your love stung,
the last time
i tried to
hold it tight

perhaps it was
poisoned by past lovers
and they've forgotten
to hand you the antidote

or maybe,
you've wrapped it
with sharp thorns;
like a wild garden
unexplored and afraid
to be trampled on

whatever it is,
it's spreading to me;
but i could tell
it's from the time
you broke my heart

if five minutes where dem
last five minutes of my life

if i died
in five minutes
i would

kiss my kid
hold on to my wife i'd
call my mom

forever
forever
forever

i wouldn't write a bit
i wouldn't eat a bit
i'd have lots of ***** though

i'd trip
i'd get scared

who would not?

placeless

a daughter
named seble
seven years old

being in a coma

she couldn't hear her
daddy's words

she couldn't see him
fog in front of her eyes
covering differences of
sleep and wakefulness

oneday seble's father
who was desparate
put headphones
on seble's ears

lyrics from two tall germans
they are called the
"wildecker herzbuben"

"herz" means heart and a
"bube" is a boy

seble
closed eyes
slowly breathing

seble's father is called
brhane
rapidly breathing

brhane was pressing play
and after seconds
among lurid lights

seble
harvest
moved her head
seble closed eyes smiled
as the wildecker herzbuben sang:

"Ein letztes Glas'l mit alten Freunden
die geh'n allein nach Haus.
In den Straßen
in den Gassen
geh'n langsam die Lichter aus."

a last drink with my buddies
who go home alone
in the streets
in the alleys
the lights are vanishing

seble moved her head
no windows but
her daddy was there

sebles mother is not alive
anymore
brhane prayed
holding his daughter's hand

seble opened one eye
looking at brhane

seble came back to reality when
brhan had finished his talk to
god

the end of seble's and brhane's
story is wordless

"love-sick"
I mean
I suppose love is a disease.

there are the symptoms,
the racing heart
constant thoughts,
and if your a writer
countless poems dedicated to them
or your love.

I suppose love is a disease
but if its you,
its not one I would mine
having.

Justin I forgive you, won’t you call me, your birthday must be coming soon we haven’t spoken since we moved our family into the desert. I just pray you’re not seeking cotton fever yet again, chasing the dragon, or at the very least eating school buses while falling into ‘H’ before you find yourself in bed drunk again, and on Ambien too. Dead too soon. You’ve always wondered why I didn’t introduce you to Ryan, my other incredibly dear and brotherly friend. Well wonder none more, he’s in a padded room at Mt. Sinai in Lakeview or perhaps Northwestern’s adult care unit, there was talk or at least I imagined he could make it to Lakeside Manor right there East of Foster. So it’s clemency, peace of mind, and something to loosen the edge off your back, something to let you fall, something to set your pain at weightless your mind at I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-A-****-Anymore, my friend where have you been? Where have you taken yourself? Please drag yourself back at least a half-step, reverse your position and engineer an out please. I can’t begin to accept losing both of my brothers to two versions of the same disease.

I'm one of the owners of a trucking company that's called STD.
Nobody will hire us, even when we offered to work for free.
The STD stands for Simpson, Taylor and Drees.
But people think it stands for sexually transmitted disease.
My partners suggested that we rename our company to DTS or TDS.
But I'm Simpson and I founded the company, so I refused to say yes.
You don't see any of our trucks on the road because people are afraid of us.
They think we have Aids or ****** and it causes a lot of anger and disgust.
We don't have an STD, so please hire us, I'm so desperate that I'm willing to crawl.
If you don't hire us, I'll personally come to your house and kick you in the *****.