Everything happens for a reason
Said one man to another
that’s ******* you know he responded
and even if that was so
should it be some consolation
should I be amazed by the worlds complexity?
should I applaud the interwoven madness
if the one left out is me?


Does a bull admire a matador’s technique?
Does a building admire the strength of a wrecking ball?
Tell me why the system is great
why I should care about the meaning behind it all
what you have is what you love
and I could never love a theory
I believe in the material
because it’s the only thing my eyes can see


Tell me why my wife died
Was it to save a thousand lives?
because I would **** a thousand more
for one more look into her eyes
Maybe her death
somehow saved my life
well one day I will die
without the comfort of my wife


That’s all it really is my friend
a celebrated rain delay
God’s in his high chair
choosing who will go and who will stay
but eventually we will all leave
despite all the magic this universe has to offer
you believe in faith sir
but sadly I am bogged down in fact


The man was choked up
as he searched for words to answer the other
I did not know your babies mother
but my son did
She pushed him to safety from a car
taking the impact that was meant for him
so while I'm sorry for your loss friend
there is a reason behind everything

On a flybuzz afternoon in late June, the unshaven man in corduroy everything ashes into a shoe beside the bed. He takes another drag. He half hums, half sings "Fight this Generation." Outside he hears a car alarm. He looks through the blinds. Not his. An unopened letter rests on the night stand. He looks at it and then doesn't. His phone rings for the ninth or tenth time. He picks it up and throws it at the wall. Pieces with names like RF amplifier, microprocessor, and flash memory chip divide and shower onto the hardwood floor.

An hour and half a pack of cigarettes pass. She fiddles with her key in the door.  A few failed turns then she walks into the living room, into the bedroom.

She looks at the broken phone.

"At least I told you," she says.

"I didn't read it."

"I don't care. I already told you. That was just to soften the blow, a nice thing."

"Look for the splinters. You might see where they come out."

"We already talked about this. You said you wanted to stay together. You know and I know this wasn't completely my fault."

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Yeah. Absolutely. You've got to take care of yourself. I said nice things in the letter."

"I'm not going to read the letter."

She opens the window by the bed to vent the smoke. There's another siren in the distance. Someone protected, someone hunted.

"Your life is selected," he says.

"So select yours, too."

He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the matted mess out of his eyes.

"For you to have the life you want, I give up the one I want."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. We've already talked about this. We've already had this fight."

"I want to have it again."

"Why?"

"I just need to."

"You're saying the same things."

"Maybe in a general sense, but I feel like I'm saying them better."

"I'm not going to listen to you refine your arguments for the rest of my life. We already got past this."

"Already is a strange word."

She turns her back to him and heads into the living room. "Everything is strange when you think too much, when you refine," she says through the wall.

"It's something that happened before or something that came too soon yet sounds like something inclusive, all ready to fight, to die. It's strange."

"You're not ready," she says. "I'm going to stay at Amy's again tonight."

She doesn't slam the front door. She eases it closed, locks it, and leaves.

"All ready," he says to himself. "All ready."

Silence falls as darkness comes
bleeding colour from the earth.
Alone I sit, screen lit, waiting for sleep to find me.

It's there we meet,
there we create sparks of light to rival galaxies.
There is no beauty finer than that created in nether worlds,
tales woven through darkness and sub conscious need,
while demons weep at the beauty of our souls.

Tides may change at the moon's behest,
daylight mocks our longing
yet we remain steadfast
You my flotsam, I your jetsam
tossed within life's currents,
while we cling to our conscience
in hope of repair.
Praying into the void for forgiveness and the dimming of the sun,
that we may dream once more.

I watch my reflection in the mirror
with my pale blue eyes
watching my lifeless stature in the dark
bones made out of gelatin
and my heart out of fragile glass
that breaks everytime i see myself

My fingertops softly touch my face
Tears keep coming faster
till my waterlines are overflowing
My nails grow sharper
and my fingers cramp
digging holes under my eyes
I want to shatter my bones
And burn my skin to ashes
I want to rip the hair from my scalp
as well as all the pages
filled with frustration
scratching and screaming
I have to be pretty

but the need for it grows
as well as the demons inside my soul

I've had an off and on relationship over the years,
as many people in the world have.
However usually that involves another person,
while homelessness has always been my veiled mistress.
The last couple weeks have been awfully tough,
as the unrelenting weather has ferociously tested my will.
Wind, grinding away anything close to smiles,
Hail, battering my already bruised body,
Sun, sapping what little strength I have left,
Cold, freezing the very blood flowing in my veins.
Rain, wiping away my very identity.
Now, I'm just a ghost, wandering through town,
clothes tattered and torn, mismatched shoes,
grizzled face, eyes masking a deeper pain,
wondering when, or if, there will be another meal.
Not that a source of food is all a home is,
but it brings with a sense of warmth, safety, love.
I guess I just wish I had something like that.

I sat across from a man made of millions.
From his shiny black patent shoes to his dolphin patterned socks,
and his slicked back gray blonde hair, a color so elusive
Midas himself would find fault with designating blame,
I saw treachery.
If character were based on dress I would assign worth every time.
But people don't work that way: you must listen to what they say.
When he mentioned God and fate in the same breath as commissions and unlimited potential financially,
I went back to the socks.
Imagining the dolphins desperately trying to find someone else's socks,
someone less driven by green pieces of paper easily set aflame by
a deranged individual, someone like me,
who would not be so ludicrous, but entertained the notion,
would have more idealistic pure thought framing.
While the world runs in bounding strides to freedom from debt, from loans, from taxes, and money....stuff,
so that every "thing" materializes as a personal possession
and retirement happens at the unseemly age of 35,
but who will provide a home for the dolphins?

I would not throw my socks away as soon as the threads began to bare.
I would find some cerulean blue thread and weave in the ocean.

My girl is the softest planet
and I am unsure, but she says
the gaseous rings are clinging
tight to her knuckles and it is
after midnight when she finally
exhales and the room turns pink
and bright with starlight

On absent Tuesdays, and only those
of even number, we sit on docks
and watch the city float by
on cumulonimbus and pouring
and hail tie-dying the whites on our shirts
and blue eyes gray in stony reflection

Purple tangle watches, thorny stems
on a chase through the downtown streets
after falling for and off of you
under creaks of a lifting bridge