A wise pope once said
a man's ambition
must indeed be small
to write his name
upon a ******* wall

But for want of superstition
and tales told tall
I'll play that ancient game
....right after my last call

Preluding my expiration
just before the fall
I'll seek the Devil's fame
and inscribe that ***** stall

By hook, by crook,
or explosive indigestion
Every nook, every sideways look
shall bear my ugly shame
For what better eulogy book
than that old ******* wall
That great temple of the read

I found a penny face up.
I flicked it off because luck doesn't exist.
At least not for me.
I picked it up and turned it to tails.
If I can't get any luck no one else can.
People say misery loves company,
But I'm just tired of things working out for everyone else but me.
I think I'm last on everyones list.
I'm the pocket change in the bottom of a purse.
I'm the last resort,
When people are desperate for some change,
Turning their purses upside down,
Throwing couch cushions,
Hoping for some luck.
I'm a lot like a penny.
But if I were a penny I'd have tails on both sides.
**** pennies.

Sailing soft, frozen in time--
Sat on your chair where I could've sworn
I saw a past life regression flash along

Your face. Stuck there now,
I'm alone now and forever forth.
For years I stored half my cash into a box
without second thought
just to end up spending it all in six months.

that last crash erased all the academic pablum
that proved less required reading
  more distraction.

Just a border now,
head against an extending wall,
Witless and stonecold sober;

At ease with every unanswered craving
And coexisting with a life where nothing goes
   according to plan.

you were my once in a lifetime
my charm sublime.

you didn't say goodbye,
but neither did i;

suddenly we went out of focus,
maybe that was the last of us.

Imagine you as dead as life can be
to a world cast in the living providence
of life's memorial

imagine the slow stone of wake
spin and split in its silent forever
oer your majestic body of ash and clay
faithful to the wild fire burn of suns melt
into the mould of soul

imagine the harness of all time being
bend its dream to angelic press and taste on the take of all
as the wave of perfect love birth with the fill of stillness
breaks the shadow of its own light

imagine the nakedness of child
spoken into its speak of never
and the only there is and always will
be comes
to no end be its last
to no last be its end

When clusters of anxieties roam inside me i try to read the blank last page of my life.

as the first blood lasts