"I'm mom and daddy's victory"--
like the song said when I was a teenager.
"Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?"

Well, I'm a coward in my twenties, trapped in the psychiatric apparatus.
But at least I can admit it.

What now?

I could quote my own thoughts:
"The easiest way to escape a bad situation is allow yourself to be a part of it."

Try to know cool bands:
"tripping on the thunder of a paradigm
choking on the thread of a nursery rhyme"

Or imagine having an influence wide enough to drive a few clicks to a link somewhere.

But in actuality, why rhyme.

It's a cruel mechanism to drive information into the collective memory of humans
when they want to forget your song as soon as they hear it.

Vapid, empty-- pregnant with my projections
        The woman dissembled
        her shaking legs;
led to the ground where
        cherry blossoms
        blow through the field
        and heaved.
        We ran
        disguising their war
        with tiney sandals
        and heavy, ambrose mist
        clawing for that--
        they even noticed
        your scar.
My true one.

Running down the slopes of life’s valley
Toward demise, weary Autumn
From upon the slopes of Spring
Visible are tulips
Bright, cruel wistful sky
Baking stony gravel pathways
Leading between the fields
In my father’s acres
Becomes Summer
As Winter fades to memory, each blinding moment
Escapes my eyes in fugue
Relinquished
Replaced
By pastel eggs and rebirth
Torrid are the seconds
The minutes that bind us
But as one we struggle for release

You walk a creature without leash
whose shell is your own flesh.
You treat the sunrise like a breeze,
which blows you where it will.
Each day a subtle fluttering, or
striding yard for yard
a gallop or a stuttering
that never goes too far--
Tell me, is it really you?
Running, in a daze.
Tell me, if that’s really you,
how to solve this maze.
Because I see you walk that creature,
as if it were your own,
and it seems to me you forget
that your body’s not your home.
You wade across the ocean
and fire into space;
with every single motion,
you stay resting in one place.

Journal Entry 1
I have not much to write today
a time in life where all's ok
I'm going to die and that's alright
I don't even care to try or fight
I've lost before the battle's done
and every victor in the sun
will forget to stop and search my corpse
to judge if I am worth remorse
because I stopped trying and took orders instead
Today's a day where I'm better off dead

Pick them out
Like you’re picking a lock
And throw away the key
Once you’re inside
My brain, throbbing, uncertain
Panicked a bit
Tossing and turning
Before I walk to the fridge
Open it up, touch my eyes
Pick them out
Out of that zip-lock
They’re fresh, but not able
To see the light in your smile
Or the venom dripping off your canines
Why, dear, do you fail to announce yourself?
It’s not polite to lurk about so
In my mind, like a waterbed
You float beside me, liquid gushing
Places between us
You can’t have me forever
I’m meant for just now
Be happy with that or
Or, Or, Or,
You can just take my trash out with you
To the DMV or wherever you’re driving
You’re legal and willing
So pull to the curb when I scream blue and red
Show me credentials and I’ll let you flee
Go on then

I hold your hand, young one,
you are torn apart.
I am the beating spirit inside us all;
I am the earth, the air, the heart.
Take time, youth is fleeting and
tempered by flames.
Your breath escapes ears through misheard rumors
and your claims go unfelt.
Shush.
Be calm, I promise someday to leave you
torn by others and scarred.
But for now you are handsome, young--
I hold your hand.
Telling you I love you is my charm,
my piercing beauty is forged by your ***** gaze.
It’s ok, young man. I hold your hand,
and leave you,
returning with fire, soldering the wound.
Taking you into the earth, the air, the heart.

No, we shall never live on
Thus, we are not crazy
Posthumously stated
Although, not so lately

Words quoted by those
Who ignore the past
Lines from prose
Which ignore final acts

“It’s bombardment
Contamination
Shallow, impromptu
Callous and sad”
So dismayed
Are the critics
At what they can’t have

Without a spotlight on them
Without a solemn reprisal
They tediously sip coffee
And watch in denial

“It will never work, it just mustn’t”
“It can’t be done, for it wasn’t”
Oh, I’m tired of these children
Their fathers and moms
I’m sick of this museum
Now then, let’s all carry on

Zarathustra told me "be calm"
And gently folded closed my eyes
“There’s no depth to escape from
There’s no eternal prize.
Your wire was our bridge, dear son
Above the raging current of man”
No, wise one, say it isn't so
Will I balance again
Above the glistening, crystal waters?
Please tell me that it doesn’t end!
“Be calm, dear son, you’ve neither
Lost nor won
Your trials will soon be over”
Why do you carry me into the night?
Why am I in the trees?
It’s cold here, friend!
Don’t leave me here afraid, dark and lonely
“Relax, and breathe,” he said to me
“It’s begun to end" and raised me upward slowly
I’m propped atop an arbor burial
Like a dead-egg’s nest ready to die
Before I realize to my horror
As the bi-ped's shadow awkwardly trots off
He was a stranger and my friend,
Regardless, Zarathustra's just another guy!

We turn our eyes, grasping with our vision
For the horizon
For the edge
Of a sphere
And we’re lying now
Beside the twilight and the motion
Beside the sea
Beside our fear
We couldn’t fathom
What we should believe in
Reciprocal force, reciprocal affection
Just bodies, Just planets
Just planes
Of existence… in our closets
Under boxes
Beneath yearbooks
On your bed
Weathered autumn
Leaves approaching
In this, our youth’s Winter
Exposing brittle branches
Containing remnants of those lives
Easily extracted from the core
Of my eyes
Then swallowed in the high-tide
Of horizon
Bringing us the future
Of life’s Summer
Enlightened in the morning
Past our fears
As we stand here in mutual Spring time
Grasping vision, with our eyes, of the sphere

Each twilight goes unwitnessed
I haven’t had a meaningful conversation in years
And as the hours pass between waking and dying
I scarcely feel emotion, I scarcely know life
I can’t remember what I did a week ago
But likely it was unremarkable
And the week before that I might have tossed a ball
Although that seems too recent
Things are harder now, despite the congruence
I could be doing those same things
Without knowing it
And each fetch is like an unanswered question
Soothing, in its clumsy forthrightness
The ***** of my yard, dramatically subtle
I assume the sky’s above me as I bend
Here is the ball, I’m picking it up

Abhoreal realms unreflective and hollow
Unearthed beyond the tendency to gleam
Torrid unhap’ly, oft laid sallow
Tired or dying, life’s tree
Stays open ‘til well after midnight
Constantly piroueeting
This world, tied to a thin line
Forgetting

Holding up a mirror to tomorrow
I see me just standing there
I’m not afraid of catching your eye
You’re clearly well aware

Life’s always changing, mutating
The years exhale and die
Waiting below falling bodies
Why stay here? Why?

Sophisticated and calculating
The risk to reward’s too great
If you feel differently
It sadly is too late

We hardly touched tenderly
Warding off shame
You never took me seriously
But stole my spring rain

Grass, clouds and sun-baked sky
Pervade tenements of my mind
Doused with gasoline
My children’s children striking rocks


And it’s suddenly Winter again
Grass hidden, clouds dreary, sky gray
I’d starve before I let you dig me out
I’d let you freeze in your sleep

All bundled in a corner
Away from light and love and time
Forgotten in our stories
Surrounded by my mind

I was drunk by a glass of water today
when I realized it was the substance forming me.
I felt it fill a network of veins--
like a sweet, sugary soda, fizzing within and decaying.
It burned down what seemed inside of me
culminating with evaporation.
I watched it rise through skin
carried by the breath which had been taken
and escape my pores once more.
I felt the water pull a soul from me today
knowing there was no place inside for it to stay.

I’m stumbling slowly through this life
Each step is overwhelming
Every time I put one foot on the ground
The other is pulling away from it
Isn’t this walking?
In a way, I suppose
But it’s not at all relaxing, as walking should be
I rarely manage to notice the breeze on my cheek
Constantly I plunge into the depths of evening
Only to emerge dry and unscathed in the morning sun
Every sorrow and worry that encompasses me
Vanishes, when I turn my attention away
And I fail to notice
That I’ve only failed to notice
As they all devour my flesh
Each anxiety writhing and coursing through my veins
It’s terrible, but my memory is gone so soon
Then again it happens
And I’m vexed
But it passes
Again and again
Every day, tormenting
Every night, strife
And I fear the morning, for it brings the cycle’s renewal
Each birth, a sentence
Each breath, an exhalation of animosity
Although I can’t calculate the fear
It rages un-quantified
And I can’t measure the distrust
But my hands shake
I tear the sheets off my bed in terror from my sleep
And the sweat I bathe in is pitiful

Malicious compliance
Resting your head
To the tune of children’s songs
You waiver on the precipice
Of eternity and present
But we each know you’re secure
With the daftness of scavengers
And grace of a statesman
You fool me again
Aim for my heart, smile
Fire
And fall off

If naming is to ****, you remain a rose to me, or consciousness of Spring and thunderstorms with lightning strikes on green hills sporting tiny, yellow triangles on poles.
They pulsate in windy gusts of hail. The others would **** you out of the short grass, just to play on.
You have no value to them in their minute, diesel-powered, plastic cages.
Mowed shortly, rose, is the grass, so that their ***** can roll, unimpeded by friction with you-- your shape
and your form.
Your red, in the aftermath of a gray cloud is pernicious and sodry.

They don't want you, rose. They value you less than the sand they fall into. You are something outside of their game and they don't smell your odor at all. You could be the shortest tree, they'd chip away from you, regardless.
Why, rose, do you insist on planting yourself on their putridly pristine links?
Why not, rather, lie beside me, unraveled and plucked, on my bed? I get more pleasure from your dissection and thorny vulnerability.
I will cut your stem, yet feed you in a vase;
You'll grow before I take you apart.
Rose, we're all going to unravel-- some with fewer petals, some with fewer strokes.
But why be decimated by those who swing aimlessly the metal rod?
My lips, rose, and my tongue, don't play golf.
And aren't you glad?
When the thunder clashes and the rain comes, they can't play
but we can.

It’s reassuring when the birds chirp
Until I realize I’m still awake
And I mourn my unrealized dreams
As I rub the stubble on my neck
Tremendous, green valleys
Flash in my mind
Puffy clouds circle and cast shadows
Raining
On my head
As I shake it
It reminds me of you
Where have the birds gone?

Blindly swinging at the wall
In front of my face
Although it is behind me, too
One continuous layer of separation
From the world beyond, the world we cannot see
I swing again I swing again
I swing some more
And connect only with absence
From this earth
Absence from reality
Sheltering my worried shaking head
I tear you from me,
I tear me from you
I’m confused
I don’t know where the ceiling is
I don’t know why there’s a sky inside my room
I don’t know why my basement is flooded
With air
Please just take every last breath of
Cyanide
Please just take every last gift
To the poor
Please just take every last effort
To undo your wrongdoing
“Bad times ahead”
And take them with you
When you stop being me

Poems fill themselves
With images of fruit flies
Cunvulsed, dead--unloved?

Beyond the distance of
Your scent
Too meek to glimpse your eyes
I watched your wrists tremble
As you wrestled Gaia
As you laughed
And danced
Animating me by mere proximity
My legs thrashing in the water
My mind gasping for air
I was submerged
As the sheath of beauty, the essence of ambivalence
Embraced me with cunning

The world created for us is sick.
It’s decaying.
Wounds, with no scab forming
And we’re expected, without questioning
To live on in such a world
To allow such a world to exist
But it’s infuriating
And it torments the hearts of men
Tearing mother from child
Raising us on malevolence
Scurrying through the fields
Until the hunters carry us away
And every last vestige of shelter
Is plucked from the ground
Incinerated, burned in factories
To make cardboard boxes
That will be filled with promises
Of low cholesterol
For the masses
That glean over the details
Unaware that hope is lost
And that our species is dying
Hurriedly moving from one space
To another
Without realizing their fright
Without looking at the box
That they helped produce
By failing to protect
Their shelter
A world, ending

They say once you crawl you’ll walk
You won’t stop moving forward
But if you sprain your wrists enough
You’ll soon learn to hold back
And doubt yourself and bite your nails
And sweat when others stare
You soon forget the ground you’re on
Because it wasn’t ever there
You shave your head you pluck your brow
You dance with eyes toward floor
Searching for the place you stood
A mere five years before
Swimming toward the light, this
Fishbowl’s water’s stale
Growing anxious in the night
As your skin slowly grows pale
But the moon hides the sun in the night
So you’re exactly wrong you see
Each moment in time passes us by
If only we would watch
And listen

A wasp flew in when I left my screen-door ajar, and I blew on it, saying
"go away."
It's clinging to my balcony.
Now, in agitation, knows I hold nothing for it.
And the dogs bark, confused by entwined seasons.
Wind shouts with orders “Combat your deaths!"--
but I acquiesce to darkness in my mind; waiting for the summer
to submerge this springtime
which has momentarily come and outdone
winter.
Breeze carries, or generates, the wings, of my living
solace in the stinging tip of malice on that minute body
--ignoring tendrils which voice gratitude to day--
supplanting laughter with its ***** on down the road.
I want to see the child's face cry as it is initiated into suffering,
smile breaking as he comes to see its transience.
Then slowly I will look down. In shame, walking past this station
toward my exit
and
the street which bears your name.

The shadows of youth drape my body
As the sun encompasses a tree
Beneath the leaves and scratchy bark
Water flows through veins
Each drip of sunlight
Passing through
To reach the ground below
Falls from my skin
And each inch of earth’s rotation
Goes unnoticed

Even the words now are pictures, or
fixtures holding light, illuminating oil-stained paintings that darkness had drowned.
Exclusion of meaning was power, but all it destroyed now is found.
Meaning in words forms a tower, buckling with pressure it waves.
I hold my breath as it wobbles, as structure feigns to degrade.
I watch every shaking beam-length tremble then snap under invisible weight of doubt.
Like rays of our sun are your eyes furthermore, their radiance only temporarily put out.
Centuries of planning united, now threaten to sunder apart
the lifetimes we both used to build mortal city, formed with material from our own hearts.
I wanted to be certain I’m seeing what my eyes refuse to believe.
A city felled as a tree, lined by satin and your skin perfumed with dew.
Your three names were “I Love You,” bundled and thrown into a Spring grave.
Before, your mouth directed sailors to a shoreline without destroying their boats,
floatation swept from your eyes left every tired vessel afloat.
But now that your guiding-light is burned out, and our city is flat and deserted,
flotsam washes up on the shore, in the form of your words which I pass onward, evermore.

Why had Andy chose to quit smoking?
He had no job,
                        no ambitions,
                                              no passions.
No reason for salient speculation on the beaming waters
of the immaculate Pacific horizon from those unaffordable balconies
you see in movies, with sports cars rushing toward them on
that unnamed California byway.

“**** them all,” he thinks, crinkling the now emptied package.
He'd rather be reformed and forgiven
            or punished for what he‘s done.

Not both.

Stretched on the rack for his failure.
To acquire a Malibu suite.
To cup silicone *******.

To fix the loose handle on their porch‘s door,
              and smile while reciting, “I do.”

“One more won’t hurt,” says Andy,
as the woman in his shirt wraps her hands
around the shoulders.
The cloud circles his head, as they laugh about the sunset.

Every winter since I was just a boy the noon sun shone upon my bedroom window
As I turned my head away from the wall I noticed that light shone upon the entryway to my bedroom
The red hue cast across the carpet by my curtains fell into the crevices beside my bed
Radiation of day’s star was refracted by my frame
And night time had been vanquished
When each spring’s blossom erupted from beneath the hardened surface
Every breath welled from my lungs into the external world of the elements
Then it was replaced by the invitation to partake
In smells of sweet bread, flowing tears
Girls in dresses dancing, boys aloof
Schemed beyond the pasture fences
Catastrophes were addressed if need be
By silence
By calm
By flowing breezes and gentle consolation
By the wonder and force of spring
Triumphing over winter

Down the pathway-- I can’t believe I’m telling this to
I jump frantically-- I can’t believe I’m saying this
On one foot-- Disguised as if a face,
And I leap into the ground-- Bled and grasped for advil
An ending near the pathway-- Of nuclear bombs and shrapnel
I start moving slowly-- It was inside her also
I let out a yelp-- It was inside the autumn leaves
And in between the footsteps-- It was beside the mountain
I learn to walk I learn to talk-- It was when all the water
I can’t remember anything-- It was beneath the river
I can’t see where I’m going-- To hold each other in our hands
I’m constantly invading-- Time after
I can’t hold back my screaming-- I can’t remember time
Time before this-- The territory’s mine
Time while we began-- I can’t see where I’m at
And take our final stand-- Except before the path
It was beside the sea-- I learn not who I am
Slowly came and covered me-- I hop and hop again
It was beneath the valley-- Toward what is to be my death
It was inside the words of every song I heard-- And take in a deep breath
It was within the residue-- Where I am to begin
It was within the seething hands which-- As I come to an end
No one except me-- As the other is impaired
It was in every waking dream and every smiling sorrow-- I jump without care
It means nothing, even tomorrow-- Toward the river
I don’t know what it means-- Every burning footstep

The children of this town speak of vacation and travel.
Worrying about the summer before it's even Spring.
I tell them, "why, why, why are you
LEAVING here before you've fulfilled your night-
time fantasy?"
They board a train or ship uncoothed and begging for more time.
I tell them "the ones you want are here already, in your being. They are
present and ready to be called out of the closets and crawlspaces of your dwellings,
looking for the belongings
you forwarded them in the shape of skin and grain and blood."
I tell them "Alone you leave this city and your self returns with you,
empty, even emptier than at birth. This city is your womb,
you can't escape the placental waters of your home,
the umbilical rail, the breathing air."
But when it is summer, they go. To be gone, to starve
the children in the closets clawing at
the fastened latch and watching time escape their follicles.
While they are sitting in darkness, we tell them we left to get away, to catch a sky
that crashes into distant lands or hold up
stars with out bare hands.
We say "bless this city and the state of our birth."
We stand, alive, unconquered and surprised that closet children are dead when we get back
it's just us in this city
                                      With all stars surrounding
                                      Unseen with the same lights
                                      We saw out there which blot them out
                                      The sky has fallen and our hands are cleaned
                                      By the starving blood of closet children
                                      Whom we refused to feed
                                      Dried up under the moon.

Weeks since the Day of Valentine
returned,
the gift I’d had for her was
gone.
Twenty dollars, some coins were
tokens of my affection;
or the value of French words strewn across American pulp.
Insipid or otherwise--
was it the action or result I more despised?
An attempt to carve my personality
in totem
out of trees and other people's words.
To my mind it seemed like children’s doodles
on a colored pencil bookmark
that could be
****** immediately
behind a large magnet on your fridge.
But it's lost within those passages, un-deciphered,
never—turned, regardless.
Swallowed in the palms of the bookstore’s proprietor
and regurgitated on its shelf.
My plan, it seemed to be all along;
as in my first dumb year.
First grade, with little since I've learned
from pop-music, plush monkeys in middle school;
vapid loneliness I glean from
years that have been the same.
Young acquaintances have ricocheted,
as phone calls often do;
All imitate the laughing sun,
renounce
the bitter moon.

The dialectic is wisdom
Thesis
Synthesis
Nothing
And Believe
Every idea you’ve written
Until the pages are burnt
Because then you’ll know
It was false
It was isolated
Incomplete
The fire licking each morsel
Of knowledge
Makes up wisdom
As our bodies
Do
And time
Does
Hold this word on your tongue
And hear
Om

If I was forced by the great hand of God
To hold up my face to the heat of the sun
I’d melt away and leave the pain behind
From that day on I’d bump into everything
I’d see the world for what it was beneath the light
I’d feel the warmth of a stranger’s voice
I’d touch a world that can’t be measured
By lines, and colors, and rays from space
Aren’t I there now?
Things we don’t recognize control us
Things we knock down are empowering
If we’d hold our eyes shut for a minute and listened
If we’d try to feel our way around
We’d see, all of existence is vibrating wildly

Tell me of a day without struggle, a day without pain
If there be such a day, let it remain a secret to no man
Let it fill our ears and tremble in our own throats
For such a day is a gift from the universe
Bequeathed upon the masses
An approximated apology, focused on redeeming malice
The brightly shining sun would focus its strength on its object
Taking aim at his soul, meaning to warm it, looking to extract it
Taking from him all that was harmful from tarrying seconds
Replacing cruelty and hatred with thoughts that resemble forgiveness
But in themselves they are not forgiveness
Forgiveness, being but a specter, usurped by memories grown grainy
Forgiveness is so sallow and downtrodden, unconvincing
No, the thoughts projected by the early year’s sun are not so
They are empty of reminisces, void of meaning
Shining and new, redemptive and rejuvenating
Yet we approach them with a quiver of arrows fastened from our past
Expending ourselves in fighting its gaze and retreating to our caves
Where our memories are sheltered
To ponder what it means that this intruder has returned
Stroking the identities it tried to quell and weeping until overtaken by slumber
If ever there has been a day without pain and without struggle
Verily, the night which followed has it cast asunder

Throw away the ashes

Pull the sutures out

Wipe away the dust from pictures

Start to scream and shout



One last look for this lifetime

One more final glance

Tomorrow’s coming and I’m leaving

I’m not coming back



I took the garbage out today

Nothing to report

Just faded dreams and rotting meat

Not difficult to sort



My heart was in that bag too

My brain falls from my hand

I think it will remain with you

Kick it if you can



It’s like a dream that’s gone away

A picture I can’t sketch

An idea lost in my head

Unsteady hand, lit match



Dry earth seeping noxious gas

Melancholy rays

Shining down from up above

Dispirit me today



The burning wood

Falls to the floor

As trimmers split the cracks

It all blows me away

fruit flys, umarm mich
die, the filth!
you take what is lacking in me, the emptiness;
that is your sustenance.
I take from you everything, my act of disposal
is violence.
what kept your body, your fluttering,
was my
waste.
my waste of utility, life, being.
call it what you will, I hate fruit flies.

Staggering through streets lined by maples
Filled hours prior with revelers
Now mostly barren, save for one man
A sidewalk, and me
Weathered and wearing his shelter
Shoes unmistakably fastened and striding
As his meek voice timidly prattled
I slurred "what the hell are you doing?"
Patting him down before he got in my car
We drove to his church's mission
50 years old
He's from St. Louie, saw his sister a ways back
Dead mother, spectrous father
Six foot 140
Likes it here

Tireless hours fleeting away with more vigor now than before
Tedium, wallowing helplessly, while I use my pick and keep digging
I’m digging to find the hidden agenda, the reason for me to survive
I’m digging to bury my past incarnation, I’m digging to conceal my life
My actions don’t follow me, they’ve blocked off the exit from the mine
And the shafts that hold the lumbering earth at bay seem indifferent
My self is the true menace
It despises my flesh and recants my existence
It lunges at me in the darkness, striking at me with its claws
My eyes glow ice blue in the reflection when I see him
And I tepidly back into the wall
As clods first break off and larger chunks follow
The grey skin of my self shimmers and the beast broadens its shoulders
He pounces as the ground crashes in all around us
My death is his beginning

A little passion-- A loss
A little belief-- An unbelief
A little love-- Unloving
A little slack-- left
and unstaying

Alone, no small amount alone
Alone, outrun, outrun, outrun, ALONE
and I jump into the depth without meaning
and opinion
                  and a little belief
resulted in nothing, and nowhere
                   Found I meaning
and nowhere found I
                   Hope
and nowhere found I despair

I lost loss
Loved unloving
Believed hopelessness
Read, left
Alone

Yes, I am closing your eyes for you.
It's good that way. What is wrong with not seeing?
Can't you still hear and touch or feel?
I would gladly describe for you what runs crookedly before my face:
Thousands of trumpets without whispers or meaning.

Yes, and it tastes so rich, like plaster-- white, average plaster.
Your songs, your opinions and meaning are, without vision,
pale, cool and evaporous, as April rainbows.
Therefore you all want to de-color them and call such rainbows
black-and-white compositions.

Well then, sweetheart, why are you sad? Have you not slept with your dreams of neutral rainbows?
Twice--
Eaten, your plaster-filled silence?
Four times--

And been drunk with the aroma of moist soil?           ONCE.
.Lewd.
"Ego cogito nihil"
Can you, after all, read?
Never, without the eyes--

There's a *** on the windowsill behind my eye window.
                                                                                              It gets no sunlight these days, in the Winter.
I need you to open the blinds of my eyelids and kiss me,
                                                                                              burning your image into my retina and
feeding that plant with energy.

A feeling of guilt from my past
An inkling that this just won’t last
A look from the mirror
Yesterday’s smell on my clothes
Your smile is mixed in with all those
That I never was
That I’ve always hated
Just ideas

The world created for us is sick.
It’s decaying.
Wounds, with no scab forming
And we’re expected, without questioning
To live on in such a world
To allow such a world to exist
But it’s infuriating
And it torments the hearts of men
Tearing mother from child
Raising us on malevolence
Scurrying through the fields
Until the hunters carry us away
And every last vestige of shelter
Is plucked from the ground
Incinerated, burned in factories
To make cardboard boxes
That will be filled with promises
Of low cholesterol
For the masses
That gleam over the details
Unaware that hope is lost
And that our species is dying
Hurriedly moving from one space
To another
Without realizing their fright
Without looking at the box
That they helped produce
By failing to protect
Their shelter
A world, ending

the first girl i loved was tyranny (spelled:tierney)
for this reason, i hate women and i hate names.
if i have a child it will have no name-- it will have a number
and an eartag, so it knows what it is.
we are no longer people.

this is a draft--i can't edit now because my eyes hurt. i probably won't work on it again.

Battered, abused, some say
Forgotten, if e’er discovered
Alone, a knot of fleshy skin
Together, lips of lovers

now--
i'll be here a while
falling like a star
people of the big brown sun
looking in your eyes
from the airtrain window
in the middle
of a song about
bonnie and clyde;
what's in a prayer,
if i ever leave this world?
you're alive
--this day belongs to you