Examining the accuracy.
Exploring the brightness.
Hunting for certainty.
Inquiring the directness.
Inspecting the lucidity.
Investigating the precision.
Pursuing purity.
On a quest for simplicity.
Researching transparency.
Chasing articulateness.
Frisking comprehensibility.
Going over conspicuousness.
Inquesting a definition.
Rummaging for distinctness.
Scrutinizing the evidence.
Shaking down the exactitude.
On an expedition for explicitness.
Working the legs towards intelligibility.
A perquisition for legibility.
A wild-goose chase for limpidity.
A witch hunt for obviousness.
Interrogating openness.
Probing the palpability.
Prosecuting the penetrability.
Racing perceptibility.
Raiding perspicuity.
Coursing the plainness.
Following the prominence.
Hounding the salience.
Meddling in the tangibility.
Prying into the unambiguity.
Reconnaissance in the cognizability.
Seeking decipherability.
Snooping for explicability.
Sporting limpidness.
On a steeplechase for manifestness.
Studying the overness.
Tracing unmistakability.

The way you do stuff always gets to me
It brings out that spot, if you know what I mean
The way you show your stuff
know your stuff, always makes me
bite my lip and squint my right eye into almost a wink
if you know what I mean.
It makes me think about what you  think
about my stuff and if it brings out your spot
or if you think my stuff isn't worthy
of all the biting and winking that happens on the spot
it makes me think maybe you don't have a spot
So what am I supposed to hit if it's not your spot?
I'll just have to beat up myself instead.
So find your spot and tell me what you think
tell me if I bring it out
tell me if you wink.

You are the intelligence
behind the cellar door,
(the phrase in which
your life is written)

I lay awake at night
and think of nightmares
and these nightmares
are my lullaby

Then I fall asleep
and have real nightmares
about waking up
and being in reality

When I wake
I daydream of the evils
that sing me to sleep
and my reality is the nightmare I dreamt about last night

I make my bed
and as I lay in it
my nightmares begin
to serenade me again.

Standing tall
in a corner
that doesn't exist
at all

(So why should I bother brandishing my arms around
to get your attention?)

Things need to disorganize
they need to run around with their arms creating a tornado above their heads
they need to scrabble
to shuffle
to dishevel
to destroy
to complicate and confuse
to break up other things
to create a topsy-turvy world
in order to leave space
for things to reorganize.

All it is is shifting;

Shifting weight from one leg to the next,
          to avoid the tingles that haunt my right side.
Shifting objects in my arms
          to avoid them falling to the ground.
Shifting positions in the night
          to avoid memories of spoons and nightmares of phantoms
Shifting levers in my brain
          putting all of my sleeping weight into the level labeled "loneliness"
Shifting anxiously
         standing with my arms crossed, eyes dodging.

Even if

nightmares, cats, leaders, ***, beauty, hugs, feelings, melodies, technology, communication, life, abandonment, longings, mornings, electronics, kingdoms, followers, humiliation, darlings, hyperventilation, depression, Alonedom, ghosts, trundles, Hell, gravity, tickling, hearts, unicorns, twins, education, lost ones, ink, medications, pavements, thoughts, souls, suicide, walls, hatred, alcohol, oceans, soles, music, misspellings, transportation, buses, guts, Heaven, time, attractions, *****, hands, blindness, organs, dreams, bodies, distances, understanding, currency, energy, love, spaghetti, contentment, happiness, tears, fire, people, oxygen, tongues, children, peace, death, papas, zombies, homicide, blood, kisses, drugs, families, caffeine, mamas, space, parchments, baked goods, economy.

didn't exist,
I would still wish you would

But you don't anymore

so nothing matters.

Your hand on my lap forces the moon to flaunt its rays through the glass
on a moment that will soon pass,  
and your whispers hit me harder than the thunderclap's applause
as you sing about the Western Skyline with Dawes,
and the warmth your voice brings reminds me that
you're more beautiful than all of those pretty little things
anyway.

I have conversations with you in my head,
my mouth is moving
          a silent film with a torn screen
I picture what you would say,
wrap your beautiful words in quotation marks.
          If they were real they'd be wrapped in a sunrise
I imagine that I am funnier and wittier than I actually am
so I can imagine the laughter coming from your mouth
          and even though this is a silent film
          your smile in my mind takes handfuls of weight from my heart
          ...and almost makes up for the locked doors that dominate what I see

But the torn screen warps your smile
and those locked doors mock me,
         pouring shovels full of weight back into my heart.

I painted myself metallic
until I was shining
and shredded myself into fine tinsel
to be your silver lining

And you gave me your cloud to hold
and to mold
I just wish you had told me
you longed for it to be outlined in gold

Drift on silver moon
be an alluvion amongst the stars.

Float on silver moon
Hover above.

Fly on by, silver moon
Forget about the emotions below you.

Leave me, silver moon
Be with the stars you deserve.

Move away, silver moon
You don't need to see the stupidity of humanity.

Navigate me, silver moon
Take me to where you're going.

Reach towards me, silver moon
If only for a few moments.

Run away with me, silver moon
I'll sail the galaxies with you.

Shoot on, silver moon
Let me billow behind your coat tail.

Skim the clouds, silver moon
and hide behind them if you must.
I understand.

Soar on, silver moon
For the future needs your light at night.

Sweep me away, silver moon
and lay me down upon a different world.

Cast off, silver moon
You're the captain.

Make headway, silver moon
You'll always be the captain.

Funk is just a mixture of jazz and hip-hop.
Jazz is just a mixture of ballet and modern and funk.
Modern has a little ballet in parallel with release.
It's all the same to me.
It's movement.

Things are much simpler now
and simplicity is bliss
I can shout to the world now
because I know you're not listening
and your ears were the only one's that mattered
they were the only one's I censored
I can even scream your name
so loud
that my larynx catches fire
and I start choking and hacking
but you would hear neither
your name
nor the choking and hacking
or the hoping and sapping
or the slapping of my heart on the pavement

That slap was so simple
and simplicity is bliss
but it's the confusion
and complexity that I miss
I wish my heart wouldn't just slap on the pavement
lifeless
I wish it would put up a fight
and die with some pride
but it just got smacked out of my chest
by your hand
for cars to run over
like road ****.

"I love you" is a great way to cover up that stupid line.
Don't be afraid of losing me;
that is worthless worry.

Wasting wine
with a glass
full of time.

What's the use of a weapon
When I have no ammunition?

I can hold a  weapon
I can worry people with it
I can feel strong
Fool people.

And what's the use of having a weapon
When I have no aggression?

I can let it build up inside of me
I can see people look at me
Because I know the build up is making me shake
and they don't know why I do that.

Instead of owning a pointless weapon
I'll be a horrible person
Evil even

Because what's the point of being nice
When the evils have everything to gain and nothing to lose?

So this time I'm going to be evil

I'm going to load my gun and give it away.

Your blood just runs warmer than I,
Mine slithers across my tongue
writing myths.

Why should anything matter
if we just run away?
Let's take this time to be nothing.

Despite the absence of presence,
I still have knowledge of existence
which will continue to haunt
my dreams---
          Re-runs of memories,
                    moments of nostalgia.

Silent smart remarks
reverting back to the familiar.
Things are sometimes more
difficult than they should be.
People don't know what
they're talking about.
They also don't know what
I am talking about.
Sometimes I don't want
to sleep, but I don't
want to leave either.
I'm afraid of the nightmares,
but I'm scared of thoughts too.

Your words are a dagger that pierce through my skin
your feelings eat at my brain
My feelings reside in the knife in my hand
that I use to feed the hole that speaks in my chest
I removed it and did my best to sew the seems
but my stitching is messy and crooked
If you lift up my shirt you will see that the mouth is still there
it's teeth will grit and bear
A smile is never fair
but as long as you can see it's teeth
I will say it's a grin for now.

Sometimes things are too familiar
to be changed by the name of a date
or the face of a feeling
or the feeling of being smitten.

Sometimes things are too familiar
and freshly arranged flowers won't change
a past that has already been written

However,
Some things can offer fresh fruit
...but some things should never be bitten.

But I'll bite,
and I'll fight
written scripts with lines for me to speak

because I am oh so very smitten.

You only realize
you need company
when you're alone.

I'm independent.

I've never been independent.

Leave me alone.

I'm lonely.

Dear Sir,

I'm really sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for not talking to you anymore. That was really immature of me. I'm sorry for not taking your dreams into account, and for being selfish. I'm sorry for making everything about this non-existant relationship all about me and not about you. But then again... it's always about you. Everything. It always has been since the day we met and I turned you down and played foolish hard-to-get. But I wasn't playing. I just really am not easy to get. If you should feel proud of anything, it should be the fact that you had me. And I was always yours to grab, in any sense of the word. I'm just really sorry that you had to be the one to get me. I'm sure it was easy, because I'm not easy.

I'm sorry. For everything,
Love Ma'am

Dear Ma'am,

You shouldn't be sorry. Nothing was your fault. If anybody should be sorry, it should be me. I'm sorry for leaving. And I'm sorry that I did that to you. When you say you're hard-to-get, you really aren't kidding. I had to ******* bear my soul just to get you to look me in the eyes. I never regret being the one for you. In fact, I don't ever regret anything I do, because it's a waste of time. But if I was to ever regret anything, it would be making you feel sad all the time. I'm a selfish human being and I know that, but that doesn't mean that you weren't important to me. I would never want to ruin our friendship. I just didn't have a choice. Sorry.

-Sir

Dear Sir,

I feel really bad and stupid when I say that, because it reminds me of that cheesy movie, "Dear John", and you are the farthest thing from cheesy, and I feel like our life and our story means so much more than that. I don't really have anything else to say to you. I just know that I don't want us to not be friends anymore, because you are my best friend. But I also can't talk to you without thinking about you in ways I shouldn't. When I think about you in those ways it just makes me really sad and I know that I won't be able to move on if I think about you in those ways. I don't want to die alone. But without you I'm so alone. I don't know what to do.

Love Ma'am

Ma'am,

Tell me what to do and I'll do it.

-Sir

The thought bubbles of my mind pop and multiply
They scraggle around playing bumper cars
Avoiding the inevitable contact
they ram each other and bounce right back
Hopefully Sunday force will cause them to morph.

Where did you go?

Come back.


I need to look at you some more.



I need to meet you.




Come back into my life.






Oh wait...







You were never in it to begin with.

Your eyes are an inky oil painting,
when they leak
I miss that sinking feeling

There are two
still floating around
in the world somewhere.

I only know where one of them is.

I'M SORRY FOR APOLOGIZING
I'M SORRY THAT I HAD TO
BUT I WILL FOREVER WEAR
MY APOLOGIES ON THE SLEEVE
OF YOUR STRIPED CARDIGAN

Sometimes I think
about somebody
that I've never met
and wonder

if they have ever thought about me

With every end of something comes a change of color
With every end of anything comes a change of ground
With every end of what is left comes a change of pace
With every end of a sure thing comes a change of time.

The look of love on one's face is goofy to me,
especially when that face is looking at me,
especially when that face looks a lot like me.

Frivolously toss a grain of sand into my heart
and watch it tear me through the pavement.

Silent and forever speechless,
I like the intonation of your breath too much,
any cacophony would **** our spirit.

There's something about
the light and how you need it
to be a spotlight around yourself,
or there will be no edges to run
towards
but I suppose there is more space
for things to stand
ready for you to run into.

I don't understand
the mechanics behind your forehead
Often I believe
that if I squint and crinkle the corners of my eyes
I can send beams through the wrinkles of your demise
that engraves itself above your confused brow.

Sometimes I think
that our creases look alike
But then I squint again
and notice the depth of mine
They fold over one another
and cover the other waves
keeping them hidden under
permanently engraved

Yours are shallow with age
and develop backwards
the Ben Button of faces
that with a whisper is always heard

So as my cracks get deeper
and my hair gets grayer
You will get younger with maturity
So as I squint and look for your machinary
I realize it is covered and protected
by your wise youth.

My heart left
without me.

When I focus on one star
it begins to dance.

My imagination and the universe are the same.

I'm releasing a magnitude of attention because
we can't always control what we take into our bodies.
We can't control what's struggling internally when
the technology thing is speeding up.
It's contradictory and ruining us.
Steel buildings look like people now,
and are swept away in a moment of stillness.
In that moment you have hands and eyes.
We're free falling in dichotomy and
are hyper-physicalized on the outside.
It's hard to escape while having a phone and
checking the literal on your phone.
I can't abstract my routine.

I've been to St. James' Infirmary
to hide away
where my suitor put a bullet through me.

These days I'm a ghost,
and haunting is a hindrance
to the acid-burnt hole in my
transparent tongue
that longs to be able to lick
the sharp side of a knife.

But I sit in St. James' Infirmary
because I'm sick to my stomach
and sick to my brain.

I'm not the hero of this story
because all I found was a darling
that I didn't wish to cherish.

The darlings will all go to New York or somewhere
to escape from being buried alive
in this cemetery I've been digging up
for as long as I can remember.

So once there is nothing left beneath my feet
except the stone cold floor on which I sleep
I have stand up and touch my toes
to cure my aching back made of stone
and I have to find a way
to bring myself to life
and I'm sure the only way
is to bring myself to light.

The parade is down the street,
Nobody's tossing sweets at my feet,
because there's wet cement on my front step
and my legs are short.

Stop.
That's fine.
That's fine but you don't need to talk right now.
Don't you want to hear other people's thoughts?

Let's just stop and never blink

Don't need some professional at a rehab center,
because these strains of infatuation go on and on.
No one can be paid to change the fact that
I wish I didn't miss you.
What'd I say?
I meant, I wish I didn't keep missing things.
Otis keeps telling me that a change is going to come.
But you can't be my lover and that won't change at all.
If you really want me... never mind.
I didn't write a song for you, but I listened to one.
And the entire time I pictured non-existent home videos from the past.
You wanted me ten minutes ago, but will you still want me tomorrow?
Probably not, because desires will be something different tomorrow.
And my body and my soul will be something different tomorrow.
You can't make me feel a desire that I can't see,
because I can't go for that.
Is this all desire really is?
Something I have to take happy pills to get through.
Well you lost me last night,
and all I was thinking was that soon we'll be found together in a different place.
I was 93 million miles away from you when you were just outside smoking a cigarette.
We're hanging from the Edge of Glory, trying to hoist ourselves up with string bean arms.

Under the island is where I sleep,
beneath the lonely and the starving
and the bugs biting bare feet.

and the bottom layer, against my bones knows
that it's been a long time since I've anxiously awaited someone's response.

I always drop off,
maybe I jump.
All I know is that my cheek is forever grazing the pavement.

I never know if I jump or if I'm pushed.

Maybe because I can't feel anything all anymore.

and the harmless always skewer me with their words or
with their silent hearts.

and I try to decide if the red water I see is always blood
or if I'm just dreaming all the time.

It's been awhile since I've met a human that's not a stranger.
I'm forever a stranger.
I'm stranger than I even understand.

I used to think I was afraid of being touched.

Now I realize,
I've always just been afraid of the coldness
made by hands leaving my skin