I walk a delicate line
down a hallway through time
the facade bends along with my apprehensive movements
to reflect my subjective individuality
until the walls are penetrated by insane interlopers
—zillions of zombies of zero—
their hands reaching into my thin corridor
shattering the windows I use as mirrors
giving way to a banshee hurricane
intimidation disorientation
kissing the wailing wall
heavy seas pervade my proximity
barely breathing under a wave of seething
manipulation is found where I drown
channeled beneath a turmoil spill
that fossils fuel through hostile schools
of thought advancing their plot
flooding this face down floater
so they can send a conniving boater
to enter my hall and lean me on the wall
to turn me into a mindless voter.

They say it’s darkest before the dawn
failing to mention dawn only lasts a few moments
before light illuminates what we’ve become in the darkness—
dumb and heartless.

Dawn is used to clean oil off penguins
who are grateful to wash the muck away
they feel they are able to keep trying
only to end up feeding sea lions.

We used to fear a red dawn
which gave way to a red dawn
the sun goes down on my right
in America’s tumultuous twilight.

After the dawn of man
we waited for the dawn of reason
only to find the dawn at hand
marks the end of that season.

You asked me how I was doing
my answer was good enough
so you left well enough alone
until I didn’t feel enough home.

I post my death on the internet
and am told it’s good e-*****
but good enough ain’t good enough
so I’m not good enough.

How much is enough?
It’s never enough
my coward’s reach is too short
so good enough is my only export.

They called my bluff
of good enough
so I wear these cuffs
of good enough.

I’m writing a threnody for a friend of me
who became an enemy after his entropy entered me
transferring pain centering around chaotic energy
mentoring me developing this melody.

This ode is a code for the road
so I know where to go when I’m alone
to avoid foes in your afterlife glow,
they’ll just slow the big show.

This lament will be a vent
for all the dents in my tent
you lent wherever I went
until I bent into descent.

I draw my rhythm from our schisms of derision;
constant decisions to steal my vision
put me in prison until an incision of division
helped me listen to what glistens.

I write a sad song
for a bad dog
who stabbed God
once I grabbed on.

The record starts to spin
once I inherit sin
humming hypocritical hymns
so long as I win.

The CD stops
once the heartbeat drops
like the fish when they flop
dancing until they finally stop.

Last night I slipped into a nightmare
you and I were deep into a game of Madden
when my player fumbled the ball
and my emotions overtook me
as the controller flew from my hands
breaking on the unforgiving tiles.

You looked at me incredulously
your disappointment apparent
I fumbled for the words to call a timeout
as I could feel control over my image loosening
and falling with your respect onto the turf
where everyone feels free to pile on.

Unwilling to fumble any more moments
I texted you when I woke up
fumbling for the right words
to tell you I love you
and you called me a ******
as the phone fumbled from my hands.

—After Sum 41

Through your social distortion of extortion at the
most absurd proportions, I realize I need a doctor
not a proctor for when I test the helicopter you said
you’d never offer to a lowly pauper. You could say it’s my
bad I even tried that so now I cry-laugh in the lilacs while my mom
throws bombs through satcoms to lighten the weather. I should’ve
known better and left the head sever nether that continuously had
me tethered to the emotionally unfettered. I really need to find an
honest man before I enforce a plan of a 1000th trimester abortion.
                                                                                              bortion
                                                                                         bortion
                                                                                     bortion  
                                                                                bortion
                                                                            bortion
                                                                        bortion
                                                                    bortion
                                                                bortion
                                                            bortion
                                                        bortion
                                                    bortion
After all the fat lips you gave me I
realized I’m a matchstick baby and don’t
need your rabies to save me. I don’t think I want
to live in your lair with your despair share stares turning to
a bitter taste once I start to face the human waste
falling on my head when I fall in your bed instead of my
king sized comforter singing trumpeter of a simple time—
childhood confined, morality defined by design until I become
the demons as you free them for freedom until they’re just another
lover to call my brother. The hits to my lips caused a casualty
of me casually even though I was never alive actually. Of
all the fists fighting me, it’s you I’d like to remove from society.

Drifting forward hard
drifting toward car
lifting off the tar
near a shifty corner bar.

The engine sputters
the radio stutters
between my mutters
cursing others.

Headlights flow like a waterfall
down this upward incline
without vision I start to stall
unable to read the signs.

Control and vision are lost
like traction to the frost
contraction’s chaotic cost
I keep drifting until I’m tossed.