Messed up,
and found in her ruffled nest of hair.

I found lightning,
made of flour, dust, and air.

So, I got up for a drink of water.
And later laughed a lot.

Because I became a herb-smoked doughboy
That smelled a lot like bergamot.

In my mind there is a place
Something I still can see
Breakfast on vacation
Accessed in a memory.

In my head was something
made out of clay and hell
but it's still so cold
tempered with love. live lovely bells

Every morning
Every day
We both needed each other
and breakfast
and a way to get back home again

To get home,
for dinner
love
and fights
and lovely heart built stories
made for your and my delight.

Hassling pissants after breaking my face open

The world is blood red.

And the only thing protecting my eyes are my eyeglasses.


Stiffing and short changing beautiful women is only fun if they're just as willing to play along.

I could teach you how to play guitar,

we could write a song together.

And maybe even spend some time outside once the weather gets better.

Globbed all up

Knackered about and baked into

an overdone buttermilk biscuit.

I hate getting up,

Not caring is a sin too,

I'm not sure either, but I will see if I risk it.

Sit with me

Please stay still

I feel the reckoning over arching

black hole swallowing up the rest of me

"shush baby"

" Stay under the stairs and don't breath"

" Oh god this is the end of me."

Oh god....


I see you.

Stay still


Don't breath.

And for the love of GOD

Don't let it be

I saw all sort of phantoms on the
held of gate
I grew all sorts of angry when that grey ***
ghost had make me hate

Only until after
all the smoke had had to clear
was only when this punk as ghost had flexed
force I had to feel

So I had to flounder
I pickled in a ***
I stuck my **** in tinder
and now Im father THOT

I flew against the wind in order to meet Mr. Wonderful this morning.

Had I known all he do was ignore, I might've had a second thought.

It's not that I hate him, or that he hates me.

He just seems so much more happy when I'm not around.

So, today I found him.

In a pile of laundry.

Soaked with **** and remorse.

It's much worse when it's him and not me.

Fear.
Anyone had ever lived,
all you have to live is fear.

How many of you can feed yourself?
And are strong enough to build a home?

How sad... are stringy children who can't even cook a stone?

Who knew that the pain I spent my whole life preparing for
is the type that will hurt more than I can ever say, and know that even with my own best graces, will stain my soul like a scar can in the worst sort of way.

I prayed that it wouldn't but that won't work anyway, but not because I don't have a god, but probably because I don't know what to say.

So I just lay on the ground and let life happen to me,
and it'll happen again, it will happen to be
the only happening thing that happens as often
as a soul ******* thing that loves to make my soul soften.

Space and time
is only that
and can we
make
like...
life and persistence?

How often should we feel so bad,
and question our existence?

I used to blow up ****, and plow up
all old stories,
and i used to throw rock at old windows,
and soak in all my glory

so sticky sweet
all i want
is candy from the mexican kids
because it's so sour and so hot

I think i really like
Really like what I may be
A dead man who feels alive
when tied to live people's livery

And then I finally saw what you said I couldn't see,
How much I loved you, wasn't a foreign idea to me.

Pining for that little bit of love you gave
Pickled my heart strings in tarnished golden thread

Darkness gave me glassy eyes
Loveliness is little more than stress on my workbench

I've dusted lint out of my linen pockets and stocked them with candy instead.

Mussy hair makes me care less about why and where
Just disappoint me
Poignantly
And I'll breath it just like air.

I listed out my groceries because I have to eat.

I seek them out, because Life *****, and I have to eat.


I see a cute girl jogging, but I ****, and I have to eat.

I meet my friends, and apologize,

I'm not strong.

I live in fear.

And I'm weak and I have to eat.

I clocked in on my personal best this morning.

Waking up sore, I poured my heart out on a diner waffle.

My waffle seized up.

A victim of sugar shock.

I soaked it syrup and butter,

then I gorged until my heart stopped.

Ratifying nasty little ugly

Atrophying fleeing itty being.

Maintain out yourself.

Face masks, take place and set pace for fast track nastiness,
so hold fast back, and pass your soul only onto a whole heart whose focused,
and not the fast track that send my gut reeling everymorning.

mourning over my quaking oaks in an haphazard effort to weather the storm.

nucka nucka  NUCKA

What's it's like?
What's it like to be okay?
To spend everday
shutting of
everything you feel.

Like a lizard under a rock,
Like a slave covered in lamp black.
I wish I could rock a faithful cover
but instead I'm smother by our over carboned-air.

What's it like?
To hold hate far against your heart?
To never have feelings?
To be the kind of person of never appreciated when your life started?

Stamens float above the stems
of all upended stalks.

Arthropods can crack their
old shells upon my rocks.

Tricky little fishes find so many ways
to out smart me.

With out my sunglasses,
in brightness I can't see.

Splinter little trinkets
Fastened with rivets and copper solder.

Shrinking, biting steam vents
Passed over duvet covers and sing a little louder.

Blasted, offensive convents
Massive ******* oven tidbits.

Tragic gas based slaughter
blotted with blood and shriveled cygnets.

Greaseniness is which and when we had held air.

Pleasing is just bereivement and it's soley how much we sell air.

Blankets and coughing coughs had sloughed me on a deal.

I don't pain or run.

It's just feeling is all I feel.

Glassiness of faces
would make me remiss
of the pace which
Would rather I breath straight forward.

Lordness,
lordy lordy
gorged me in a intestine filled

Gizzard gritted grated grop
of drops of sticky sweet silt
Held in our hand with self hated pigment
sewn upon on salts colored in summers
and others
but even still
Built, on eversnow evenings
bereave me and steal
please believe still
Believe
that I'm not unnerved by that fact that i'm
a person.
it is certain.
Just like you.

A stew of free seed words.
It's absurd.
Blood.
And words.
And painful shields.
words,
and thoughts that you would
kneel for.
Some shore..
some ocean.

Some place
Some face that is worth the world,
Some face worth falling in love for...

I'm in a thick and
terrifying.
Time bomb tiring
Ooey Gooey Depression.

Less is more.
And salt crusts up on the ocean shore.
I stored more stools and sores for a very long trip.

****.
Pick apart pants and leftover bits of rotten leggins.
I ****** myself.
******* at myself.
Rocked off of a shelf I sat on for over five years.

I leave myself bereft of all the feelings I'm done dealing with.
Mitigated with rigor,
an obligatory pity party had started after hours.
The only stipulation
is to participate in every stage of the rapture

My passion project as of late has be to not hate who I am.

Bastions of souls hold in cold hell, burn higher than I've ever been.

Sinful shame bends rays of shelter, over arching our heads.

Before dressing myself this morning,
I made sure to add a dropper full of toxic masculinity into my
molten coffee cup before it had a chance to cool.

Then I pulled all my banal toned clothes out of the dryer,
folded them,
and cried over an expended dryer sheet because all
I can do is look clean and neat,
when I would rather be a colorfest, wrested from
a notion that I can't feel bright, without losing strength.

This is why I cook my own food.
Mend my own clothes,
Dance my own dance,
So, I don't own anyone a **** thing.

Placid, secular wretchings have held a hilt upon a building we've since had our city agree and seal all of our holy hopes on.

Wobbegone travels hadn't held a torch to all of our second city queens who held their beautiful social justice cloaks upon brooches tied on our heart strings with pins tipped with poison.

It sings...
her voice.
Our champion.

She sings, but still it stings to know she'll have to die on our behalf because we can't handle a golden cow... Let alone: her calf.

Laugh at her
and let me be.

I want to die before I live.

Honey soaked milk is all I ever want to see..

Blind me blind me blind me.

I'd tried over ten days over, to master how to pick apart a pickle jar.
It's a travesty to see a grown fuddle over glass and cry.

Still, I've had a chance to see my life through brine-stained glasses.
The passage of time is an ******* who steals all your good jokes.

Instead I stay coked up and well-fed.
And I no longer bleed red.
Instead I'm a bleached blanket of white socks and sorries.
It's not how large I am.
And not only how smart.
But my language can be best felt
in all my stories.

Slippery brightness tentacles wrapped around a wine cask,

After I'd rafter out after a picture stacked over oakboards,

Storage stewed, porridge renewed two towers of overbrewed ideas.

Light,
with blood and crackers
Like written in stacks
of paper and billets.
Pallets and the bit of bullet lodges in the gullet of my pasture horse.

Poetry *****.


And so do you.

Give up all of your ideas.

And we can watch you get blue in the face.


Poets are the band geeks
in the world after we all figured out music is cool.

Poetry is for us.

Poetry is for you.

Poetry is heavy handed.

Loving it is like loving a stray dog.

It'll turn you blue after you had all your emotions.


Poetry isn't new.
And neither is what you do,
or what you're feeling.

Poetry is just cheap words that act like crack to move you through your dealing that'll get you out on the other end.

So, spend life like you never hear my name.

It'll be just and fun and good, though it'll never be the same.

Flanging on the fingertips of a fire,
While tipping out music,
To the holy goddess of desire.

She's the hottest girl,
that ever was.

She holds a guitar,
and that's not fair
because, how can we be cooler?

You took it all from me.
My life is a haze of social acceptance that I will never see.

Is it comedic?

Old? Prosey? Wilted with rose old jokes?

Nosey? Poking stickers in stories that choke you?

Lazy? Grazing of tropes and cliches?

Or maybe it's dissuaging and scary?

And it'll knock you off of rhythm and scare you into and honest thought.

Maybe.

Maybe it's not.

Maybe all you're good for is a rotten degree doomed to rot beneath everyone who ever ate like an unseasoned potato who was ready to made with every veggie who's ever been to enlongate the of thinking youre good.
Just to think that you should.
Just to think that once you're alive you should be
alive forever, for all that can see.

Even though you're real bad,
and we'd rather have ****,
that knows what  it is,
that to have all the **** feel in charge, Like Le Mis.

I had crammed a whole load of garbage
into the bed of my best friend's pick up.

Luckily it was made by us
as a message of how unassuaged
we were about living in a dirt bag all day.

So, I should say that this is a win.
I'd even sinned in my pants while
leaving everything up to him.

Only thing I regret binning was
my huge win I had with a hippy girl about a day ago.

She shoved me in the corner after chipping her teeth on the tip of a ***** bottle.

Nodding off, and mottled in bits of brackets holding fast.

I sighed, I knew it wouldn't last.

Like, it hurt.

It hurt real bad.

But I let it pass,
and now it hurts a little less.

I'm still a mess and my clothes are *****.

But folks say that I'm still young.
They laugh when they found out
that I'm not even thirty.

Time to make an hourglass,
Time to pass all feelings...

Time make sure that we
feel
all of Earth.
her underkneelings.

Time to take a second chance
and not hate life so much.

Time to plant some flowers.

It's time to make it such.

Sent in iron ore was the map to the shore of ever after
Placed in a rafter in a barn was stars, and stories, and glory from afar
Caked in resin was a guild of everything we ever word, a codex made of blood and wood that understood
all we ever where and every would be.

Classical ain't as classy as it sounds.

It's a ***** little thing that pounds you late night.

The best music you've ever heard

was birthed by poor souls who seldom see the day of like.

Like this crazy trumpet lady who had a thing for me.

I couldn't get a date because of crazy she seemed to be.

And that's what I love those most, she loved her painful process more that she ever would for me.

We hung out in a frozen bush
And listened to earbuds
Listening to others wish
They could start abuzz

Music is all over us
Music makes us cry
Music made us have to creep
Into strangers arms and try

Try we did
In snow we slid
I slid into a girl
She met me
Liked me
So she did
So my heart unfurled.

I can't tell.

I tried.

But, well...

It's either a splinter of a crack pipe,
or whiskey glass, flacked and fracked about in my finger.



I can't smell.

I'd guess it's burgers.

Or ******.

It sounds so beautiful, it could even be Schroeder from peanuts.

I know I'm not new to this... But.
I brought noodles,
and I'm remiss out of how I should make me new.

I made a sandwich.

For my favorite girl.


I found her, found out what she loved.
So...I tried to unfurl her.
To fix up my girl.
But what I found wasn't that.

It  hurt.
It was curt.
And..
Well...
It was super complicated.

So I waited,
and faced what I knew was hard news.

Still... I waited,
and listened.

But that didn't matter

Not time.
Nothing did.

So I slid in to remission.
And held my self into a selfish chokehold.

....I'm told I'm not bad, I just deserve a chokehold.

Flabbergasted by misguided altruistic zeal isn't appealing,

neither is kneeling next to a half-hearted neighbor,
and spilling your guts.

Nothing will work, and it's nuts.
But, making is like living without taking up more than you need.

And even then, it can suffice avarice, greed, by allowing the self
to make and consume one's until, with out outside help or need.

But, callous and canvas can't stand lack of work,
so the stork of labor swaddles on over and dribbles out a bindle.

Carrying a button, a bun in the oven,
an warm hearted creature in need of some lovin'

So, start shovin' your sorries and stories away in a heap,
because someone
might someday
rely on you
rely
on the silence and peace of your sleep.

Dinner built in blood shot eyes
is honestly mostly meat
to even lay a blanket
on out ****** picnic feels real bleak.

let's not get up
stand up
lets not get too much air.

I didn't wear some socks today
I can feel silica in the air.

Roughy rubbed nightmares
scrubbed on the edges of my feet

I've rebuked all license of the
folks that think I'm neat.

How and why did I
just find you so freaking perfect?

Maybe it's real obvious now,
about how and why I did.

You lifted the lid off my world
and hid all hate from me
Ridded me of all my pain,
for a day or two so I could finally see.

Waking up
On the edge of a sandbank
stinking
and pulling stink bugs out my hair.

Waking up in the desert
sweating
and letting scorpions build a lair
in my tent
and in my boots.

Shooting hares and ravens,
for meat.
For a thrill.
It's not with it to go through it.
But still I ****.
I knew..
It would hurt but I would live,
but not in peace.

Living.... with a shiv in my ribs made of the bones of all I hurt.
I'd rather nerf my brain a brain and build hut made of dung
A yurt padded with bad memories, and hurtful lovely beings.

Seven mentions, Seven mentions was all I had after
she died and it was up to me to check her phone.

It lessened the pain of death,
which felt right.

But also, it lessened the joy of life.

How did this happen?
Why is this happening?
What sort of deal did I do
that left a rust knife
shoved into me.

Blue veins bleed red blood.

White clouds can cry grey rain.

And perfect little packages can
abstain from turbulent life.

Living is a knife in the ribs,
barbecued in riddled coiled proteins.

It's obscene how dumb luck is.
It's obscene.

It doesn't even mean anything.
It's only a way to bring yourself back from where you came from.

I found you in the crack
on the sidewalk.

Like an ant who had feared fire and loved honey you shoved me into a space. a little hole.

a foley.

a space-sent lollipop propped
up on
edges of heaven surged beds.

Instead I'll meld, build, and set upon places.

I know we're all poor so instead of wealth,
our award will be people and faces.

Somehow she said fire was the only way I live
Some how she said with out air, I would never find a way to give.

Somehow. Somehow.
Something she said.

It really hurt a lot.

Something space left me with things
I lived, but rather naught.

I haven't eaten lately.
I've forgotten how to eat.
I'm a chef,
I make me unctuous meals.
Then I leave them in the street.

I'll chew my food,
then spit it out.

I don't deserve to be.
I'm made out of starvation and self hate.
But I should eat more calories.

Instead I starve,
Instead I wait.

Hunger is a feeling
that I can really feel
Which is why I'm scared
To stop the movie reel.
I have my momentum.
I get force fed so I won't die.
But what I really what is lunch.
With my friends...
I want to try...

I brushed the soles of my boot against the icy grain of frozen dirt.

I touched the crusty, crystal pane of white glass stain with watermarks and fingerprints.

I tried to abstain from feeling cold, because of how old it feels.

Being old can steal

bold feelings

holding on to the heels

of gold leaf
peeling off of sinter cinnabar shelves
checking off sinister forces

pieced apart by well ministered contorted purposes

Such forces on bring remorseful endorsements and attackments

and shunted, splintered, fragmented tactics.

How crazy was when
When everyone saw
how quickly my fingers fired

Like a flare from a flare gun
It was hot
Much hotter
Hotter than an affair with an affluent women

Still I said
"Let's stay in the freezer"
Because believe it or not
I'm a geezer who finds life
Easier when it's whittled down to slow motion.

Passing away is sharing the light and dark that folds in every day.

Stashing away love is selfish and you're above that.

I'd sashayed away in order to stay healthy.

Although stealthily I'd made a round robin attempt to eat

that's neat, and neither are you,

so I stew in a nest made of my best ideas

Like noodles held in stasis

I will hold fast with graces