His words are slow as
he tries to command
them into coherentness,
they're still slurred.

The lines are blurred,
like wet ink running
down on paper he's
messy messy messy

He says he loves me
the words come out
tangled but enthusiastic
there's no pain in them.

He says it again,
his heart must feel unguarded,
he must feel comfortable
to say it again without pause.

"Are you drunk?"  
yes, I'm very intoxicated.
That's to be expected this
**** ain't complicated.

Do I take advantage of
his drunkenness and
ask him to continue
saying  he loves me?

Or do I wait until he's dry,  
tell him I love him, expect
silence as my reply, and another
piece of my heart broken?

Because when he eventually
says it back, his voice will crack.
And I'll feel Guilty for
wanting to be loved like that.

It's not his fault, I'll say,
Everybody can't say it back.
Be patient, I'll remind myself.
I'll remind myself, I'll remind, remind

He only loves me when
he's inebriated. He's drunk
in love with me, how the hell
did this **** happen?

As I listen to him snore over
the phone, I know I'm in his
dreams. And maybe he's sober
when he says he loves me.

ombré shadows
hazelnut health help
sparkling necks please
come back to my chest
cure the apple bruises
the hardness of the night
the zeal and lust for all things natural
help my wandering bones
clouds perfumed with smoke
moans that shiver my brain
faces lit by the scenery
the blank walled scenery
angels floating on your wallpaper
let minds fly down
into a cavern. maybe
let the yellow yawns echo throughout
the stars into your
sickness.
**** me
to make me more like you
and so if I sing into air
it's heavenly air

Gather yourself
Ill prepare some lines of *******

Oh God your still reading...


I arrive home from work
And immediately grab my bottle of wine
Sweet red wine
Too sweet
But tonight it will do just fine

I drop to the couch while guzzling
That cheap sweet red wine
It drips like maple syrup
And sit atop my stomach
As if in the Black Sea

I draw a substantial drag
From my hydrocombustion device
And wonder why I care?
I'll find another **** job

I'll have to play a few nights out at the bar

All that aside
The worst of it is that sweet red wine
For what I'd do for something a little sour

I'm 22 years old
I do the work
Of children and beggers

Opportunity is a time share
For those buying or already bought in
Turn kings
From
Tenants and insurance agents

American dream a lie
Though plenty of room
for poor poets
In ratty apartments
On the East Side

And how it kills me
You live in the city
And have no time
To free me from my wounded
Masculinity

Wish I boarded the 6am train
And lived in a tower

Maybe I could afford something a little
More sour

Just like everybody else
I was learning for myself
Just what would make me sick
And how the whole world ticks.
Then I quickly ran into collusion
Left me in a state of confusion.
I learned about rationalization
And self-righteous indignation
From purveyors of hypocrisy
Passed off as great philosophy
That labeled some as dross,
Not fit to be the lowest boss.
I watched people get locked out
And ignored when they shouted
The bosses talking about degrees
Driving workers to their knees
Because they couldn’t afford
College room and board
For the four years of beer bashes
And drunken month-long crashes
In Mexican towns full of them
That could go there on a whim
While the children of the working class
Worked hard so their kids could pass
And have a chance to get ahead
Instead of a shoveling until dead.

I was learning this first-hand
That not all of life was grand
If you could not afford to buy.
And banks just passed you by
When you needed a car
Because work was so far
From where you had to stay
In the neighborhoods far away
From the nice neat places
And squeaky clean faces
Of those who inherited wealth
Or were sent to schools
That sent out the fools
That knew how to look nice.
And nobody thought twice
When they weren’t quite as bright
As the people that had to fight
For an opening, then trained
So the rich kid could maintain
In a job he didn’t qualify for
But he had the SAT score
To prove he was intelligent
And had the proper quotient
Whether he could deliver or not.
The rest was all just rot.
And nobody paid attention
Nor would they mention
The kid was a well-trained fool
And what he learned in class
Was how to look good and pass
For a person smarter than
The average working man.
That’s what I learned first-hand
And what I came to understand.