walking through
a shimmering testament
to applied ignorance
lights are everywhere
penetrating the darkness
i would so love to succumb to

stifling sobs because
apparently that's what dignity is
maintaining illusion
so as not to dissuade
the ones around you
those beautiful, promising
robots walking down
the cyclical path to oblivion
again and again

i'm here    and again
weeping like
a hot tea kettle and again
the dog poem
remains elusive and again
it's so sad
i'm Bukowski but
with no beauty and
too much priviledge and again
i buckle under
the enormous weight of
old age and pathetic dreams
written in sand and
dust and
sidewalk chalk
before the thunderstorm and again
propped up
by the lucky few
who witness my attempts at honesty
and again

it's the pain
on the tops of my eyeballs    it's
my hands
and right foot falling asleep    it's
westville ave at night
hoping i get shot      it's
rambling until everyone leaves and
not wanting to go anywhere
but talking it's
only being able to say
"i love you"
when drunk   it's
uncle george's silver star it's
getting close but
even inside isn't
close enough   it's
creeping                it's
fear                     it's
headaches                  it's
10 AM               it's
too much                    it's
not enough                            it's
everything                      it's
nothing                                   it's
again and
                   again and
                                       again

flatlands grey and dull cept in nighttime luster
blank screens filled with hollow movement and little else
a transitory space we share with glances and lists
a layer of emulsion that cracks and dissolves, destabilizes
as the light changes
the beauty of space
beauty of absence
the concrete glistens under the artificial stare

the universe will end
with an onomatopoeia
blink
ploop
maybe the sound
when you turn off a tv
and then that silence
hanging up near the ceiling
presses down

the end of everything
will be just like that

when i sang on that wet trail back to civilization
i sang for you and your uncle
sang for the grey skies and the idea that i mattered
as the last note faded out there was a silence
and i think you felt it too
i hope you did
because that silence isn't coming back
you're full of yourself
and i don't really want to see you again
but i miss that twenty mile march to a funeral
i miss being lost in the woods

catatonic patagonia rumbles off beyond the tilt in world spheres unknown unproven
a wasteland
not there, here but who wastes land decides where the waste lands as mist obscures trees like it knows its aesthetic knows the beating heart the focused eye rolling forming subversive lands and wanderings unmasked only by forward march and direct sunlight move like mist feel the fog crawl up rock faces and empty spaces foot calf hamstring submerged in secrecy
shoot bearings lose bearings shoot bearings lost bearings the bering strait rushes further than the south andes get strait to the point the peak the top unfolding dips and precipices, teetering on the edge of identity can't see can't see where what
but the fog relents revealing a why that sits a while then crumbles like a letter left in the laundry or the will to lift both feet from this earth

damp roads at night pushing and pulsing light
whip soiled water onto pack and *** from back bicycle wheels rotating furiously out of purgatory out of bleary eyes of incandescence and towards the same eyes lit by patriotism or in another sense incarceration
wheels spinning straight and directionless
sore legs denying illusion of purpose purported by a between eyebrows headache only achieved through a blindfolded walk down memory lane keys jingling from a carabiner and a misplaced confidence self corrected before it was too late to realize that reality is difficult to handle with all 5 senses and a distinction between right and wrong and being left handed but not leftist because the only thing worse that being dumb is being spineless invertebrate vampires killing sheep in the prairie and funding proxy wars while fighting for who?
wheels spinning round and round keep insisting on idealism

hot screams
pictures flashing remember remember don't forget to have proof proofread a persona a shifting ego rising and falling with the waves a rhythm older than stone and sadness older than hard cider arms folded begging not to be touched begging for an old familiar couch that swallows thoughts whole swollen with years of desires and drool and cottonmouth
hot hot screams
rip through ears holding a pain of identical magnitude a hideous sameness twitching dancing across nervous systems as people disappear and rain sprinkles the front porch in road blocks and tired conversation tired awareness
never drink again never dream again never eat or sleep or scream again
resign while politics eats away at abandoned barns upstate and rapists walk free under the guise of fraternal bonding shoot first ask questions later or just don't ask any ever as if the answers have been found provided by
the flashes seen with eyes closed the flashes seen in eyes clothes the flashes blinding and true blinding and real blinding binding
and the chains are made of severed hands the captor a trillion eyes piled up and growing putting debt and babel and the fuming gods to shame fuming gods of shame and image reflection and refraction twisting twilight twice around twenty somethings like twine twenty somethings need more somethings anythings everythings need want need want kneed want wasn't enough tough pill to swallow wallow wallow just follow the leader beaming glorious light like liquid soap
hot hot hot screams screams hot hot screams hot screams