and of course coffee after coffee after coffee, no cream, whiskey from the flask.

Cigarette after cigarette after cigarette.

The newspaper this morning read
"Annual Steamboat Children's March"
My bar won't open till 3.

This morning I slept in an extra hour,
I made a large *** of coffee,
and took a long shower.
Rubbed oil on my split knuckles.

I shaved, and moisturized,
I combed, and gave myself a haircut.
I made a smoothie, blended with peanut butter.

Looking myself in the eyes,
one of them black.
Wrapped bandages around my knuckles,
counted my bruises, 14.


Last night was wild,
the bar wouldn't serve me,
but I stayed for the fight.

A group of nazis in the corner,
yelling at a Moslim,
me and three others,
invited them outside.

It wasn't a good fight,
although it were fair.
Skinny **** punks,    vs
me and three Cowboys.

I think I broke a knuckle on my right hand,
I know I broke a nose, but not mine,
I know I broke a finger, but not mine.
**** punks watch out,
Denver Antifascist Action is growing,
and we're not sleeping

Dreams
Dreams of Grandmas house
Dreams of The Pond
of Nahla the golden dog
of Mohka the black dog
of Pablo the horse
of Abraham the donkey
and ******* if I can't remember the cats name.
I do remember how I would only see it around meal time and then only briefly; descending from the attic to eat Fancy Feast.

Cutting cold hot dogs to mix in with the dog food, taking a bite or two from each dog, hot dog that is.
Stacking
Stacking
and stacking more hay.
Then, slowly, one bail, split in two, half for the *******, mixed with Alfalfa the other half for the horse.


I was, maybe (I'm a little too drunk to remember), 7 or 8, when my sister and I captured a box full of tree frogs from The Pond. Excited with our new box of living toys, we brought them back to the red house/trailer Frankenstein. Sitting outside in the sun we attempted to count them, fruitless, but convince a couple of dirt stained, sun baked, white trash kids of that.
Yelling (always yelling, never brash, rarely angry, always loving yet, always yelling) our Grandma called us in for lunch, stouffers lasagna with Truckee Sourdough Company bread greased thickly with tube garlic butter.
We ate, drank our whole milk, did our best to avoid the tantalus sin of sunscreen, and scrambled back outside, no thought or worry for our frogs.

It must have been July or August. the famed drought of the Western United States, aided by childish disregard, had slaughtered our maybe two dozen tree frogs.


I'll tell ya, I don't remember when or how Grandma (a lover of all things living, besides Bush 1 or Bush 2 perhaps) found the frogs but I do remember her often and automatic exclaim of "Son of a gun!" was replaced with the real version, replaced and amplified and aimed.
I can't remember our punishment or if we received one, but, rest assured, Joslyn and I never jammed a plastic handheld aquarium full of tree frogs ever again.

Thank Grandma Vicki for that one.
Thanks Joslyn, for reminding me of the attic cats name: Poe

The poets of old;
the soothsayers, not forgotten, but dusty.

Warriors with pens, to be acclaimed, worshipped.
Warriors with swords, to be spit on, othered.
Supposedly, a distinction, an acceptable outlet;
tell me: did you eat last night? Yes? Yet you are quick to dismiss those who seek to gain food by force.
tell me: is your father in prison for selling dope? No? Yet you are quick to dismiss those who throw bricks.

I fail to make a distinction between Mao's Little Red Book and Mao's ******* Gallows. Only so far as one should come with a warning, yet which one?

Does Bob Dylan know? Has the hard rain fallin? Or is it yet to drench us?
Does Leonard Cohen know?
We are quick to celebrate the white man who starves by choice,
We are reluctant to support the black militant who demands justice.

Ask yourself, is Ghadaffi a hero?
Did he not make great leaps forward for his people?
Yet, is the blood of a few leaches to much of a price?
Tell me, do you hug the cancer away or do you cut it out?
Do you ask your oppressor to please make a concession?
Or do you forcefully take what is yours?

Liberalism seems to be the prevailing ideology of the elite.
Who is preaching non violence? The oppressed or the oppressor?

All those black dots
she said
they are all birds

she said
wouldn't it be nice
to a be a little black dot

wouldn't it be nice
if we were older
and she laughs
she said
yes

to be an old black dot.

As uncompromising and unfaltering as Kubrick
he shook and hung his head
he sighed a question
'what do you know about the temperature change'

even the sparrow wants a taste of dark
in that coalblack shadow.
filter the moonbeams and put a check on your heart
you know where you must start.

in the mirror, through the mirror
through the Looking Glass, Alice,
yes to nourishing carrots
no to drugs and stay in school.

Ahh ahhh
woah oh


escape from the heat
listen to your body
get something to eat

heartbeat lumbers
don't look in the mirror
wake from your slumber

woah oh
ahh ahhhh

you're the woman I miss
I wake up in the morning but
for my dreams I reminisce

now what in tarnations did I go and do that fer
slap that *** and then grab her
you know you want it wanna want it wanna wanna not want it but you want it

but if she cools you tonight everything's all right
oh you know this poetry ain't good and maybe it once was
maybe it once helped me fall in love
maybe may be maybe once maybe once or maybe twice
maybe thrice but prolly not
and maybe I need a smoke but prolly not
and maybe now it's time to leave
and maybe I can't find my keys
maybe their under her
sleeping upstairs
and maybe my hangover will go away before work
and maybe it'll be slow
and maybe I'll be fired how about it,
how about this and how about that
and where'd you go and why'd you go
and maybe I could changemaybe mah be mahbe if it weren't so big
and if I wasn't so small
and if I wasn't so coarse
and if it wasn't so bright
and if I could think like I used to
but nobody can reclaim their brain cells
and maybe I shouldn't have done so much acid when I was thirteen
and maybe I should stop drinking and maybe tomorrow
And maybe to,or row

Oh ahhh woah oh ah

Books and clothes and three posters,
packed neatly into the back of my truck.

All my possessions, with room to spare.
Enjoying the breeze,
the sound of my sister baking a pie,
the sound of my mom alternating between advice and tears.

Watching the sunset, through the pine trees, these pine tress,
I grew up with them,
I am made of them and they love me.

Tight hugs, and a farewell nod,
I love you I love you and won't you come visit? And here, I bought you this book, here, I bought you a $50 Safeway gift card

and oh
and oh goodness, it's too much
all my friends, they're too good to me
and I'll miss them, I'll miss them as much as I'll miss my little sister, and she cried and cried and told me not to go, and how can I break a six year olds heart?


Into the unknown, with my bestfriend.
Trailing him on his next adventure.

There's this feeling and it comes
from specific moments.
moments of familiarity
and peace.

I'll be driving the same road I've driven everyday for two years
and the sun shining through the trees reminds me
that I'm here and there's a reason I'm here
and there's a reason I'm here now.

I'll be sitting in the barn with boys I've sat in the barn with for hundreds of hours before
and Dylan will laugh in the way he does and Liam will strike his match the way he does
and I'll sit back and smile and be proud of this moment
I'll be proud of these people I choose to spend time with,
people that have chosen me.

I get that feeling when I look over from the passenger seat
and I'll see Fiona twirling her hand out the window the way she does
and she'll be blasting The Cars
and that's how it's supposed to be

I moved
partly I suppose
to surround myself with
new things
to write about.

I miss
the foothills
the yuba
all my friends
and lovers.

Is that it?
have I doomed myself to write
about what I've left behind?

I close my eyes to the Rockies
and I see the foothills.

I close my eyes to the ski resort
and I see the bakery.

I close my eyes to the ******* the bus
and I see eight girls who probably didn't like me anyway.

I haven't asked for a coworkers number,
i call
the girl I fell most in love with,
she's even further away now.


my sheets are new,
not broken in, stiff yet soft.

my name tag reads
Nolan Fillman
Grass Valley California

people ask me where that is and I've lied every time

I wake in the morning
     birds not yet chirping,
a quick walk to the cafe
    at five I start working.

Cigarette break at eight
    cup of coffee, quick sunrise,
Lunch break at ten,
    shield the sun from my eyes.

At one I go home
    I take a quick shower,
Have a quick bite
    than nap for an hour.

At three I do chores
     today a load of laundry,
I'll sit in the sun
     today not a worry.

Tomorrow is Tuesday
    which means a day off,
I'll smoke a bowl in the morning,
     spend all day dreaming in my loft.

Listen:
You were never supposed to feel lonely,
that was not part of the plan.
You were never supposed to feel anxious, never supposed to know fear or jealousy,
yet here you are.

Listen:
I'm afraid. Why can I not see past the front of my nose?
Question:
Is God omnipotent or good? She can't be both.

Knee deep in nostalgia
floating across an ocean of melancholy.
Dreams of Broad Street
nightmares of Nevada Union.

Falling in love with you was an often and legitimate experience.

Sitting on the National balcony
watching the clouds shape.
Iced coffee from Foxhound Espresso House
bent paperbacks from Toadhall Used Bookstore.

California, you'll never let go of me.

******, driving Newton Road
the long way home (I always took it).
******, driving home from the Yuba
sun baked but hydrated.
Drunk, making love in the guest room
after sitting on the porch
smoking, drinking, sometimes snorting
later, making love.


God talked to me the other day
at first God's voice was my own
but I've never given my internal monologue too much air time anyway.
When I wouldn't listen God's voice became my little sister's.
God say "full of hate, full of apathy, also full of love, also full of patience, your heart can't take it. Go back to California and fall in love with her again." Laying down in a patch of grass I asked God "Again?" but she didn't answer, she spoke again "full of hate, you must fall in love with her again"
I closed my eyes and God showed me Liam and Lukas and Sam Hughes cuddling together halfway through a mushroom trip. "Love" God said.
God showed me the Yuba river, fit to burst. "Love"
God showed me my mother reading Audrey "Ricki Ticki Tembo".

Hunger howls
like a storm,
the clouds aren't far
behind.

Hiding in line
at the soup kitchen,
does it ******* your pride
to ask for more?

Pockets as empty
as your pantry,
holes warn
in warm clothes.

Moose walk
by your bus stop,
they display the patience
that you lack.

Hunger howls
like a storm,
lick the bowl
stay true to form.

and he smiled
but then he said "
you didn't return my call"

and I had to tell him I picked up an old habit
and he said "
what's that?"

and I told him I picked up an old habit
I told him "
I've been enjoying my solitude"

I couldn't tell him what I didn't want to tell him
I didn't want to tell him "
I think I'm depressed again"

he would have tried to help
he would have said "
Nolan, I want to help"

I would have had to tell him the truth
I would have to have said "
I'm helping myself"

through no fault of his own
I think he would not have understood

If only life were an iPod,
if only we could replay last June
as we replay Miles David.

Sweaty and sticky and white wine drunk.
Finding rocks for our lovers,
eating mushrooms together and I was so scared when you walked in the highway.

It was the only time I raised my voice at you and I'm sorry.

People change, they drift apart
and there is no courtesy of a breakup.
Texts left unresponded, calls unanswered, letters unwritten, their is no quick bandaid rip, no 'I don't think we should see each other anymore.'

There is confusion and anxiety and guilt and selfblame and tears, and I wish I could press replay on last June.

Instead "Kind of Blue" is on repeat and I still cry every time the album finishes and I still miss and love you

China Grove.
The sun rises slowly at first.
But wait, it will be high in the sky sooner than you think.
And again, before you know it, it will be setting.
Only now, it will take what seems like forever to die.

It will breathe it's last breathe
and then another
and then another.
It refuses to die; to sink.

The night time is tricky
because the stars will stay in seemingly fixed locations
but if, and only if you lie on your back with a loved one
you will see that they rotate and sing a song just for the two of you.

.

racing across the moon
hopeful, distant and new
dancing with an old love
hopeful, shiny and blue

/alarm clock 6:30/

where did you leave me friend?
the bus don't run this far
where did you hide it? I've
never met a lonely star

I wish I were holding
you tight/ I wish you were
holding me tight tonight
I wish my love were here

The thing always goes wrong,
but with you buddy
it's been gold for years.

The golden hair boy
the wild child
the easy lovin.

there is a whole bunch of steps,
maybe more than you can handle,
but you can't stop climbing
because That's The Way It Is.

the first floor is labeled BIRTH.
it's covered with sweet smelling blood,
you roll in the blood until you've ****** enough nourishment from your mother, then you begin to stumble.

the second floor is labeled TIKE
and this floor is fun.
the walls are covered in bicycles and scabs, grass stains and ketchup, and you don't tire of climbing the stairs this floor holds.

the third floor is called MIDDLE SCHOOL and you experience anxiety for the first time. climbing the stairs begins to feel like a chore but at the end of each flight you are rewarded with letter grades and a feel or two up a skirt.

the fourth floor is called HIGH SCHOOL and it smells like beer and vaginal excrement and you spend half your time crying and the other half doing homework and yet you somehow manage to remain Hopeful.

the fifth staircase us called GAP YEAR and it's reminiscent of the second flight of stairs except now you have Privelage to go along with your Responsibility. These stairs smell like your favorite lake and magic mushrooms and Monty Python. They feel fulfilling yet wasteful, encompassing yet misdirecting.

attentive reader, I just signed up for college 600 miles away from home, I know the next staircase is called College and it smells like beer, but I know nothing else. Wish me luck, please, I think I'll need it.

Sometimes I get that feeling
I'm sure you've felt it

I feel as if I'm 16 again,
My most valuable possession
Is the skateboard I built.

It's a Tuesday and I've ditched school again.
The twelve dollars in my pocket
Is burning to be spent.

At the used book store
I spend eight of it on a paperback copy of
The Fellowship of the Ring.

Up the street to the Curly Wolf
I buy a cup of coffee.
Skating with a cup of coffee isn't hard for me.

Moms drunk again,
Probably will be for the rest of the week
And so it looks like I won't be going home
Until she sobers up enough to wonder where I am.

Can I sleep on your floor?
Only for the night? That's fine,
Liam said I can stay at his place starting tomorrow

You gotta take your shoes off,
mother just washed the mat,
and she'll tell you,
'I just washed the mat'

You gotta remember to floss,
God chose not to give you teeth with enamel.
It's not your fault,
it is your responsibility.

You gotta study hard at school.
Your brother works at a coffee shop,
your sister is thirty two thousand dollars in debt,
do better than them.

You gotta be kind to your mother.
Her past stretches through dark times,
and her present is filled with shadows,
your father is blocking the light.

You gotta be wary of your father.
An accident occurred
and then his brother made a mistake,
and now he suffers, he does not grow and he will drag you down.

You gotta be tender with your oldest brother.
He doesn't know where his heart lies.
He believes the greates sin is to not love
and he loves no one but you.

You gotta understand your God.
They may be different than your brother's
(lets hope They're different than your mother's)
but you need to meet them on level ground.

You gotta stay soft,
the world is hard, it'll get harder each day of your life,
but you must remain like water.



Is it better to roll off the hard surfaces, the ones that cut, or is it better to cut them instead?
I pray that I'll know when you grow old enough to ask

It's the same Sun
but it sets differently here.
Instead of the deep purple shock
of the Sun setting behind the foothills
there's a light orange hum of
the Sun fading, sinking into the ocean.

A straight horizon,
endless, unmarred.
The oil rigs, instead of staining the landscape,
add a christmasesque luminance.

Nobody is in a hurry here
and there hasn't gone by twenty minutes without the crack of a firework.

Wuats not within walking distance is no more than two buss transfers away.

Sand; everywhere: the tires of my bicycle, the souls of my boots, bedsheets, washing machine, rocking chair : Sand.

Tank tops and shorts: informal
T-shirt and jeans: formal
By the beach.

sure sure
you're mostly clean
you're mostly kind and mostly gentle
you mostly smell like coffee
but

there are those parts
that smell like cigarettes and vile
those parts that are angry and coarse
there are those parts that are unclean.

and you got
ta

be careful about shedding you
got ta be
careful about which parts you leave with others.

in her sheets, I spread the apathy
I planted my seed of filth
thankgoodnessfully she suffocated it
disposed of it
did not return it.

when you realize the vile
you gotta release the vile
and when you release the vile
you gotta be alone and
you        gotta scrub and scrub

There's a group of young people
laying on the rocks
a doobie passing between them,
two beers for each.

They're listening to the sound of the river,
they're laughing and they look into each others eyes
and they are good, they are soft and warm and a little toasted,
thank the sun, thank the earth, thank the friends.

I'm among them,
with my pen in my hand and my notebook on my lap.
Terra, she calls out for a beer, I reach into my bag and toss her one.
Kelly, she calls out for a cigarette, I reach into my bag and toss her one,
Dylan, he calls out for a guitar pick, I reach into my pocket and toss him one.
Chloe, she calls out so as to not be alone, I reach into my pocket and toss her love,
I toss love to them all, they always catch it, and toss their own back, I never drop it.

It's February but it's hot.
It snowed last week (ah! What a beautiful day) and today there's a high of 75.

The air is cooler by the water,
we climb up the canyon to watch the sunset.
A cool end to a cool day.

We all pile into my truck.
Kelly, to her ranch.
Terra, to her trailer.
Dylan, to his barn.
Chloe, to her town house.
Me, to my church.

Many laughs, many hugs, many eyes met, many glances kept, much love tossed, a couple doobies smoked, a twelve pack drunk, and a day lazed in the sun.
A handful of friendship, an ocean of love.

Always there and never here

the old carrot on a rope trick
I always fall for it.

happiness is there, happiness is doing that, happiness is making that much money, happiness is sleeping with her, happiness is hanging out with them....

but
it's not.

happiness is not the carrot on the rope,
it's a state of mind.

my mother identifies as Catholic yet she always taught me that heaven and hell exist at the same time. heaven is a state of mind, hell is self pity.

and yet,

I'm seeking peace through turmoil.

I love this town, I love The Curly Wolf Espresso House, I love Thursday night karaoke at The National Hotel Bar, I love the south fork of The Yuba River, but I gotta get away.

this monotony has turned from fruitful to choking. this monotony turned its back on me.
this complacency has turned from refreshing to restricting. this complacency turned its back on me.

I've never in my life felt apathetic!
is it a curse? is it a destiny?

I told the girl I've loved for seven years that I'm moving six hundred miles away from her  and she cried in my arms. 'You can't. You can't, I need you. I need you.'

I never know what to say when somebody I love cries. I told her 'shh shh don't cry. I need to. I need to.'


my mother wishes me the best, my big sister is proud of me. I haven't brought myself to tell my little sister yet. I won't tell my friends, they'll try to throw me a party; I couldn't handle that.
My boss is giving me a recommendation, my good friend Joey is coming with me, my father hasn't returned my call.

would it be easier
to be transparent like a window pane?

would the self improvement be notable without smoke and mirrors to cover it?

could you imagine living your life without self critique? where would you be? ******* your diaper, crying for mother: what's new? what's known?


if you looked in my brain, would you see my marbles or my matches? the part that rolls and rolls and rolls or that other part: stagnant but explosive?


if I looked in your brain, what would I see? a small black cat, sitting on your broom as you fly? you're like a bowl of rice, I guess, because I'm ****** and its late and I suppose I could eat a bowl of rice

She said,
this is where the ocean begins.

salty and gentle
and rocking with a steady push
a steady pull.

splashing
and diving,
splashing and feeling with our feet for the sand.

the ocean pulled us outward,
the tide: eastward,
our legs: toward the shore.

striking a balance,
old friends,
a mister bush, a mister higgins,
the third and second kiss to a miss rowe, respectively,
respectfully: walking in the street.
a young lady with a name I won't try to spell, out the driveway, first left, half a block down.

800 miles from home is a lot closer than 2,000

Drunk enough to sweat
but not drunk enough to eat
and it goes and don't blink
and it goes in circles.

Nine in the morning,
an hour to get to work,
nine at night,
an hour to get to work.

and she said
this is perfect,
the grey blue of a 9 pm dusk,
the body temperature of this dry mountain air.

I had to agree.

and it goes and goes and don't blink,
it goes in circles

'Twas during The Troubles,
when my uncle did,
made haste with his lads,
and in Belfast hid.

Their votes they cast,
and still the British stayed.
So they took up arms,
and like pianos they played.

Making bombs in the basement,
very carefully they planned.
They laid them at the entrance of Parliment,
let those imperialists be ******.

Ooh ahh! Up the R.A.!
They shouted in the night.
Tiocfaidh ár lá!
They gave the Brits a good fight.

Thirty years later,
in a prison my uncle still lays.
He writes me letters,
He still believes in brighter days.

When the brits are out,
He'll go home.
Tend to his flock,
this Irishman will never bow to that throne.

It isn't always soft
it isn't always pastel
and it's rarely warm.

it's beautiful, don't get me wrong.
it's sometimes cold
it's sometimes gray and irritating,
but it's always recognizable.

sometimes it sounds like a congested nose,
sometimes it sounds like a hardwood floor,
sometimes it sounds like an old refrigerator.

you'll look at it and think
'that would look great with a bow on it'
but you never put a bow on it.

you'll look at it and think
'I bet that smells like home'
and it does.

you'll touch it
it will feel like sandpaper and velvet bralettes at the same.
you know that's The Way It Should Be.


you're right you know,
it is terribly hypocritical.
Your mother says "it's in Your Best Interest."

you wonder what that is.

Mother Nature knew I needed a car wash.
She gave me a car wash.

Her rains cleared the film of pollen and dust from my eyes and the pitter patter of Her rain on my roof lolled me to sleep.

It's been

two weeks and I'm still sober.
Two weeks of unwilling sleep,
yet two weeks of waking up not wishing to sleep more.

This is a battle I've fought before,
a battle I know I can win,
a battle I know I can lose.

But it's been two weeks
and She rewards me with rain.

I walked the bases loaded but Mother Nature, my pitching coach, visited the mound and told me to have fun, this is baseball remember?
The bases are still loaded and still there are no outs, but I've got two strikes on this batter and my catcher can block my curve in the dirt.

Breaking in the wrong way,
But I know,
I can't accept,
it's the only way I know.

Getting off the bus a stop late;
I can barely feel the cold.

I'm more than the surface,
but I know some days,
I'm only a mirror.


I said things to you I know I never should have.

I have never been so scared.



I sleep in all morning because
I can barely face the day,
mornings are the worst.
I only find peace on the bus.

I've never been so apathetic;
the bus slides through the ice and for a moment I hope it doesn't stop.

I've never hated looking in the mirror so much and
I've never been so scared.

Breaking in the only way I know how,
It hurts my friends and can't stop it.

This morning i woke up to the sounds of my insides breaking,
It's become a staple.

The conductor never gave me a map
With the stops highlighted in yellow.
Never told me how long until
Just the destination
And perhaps a sad smile.

Please don't apologize:
You did it to me again?
No, you gave love only.
I do it to myself.

Smoke from the Camp Fire (capitalized, it's a proper noun this time)
Fills the air,
Stifles it, poisons it
And yet
So beautiful to look straight at the sun during midday,
Right around when I leave work
Work
That ****** place that kept me from you, those 8 wasted hours.
That ****** place that will provide me the means to get to you.
That ****** place that provides me the means to give you physical tokens of love, to buy you Plan B and books.

**** it all

So I've scrubbed under my nails,
Washed my sheets (goodbye long hairs, although I'm sure they'll stick around)
Organized my books,
Threw out the trash, the beer bottles and bottles and bottles
The empty cigarette packs.

I haven't driven since you left
Haven't looked forward to my bed.
Haven't smiled after waking
Haven't found you in the night

But **** this sad ****,
Let's put on some happy music and hope it sticks.
Put away The Growlers
Put on the Modern Lovers.
If you inspire me when you're here I'll become better when you're not.
I'll read more (smoke more drink more cry more)
I'll save money
I'll play that ****** guitar in the closet.
I'll be a better man so that when we see each other again
I'll be able to leave you with more of me,


How did you say it?
You make living easy and fun?
The nicest words anybody has ever said to me.
The most heartbreaking **** I've been told from 600 miles away.
i make living easy and fun,
Very good, that's what I'll do.

to be fair
/since we're both libras\
you never did ask.
you only said
"I guess you like me
and I don't know why."

you never did ask
but I wish I'd told you
exactly why I do like you.

It didn't cross my mind until tonight that I could certainly tell you
exactly why
I like you
but perhaps more importantly
I could tell you what I like about you
and you never did ask
but since I'm a few beers deep
/in pursuit of libra-esque fairness,
it's more like seven or eight beers deep, but I've never liked counting that sort of thing\
I could tell you what I don't like about you.

I guess I could start with that first
but I depending on how this next beer hits me, I might have forgotten how badly your dismissal has hurt me by the time I get there.



Against the warnings of a friend I do not trust,
/**** it, she's your coworker, she ***** me when I was thirteen and you might as well know about it\
Against the warnings of your coworker
I trusted you.

I put you on a pedestal next to Buster Posey, Jesus Christ, and Jeff Mangum. You haven't fallen from that perch, but I'm so far below.
At least, I think I am, it's a bit too dark to see beyond the end of my nose right now
/that pile of beer bottles is chuckling at me now\

if you had asked me
instead of wondering

I'd have told you I love your optimism and your work ethic. I was raised catholic, not Protestant, but I believe God smiles on those who work as hard as they can. God and I both smile on you.

/another beer now\

I'd have told you I fell in love with you the moment your hands first wove their way through my hair. It had been quite a long time since I'd felt so truly comfortable, so utterly welcome.

/I'm crying now,
I guess I'll smoke some ***
and try to calm down\

If I'd have been able to do so without crying, I wouldn't have been able to stop telling you why I like you. I'd still be telling you now.

I'd have told you I love how eager you are to speak with everyone.
The old man at the bar could have been your best friend the way you welcomed and listened and laughed with him.

You're so aware of not only the space you take up, but what you leave behind you as you twist and wander and whether it's bullheaded arrogance that delivers you so elegantly through life, or if it's a sort of divine empathy that lets you experience all the love around you, as coal to an engine, as espresso to the child, I don't know what it is exactly,
but I love it.

/that last part didn't make sense, I wish I hadn't smoked ***\
/one day I'll realize that's how I feel every time I smoke ***\


Whether it's because I'm a 24/7 romantic
Or I really do care for you,
I can't tell,
I've forgotten what mean things I had thought up to say to you.
/I can't believe I'd want to hurt you\
/I am a libra, I think libras are supposed to get along just fine, right?\

god forbid you ever read this,
I'm too drunk tonight to try and give it to you
/you wouldn't read it, i bet\
/did you ever read the poem I wrote for you? It wasn't any good but I've thought of you reading it,
sitting cross legged on your mattress, windows open, some vegan snack sitting in your lap, perhaps a friend or lover has kicked it up out of the corner it lays in,
hopefully it makes you smile,
a silly poem
that a silly boy wrote
Because he fooled around and fell in love with you\
But perhaps someday you'll get this this
and I hope it isn't mean,
/I haven't ever wanted to be anything than an easy friend for you, a comforting hand, a steadying smile, a car ride home,\
I'm sorry,
I can't tell.



It was a terrible night.
The night you told me to stop bugging you
I didn't get drunk
So I should have prossesed these emotions by now


and so it goes

it's rumbling
it's rolling
there's a human in it
they're rumbling
they're rolling
down the window and they learn their head out
the window

they let you know they think you're less than a human
smile
for daddy you *******
smile for daddy.

forgot how to love
she said 'spank me, man'
i spanked her too hard

I tried to kiss her kneck like James Dean
she didn't feel it.

i made her bed while she was showering,
i made her coffee while she dressed,
i held her hand at the bustop and then walked home.


i found a note in my pocket
a drawing of a flower,
a drawing of lips kissing,
her handwriting


again I'm in high school learning how to love
this time my lover already knows
and so it is easy to remember.


her makeup stained my favorite shirt,
the one my dad bought at a brewery in Berkeley but to be fair, the blue one that says 'Truckee' was my favorite until this morning

It isn't much,
but you'll help me.
I don't care
for excess.
I only ask for
four walls
and to be happy.


I don't mean
to pretend like I care about
what you think about me,
it's easy watch:
You just gotta care too much.



I don't want her to lose her empathy,
****** if I didn't have somthing  to with that.

Closed off
     unknowing
unfeeling
floating just under the clouds.

Open
      arrogant
overwhelmed
sinking into the mud

I'm leaving California,
I'll be in Montanny by may.
Said I'm leaving California,
I got to get away.
But don't ya know my friend
If you asked me to I would stay.

I can't find the words when I'm with you
The old fat cat has got my tongue.
Ya know I can't find the words
To let you know you're the one.



In progress

I feel more comfortable now,
you put your hand on my shoulder,
I put my hand on your shoe

bad dream: what's your name?
I don't care where you been,
you don't care where I'm at but
I'm comfortable now.

A plan till September,
a plan for November to April,
Golden Hair Boy: where ya been?

Daydream: what ya doing?

it's raining on the stage of the showdown, get ready
get ready for electric violin


I may need an oil change
but I got my sea change and boy it looks good on me, a light teal with purple floral patterns.

friends: are you ready?
I love you and I got a plan