i never believe what you say
because you’ve convinced me
that everything i spew has been
lies, deceit, ****, self-hatred, abusive.

i never ask you questions
because you’re not there, still,
to even answer the phone when i need
somebody, anybody, are you listening?

i never look too closely anymore
at the things you have to show me
because you never wanted me to see
as much as you wanted me blinded

to everything you really are,
and that i could be.

i'm sorry if i was never subtle enough
          in letting you know you
       you don't cross my mind anymore.
     you're stuck on one side,
       and i've moved up the other,
     never looking back to see if you saw.

the road stretches on, and you've got a choice:
either you sit on the side you're on, waiting,
or move on down, with the occasional thumb
stuck for the traffic to see you're going
the way they're headed.  it's nice to get a ride.

I'd tell you every story
and every tale I have
If you'd ever actually
                                     listen.

But I see there's no      hope
in reaching you today.

So I'll just keep you
hanging there, lost,
where I want you,
and this grand scheme stolen from
                                     love.

O transient depth,
how moved am I
that you have moved on,
deeper now than I.

O transparent death,
how human are we
that you take us all,
and leave none behind.

Remember me, as you shall,
and I remember none
for none have reminded me
of what we once were.

                                      Entwined.

you're all gone
or dead
one of the two
maybe caught
in limbo.

it bothered me
for a while
but days passed
and i've found
it hasn't phased

*every emotional problem i'd had with your lingering somewhere in my head.
i just hope you're doing well in whatever it is you're doing anymore.
i don't want any calls, texts, or salutations.  i just want you to know now you're gone,
and that i was there the whole time you were leaving, trying to pull you back in.

if you've got the interest
well then i've got the investment,
granted, it's only time
but that's enough, isn't it?

we place so much value in seconds
as minutes pass us by hourly,
but we never find value where it belongs;
throughout life it's moments,
for you it's momentary, but endless for the rest.

if you've got the right idea
i've got the right way to shape it,
as it's got to be something more,
something material and meaningful.

otherwise, they'll never see it
in the light it deserves,
darkened due to size, it's variance
cannot go unnoticed for too much longer;
we know where it should shine.

you're blind, for the most part
to everything i'd had to say;
you'd done it to yourself,
all this is just another way
to figure out what i'm meaning in every way.

however, you're not stupid,
so you must know a good bit,
about my life, my loves,
and about how i've never given a ****
about how anyone but me has felt some bit.

so why even repent for this;
i'm without sin, i cast the first stone.
you're lost, little girl,
but i promise you, you're not alone
in the world you've created as your own.

bleed me a little taste
out of your eyes
into your mind
and through the skin
so i can imagine what you really are

give me a little idea
of your life
throughout the years
where you've been
so i can draw up my own timeline

and give you a better feeling,
some security as to who i am

so i can give you a reason
to say you know me.

unwarranted threatening,
irrational processes of elimination,
and purposeless annihilation
of every last ******* morsel;
every last ******* bit and piece
you ever had to say
stings as it hits me
through the skeleton.  
you're a skeleton too, i hope you know.

it sickens me;
the lack of correction
in grammar,
in punctuation,
in style,
and in titling.

it disgusts me;
the apathy
and support
that go along with
spilling any idea
out; vulnerability
shouldn't be praised,
as it should be sculpted
and shaped, communally.

when asked what i ever mean,
i can never answer honestly;
honestly, i have no idea myself,
but then again, who does?

to mean anything seems redundant;
purpose is given without hesitation
to everything we create, we are.
we're creating our own meanings,

*driven mad by our own motives.

gas in the motorhome
just about ready to roam
where ever the catalogue says
and we fly around all the bends
                                                      heading to some sanctity
                                                       while the craziness takes over for a while.
comfort the pedal
as we meddle
with the ideas of prosperity
in another definition of integrity
                                                      *lost souls searching
                                                      for another reason to not drive us all off the road

each sip, succulent, powerful,
until the finishing drops,
lingering, taunting, provocative,
all make their way to my mind.

each hit off this cigarette,
burning deeply, cancer-ridden,
deliciously curves my appetite
to the skew i've taken against myself:

    inhumane in the disdain for myself, my existential ideals push themselves through me.

every blink, second
brings about refreshening,
uplifting, unrelenting, and deathly
eye-opening thought processes.

the last time i tried,
passively, obsessively, partially
only half-heartedly, i was found
stuck with half of my heart gone.

    *i'd hate anything hateful you'd ever have to throw at me, but i'm willing to listen.

undeniably vast and gracious
the life ahead is better than that behind;
filled with moments of variety,
various times make various memories.
we're left with the best to remind us of the worst.

the whole idea
that you'd had
in three lines
or less
is much less
than a whole
thought.

so don't waste my time
don't waste my space
don't waste my life
waste your own
in lesser thought
and in lesser
idealism
than what's real poetry.

i've never thought
i'd read more ****
posted about some idea
than what i've read
on here
in there
just to pump some ******
deeper into my veins
to calm my nerves
and calm this pain.

it's been eating away at me for days
and days and days on end
until it's come down to this,
and it's made its way to spend
                                            time.
burning through my head in seconds,
in minutes, hours, and in space
i feel i could've used more wisely
than the space left for me to face
                where to put my books.


                                                             everything has its place,
                                                          and everything has a home.
                                                       everything lives, dies, is reborn,
                                                        so how're we ever truly alone?

there's more.
there has to be.
i want more,
but i don't see
why you talk
about life
and the walk,
the knife,
and the key
to really begin seeing.
seems freeing.

outside ourselves:**

in the few, brief moments,
staying inside the outer edge
of this webbing we've woven
for the the sake of this game
that's created in itself.

for the spider,
as he calms the tension
across his line
as the wind blows,
swaying him sideways.
driven practically by survival
hopeless in a world made by others
he's getting caught-up in his own web;
he's never seen,
but not seeing through just his lenses
that cover the top of his head.

over, calmed now,
the tension's applied tenderly.
the treacherous passing of past
passer-bys past his masterwork,
the unluck ones
only eaten, digested,
and then forgotten.
horrifically in complete sync
with the idealism
that had dulled
every subjective idea he'd had,
the spider found what he'd needed;
some calming peace and serenity.

feed yourself the beautiful dream
one brain wave at a time
so as not to choke on its entirety
or have to suffer anymore.

the entire vibrato you've used
is getting you nowhere, you see.
but soon, you'll be able
to say you're not on the streets to score
another fix
another mix
of chemical endurance
and obliteration

step on up, and read the sign
there's nothing left here
just as it was when your father walked
from one end to the other, feverishly.

we're dying out left and right,
but you're sure to make it,
i swear it, i've seen it,
and i'll make it all a reality
*based on dreaming
shaped from cleaning
of the mind
and its impurities.

In a transient state
trance covers my eyes
and I fade off to the distance
where I stare for hours on end
as I'm searching for just one idea
to pull myself out of this meditation
and put myself back to working
on the idea that we're working
on something far, far greater
than just another space here
and we're heading
toward great
things.

flown to some far off land
dropped and forgotten
silenced by seclusion
and now announcing:
               "i'm not going to be stuck here forever, you all just wait and see!"
ironic and symbolic,
you're stuck, son
but you'll find out
how to get out of here
               "i swear that's not my conscience, nor my sub conscience working right now."
you're boiling over
and you need to just simmer
here, in the summer
where you make your last stand
               "this has to be madness, some form of incompetence of the gravity of my situation."
*no, you're fine,
you're just getting lost again
inside of me, yourself
and that mess you carry around
as the mind that once was mine.

what's all the insanity for?
are you worried?
are you peeved?
are you paranoid?
that i'll find a little more?

is there something else?
is there enough at all?
is there some secret?
is there another one?
is there nothing that can help?

where's the sensation?
where's the intuition?
where's the humiliation?
where's the desolation?
where's the heartbreak i'm awaiting;
it's lingering closer to my ear than death.

When you're roaming down that old dirt road of ambition,
remember all that ambition you're leaving there in the dirt.
While that road carries you down another hill towards some hiatus,
that space where you'll think you feel safe with what you've got
left inside of you.

And as you pass the different paths you could've taken,
rather than turning off this old dirt road you've ambitiously wandered,
think of all the times you'd just had that one decision to make.
How, now, as you walk on past yet another, all those paths you eyed
and left behind you.

After you've thought about the time of this exploration of ambition
that you've nearly given all but up on, keeping that goal in mind,
just think about the chances you really have taken on your own happiness,
your own levity of your ambition, and those hoarse decisions you made
to get outside yourself.

a poem to lou reed*
feeding the animals
everything they want
and never getting
that perfect day,
you left me hangin' on.

while the girls sang,
we found that vivacious
slightness you'd felt
as we began feeling that light,
they blinded us in your mirror.

now we're twisted
waiting for the shine
those boots of leather
to the transformation,
we can't say we're not forsaken.

who am i anyway?
a man behind a name that isn't mine,
an idea behind a movement;
pushing time.
a heartless devil
cutting crime
that he sees every man doing to his neighbor.

what am i?
anyway there's an answer
in here, out there,
somewhere in adequate form.
waiting for its clairvoyance
and its shelter
to be shattered and broken like the man i see behind all that i am.

i remember the words
                                                you said to me when i thought i couldn't hear
                                                                                            that i'll never forget

                      but now, you're lost in something
                    that neither of us can really control
    and it's tearing the very fabric of who we were into pieces
                                                                                             so try to remember
                                                                   all the things you'd ever said to me
                                                     and how they have no meaning to you now
                                                                                      and soon
                                              how they'll hold no weight as you hold nothing
                                                 but the disgusting things you've taken pride in

nowhere's where this belongs.  and we're heading somewhere, so leave it behind.

you're impossible
you're impractical
you make little sense;
always in offense
to whatever i say
about my day
like it was a personal attack
on something you knew; matter-of-factLY
there was nothing i hid
in what it was i did
when i told you the story
that made you worry
like i had something to hide.
instead of just letting it ride
i'd decided i'd take my chances
and ignore all the glances
to just let you know
that i love you so.

another step in the right direction
headed into the hole i've dug
deeper and deeper, i'll dig
until i've reached the core
extremities in check
we're bleeding out quicker
but we're gaining momentum
in another way to get life
out of the death we're breeding

it won't damage the mind
or the soul; they're infinite.
it won't hurt the heart
or the stomach; they're intact.
it won't hurt the idea
or the notion; they're entwined.
it won't hurt me
or you; we're too far apart
for that bullet raging through his brain,
cutting nothing but his flesh from his senses.

left here to fiddle with ideas
as they're passed around
like some bottle; emptied now
we sit and wonder what's left
to pass through our heads
as we pass time thinking.

thinking in lines and in reason
out of time and just right for the season,
we're lying through our teeth
as the man comes down from his seat
where he sat, watching our lives unravel
and resembles the great mystery
that we're all looking to answer.

there's not much left of good time
or of good placing for this all
so we sit and wait, watching,
crawling with some strange desire
to set everything ablaze; start this pyre
and send the whole idea to its god.
somewhere, it's watching.

alas, ideas begin springing forward
like a well dug deep in arid earth
to feed the dry landscapes and minds
and to figure out what anything's worth
in this twenty-first century run-down
idea of what an idea should sound like.

and we keep 'em coming back for more.

i've started the wake
and said my piece
now it's everyone else's turn
to come to peace
with the fact that we're a dying generation

indebted for life
to the systemization
that we've grown up in
as it's organization
comes to our lives full of frustration and grief

called to a calling
that's been rather loud
to make our lives something
in a way to be proud
of the life we've been given and what we've done with it

                                              living just to die
                                                         living just to live
                                                           ­     living in the wake
                                                           ­             of another generation

shirtless
raining
cold.

ambitious
amplified
cozy.

the rain felt so clear as it streaked down my back, and i felt so clairvoyant in that moment walking down the alley; waiting for the rain to really pick up, i walked slower

traditional
noted
calm.

personal
known
clear.