We took the back road to the house. The shade from the trees made the road feel like tunnel. Not a shred of light came in. We'd have to drive slow. The road wasn't made of concrete: it was made of dirt, rock, and dead leaves. Sometimes we could see the worms come up out of the dirt in the headlights, their pink stretching bodies like weird little fingers. Carrie never looked. She said it was too scary. The rest of us would look and watch them dance around like that. Sometimes we'd have to run them over. Of course, we'd feel bad about it, but we needed to get back to the house. There were things to be done. Nothing planned, but nonetheless, things to be done.
Englend reversed the car up to the front door. The liquor, the food, and the beer was in the back and would make it easier to get it from there. Patty and Carrie (the one scared of the worms) ran straight to the bathroom. They'd been complaining about how we never stopped at a gas station to ***. Englend said we didn't have the time and I just didn't care. Denny was in the same mindset as me. We usually were. Kat was looking out the window, thinking about something she didn't wish to share when we started to unload. She offered to help after she'd finished her thought, but the three of us said we had it. We didn't really, but we let her have her thought while we carried the bags. There weren't that many to complain about anyway.
When everyone was inside unpacking their things, I hung back and smoked a cigarette. I looked down at the river. It was full and rushing. The trees were full with bright, lime green leaves. The branches were tanned auburn from the sun. They looked the forearms of the Mexican girls at my high school: smooth, everlasting, stretching to a place I was never allowed to touch or look at. I ashed my cigarette into a pile of leaves and immediately worried that I was going to start a fire. I kicked it out, thrusting my boot heel into where I thought the ember had went.
"What the hell are you doing?" Englend screamed from the front porch, a handle of whiskey underneath his arm, a glass with ice in the other.
"Ashed into the leaves," I told him, "Trying to take it out." I kicked the leaves a few more times, then walked towards Englend.
"Let me get a hit of that," I said, pointing at the handle.
He spun the top and it rolled off the tread. The cap rolled off the deck and Englend chased after it, handing me the bottle first.
"Take this. Where'd the hell it go?"
"Down there somewhere," I said, pulling the bottle back. The sweetness of the whiskey hit my nostrils first, then the bite of the liquor. I coughed, feeling my eyes begin to water. The first one was always the hardest. After that, they got easier.
June had just ended. July was just arriving. The third was tomorrow and the next day was the fourth.
I took another pull from the handle. I placed on the decks railing and left Englend with it. He was still looking around for the bottle cap.
"I thought I saw it roll under the deck," I told him.
"*******," he moaned. He looked up at me, "Come and help me. It'll be faster with two."
"Can't. Gotta' check on Carrie and get ourselves a room."
"*******," he moaned again, reaching under the deck.
"Don't get your hand bit by a possum or rat or something!" I yelled behind me, going inside. "Carrie!" I screamed, "Where'd you go?"
"Upstairs getting our room ready!" I heard her scream from the 2nd floor, "Come and help me put the sheets on."
I went into the kitchen. Denny was stocking the fridge with the beer and the meat. I reached over his shoulder and grabbed a Budweiser. He had an open one in between his knees. The light stuff was on the bottom to the far left, the heavy stuff in the middle, and the expensive IPA, hoppy stuff to the far right. The top shelf was for food, mixer, and whatever else the girls had decided to get at the store. Fruit and things. I opened up the freezer. There were two handles of Smirnoff resting on three large bags of ice. We would need more ice. I closed the freezer and ran my fingers of the labels of two more handles of Cazadorés tequila and Bulleit bourbon. Overall, I thought we were fairly stocked for the four day weekend, but one could never be to sure. People came out of the wood work for the 4th of July. No telling who would show up at our front door.
I went upstairs to see what Carrie was doing. She was laying on the bed with the sheets resting on the dresser. The light was off. The room was cast in that light grey pigment that happens when the bedroom light isn't there. It was nice. The sun had been straining my eyes the whole time even though I had been driving in the backseat. Carrie was laying face down on the bed. She was wearing a skirt, so I slowly laid down on the bed and inched her dress up. She didn't flinch or move, so I pulled it up until I saw her burgundy lace *******. They looked pressed or ironed or something they looked so clean.
"What're you doing?" Carrie asked me, her face down into the mattress.
"Just looking," I said.
"At what?"
"At your ****."
"Why?"
"Cause' it's nice."
"Close the door."
I got up, closed the door, and laid back down.
"Lets put the sheets on the bed first."
"OK," I said.
We put the sheets on the bed, but couldn't wait for the pillows and the rest of the blankets. We tried to be quiet, but knew we weren't. After, we took a shower together. I rubbed Carrie's shoulders while the hot water rained down on us. She said it was better to get a massage in the shower because the hot water loosened up the muscles. I didn't know if that was true or not, but I did it anyway. I watched her as she unpacked her bag. Her hair was wet and it swung back and forth, wetting her back. She was wrapped in her favorite pink towel. Water dripped from her body down to the floor. I waited to put my things away. I had brought up very little. Mostly *****. Carrie took up most of the dresser. I had one drawer by the time we were finished.
We took a nap. After we were done sleeping, we looked outside and saw the sun had been replaced with the night. The stars and the light coming from inside of the cabin streaked out into the forest like a splash of golden florescent paint. Carrie and I poked our heads outside to listen to the creaking trees and the rustling of animals through the bush. Someone downstairs was lightly clattering dishes as they cleaned them while the smell of red maple firewood burning in the fireplace came up to our room. I took out my phone from my pocket and looked at the time.
"****," I said, "It's already 10 o'clock."
"I'm starving."
"I'm starving and need a drink."
"Let's go downstairs and see what they made."
I slipped on my 501's while Carrie straightened up her hair. We went downstairs and saw two plates with hamburgers and fries on them. Patty was at the sink cleaning the pots and pans. She was staring down into the soapy froth, humming a song to herself I couldn't understand. She hadn't heard us come down. Denny, Englend, and Kat weren't in the living room.
"Where is everybody?" I asked.
"Oh!" Patty burst. She swung around, a soaped up frying pan in her hands. "You scared the **** out of me!"
I put my hands up, "Gotcha!" I said smiling.
"They went for a walk somewhere and left all the dishes for me."
"Leave'em," Carrie said, taking Patty's hands and wiping the soap away with a rag, "Van and I will take care of them."
"I only have a few more..."
"I insist!" Carrie took Patty's arm and lead her to the couch and laid her down. I took a cup from the pantry, filled it with ice, and poured Bulliet half-way up. I handed the glass to Carrie and she brought it to Patty.
"Look at that," Patty smiled, "Full-service."
"What you get when you come up to the Dangerson cabin."
"**** right!" I exclaimed through a bite of hamburger, "Only the best here."
Patty leaned her head back after taking a long sip of the whiskey. She exhaled and closed her eyes. I watched her as her chest heaved up and down. She kicked off her shoes and let her hair fall over the armrest of the couch.
"You said they went into the woods, Patty?"
Carrie took her burger and went and sat next to Patty.
"Lift your legs up," Carrie said, "Let me sit with you."
"Yeah. They went into the woods an hour or so ago. Probably a little less."
I opened the fridge and grabbed another beer.
"What were they going out there for?"
"I have no idea."
"Probably to get firewood or something," Carrie said, "Can you grab me one of those."
"Sure," I said, tossing her one.
"Wait," She yelled, throwing her hands in the air. The beer landed right in one of her flailing hands.
"Nice catch," I laughed, opening the fridge and grabbing another.
"You're such a ****!"
I smiled and walked out onto the deck.
"He really is," I heard Carrie tell Patty.
"I heard that!"
"You were meant to!" she called back to me, laughing.
I shook my head and opened the can of beer. Why did they decide to go get firewood now? We had plenty of wood here already. Patty probably didn't know what she was talking about. That happened often. I strained my eyes to see through the darkness, maybe see if I could spot a flashlight or the round end of a lit cigarette, but the forest was just a wash of thick blackness. Even the stars had grown faint.
"Englend!" I shouted.
Nothing. Not a peep. They were far out there.
"Englend!" I shouted again.
"What the hell are you shouting at?" a voice said from the trees. I couldn't tell who it was, but it was someone I knew.
"Who the hell is that?"
"Well who the hell do you think it is?" It was Englend. He came out of the trees like a wild boar. He had a handle of whiskey in one hand with a pile of small twigs and firewood in the other. What came to mind first was a mix between a drunken Brawny guy and a pinecone.
"What's all the screaming about?" Kat asked, trailing behind Englend. Denny followed behind. They all had armfuls of wood. From what I saw, little would be useful, but I kept that to myself.
Englend came up the deck and handed me the handle. I took a long pull. As I drank, I looked up into the stars, which were now out and shining brighter than they were before. A cloud had moved, wavered off somewhere, presenting the gifts that were behind it. I lowered the bottle and watched Denny and Kat walk up the stairs. They were smiling.
"What are you two so happy about?" I asked, handing Denny the whiskey.
"Gimme' that!" Kat snagged it out of my hand, laughing. She took a long pull. Denny, Englend, and I watched, amazed that little hippy Kat could take such a heavy shot.
"Good God," I murmured.
"She drinks like a pirate," said Denny.
"A ****** pirate," added Englend.
Kat was especially small. Not a small person small, but petite. She also had a great *** and could out drink, out party, and out do the rest of us in debaucherous shenanigans. She had never heard of the word or feeling of shame either and did, really, whatever the hell she felt like.
"I heard that you *******," she said, exhaling, blinking her eyes wildly.
"That was a biggun'," Denny said, taking the bottle and pulling it.
"Needed it. Englend had us wandering around the ******* forest for firewood the minute we got here."
"Do we even need any?" I asked.
"Course we do!" Englend exclaimed, "Gotta' keep our ladies warm!"
He put his arm around Kat and shook her.
"Gross..." Kat frowned, her face pickling while she squirmed out of his arms.
"You love it Kat...where's Patty? Where's my babe!?" Englend thundered off into the house.
"I'm right here," Patty squealed. She was still on the couch with Carrie. She kicked her feet crazily as Englend jumped on her. Carrie jumped off just before he cannon balled onto the couch.
"You guys are SICK!" Carrie screamed.
"You love it," they both said in unison. The two of them play wrestled until Patty finally got Englend by the ***** and kissed him.
Denny handed Kat the bottle," You want another?" he asked.
"I'm good, Denny," she said.
"Hank?" He asked me.
"I'll take one, yeah," I said. I pulled it back as Kat went inside. I exhaled and looked at Denny, "So, you and Kat are the only two legitimate single people here. How you feel about that?"
"Hopeful," he said.
"That's good to hear. I'll see what Carrie can do."
"Sweet," he said nervously.
"Let's get inside. Patty made some burgers."
"Thank God," Denny sighed, shaking his head, "I'm ******* starving. Englend had us walking for ******' miles.
"No idea why. We have plenty of wood downstairs."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Lots of it. I cut a bunch the last time I was here."
"******," he laughed, "Englend told us were out."
"He doesn't know what he's talking about," I said. We walked into the kitchen. I put the bottle down next to Carrie, who had made her way from the couch back into the kitchen. She looked at the bottle, then at me.
"What you drinking there?" she asked me looking at the bottle.
"Whiskey," I told her.
"Can you not drink so much?" she whispered so no one could hear her.
"I'm good," I said, taking her hand, "I just drank a little bit outside while I was waiting for Englend. They went on a wild goose chase for firewood."
"Good."
"Denny was telling me they went all over for the stuff."
"Why?" she smiled, "We have so much from the last time we were up."
"That's what I was telling Englend, but he didn't care. Guy gets antsy."
"Who's antsy?" Englend called from the couch. Patty was wrapped up in his eyes, looking drunk from the single shot Carrie and I had given her. Kat was on the couch with a beer. Denny was hovering by the door, rocking back and forth on his heels still holding an armful of fire wood.
"Why don't you just leave that by the door?" I told Denny, "Take a seat. Stay a while."
He dropped the firewood by the side of the front door and took a seat on the floor in front of the fireplace by Kat. He looked up at her and smiled, but she didn't notice. She was sipping her beer, rummaging around in her pocket for something.
"What I was saying was that you guys didn't need to get anymore firewood or kindling or whatever the hell you guys got because we have a lot from the last time Carrie and I were up."
"I saw those logs," said Englend, "And they're ******* twigs compared to what we got!"
Everyone laughed.
"Well," I said, opening the fridge for another beer (I wasn't sure where my other one had gone to), "I'm not taking the **** down."
"All good, we'll take it down."
"You'll take it down," said Kat, "We had to walk through half of the ******* forest to get to your secret wood spot, then walk back. I'm finished with wood for now."
"Fine," Englend moaned, "I'll take it down in the morning."
"I'll help you," Denny added.
"Good! We got two big guys to do it. It'll be done in no time."
I turned around and opened up the cabinet that was filled with shot glasses. I took six out, put them on the table, and filled them with whiskey.
"Let's take a group shot before we all start getting snuggly and sleepy."
"Great idea!" Englend shouted, popping up from the couch.
"For America!" Patty giggled, following Englend.
Kat helped Denny from the floor and walked over to the counter. They parted hands when Denny was on his feet, but I could tell he wouldn't mind holding her hand for the duration of the trip.
"I'm glad to have you all here," I said, "Glad we could do this."
Everyone nodded, smiling, holding their golden brown shots in the air.
"For America," I said.
"For America!" the rest of them yelled. We soaked in the glory of fine whiskey and hazy conversation for the rest of the night.
Everyone was moving slow in the morning. Englend seemed to be the most up out of everyone. I walked into the kitchen to him whipping 12 eggs, grating cheese, pan frying potatoes, bubbling coffee, and pouring orange juice into mimosa flutes. The champagne was already out. I thought, a little alcohol will probably do me some good. It did. After my third glass, I kissed Carrie when she groggily walked into the living room. She preceded to slump onto the couch. I brought her a cup coffee and some Advil. She smiled meekly into my glazed over, blood shot eyes. I could tell she was hurting, but she would be right in a couple hours. Once we got into the river, all would be right.
"Jesus," said Carrie, "You guys are already drinking?"
"Of course!" Englend laughed, "It's the fourth and it's already noon. We're behind if anything."
"And Englend made breakfast," I said.
"I can see th

The drug
The high
The confusion
The craving
The withdrawal

The brain feels overwhelmed
The noise creates chaos in my mind
The silence I seek
The alone time I need

The anxiety kicks in
Struggling to breathe...
Overthinking creates an addiction, to the things that cause mind suppression.

My mind is noisy, with thoughts of occurrences that have happened, and some not.
I try not to depress myself, but mistakenly think too far in the future, then get disappointed because expectations have not been reached.
Busy, distracted, chaotic, and unfocused.

I reach no end to where my mind goes...
A path of little thoughts that creates an explosion and downfall.

I crave the drugs to give my mind a rest.
To give it a sense of peacefulness...
I have failed lifes tests.

Tense, tight, my mind implodes.
Burn my thoughts and bury them in ashed coal.

Cannot sleep
Cannot close my eyes
Always in a state of overthinking...
Like my brain is constantly blinking

Hail, dreamcatcher, hear now my thoughts
Free my soul of fond hopes of naught;
Of brokenness these dreams had taught;
Of ceaseless pain this life has brought.

This heart is weary of shouting;
Of being empty yet drowning
In insipid words befuddling;
In ashed promises succumbing.

**** this anguish feasting inside
That this shiv may be put aside;
These damp sheets be given a rest,
And that may bliss in this room nest.

Hail, dreamcatcher, hear now my sigh,
The words I'll mutter as lie
Below the grass, hear my cry;
My soliloquies ere I die.

The dreams that I wove with your strings
Are dreams that 'til I slumber clings;
Dreams that on stars I'll be wishing
That I with the stars be dreaming.

Farewell to you, dear moon, I say
Awake I can no longer stay
In peace on this bed I shall lay,
Never again shall I rise, I pray.

So dreamcatcher croon me to sleep
And let me drown in thoughts so deep
Don't wake me up, I had enough
Last wish: I be gone in a puff.

From love we suffer
From ashed we stand
From death we escape
and from life we dream
We struggle for love
We struggle for dreams
We are attach to an illusion star
But we never stop writing poems...

skyscraper man on seattle time
looms in the corner of swan lake and fry
untouchable denim untouchable blueblack plaid jacket
     he's put together with clothespins
     he's put together with stipends
     he's crammed between taxi cab book ends
skyscraper man on seattle time
stoic as the jet engines roar by
all his friends are magazines all his friends currentbrief
     he's got a little future
     he's got a few dimes
     he's got no father to call out the lies
skyscraper man on seattle time
watches smog children kick ***** on concrete
vulnerable under trees writes his novels in purpleink
     he's married once before
     he's read crucifixion lore
     he's returned his money to the store
skyscraper man on seattle time
looking through spectacles of ***** and brine
the rain falls hard the breeze sweet on the leaves
     he's emptying the soul of modern rock n' roll
     he's emptying the tray of ashed thought
     he's emptying the bank account cold
skyscraper man on seattle time
sheds crinkled skinmemory like the cicada
a twin-sized deathbed deathbed in apt. 203
     he's nothing.
     he's ever.
     he's happened.
skyscraper man on seattle time
carbon copied and eternal as saltwater as rust
invisible and tapping at the runrain window
     he's nothing.
     he's ever.
     he's happened.
skyscraper man on seattle time
climbs himself to the cosmos lightheaded perfection
ethereal visions of fullbloom love and legacy with measure
     he's nothing.
     he's ever.
     he's happened.

Lord I just ask you to guide me, in this pouring rain.
Praying for a change
All I feel is pain..
My life on this earth feels so alone
Everyone I love has met you
Don't have anyone else to hold.
I still don't know why you chose my life to suffer this way.
Broken hearted, ashed out blac & milds, emptied bottles,
Lost in a cycle..
Im praying to be strong, like my mom said
So I'm still fighting.
Living blinded, sometimes I do feel like screaming for help
But no one reached out a hand
When they knew that I fell.
Blessed that I now have an umbrella
To protect me from the rain
Im still holding on
Cause the season has never changed.
No one really heard of this pain
Cause we all sinners
We too focused on the hopes of fame.
But that's just the flick that starts the flame
How could we hold our head up in the pouring rain
One day I shall release my spirit
Into the sun
Then reunite with all of my loved ones.

©MH

He asked me, once:
"Would you die for me?"

I looked up at him, a smirk forming at my lips.

I slowly ashed my cigarette,
as if I was thinking of a suitable answer,
one that proclaimed my undying affection.

As I caught his eye, I said:
"Well, frankly love, I wouldn't even **** for you."

Tell me when it was
The first time you learned to hate yourself
The first time you tripped over your own fault lines
And started taking caution in every step
When did it happen?
Was it at 10?
When your shaking hands couldn't hold still
And the shame of them drove you into isolation
Maybe it's because others noticed
Or because they did their best to make it clear you were different
I don't think you know
That the rhythm you had and still have
Is unlike the rest
It is crooked and uneven but beautiful nonetheless
You didn't know it then
And accepting unsteadiness is easier said than done

Tell me when it was
The first time you learned to hurt yourself
Could it have been at 13?
When the weight of too much pressure motivated you to lose it
To the point where bones stuck out more than your voice
Loud girl became quiet that year
And then even more so the next
When your changing body didn't morph the way you would have liked it to
Left you shaped uncomfortably
A little too top heavy
The kind that drew unwanted attention
At a time when standing out was the last thing you desired
You turned skin into a battlefield into remnants from too many losses
Wrists became front lines, then hips, then neck until
You became too much destruction to keep the war going
You learned that it is impossible to win in a fight against yourself

Tell me when it was
The first time you learned to forget yourself
Was it at 15?
When the sacrifice of your body wasn't enough
To make a careless boy love you
It was a silly thing to give it all away
When you barely had enough of you for yourself
Your efforts changed after that
Trying too hard turned into not trying at all
Feeling too much turned into feeling nothing at all
You learned to repress and erase
And start over in the morning
You have been heavy from trying to hide away for so long

Tell me when it is
The first time you learn to love yourself
Will finally be after all of the years of disappointment?
Of self-deprecation?
When you realize you deserve more
Than to be the dust swept off to the side
Deserve better than to be an ashed out version of your potential
You were not meant to be wasted
You were not meant to be washed out and pushed down
You were meant to stand tall

The first time you learn to love yourself
Will be when you realize flaw is inevitable
When your skin turns itself different colors
And nothing can be done to change it
You will then learn acceptance

The first time you learn to love yourself
Will be when you stop comparing
When you look in the mirror and see only yourself in the reflection
Nobody else
You were meant to be here
You were meant to embrace it all
This body
This skin
This image
The only one you will ever have
The same one you will have to love
And eventually you will,
You'll learn how to.

Time be taken
For her hands to reach out for the fire
Restraints from moving faster
And it happens

Lighting up her cigarette
It starts to burn
Slowly inhaling
So the fire would stay in place

Slowly exhaling
The stick gets shorter
Ashes fall to the ground
Another minute is gone

It slowly reaches the end
She tries to take in the last breath
It ashes away
Like her time with him
She flicks it away
Solemnly
Saying goodbye...

crooked teeth but pretty lips biting into a sweet slice of cheesecake
that sounds good
i will do that
when takers become givers
and old men stop snoring and
bus 39 stops being late
old ladies with young problems like to crochet
and sad men do comedy
faces in the sheets and ceilings and clouds and even
in    between
my legs
get lost in the abyss of strange
in my delicate brain
and ashed-on layers

i swear i could take a bite out of you

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.
Ecclesiastes 3:5.

long, long long
have I known
the contradictory meaning thereof,
for I authored it,
time immemorial

till the day came
when understanding parted,
left for another prophet,
another poet,
for this how the world's words go,
round and around

left me
re commencing
re imaging
re imagining,
new era words,
newer versions,
new heards
newer mergings

stones and embraces
ha!

"Two of my favorite things"

no, that's been done...

"Let's go get ****** and..."

nope, that's been done

So,
spark sublime divine
give me a second chance,
compose me a vision
that gathers these
mutual funds of
contrasting similarities
in a bow tied connection
singular, worthy of
song and daily recitation!

her embrace was a stone necklace
around my throat,
sackcloth was my shroud,
to the sea bottom was impaled,
by the stony apparition
of the unrequited embrace


Ugh

My beloved's embrace,
cracked the stones that surround
my uncaring register,
the cold still waters that hid it
now boiling from
her gathering me in

better.

one last try before I repent

embrace the stones
that obstacle the journey,
gather them in, together keep,
for they are the markers,
you have used,
you have been,
you have exhausted,
so long after the body ashed,
these words will trace for
those that follow the path
you marked with
these same stones
you gathered in
olden days of
simple joyous embrace*

this will,
must have to
do,
for the stones of
the angels of sleep have
arrived and undeterred,
upon my chest have,
inscribed and placed,
while bidding me adieu,
tucking me in,
gathering me to my rest,
a closing eyeing embracing,
in drowsy voices half clear:

sleep prophet,
the work done,
the words piled,
the stones now
mark your the
you final resting place
upon them ecrivez,
In The Future,
Keep It Simple Stupid

Today, I ashed my cigarette
on the ground, but it kept
burning, and there was an
ant
when I went to squelch the embers
with the heel of my boot.

As my foot passed over it
like God's hand over man,
I had a distinct impulse
to **** it.

--but nothing else, no reason;
so I didn't.  In fact,
it would have been just
as justified, just as
reasonable to have said
Good morning
and just as nonsensical.

And though he likely isn't
a listener of music, and
though he is not
likely to spend his days
studying the works
of Yeats or Whitman,
or to ponder spirituality
or philosophy, as men do,

I think he may have even
more of the Lord's favor upon him
than I.

The date is printed orange
in the bottom right hand corner
of my very favorite picture.
     It's from two-thousand and eight

And, as my cramping legs keep ambling
every gavel foot falls faster than
the one that fell before.
     I'm wondering
where the Hell the years have gone.

You were all brown eyes and wide white smiles.
I was all youthful bravado.
As your laughter swelled to confidence,
I was sinking straight down to the bottom.

And the water rolled on past us,
          Goose Creek
swelled with the Summer run-off...
Tell me where did all this time run off to?

The moon is looming large
in the hazing, ashed-out corner
of my wine-enchanted eyeball
     on this too-typical night.

And every hyphen lends some extra space
to staggered breaths as I recall your face.
Now I'm spelling out
     my own verdict:
defendant's moving to convict.

I don't know the final cost.
     But I got enough memories
to say what future I still have,
     well it sure ain't coming free.

I got enough memories now
     that I don't know where I will be
when a year is just a yawn and a sigh,
     and you're still lodged
     deep down inside of me.

You were brown eyes' living confidence,
I was yellow, fading cowardice.
I know you were the better one,
and I've always been scraping the bottom.

And the water stalled beside us,
          Red Riv-
-er choked with Winter ice blocks.
Don't know why I was so dumb and frozen.

But thanks
     for believing
          all those years.

there once was a pyromaniac
he lit himself on fire
he should have panicked
but everything was just brighter
he lived from day to day
yearning to add to the pyre
he knew it to be easy
with a touch it would spread wildfire
but he was no devil
he could control his desire
so he lived in agony
even when his need grew dire
he'd never intrude unwelcome
almost like a vampire
but he was far too kind and reticent
to trap a victim whom he would squire
he scared them all away
with apathy and satire
he was too familiar with the anguish
his fire would inspire
he wanted to protect the beautiful souls
from the harm of its ire
he let his fire burn him to the ground
leaving nothing to quench the inquire
he watched as his fire ashed
his wings and invisibly divine attire
he let it consume him
alone, entire
there once was a pyromaniac
he lit himself on fire
he was resolutely resilient
he drove himself to the pyre
but in his final breath
he heard no lyre
he was a fool
that no one could admire
there once was a pyromaniac
he lit himself on fire
i would have held his hand
together nothing could conquer us, not the world, not a fire

The best part of lent
Are the Fridays when
We can't eat meat
Or before sunset
Because my mom and I drive to McDonald's and eat filet o fish while she smokes her misty ultra lights and I listen to her favourite classic rock station with the windows rolled down watching the wind chill work its way in from Lake Michigan to the trees on Chicago avenue
We talk politics and music and god and then our own lives which always seem so small after
I'll try to work the courage to ask her if she minds if I smoke too
And she will try to ask me how aa is going
"You have cheese on your cheek"
"Oh thanks, you just ashed on your pants"
"Oh thanks"
That'll be it
And that'll be nice
And we'll drive home under the wind chill and soft leaves growing again and soft moon gently shining like her watchful worried eyes
It's only forty days
But Jesus spent those forty with the devil
It's nice to get to know his wife

We faded like fragments
White bed sheet tales now
We used to smoke like trains

I think I can, I think I can.

Ashed in each others hearts once or twice
But I didn't mind
With the sunlight on your face

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

I crept across the sheets
Looking at you hungrily
Your eyes danced down my back

The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout

We collided without a sound
I watched your lips part
And muffled murmurs were all that escaped

Hush little baby, don't say a word.

But those tales are only tales
And these white sheets are empty now
I don't know why you left me

How I wonder where you are.

But I mourn for you like a dying lover
And while I do,
I long for another, to take your place

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack. All dressed in black, black, black.

Yet no one aside from you,
Has taken the time to look inside
So, slowly, I find myself emptying

Ashes to ashes, we all fall down.

And so I wait. And I remember.

A poem
it will escape as a bird
your next notes painted on photographs
of mint velvet

and mine

mine

will do as it pleasez
no rules dangling charmingly
upon my ankle
icing up my tattoo

a Hindu ****
who believes in *****
but not in mankind
not himself

it dies ashed
stuck to a flytrap
diving the room into
dark and light
red and green
cold and hot
but cut slice the floor with your foot
as you're reading backwards
into a pool of ink
that droughts
and ... nothing

was/is left!


.. that is,
nothing--
but my hula wrists
twists and beats
waves

Light is both small particles and waves.
So it is

that
I AM.

I stare at her across the bar, between the bottles covering the worn out stained oak
varnish tarnished, wood soaked
from years
of ashed out cigarettes and spilt beers
slopped spirits from over zealous cheers
she's younger than I imagined, aged as a fine wine
her eyes locked on mine
I see the solar system, galaxies
surrounding the
pupils blacker than the abyss of the outer reaches of space
a lovely contrast to the lightness of her face
I pull up a seat beside her trying to spark a conversation
on life, nature, hopes for modern civilization or even space exploration
she says "quiet now my son, patience"
you're to focused on what you're saying
without hearing what you're conveying
her hand pressed to my heart and she said 43 beats I remember
39 when you sleep, but 84 when you're tempered
I asked her the significance
she said it's all about the difference
how my world is at peace when I am asleep
but pointless rage forces the increase
this life can go no faster
and you will know no master
so focused on breaking the mold, or shattering the plaster
when we really need the subtle hand to make the cast first
she said you see me all in your own ways
I saw her as a woman, soft eyes with a caring face
for no man knows the subtle intricacies and nuances that make living worth the fight
I met god in a bar, she walked me home in the beautiful night
we spoke of love, happiness and the pursuit  of this life...

Not sure what to make of it
I felt comfortable--
Knowing that the fire extinguisher was there
It made me feel safe
If anything ever caught fire I could put it out
I was a selfish child--full of arrogance and naivety
The world mistook my insecurity and inexperience for apathy
All I wanted was a place to call my own,
Something to hold on to
I did not worry about the still-lit cigarette
Not even when it bounced from the sidewalk to the grass
The red hot embers glowed among the dying grass
I did not worry when the fire began
I took my sweet time in getting the extinguisher
By the time I came back my world was engulfed in flames
Scrambling, I tried to smother the heat
The extinguisher let out a pathetic puff of dust
And I stood as hell fire consumed my home
Acrid smoke muffled my screams and floating ashed blinded me
All that was left was a charred fire extinguisher and the frames of my glasses

Wake up in a slight daze
like the hanging haze when something in the kitchen is burning
but it’s the fog of hangovers, dizzying post nights
flash cards of kisses, songs, and maybe tears

all kinds of parts of me ache with bruises and bite marks
there’s opened chasers, flung boots, bottles under the bed
I spot your red lipstick imprinted on ashed cigarettes and beer cans
and when I go take a ****, I discover your ******* in my pocket

I see your text, “Home. Had a blast. Miss ya! ***”
and I am no longer haunted by some vague lingering feeling
that somehow this was a ****** scene
instead of our raw rituals of love

Were you alive when the
bricks began to crumble
beneath our hand-held, kiss
puppets?

Our mumbled whispers
that tapered ladders on gargantuan folds and slung-held
boy-grips.

Cohorts torn into flip stands
layered toward standing sores --
tell me how to cross rapid waters of social trends.

We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.

Under teeming hammer-strikes :
glasses shred to paper-splinters
before a car crying white chalk bricks
onto saran-wrapped concrete.

There were antennas perched like speckled,
mangy feathers,
poised, reflecting defiance toward
the wool-ashed sky.

With dirt-trekked journey marks,
there were trees growing silver hair outside the grocery store --
and frown-marked women -- that skin-folded
war paint -- yelled at their daughters to pay attention.

dread he came upon them. the slow father; his shadow, ill. he came upon them, those girls, punching his daughter in the stomach. had a couple years on his daughter, and weight. it was not dark. school had been out an hour. he had taken a walk. had to drop his cigarette. had to pick it up. fixed on a point beyond him; his daughter’s eyes. ***** of paper not anymore burning. first girl had one earphone in, and one come loose; a string undressed of puppet. the song that was playing, he listened. he had the time to listen. mostly his daughter read books but she would sing and he would know she was alone. he counted. there were three. it took a long a time. he paused on ‘two’, good in his mouth. the earphone girl was holding his daughter from behind. his rock cleared her braces and she choked. the two, they kept at the belly. props of delay. he ****** once and pulled the light from his lips. ashed it under the right eyeglass of the skinny one. her body made off with her soul now less a window. fat girl chewed her gum and made like she could run. he dug the house key from his pocket and placed it like a second knuckle. heard the bones of small animals, crunch of hairspray, ‘fore the key notched the back of her neck. his right hand went numb as if he’d cupped the ***** of god. fat girl good part of her landed on his daughter. he pitched her with his foot but she didn’t go easily. when a bit of day could be seen from his sentence, he received a longhand letter from his daughter and among the common she also shared how the fatty eviscerated her by email.

More than a few years ago
I hid my mind, and have long since
forgotten where I had put it.

I sat on my softpack and I felt
remorseful pity, because
it really crushed my cigarettes.

And I felt such sympathy for them,
so unable to be used.

Then she stood up and held out her
hand, and I gratefully took the
burning smoke from her fingers.

As I exhaled she grew a beautiful blue
halo of twirling, swirling, tinct
smoke rings.

'My death angel,'
thought I.

Then I ashed it too hard
on the brim of
the ashtray.

I went to a funeral and lied

I went to a funeral and lied
In junk and drink, no grief,
Just cowardice and pride.
Fear of losing you by my side
Losing you to the other side.
Fear that shook with the gloved murderer's hide

I went to my funeral and shied
I didn't want to sleep or hide
I just held your bloodless, jaundiced face
I couldn't help but feel a fake
As two sets of opache eyes
Did not pass a tear and cry.
Just the shivering hands that stopped your last sighs

I went to a funeral and lied
I drank and stood in black and could not cry,
I strung words and made some ineloquent speech
Loved and held but held love out of reach
Spoke in riddles, played hide and seek
With a congregation of perjured freaks.
I laughed at their blindness where my guilt sits.

Last night in our death bed where I slept
Dry-eyed like your cataract eyes
Dumb mouth fish gape
In the old flat, my eyes, dry, dry eyes.

I didn't hear the trains last night
I couldn't hear grief's knock at all
There was no knock,
There was no wake or ball, just
Your bloodless gape and jaundice face
Shining yellow plumbed and spent
****** leech-mouthed, dumb,
Your cataract eyes,
Under clumsy-ashed mascara lids
A shy pass in some gothic flick
A tetany spasm, no shock or awe.
You looked up at me and saw nothing at all.

I share some dead shark surprise;
Opache, tearless rolled-up eyes
And I lay gibbering at your side
And laughed and hated your passion and cries
King over requiem and bride
Healer, dealer, hood and pride
Addicting storm and flushed aside.

I scraped blood off your chessboard marble floors
Wiped the evidence from cold-polished claws
I burned effigies of pagan-hates
Hoodwinked the sentimental double agent spooks
And threw scent off my mistress as a ******* clown.

This morning I went to a funeral and lied
I could not spill one tear from these witness eyes
That watched the hands suffocate your traumatic sighs
I went to a funeral and lied
Conducted proceedings with the murdering hands’ whys
I wanted the last of you, my bride.

Once upon a time there was a bend in a tree, which grew among other trees and lay among the rocks covered in mosses of different hues of purple.

The tree with a bend had a heart, which was aching.

Because as it had been growing, among the other trees, up from the ground with the rocks and the mosses, it had been burning…

But it swallowed the smoke and it made all efforts to conceal the fire, and the embers, smoldering…

And while growing and burning, with the grand secrecy eking out from the ground surrounding the roots, into a sort of fog or mist that hazed the acre, this tree took some maligned pride in the secrets she kept.

Because she knew, regardless of any other perception of who she was...she knew there was a fire within her. Whether that fire being a good thing, or a harmful thing, did not cross her mind as of consequence. Because while one is still growing, without knowing of consequences...relativity does not exist. Like Shroedinger’s cat, really.

She took pride that the secret was one of physical threat, one with an aura of risk. One that would not be delighted in by those around her, were they aware. One that in fact may frighten them.
She felt brave.

And she felt clever.

Because the low-laying fog or origin unknown to the rest of those around her, she knew the origin. And for this, she felt clever.

The fire was a hunger insatiable; but deliberate, and bade time. A sick balance was struck between that which could be afforded to burn in secrecy, and that which was necessary to stoke the fire.

And for some time, she believed this agreement was manageable, sustainable, and perfect.

Then, a day came.
Where another tree, once seeded nearby, emerged from the soil.

She found herself proximally closer to another tree, than she had ever really anticipated.
And it was small.

And she realized, how grown already she had become.
The fires inside of her, had burned down slowly over time to the base of her trunk… burned her from the center, outwards, but more so down, to the base, where it festered and expanded and thrived on the emerging’s of her roots.
And it thrived, and it devoured her where she was anchored to the earth.

She beheld her nearby sprouted neighbor...she looked downwards upon him, and she saw how tenderly he was held to the soil, which had ashed somehow from below?

And she realized how fragile this child was, she realized how innocent, she realized how impressionable, and how dependent upon her roots, and her barrier to the wind, he was.

It was here that the realization dawned upon her for the very first time, that the life she had created for herself- and the intricate and meticulously hidden secrets she harbored ****** the fresh child who was planted in her soil, to depend upon the strengths of her roots, the strength that all around her naturally assumed existed.

She became frantic.

Bound by brittle, burning roots to the place she had sabotaged in her own short-sighted impulses to define herself as a mysterious and special tree.

And the fire, which she felt had coexisted as an equal within her, she realized was not with any of her interests at heart.

And that which she had begun so long ago, she could not extinguish, or tame.
And her own damage, pain, inflicted in her decisions still were of little concern to her, but to face that now someone else completely undeserving of any of these consequences would suffer greater than even she: it broke her.

She lacked any plan to remedy, or seek help, it was far past a point where those around her could offer anything to save her, or help her, or quiet the fire, or save the child.

And so she lived on as a slave to the wicked fires gnawing away at her everything, at the air surrounding, of the soil, of the example…

And she died far too slowly, as she watched each passing day those around her living timid tender serene lives of trees

Oblivious in the 'fog'
….and while the young tree beside her came up, but far slower than other trees ought to…

Came up, without solid foundation, roots that were unable to take hold in the ashy soil
came up, feeling the heat from below and beside, but never knowing well enough to realize it was unusual.

The burning tree died too slowly, and she watched the tree born and die from neglect and inadequate surroundings.

And the small tree wasn't even noticed by any of the other trees, because the burning tree was so enveloped in shame and sorrow to even properly acknowledge the presence of the acres newest sapling.

And so, on she burned, every dawn rising upon the fallen, wilted twig beside her, that only she had known.

And her ashes kept any others from ever seeding and sprouting near her.
And as the years went on, the area surrounding her of death and sorrow spread,
And she was alone.

The end.

We want to be remembered.

Is that not why we fold
pieces of gum into
the neat underbellies of tables,
is that not why we stomp up silent stairs,
slam arrogant doors, push back nonchalant chairs?

And is that not why we bury half finished cigarettes,
cherry stained from lips, and ashed
from the careless shakes of wrists?

Or throw empty bottles
as far as reluctant arms allow,
so that satisfying clinks can reassure us
of those other things,
as broken as our lives or sometimes
hearts.

We're afraid to be forgotten.

embrace the stones
that obstacle the journey,
gather them in, together keep,
for they are the markers,
you have used,
you have been,
you have exhausted,
so long after the body ashed,
these words will trace for
those that follow the path
you marked with
these same stones
you gathered in
olden days of
simple joyous embrace

Woke up to you with
one hand round my thighs and
one hand round a warm cigarette.
Wisps of smoke rolled playfully
out your dishevelled, handsome grin;
makin’ a break for it through
ivory jail-cell-bar teeth.
And as you ashed into your empty coffee cup,
black, three shots,
I bent my body over yours,
hips hovering bouyantly,
hands crowning your face
and I kissed that smoky grin of yours
I kissed it with every muscle in my lips
and with every breath in my lungs,
'til your tar-stained teeth shined
like lost pearls in a rough sea.

Keys in the front door.
Sun reluctantly disappears
and your fingers mesh with mine,
with another hand I lit a warm cigarette.
you kiss me as I empty out a glass, and heave my crystal lungs.
Your hands on my hips, taking a drag.
They all say:
if this is love then I don’t want none,
if this is love then you two got it right.
And the moon had peeped its head through our window
moon-beams singin’ us to sleep
amid a haze of smoke, and wine,
and passion that could’a melted the whole **** city.
And our bodies had intertwined,
with one hand we held eachother close, and the other
we wrapped around
a warm cigarette

Looks down at me.
Has empathy but mistakes it for pity.
Treats me like charity and never gives.
Has a car seat but no ******* kids.

She runs us.
She runs us.
Our lady of hope.
She is the future,
She is the horoscope.

A dream of white fences,
And black  and yellow dogs.
With red hydrants and green cops.
And fires burning the logs.

Dining and romancing.
Firehouse roses and  silk beds.
Miles Davis and the sweet soul.
The jazz we burn over a bowl.
Through the city streets, through the empty malls, and vacant houses.
As we pass brothers, and sisters, and mothers, and fathers, and lovers, and many haters,  and twice as many sheep.
To find home and self medicate while I can.

The elastic squish,
Of flesh and juice,
And sheets, and sweat.
Which felt like steam when it rolled.
Smoking. OH HOW SWEET!
HOW SWEET THE DRAG!!
How it filled and thrilled.
As we ashed and smashed.

The coma, the aftermath.
The limbo of luxury.
The ***** of salutatory.
In my bed, I mean her bed.
If we were one, I mean if we’re one.
Then the bed is ours.

Death and dying,
Life and living.
Lives desperately trying.
Love it and we will buy it.

Teach  me to be.
Help me to cry.
Hold  me till I see.
You can be me, and I can be you.

Walk together, all we do.
Fights for peace.
We’ll die for hate.
Oh delusion, how sweet the escape.

My last memory of…you
I drove all the way through town, chain-smoking through half
my pack as I burned deep inside from stoking the ashed embers of a fire
I had attempted to smother before it burned us both out after it had licked

Its way up my whole body—

But I reveled in how it ate me from the
deepest
inside while I let the tobacco
consume the healthy volume of my lungs leaving me breathless which I prayed
would either make you notice the red in my cheeks
or make you worry about me
in contrast from the systematic silence that had deafened our
friendship and scarred
any possibility of our future, but
when I got there you told me to drop the habit so it didn’t linger in my hair.
You also pointed out where the butts had rubbed away my lipstick and with a look that made
me want to smack
you across the face, but
also crush your lips
with mine because it
deepened your gaze
and sharpened your jaw
instead I said I’d gladly put the rest on you. Your friends, the Miss Priss Brigade,
saw chipped nail polish and slightly dull skin and last summer’s leftovers and I knew

we’d never end up
unfiltered and imperfect in the barely industrialized studio flirtingly touching
and kissing and dreaming and enchanting ourselves with the what-ifs of a future
we saw through wine glasses worn

by teenagers who didn’t know love from illusion.

i'll be your beer-soaked, ashed on bar,
i'll be your cloudless night sky
in january, baby.
so cold it burns.
i'll be your pirate ship
and your shores,
your weapon of mass destruction
and all the mountains i could level,
i'll be the pack of cards
we lost
under your bed.
i will be your final resting spot,
your casket and your headstone.
"Here lies someone who was
torn by love
so many times
it's a miracle we could bury his body."
honey i tried so hard to be your
candle in the sun.
light against light.
something so clean about it.
but i just got turned into
the north wind that
caresses your shoulders
on the walk to class.
not even noticeable
anymore.
not even raising goosebumps
on your
spine.