I never see the end
until I'm tripping over it.

I want to be
where time
only exists
in the sky

I used to perform rituals of loneliness
as I danced around a clock
Counting my steps until midnight
My footprints fit into minutes

But time stopped around mid-day
while the sun was at its peak
With your hand in my pocket
I'll give it no room for air
...I'll give it no room to breathe

No need for sunglasses
with no tears hide
and no sun too bright
that it burns my eyes

I'm the sun behind the clouds
when all you know is shade
So as you search for a lamp
to enlighten your darkness
I'll just wait for these clouds to drift away
so you lay on your back
and blades of grass tickle your arms
You imagine shapes in the sky
that try to hide
The rays that make up the shape of a face.

I want to see the world through skylit retinas

that are covered at night by a thicker comforter

than the one that rests upon the crevice in my side.

I want the electrical tape that holds my skeleton together

to be replaced with foreign joints

I want the muscles that spiral around my ivory bones

to be built of tough leather rather than the feather

that protects nothing what so ever.

I want the blood beneath my flesh

to be purple rivers that send shivers

down my sticky taped up spine

I want my skin to be more than a blanket

that plays hide and seek with the lever in my skull

instead of crank it.

Maybe then

I'll be an unknown species

Maybe then

I will be discovered

Maybe then

I can peek my fresh eyes out

and be blinded by the sunlit skies

beyond the rocks of my cave.

Your vision
determines the placement of your skull

So turn your head
and look the other way

I'll look that way too.
I've never seen anything as beautiful
as the back of your head
as you focus on walking forward
far away

In the context of today's supernatural energy,
The brains in which I inhale are forever spinning.
I bought my eyes from the black market
and cannot see clearly anymore.

Saint Hildegard lived in yesterday's supernatural
with purchased Germanic eyes of green and ivory...
as mine are.
She is the best friend that I have never known
and would never **** my vibe.

But all of the energies running around
are killing the vibe that races through my spine.
And I want to see life as a puppy does,
running and frolicking low to the ground...
digging up tennis *****.

You can count on me, though,
to see life as a the gangsta I'm not,
and not as the hound I so want to be.

But I'm neither gangster nor *****,
but only a Lupine plant leaving seeds to be eaten
by the breathers with brains who take all I have to offer.

And nobody calls me the lucky one,
but I know I could be if I had somebody else's organs.
And if I were to dance with you
I may call myself the lucky one,
but I settle for dancing for you
and I'm not lucky at all.

And I don't know how I'm at the end of the line
when there are no girls in front of me.
Can you tell that there are no girls in front of me?

This line goes on for miles,
and the stereo I listen to today's supernatural frequencies through
goes on for miles.

You're the dearest loving zombie I know,
so take me away in a helicopter
far away from the breathers and the bleeders.
And we'll be the only ones in the sky
and we'll walk about the clouds
and engage our supernatural ids
and create a make-believe empire.

But there are things to do outside the windows
and nothing can possibly be how I wish it to.

Giving into the surfaces
allowing them to support me.

I'm sliding down
and leaning upon
and collapsed.

You already cut me open
now peel away my skin
and take a good look at my heart.

Waking up to an ellipsis
from a phantom
and wondering if it's
a dream or a nightmare.

My heart is a suggestion box
and you've filled it to the top.

I have tamed him,
and though we advance
at different paces,
we learn from the places
we both have been
in the different places
of our life.
We are tamed to see
both sides of a knife,
and he has tamed me to
never be blamed for
strife caused by the
soft side of the knife.
We've been tamed to aim
for both sides of life.

You have a new favorite
and I'm not even the next best thing anymore

I don't believe in consequences
and the sky has been crying for days

And I keep having someday dreams
and someday never comes,
it's just a story my hand can't stop scribbling down on paper

I don't believe that dreams come true
and I don't believe in someday dreams
and I don't believe in consequences
and I don't believe in meaningless things

My affection and attention was tasted
and wasted
and now I'm wasted all the time
always in more way than one.

This is the jaunty feeling I've never known
and I anticipated this tepid breeze that has blown
tangling my hair in your face and
tangling my hair in our mouths and
strangling the horrors of past months

And this jaunty feeling sets my chin on your shoulder
and this tepid breeze promises to never get colder
as long as my chin is on your shoulder
Good luck ever moving my boulder chin from your shoulder
I'm not going anywhere and we have the whole summer
to keep the drummer in my chest racing at a steady heavy beat
and this tepid breeze will save us from the steamy summer heat
that will never let us burn and peel

It's all about contexts and
I only want there to be one.

All the "I've been done that's".
It's all miscommunications.
I haven't been done anything in a while.

Take me with you.

I dip my toes in the water,
but not to feel the temperature
because I already know that it's hot

I only do it because it feels good to have hot feet
with a torso that's full of snow.

It's agony to see you creating memories with somebody else
but it's even worse to have to be with somebody else.

creativity is sometimes hard to find

but the only way to find creativity

is to be not creative in the first place

if you are already creative

then how can you find the creativity you already posess

discovering creativity

is one of the most rewarding feelings

so let the world be filled with uncreative minds

and let those minds

have the opportunity

to find the creativity

that was hiding

in the depths of their minds.

I am me

simple sentence

that no amount of words

can correctly interpret



you are you

you are different than me

simple concept

with a complex definition



we are close

but with a fair distance between us

these kilometers aren't always noticed

so you start your journey

over to me



eager at first

running at full speed

until your lungs shrink

and your pace slows



what you see in front of you

keeps getting further

it is just a mirage

you can't touch it

but you can see it

and sense its presence

and that will have to be good enough

for now.

I'm a space filler.

I fill the empty spaces.

But I'm only a pastel.

My colors are light and airy.

You'll color over this space someday,

with colors that are more permanent--

with colors that don't fade, as I do.

I've already faded enough to disappear.

Just wait.

I don't know anything at all
Sometimes it's hard to learn
to the point where there is no point
Give me a sharpener of sorts
So I can carve one

I stumble when I walk
Give me a map with a location to trip towards
Give me a beat to march to
So I can walk upright

My vision is blurred
I can only see in black and white
Give me some lenses so I can see what you mean
I need hearing eggs to listen correctly
I need a dictionary to understand definitions

If all of this is too hard to find
Then hide my face in your chest
and cover my ears
whisper in my ear what everything means
Tell me the right words and use them correctly
and I'll trust you blindly, without a sound.

I don't necessarily believe that opposites attract.

but they should.

That way all the things you like and love

don't get tainted when things go wrong.

There's something in the corner coming to life.
There's something in the corner making
less fluid shapes than I am.
I knew the people in the corner were watching
the complication with melancholy carelessness.
I wanted to be seen.
They were meaningful, elegant, and classic.
They don't really care if I care,
but they know that I care.
This bunch of people in the corner carried it well.
Facing back there, I gaze into their post-modern land,
performing and knowing specifically that this is for you.
I pose seductively, a classic cover model.
I'm so ****** that there's no acknowledgement of my gaze.
Stop making me nauseous.
This is manipulation;
not relationship manipulation,
but it's purposely manipulative.
I just didn't do anything.

I'm flawed if I'm not free.

But it doesn't matter,
because words don't mean anything to me.

Moving inspiration away from words and
moving deep impressions of intention.
Discussing first, the closing off at the end.
Becoming closed, then opening out.
The second time around it's visible
throughout your body.
The birds flying by were calming when
I followed you, cutting through
a quietly working stream.
People around just go ahead and
movements go even when
the professor killed himself.
I'm reading his poems and backing down,
experiencing his struggle.

Forever waiting for my decrepit friend
with my heart nailing my spine to the earth.
I need this Cimmerian Shade to remind me
that this isn't how things determinedly end.

...and I read the news and still feel uncomfortably serene,
despite the dead heroes and all the entitled people.
There's no luck anymore, just a fistful of my abysmal choices,
and I'm kidding myself if I think I haven't always been the antagonist of this epic journey.

...and all I challenge you is to come over and waste some life with me
and to blindfold me from your behavior like a child that's convinced of unicorns.

...and my cheeks smolder with my incinerating charcoal soul.
I suffer as I admit my desires and my charcoal soul will continue blistering until its substance is melted and twisted like wax.

...and I was captured in a landslide that only I can palpate,
curious as why nothing has seen me being removed ever so slowly,
like it's my undying fate.

I'm summoning everybody I know and everybody I don't,
to the races to see how fast I can run with my wounded spirit.

Place your bets.
Beat the odds.
Get lucky

My feet are restless
and my brain is reckless.

I now understand
why my windshield wipers
scream in the rain.

If jealousy is ugly then so am I.

I'm doing a little better now
...My mind is in a different place most of the time now
I don't write poems for him anymore now
but I lie to myself a lot more now
Because I still pretend he's holding my hand sometimes
and remember the old times when these times seemed years away.

some day

you will realize

you are alot

like that person

you always hated

and you will

like them

alot more.

Hair flecked with silver streams

Grooves in the skin creating ripples of wisdom

Wisdom shown in the glossy eyes



Body of watery experience sitting in the rickety chair,

the chair that squeaks with every rocky wave



If wisdom had a visible aura

it would be seeping out of his eye sockets

creating rivers of tears flowing down the cheekbones



It would be pouring out of his ears,

watering the thirsty hydrangeas that rest by his feet



It would be running out of his nose

into the decades of wisdom gathering around his chin



It would be salivating out of the corners of his mouth,

down his chin

drenching the front of his argyle sweater vest



But people walk by

blinded by nearsightedness

They don't see the water that creates a tsunami

strong and tall



People walk by

content on their dry scratchy gravel,

not wanting to dip their toes

into the murky pond before them



People walk by

closer toward the desert

where they get stuck

waiting for something to quench their thirst.

I wait so long, I wait so long
Now all I say is 'So long, so long'
to all my future lovers
'cause I don't want no other

I look at her, shouldn't look at her
'cause I don't see myself in her
And I'm just being honest all the time
I'm scared of being honest all the time

Don't want to be like all the others
but they're all I think about right now
I hang around with all these lovers
I think about you and when and how

I challenge fate, I challenge fate
'Cause fate is something I create
for our current predicament
our unfortunate predicament

Don't want to be a mess like this
but I am sad and broken down
It's not supposed to happen to me like this
but I gave you the tools and showed you how

It's oh so cold, I feel so cold
I feel bitter, I feel so old
I search for a sugar-coated treat
to turn the bitter into something sweet

Something sweet, something sweet
You really are my something sweet
and I understand, I understand
Just wish I could walk with you hand in hand

Hand in hand, hand in hand
want you to hold my untouched hand
for now I'll wear a glove on it all the time
so nobody puts their hand on mine

and life goes on and on and on
It just keep flowing on and on
and I droan on and on and on
I don't want to move on, move on

Her hand was cold
It was winter and snowy
He was standing on the beach
His hand was warm
She wanted him to warm her hand
But in time it would freeze and get frost-bitten
So she put a glove on it
And another held onto it
If he comes into the snow
she'll take off the glove
and her skin will be untouched
for him to touch.

It's not to get medicinalized,
It's not about analyzing or string theory or computer programming,
When they're not trying to be funny but you're laughing,
I'm facing you because you're talking and I don't want you to be alone in your head
but I don't want to be in your head with you.
So I'm quiet.
And I'm analyzing in my head something way complicated
when the atmosphere is simple.
I don't dare to speak.
Because I don't know what will come out of my mouth
or if it's true.
I quietly ride the waves
of knowledge and complication and the complex simplicity of the song that's playing.
I blindly ride the waves
and I don't hold my breath when they're over my head.
I quietly sink,
but only in an armchair.
I'm still facing you because you're talking,
but I don't know the topic of the conversation
because I was surfing and
someone is waiting for you to answer their question
and I'm nowhere near the front of the line.

I'll keep tip-toeing the tar strips
of the residential labyrinths
of this suffocating suburbia
until I'm dancing in a modern field
with flowing pants and forever winds.

I asked what time is,
not what the time is.

...

Your body is rejoicing
within you.

...

...

There's always someone in this place;
This place never sleeps.

...

...

...

...

...

Munch munch munch on my heart
when you're bored

If I
freeze time
nothing can
happen, nothing
wrong, nothing
bad, nothing
good, nothing

strong.

Sifting through poetic phrases
digging for pronouns.

Torn scraps of paper in a torn scrap of time

Both equally insignificant

yet have unseen potential

to create a masterpiece



Eyes glazing over both microscopic elements,

forgotten and unrecognized



Torn scraps of money

weigh down the pockets of peacoats,

feather light



We are blinded by bills and coins

not seeing the scraps that surround them

not seeing the materials they are made of

not building on those elements



A mountain of scraps builds,

having more benefits

than coins and bills.

I go outside and I scream at the clouds
"Oh Dear God, please help me this once."
Then I go inside because I've been denied
and say under my breath
"God ******* **** it."

I wonder why this is,
Maybe I just don't care
and that should be enough.
Life is tough
buy a sheild
Don't ask for favors
from anyone.

Sometimes I see the world as if I were a tower.
Not looking down on things, for I have no chin,
and not seeing the things below at all.
My eyes are the tallest story windows
and no people can upset me
all I see are the clouds and the birds and
the other tower people gazing mindlessly.

I wish we happened during rush hour
so I could I appreciate everything
on the side of the highway that
I didn't notice
when we were going seventy miles per hour

We're danger stalkers
searching for the modest
at dawn in the garish part of this metropolis.

And my soul sprints
when everything is secure and sane,
and I want to stalk the danger again.

So I make meager attempts at blackmail,
to attempt to satisfy all the charmers like me
frozen in the frigid north.
because discipline is gobbledigook
in balmy compartments.

I have a charcoal rosette
taped to my chest.
Is it honorable?
It calmly smolders my heart
at this banquet with all my company.
I leave nonchalantly at the hazy end of the night,
-casually slip on my gloomy boots-
and build up my wails for creatures.

I love the heinous beasts
and stories of lad meets lady.

As the rain dives onto my window,
it puts its mouth up against the glass
and screams the unnerving truth;

I am long passed being somebody's rose
I've been picked and left to be pressed in a book
I don't have roots to keep me stable in the ground as the wind blows
I've been dried out and left to die.
Forgotten.

It's all my fault that I said nothing
But it's not my fault that you said no

It's all my fault that I always no
but it's not my fault they never say nothing

but at the rate that the world is moving
and despite this state that I'm in
I still managed to stop moving
long enough to be trampled by tortoises
and I somehow managed to be missed by the stampede

Sometimes I wish the turtles would get off of my back
because they crawl so slow
and time begins to ache

Sometimes I wish the stampede would target me
and the last thing I would see is a violent crowd
but I still imagine a mirage behind the mob

I have an invitation for the turtles;
they can sleep on my back.