it is not the shadows
we survive in,
nor the undersides of
rocks,
neither is it the shade
of trees
or
the nether-regions
of the mind

no

it is only in
the cool of
night,
when all can see
if they look hard
enough

that is when we dance,
that is when are,
that is when…

…we are the night-walkers,
beings of grace.

we, the things so ugly,
we, the creatures so horrendous,
we, the nightmares and the
dreams all at once.

we walk out on ten legs
or two,
marching in no particular
pattern at all
yet in such coordination
that the armies of the
world salute in shame

our meaning is nothing

our existence, in and of
itself, is astounding
enough

we do not need to scream
from the roof tops to get
the message across

we are the night-walkers,
dancers of the moon,
we have no grace or charming
traits,
yet you fear us,
but we
don’t fear
you

one hand moves up
the other moves up
in response

one leg sweeps sideways
the other sweeps sideways
as well

one mind thinks
the other thinks
the same

there is no mirror
yet the image is
the same

two bodies,
completely opposite,
just reflections
of the same

wham
ow!
****
****
****
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
****
­god ******
why’d you do
that?

sorry…

they looked like mangled
silver dollars

shells split into fifty pieces
arranged as the were
like a blue print
for god to try and
reassemble

there were so many
I didn’t count
but there were many,
many dead turtles
strewn
across the
road
and
as I walked along
I tried to avoid
them
but
sometimes
there were three
or four in a row
and
it was really
hard
to
avoid
them

like life,
life is hard,
hard like a turtle’s shell
cracked into fifty
pieces

there are some
that you owe your very first
and your very last
to

but to you
I owe not just that
but everything
in between

and I am more
than happy
to spend every day
of my life
repaying
you

the truth hurts

failure stabs
like a dagger
and slices you
to mush

that’s why I cry
that’s what the bravado
dies and the illusion
evaporates or
sometimes
crumbles

I face getting caught
but my bravery poisons
my pride

I will walk to my room
breathing out years of
rancid doubts

you should know
that those who take things so seriously
are usually the ones who can’t decide
if there’s anything
they really should take
seriously at all (at least,
in the grand scheme
of things).

upon departure,
we discovered that home
was not a singular place
as we had been taught.

upon leaving,
we understood that home
was anywhere where we
could be together again.

and we were just realizing
we would not be home again
for a very, very long time.

can’t feel my legs
can’t feel my legs

don’t need them
nope
don’t need them at all

can’t feel my legs
can’t feel my legs
oh god,
I can’t feel my

legs!

I cannot succeed
at the things I love

I cannot achieve
with the people I love

I cannot be
what I love

I cannot,
love.

a
simple
thing
of
how
to
look
is
often
most
necessary,
most
focused,
most
feared,
and
yet
nobody
knows
why
or
even
how
to
do­
it
right
(more
than
a
couple
of
times)

why her?
why again?
why am I doing this?

is this desperation or
truth?

this burgeoning love
that enters my house
in a suave suit but I
see him as an assassin
teeth replaced with
knives, finger taught
on some weapon

does this man enter
my house in honesty,
bringing with him a
word of truth?

does this man enter
my house in deceit
bringing with him a
means to tear down
all I’ve built up since
the last time I expelled
him from this place

we laugh about pancakes,
calling them devil cakes
after the fact that they are
hard as hell to make

but I gaze beyond her face
looking into the eyes of the
man standing behind her,
and wondering what he’s
doing back again

what if we could
just tell somebody
they were beautiful?
to truly mean it
because it’s
true

I want to know
I demand an answer
I refuse to sleep until
someone explains
why I can’t do
this

there is no harm
no shame
or glory

only love,
the one pure goodness
we humans have to
offer

I want to tell somebody,
everybody,
that they are beautiful

because when I say it,
I mean it

and I say to you,
world,
you are ugly,
cruel and
mean
and
only beautiful
when you don’t
try

it
is
perhaps
Dinosauria, we
that
gets
me
most
of
all
with
how
undeniable
it’s
truth
is

we have no choice,
no freedom,
at birth
we are simply
******
into this world
and told to deal
with it
whatever it may
be

and this world
is dying.
this world
is cursed to be
blown up
by men
who have no ears
for what we
have to
say.

this is not some
grim prophecy,
bukowski nor I
come out of the desert,
beard long and
eyes grown shut with
age,
and insist to you
that the end is
near

I fear,
but I suspect
he does
not,
that one day
soon
the universe
will sit in smug
silence
making jokes
amongst the stars
about the cute
little primates
that thought they
could make
it

maybe it’s a nervous breakdown
I am twitching a lot
moving my feet and hands
in alternate patterns constantly
and I can’t seem to think
everything sounds like static
so maybe it’s my body finally shutting down
slowly tearing down the whole show
letting people see how it really is
and I can’t figure out why
but something is definitely happening
and I’m sitting here, watching myself,
seeing all that I am come apart at the seams
letting loose what little I have within me
so that it can flutter off
into the dark and rainy
night

today
is not
going to be
a good
day

that little tingle,
that tiny nudge,
that niggling pain
in the back of
my mind

it’s doubt

it’s fear

it’s just
enough
to knock me
over the
edge

I will plummet

down into the pits
of my depressive
self where I will
die and be reborn
and die again

nothing will happen

time will not stop
but my eyes will
only see visions of
hell

today,
may be
****

it may be
terrible,
and horrific
and leave me begging
for death

or maybe
not

maybe,
I’ll rise above

maybe,
I’ll be happy
despite the
doubts

maybe,
maybe
I will.

shame sits on
my couch
eating a
doughnut
complaining about how
the girls in horror
movies are
always
dumb ******

I can’t remember the
last time
I saw him
but
he looks
good

must have made some
strong woman cry her
heart out

that would make
anybody feel
good

it always amazes
how quickly he moves
in

setting up his cot
near the fire-place,
his toothbrush in
the bathroom, and
taking anything he
wants from the
fridge

not that I do much
to stop him once
he gets in

if he gets in

that’s what I’m good
at

keeping him out

most of the time
I just ignore him

sometimes he doesn’t even
show up

but sometimes he gets in
and I’m in no shape to
play his games
and
so I just lock myself
in my room
while he yells at
the television

oh well,
I think

he’ll leave soon
enough

off to ****
with a weaker soul
or perhaps just
kick a drunk
while he’s
down

I’ve been called a dog

what does that mean?

does mean I’m loyal?
loving?
unswerving?
always forgiving?

or do you mean to say I’m dumb?
loyal to your enemies?
unswerving in my path to bring you down?
never forgiving for the things you do?

I suppose I am a dog then
in both senses
but I’m not dumb
that’s how I know
I’m a dog

for the
idiot
is the
one
who’s
confused

the
one
you
want
me
to
be

the guilt
of these weeks
slacking leaks
out of my eyes
and ears and
fingers

the sludge
pools before
me
and as it
builds higher
and thicker
I feel my strength
returning,
my fortitude
relaxing,
my will
bending and
cracking with its
new found
freedom

the black goo
lies in a heap on
my floor
as
I go grab
a shovel and
toss it out
the
door

for now,
that poison
is gone from
me

but every
relaxing Friday,
when I let
this
poison from
myself
I notice my
features more
and more
in the viscous
creature
that leaks out
of me,
each time
I see more of
that tar in my
very own
face

how soon will the roles reverse?

why don’t you throw off your burdens?
take a load off
rest your weary shoulders
breathe, for once

go ahead

let everyone down

you’ll find me
on the streets
offering love to strangers
reaching out with my arms
with sweet words
bubbling out of my lips
but when you hug me
in relief
at having found me
I will recoil
scream
look at you
with wild eyes
and fear
wondering
who you are
my love
because
like a beast
I am afraid of fire
and I will try to hide it
behind my own flame
which offers no warmth
to anyone
and
you will wonder
where I have gone
and eventually you will
realize that I haven’t
gone anywhere
and you will
leave me there
to fend off the cold
in my own ways
and take your love
to someone not so
much a cowering
beast

this day has gone so slowly fast

as in
each minute ticks by as if an hour
but at the end of each hour
I can scarcely remember a minute of it

but how was it?
this slow,
yet fast
day?

fantastic?
no,
but it has been happy.

friends,
memories,
entertainment.

I kept busy,
yes,
and that keeps the mind
busy from thinking about
the bad things.

the sad things,
the memories,
the frustrations.

god,
it’s late now,
the day is so slow,
slow enough that they’re
catching up with me.

so I speed up,
speed up in any way I can
till my body is like electricity
trying to dance away the dark
with only the tiny shocks to make
light

for america
I sing of a land far gone
without a Wal-mart

in the night
I see
her

touching me
hugging me
kissing me

and then she asks
“do you love
me?”

and in the night
I have the confidence
to say yes
as I reach down
with a smile
for another
kiss

but then as our lips touch
the dream breaks
and I am left dazed
in the dark
of my
bed room

I look over at the pillow
I clutch between my arms
and sigh

I close my eyes again
hoping for the dream
to return

I’m exhausted of
always feeling like
I never had a chance

that there was nothing
I could’ve ever done
to make it work

that, from the very start,
I had already lost

too many times I’ve
put everything into
something only to
have it explode in
my face

and then the whisper
comes, and it reminds
me that I never had a
chance

not once,
not ever,
it was impossible,
and I should’ve
known better

and I hate that whisper,
because of what it has
to say,
because of how the truth
stings,
because I keep hearing
it over and over every
time I fail
because I cannot scream
back,

“no, not this time!
I’m going to win you ******.
I’m going to!”

and I cannot scream that
because I know it’ll never
be true

float slowly
downward

under the water
air fades
lungs gasp
panic builds in the
mind

remain calm

coil the fear
in muscular energy
find your footing
wait

for the moment

then jet
away

some say that losing control of your life
is like having water rise around your feet.

bit by bit the flood builds
and all the stresses add to its grip
soon it’s at your ankles,
at your waist, at your neck,
then your chin, and nose,
and eyes, and then your
swimming in it, swimming
to avoid drowning but it’s
no use:

the water is pushing you up to the ceiling

and all you have left to do is say your prayers
and think your final thoughts

but that’s not what I think

all that stress,
all those expectations,
all those terrible ideas
that sneak into your head
and then can’t be forced
out

they’re not water

no,
to me
all that
transforms the air,
into something that
drowns you just as fast
if not faster than the
dreaded
water

what I mean to say is:
this is better

that rising water
that inevitability that comes with
having to face your demise in the
face

that cold water is unnecessary
because death is cold enough
already

kings can float on the water
longer than a beggar
their treasures making a life raft
(that should eventually fail)

but when air turns to water
even kings can only
drown

at the end of the day
we have a chance to look back
at what’s happened
maybe it’s been bad
maybe it’s been terrible
maybe it’s been great
maybe it’s been fantastic
maybe it’s just been a day
maybe it’s something you don’t want to think about
but at the end of every day
there is a time
between the twilight and the night
when the world is still
and all the bad stuff
and all the good stuff
cease their terrible conquest
of your life

this is a time when you can always breath
this is a time when your soul can live

after all the chaos of responsibility
but before the exhaustion in rest
there is a time called
dusk
and it is the most wonderful time of the day

Men go on saying
and doing
everything
not to die

But to the
ghosts and
zombies and
etc.
what really
happens?

Do you try to avoid it?
or
Embrace it?

What’s the other side?
of
The other side?

Does the cycle go round to
turn back into life?

Tell me ghosts
Visit me in the black night
Whisper to me in my dreams
I want to know
Don’t I?

a woman,
clad in green,
in the mountains
with
dull, deep forests
and soft, blue
hills,
tills in the
ground
with seeds
not
yet ripe
with
life

a bird
chirps a sharp
tune in the
wind
and
the woman
wipes away
sweat
from
her forehead,
looking upon
her work
with a
satisfied
smile

she seems to know
everything
without ever
seeming
scholarly
and
yet you
never doubt
her advice
even when it
seems unsound
or completely
uninformed

she is the peace
that this word has
to offer

her work in
the soil,
her faithful
commitment to
the land,
that is all we
can give you
without
asking for
anything
in
return

we don’t expect
a yes
or
a no

we only expect
you know her name
and respect her
as your true
mother

you cannot comprehend how much you will care

how badly it will hurt
how terribly you will want to die

even if you’ve known it before
to feel it again
will burn ten times worse
than you ever remember it

you will hate yourself for it
and worst of all
you could’ve stopped it
too

but then,
perhaps,
maybe it is
out of our control,
maybe it’s not magic,
or special,
or grand,
and it's best to smile about
the fact that it’s just you,
nothing else,
that caused these events
and now,
*this.

lean back in your chair
stretch your sore triceps
write a few more lines of poetry
take a drink
turn off the light
rewrite the last line
consider it
leave it be

it’s three AM and
the world unfolds before
you

the worst part of any wound
is receiving it,
don’t let anybody
lie to you,
including
yourself.

the pain is only as bad
as the knife
is sharp
and
while
you think you’re never
going to forget,
you will.

faster than you’d think
you’ll start filling your head
with new thoughts
of the new adventures
you are having
and the new stories
you are writing
every day.

so don’t let pain get to you,
if you don’t die
then you will
get better
and the pain will pass soon,
it’ll pass quicker
then you could
believe.

enjoy what you have
when you have it
and when don’t have it anymore,
take a deep breath,
close you eyes,
and really let it
go.

it’s a whole lot easier than
you ‘d think.

my muse drinks
in the afterlife
laughing at me
as I try to write
after he told me
till the day he died
that it’s already too late
if you’re trying

out of breath
the man in my music
sings and I sit
silently

I ponder
what I should
do and continue
to sit while
my music
plays

what to say
what to say
what to say

hello?

no, no
too stupid
too simple
too demanding

hi?

no, no!
too meek
too afeminate

hey?

no, NO!
too flirty!

****!
you stupid ****!
figure this **** out!
it’s not this god-**** hard!

****
****
****

****

what to do
what to do
what to do

****

sounds familiar huh?

they moved like robots that night;
their arms bending against unseen
friction and their eyes open so long
that a fly could come and eat it away
without so much as a blink

these men, who claim compassion,
sit with their tall shoulders casting
dark shadows upon the lesser beings
they judge but they know nothing of
what it’s like to be in the blackness
of their apparition

I see the strong ones who cast them-
selves into these metal men’s prison
and when I see them return they are
always as soulless as the ones who
took theirs’ away

these men, who move without the
inhibitions of the human condition,
are turned to by those without morality
to be the judge of if they are human

it
is
haunting
how
faint
the
memories
of
both
success
and
failure
are
to
me

time of ignorance
you are the great
fearful age quickly
dawning upon us

those without thought
lead into battle by the
hazy-eyed extremist
conquer the innocent
and protect the most
guilty

this is a poem about
my anger with the
world

have your opinions,
your views, your ideas,
whatever but make
sure they’re thoughts

we cannot submit
to the men who
expect us to be
animals

we are what we dream we are
and nothing more

I am terrified
of this new age

where the deaf are king
and the blind are people

time of ignorance
what hope can I
have as you hurtle
towards me like
a meteor in the
night sky

I walk
down the
street
in the summer
sun
and the person
I nod to,
walking past,
does not see me
and I do not
see
him

they carried guns
and bottles of beer and
boxes full of expensive
china and glass

their feet spilled
out in front of them
and their goods
out to the
sides

the sirens
whined somewhere
offstage
and
they were
lost in the
escape

these men would never
be more alive again

it would color him
and darken
him,
it would make him
cry
and make him
think

it would be devastating
and it would be
soul-crushing

it would destroy
and it would
create

it would ****,
only one,
but it would
****** more
in the times to
come

it is terrible,
and horrendous,
and monstrous,
and black,
and it happens

and it colors him,
and darkens him,
still.

the reflection
of a hanged man
shines in the
eyes of a spider
spinning the first
web of spring

every morning
I wake up to blaring
of my alarm clock
yelling wake up!
wake up! wake up!
time to go! time to
go! time to
go!

******* I say
as I slam my hand
down on it till
it shuts up for
ten minutes

but it always comes back
yelling get up!
get up! get
up!

and I hit it
again
it shuts up
again
and in ten minutes
it starts blaring
again

and this is my morning,
every morning,
till I wake up
and get on with my
life

the world isn’t ending any more
humanity doesn’t rest on my shoulders
death is both frightening  and
no longer a threat
eating is tasteless and bland
anger no longer satisfies
a deep tiredness looms over me
and watches me
and says:
you are no longer
the inferno
you once
were

I am letting go of tension
and giving up on fate
I am killing myself and trying
all over again

the act was committed
and done in an instant

my eyes go hazy
my gaze looks nowhere
and yet sees everything
my world sharp as glass
but my feelings so dull
I forget they are their

I am logs still hissing
from cold water

silently my embers die
blindly I sink into the earth
my last moments were
trivial and like any
other
it was a good run,,
I think,
but I am now due
for a long rest
before
the biggest
one of
all

slow down
bring the music to a quiet
keep your heart rate at a calm
this world moves fast enough already
without your screaming speeding it up

in a panic
never make a decision
the key is to stop it
even if just second
then you can rationalize,
think, organize, plan,
then you can make a decision
and move on

the world will always move fast than you do
and we humans aren’t designed to live
at the speed of the world
but we, more than any
other creature,
can slow it all
down
and be
calm

sitting on the toilet I had another revelation
it’s five pm and today was a little hot
but I guess now that school’s almost
over
and all my troubles are melting
away
my mind is flowing in the weirdest ways
and in the weirdest places

the epiphany was:

the watched *** never boils
the flower gazed upon never blooms
the storm only moves when nobody’s looking
and thus
the boy cannot grow into a man
whilst the cameras track his every
move

back at the computer it seems rather
simple

but I think I know it more than I realize

all my strife and anger is usually do to
others
others who won’t mind their own business
or
others who have right to know what I do
but who I really think should just leave me
alone

I’d be so much greater without the guilt of on-looking eyes

I’d know the guitar, the piano, the sax
I’d write better
I’d be more outgoing, more open-minded
I’d be much more

my music would be louder
my voice would carry further
I would be so much more

Now a days,
I just wilt away like the flower in the heat of the
sun

those eyes burn fear into my back
and I now live hunched over, forever
tending my wounds and planning my
escape

too proud to quit
too proud to improve
the noble poet died
as quietly as he
could

blood shot eyes in the mirror.

I am at the lowest point of my life once
again

why do I come back here
again
and
again
and
again?

I come back
and I come back
and I come back
and I never forget
how bad it is
here

yet I never cease to return
again
and
again
and
again

pleasure before pain,
play before work,
I cannot escape the cycle
as I dig my own grave
deeper

I have infinite confidence
but zero self-worth

I can boast about how I can reach the sun
but I would sooner sell myself for free than
try to prove that statement

I have failed
again
and
again
and
again

but I hear hope
in the waters beating against the tub;
once again
they say to me,

“time to wash away
thy sin
for I forgive you
for tears look no
different within my
loving arms”

and I return silently
head low and
eyes sunken
washing myself
as the child would
hoping to birthed
again
and
again
and
again

I am a man without faith

no god
nor construct controls me

and I cannot be fazed
by threats
or warnings
about the after-life

there is life
and there is death
and if there is another life
there’s no way we know
about it

I am a man without faith
I am a man without the answers
that keep many up at night

as I drift into sleep myself
I do not wonder what will happen
if I do not awake in the morning

I know that if I do not awake I cannot be woken
and I know that if I do awake then I have the day
ahead as my concern

for now,
I drift aimlessly
not knowing why I even exist
or why I should continue to
exist

I exist only on the faith
that there isn’t a reason
for all this

that in not knowing

I,
in fact,
know

I am a man with the faith
to have no faith