Where to begin?
With a spin! With a sin!
But you've spilt all your wine
Down your chinny-chin-chin...

The neighbors are talking
Though I hate to relay
The concern that they show
For it drains fun away

You're just having fun
So you say, so you say
The spinning helps get you
Up, up and away

Your advances are tainted
By slur and by sway
You stumble and fumble
What an awkward display

Ah, now I sound judgy
My teeth grin and gnash
And I know I've grown pudgy
From all of the hash

But my tells are subtle
Not in people's face
You're stuck in a puddle
You'll fall on your face

I want to repair it;
We want to be free;
We'll **** and impair it,
...Him, you, and me.

Breathe, breathe.

Count to ten, count to ten.

Stare at the clock, watch the hands move.

I'm nervous, the room is quiet, I'm waiting outside, waiting for my new born son to arrive. Thoughts collide in and out of my head. The doctor calls me in and said "let's meet your new baby boy" I held him for the first time and stared at my wife, "honey look our own bundle of joy"

She laughs with tears in her eyes, he's finally arrived.


Breathe, breathe


Another drink, another drink

Stare at the walls till they fade

Its been a year now and the only place you can find me is at the bottom of a bottle or on the couch, my wife and I don't even sleep in the same bed, my drunken thoughts collide in and out my head, that baby has stolen everything from me and I'm so angry.

Jesus Christ, my vices have become my new religion and resentment has become the pavement of this road I'm walking and the devil is stalking right behind, to pour me another glass of liquor so I never have a sober moment, I'll sit still with no movement.

Breathe, breathe

Another beer, another beer


State through the windshield of my truck that's in front of the garage we call home.

More years have flew by, I lost my job and I lost our home, my two kids have no true roof over their head, they just have a mother who works endlessly to fulfill their every dream. What am I doing to my family? God, if you're their why have you forsaken me? I just can't let go of this bottle it's my only home but I'm so alone, I have nothing to show for this "home" it's boarded up windows and ***** floors, what sickening entity have I absorbed?
Constant thoughts of suicide have finally arrived.


Breathe, breathe

Another bottle, another bottle

I'll sit in the garage of the new house we bought and drink myself to death.

Its been 10 years now, drunk and angry my son acts playfully "it's late what are you doing up?" He just wants to spend time with dad, I can't shake the feeling of being drunkly mad, so a hit to his face should make him go away or maybe, if I tell him I hate him he won't stay. Fight after fight, with my wife she files for divorce, of course I try to fight back but I don't have what it takes all I do is lack so I pack my stuff and head out the door, my bones are rotting to the core, I'm fine I'll just head to the store and by a pack.

Breathe, breathe


Another pill, another pill

I stare at the mirror, at who I've become.

I'm sick, alcohol never did the trick.

I'm sick and my best friends are prozac,  xanax, acetaminophen and dextromethorphan..when I did become an orphan? This despondent skin I call home is blistering in the winds of the winter, so please just let me wither, in this ****** weather, because whether or not I wanna save myself, my mind is tethered. 

I cannot fathom, how I miss my family but tore them apart individually and entirely.

All I ask is you forgive me while trying to forget me.

I ate a nasty sandwich last night
Standing at the kitchen counter
In nothing but my pantyhose.

A woman in Jersey last night,
She tried to help me find my way back
I bought her two "Natty Daddys" from the liquor store
Yo, they looked disgusting.

But she drunkly jabbered on
Telling me tales of how she has sunk knives into people
Watched her brother blow his brains out
Got shot when she was 4 years old
Had 7 felonies
I listened like it was all nothing
Nodding my head gently in the freezing cold
She told me she would call me Penelope,
And I nodded and nodded and nodded,
Hopeful smile
As if my best friend and I simply waited for the bus.

But I bought her the beer
Because I was not about to **** around.
She finally went away
Clamoring out with: "I can't keep living in fantasyland here--I have a real job!!!!"
But stopped to look back and inform me that her boyfriend was 6'9".

An ambulance soon came
And an under cover cop
And I guess this is one of those moments
Where I could seem like a stand up comedian and stretch the truth
But I don't.

I don't know if it was for her.
Or for her 6'9" boyfriend.
Or hell, maybe even me.


Legs up on the wall, talking on the phone until 3am
But Long Eyelashes needs to talk because he is sad
But I gotta go get high and bowl tonight
Everyone needs to just calm the **** down.
A sleeping friend missed our hang out time
I can give you candy canes.
Southern sun and eggnog will soon surround me
Here's some art, I hope you like it
I think, deep--in my mind.

I...
I dearly miss you
Not because loving you brings me to life
Not because you made me smile a little brighter
Not because I once thought we were meant to be
All these things made me desire your company
But I unspokenly wanted all your attention
If I had asked, would you have accepted?

Or would my greed and insecurities
have driven you away?
You knew my insecurities about
             my appearance
                       my family
                               my past

You took me as I was
But I never found a common ground with you
Keeping me in the dark about you
         Your attention
                  Your Patience
                            Your composure
                     seemed to all be a facade
I wouldn't notice thunderstorm in the background
   Of course, I notice
I always wanted you to be truly happy
A happiness that might not involve me
Sadly with a smile, correct myself
      Will most definitely won't involve me
              if I catch a glimpse
                  please let me smile and cry
                        Let me drunkly sing to
                          Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah

i like the color red your eyes turn
and how it just slightly different from the red of your face
i like the way you slur your words
"i'm drunk off you, you know"
i like the way my accent thickens 
so you have to pull me close to your face to understand me
i like the way you fumble to grab my hand
and then press my fingers to your lips 
i like the awful way you try to growl your 'r's 
"i'm french like you, oui oui"
i like the way you look when you can't find your lighter
and the slight disappointment in your eyes
when i light your cigarette for you
i like the way you quote poetry
like it was written for you to mutter drunkly
i like the way you appreciate things
"the stars, why don't we always look at them?"
i like the way you look
when you're trying to concentrate on the conversation
i like the way you look
when you catch me staring at you
"it's like i see you for the first time all over again,
your stare is so cold but so inviting"
i like the way you're drunk

each within each
becoming thick
becoming flower

most petals
most aggressively
****** brutal

through smooth throbbing
of broken smoothness:

back little unsquare
hips fully
plush between
chipped fuzz
electrically quivers

with arrow
deeply notched
pink roiling
steepness through
mouth rolling
tongue over

river over
of scarlet
rill

steam drunkly
burst kiss
kissing
into musk musk musk;

(very short swollen and rudely
dancing brokenness of
lips parted over lips
parting to leap
cherrymuss
of motile body
biting bed sheets
not wanting to
"     scream     "

No easy ends - no simple way
to create a finale
of all that feeling,
buried deep. Trapped.

The heart - conduit
of all the good, and pure,
loving and fair
in that childlike innocence,

but too the cage,
controlled, emboldened, refused
by the cerebral gatekeeper.

Why let that emotion
out? Is it self-sustaining?
Should it be?

Searching in the thickness of grime
and the transparency of glass
both to find that balance
between self and self;

the self that needs its own,
and the the self that needs
its other.

To what end is the search
viable, in being separate
from the internal pervasion
of anxiety?

What does it mean to err irrepressively
from one side
to the other -

a seemingly ceaseless internal script
written drunkly, incohesively
scribbled across the walls -

is it damage?
A calamity of mentality
and an unsaveable prospect
to none of earth - and perhaps she knows.

So many things to ask, each
with an answer he doesn't have
or doesn't want to, tied
to questions he can't put into words,

for her sake, for his, for fear
for love or selfish compulsion -
there is no knowing.

Wordsmith indeed, unable to weave
the most fundamental askings,
but foolish enough to think
he has done it in his moments.

The tale of saving the broken one
has outlived its life
at the forefront of storytelling.
And still, she saves him.

In every word,
every touch,
every grasp,
every time
and every day,
she saves him.

And to think herself the wrong,
to take on the trial - the insanity
of only the loyal,
of only her.

The story is titled simply:

a crooked man,
and the perfect lady.

we
looked
so drunkly
happy.
nothing
could
pull us
down
of the
infinity
we found
by
lifting
one another
till
dawn
*kiks

Plumes of smoke drift idly,
like the chatter in my ears
Signal to the barkeep for
another drink to quell my tears

The sultry glow of neon blue
stains my face and hands
I'd like a drink to deal with life
and all the sorrow it demands

The lipstick-kissed martini glass
by elbow, nearly tips
The girl next-stool laughs drunkly
as she turns to me and licks her lips

Her speech was slurred,
her makeup smeared,
Her breath smelled of vermouth

Right then, I knew
That not one thing
She told me was the truth (and she said)

"You're the best-dressed man that
I've seen wander through that door"
"How 'bout we go back to my place?
-Hey bartender,  mix two more"

I shook my head,  and turned away,
In search of higher class
Nodded to the bartender,
and dropped a five to drain that glass

My gaze cut through the whiskey'd fog
And then my heartbeat stopped
When I spied a lovely blonde
alone, and looking at her watch

I crossed the floor,  and thought "maybe tonight I'll be a man"
Kept on walking when I saw her
14-karat wedding band

The sultry glow of neon blue
Stains my face and hands
I'd like a drink to deal with life
And all the sorrow it demands

This is the catalyst that turns david totally over the edge, he meets a very cute girl in a record store and makes small talk about the jeff buckley or van morrison record shes looking at, he walks her home and there appears to be a genuine connection, david is shown laying on his bed with a grin on his face, he feels like hes in love.

some time in the movie passes and it almost becomes a love story. every menial task david fulfilled earlier is now done with a invigorating feeling, rich with life. Theyve been on a date, david has really put his best self on dissplay. and he almost thinks its fate. they have a lot in common and the night ends with her briefly kissing david.


at some point before work david texts her. and goes about his day, he feels great and is shining with a radiant happiness. He buys her flowers. he checks his phone afterwards and has had no reply. he gets a text later than night saying 'sorry my grandma was over, she has cancer' she is shown typing this then throwing her phone somewhere, aabout 3 or 4 other hipster artsy girls are all around listening  to some obscure hipster psychedelic crap and all smoking joints; the girl who ***** her in the next seen is shown trying to crush pills into powder so she can sniff them.

In the morning he tries to call her and walks to her house with the flowers. the scenes now are grim and lifeless in comparison to before.   he texts her whilst outside her house asking if he should come over or if she wanted to do anything, the scene then jumps to her under the covers with another pretty girl and they are tribbing hard and almost violently, she is on top and she notices her phone vibrate on the side of the bed. she checks it and sees the message and quickly responds 'sorry i have a cold. cant come out' while her lover kisses her stomach passionately; then the scene cuts to david standing outside her house and hes walking home. hes unaware of what is happening but senses something is wrong. later that night, or later in the week, david asks her if she is feeing better and she again lies, davids face is shown and at first he is semi happy when he sees her replying, but his face turns to one of brokenness when he reads what she has said. He then asks her if anything else was wrong/hsnt heard from her in a while, to which she responds that 'no' and she is not too well and would appreciate it if he gave her some space and that he didnt have to worry so mucch. He looks at this and is a bit taken back and says 'ok sorry'

in the same night, or it is assumed, david is alone in his room and looks extremely weary,  reminded of how what he has can so easily go, he then puts his coat on and leaves to got the pub. At the pub he goes to a stool when his eye is caught by what looks like the girl dancing drunk and being stupid with a couple other girls and ahandsome effeminate looking guy, who appears to be very into her, and david just watches in awe, the bartender notices him staring while washing a glass and asks him if he can be helped, david just looks on gobsmacked, the effeminate guy looks like he isnt drunk but just acting drunk and stoops down to her and they kiss passionately and drunkly. at this point david starts to step in. he is both shocked and incredibly angry, she jumps around is scared a little at first by david wtinessing it, but then drunkly laughs in his face. David has this forsaken and tortured look in his eyes and begins to step back then she rushes in saying 'oh,  its not like that' finding the whole thing funny but trying to be serious, david looks at her in disgust and says 'its not?" then looks at the effeminate guy for a second who appears to be intimidated by david, 'hes gay' she says. at this point the bartender had caught on and awkwardly tries to ignore the situation. david simply starts walking out, in utter disbelief of what hes just seen, she tries to grab his arm but he aggressively shoves it away and walks out of the bar, head slumped.

this marks the final straw in the coffin for a happy life for david. he dies at this point and for the rest of the story appears to be a different person

Here I am, 20 years of age
Still unable to enjoy a beer in a public place
Yet I sit in my best friend's apartment on a Friday night
The glow of the city life shining on me through the singular window
And in my quietness I hear the banter of people likely having lived longer than I
Drunkly sauntering in the cold
And I think I should be envious of their openness
Of their still fully sound youth
But then I realize that my preference to simply observe from afar
Is not of my own fault
But of the people and substances who took my youth away
And it died far too young.

A simple beach bikini  And my life is over  They seem to see how my chest hangs over my stomach  And how my stomach hangs over my pants  Since I wear them to so low  Drinks! My friends eyes looked into by the dj  She’s so pretty isn’t she  Isn’t she Isn’t she ISN’T SHE  Swim down my neck for a chance at possible pleasure  Belief is a spectrum  I wish to someday not notice others  Damaging to an everyday ego if you happen to catch on  
Tap on the shoulder  Tap on the shoulder for a beautiful girl  Gracious turn and a glorious bite of the lip  I’m flawed  I should be pleased she can ****  Isn’t that much  Twenty years old  Birthday last week  Can’t claim a kiss  Can’t claim a touch  I should’ve come over  I should’ve come over  But you frightened me  WHY DID YOU FRIGHTEN ME  If I had gotten there and looked like this  Looked this way  Could the door be shut and the front light turned off  Chop off my ear and give it to my father  He only gets one  Drop off half my brain while you’re at it  Overhead  He’d be sickened by the gently anxious hopeful yet dehumanizing drunkly thought upon thoughts in the club  On top of my friend and the dj  
Sobs exiting the bottom of my bedroom door  “I just don’t have anything to wear”  Speciality suits me  Texas is where you’re from  Lovely boy who found his way into my locker  If he had known  I’d probably not care so much about that bikini  I never got my fathers nose  And yet  And yet  I wish for his hope.

Damp and brollieless
through an August rain,
until in a dim room,
I find you playing chess,
with the vigor of a fist-fight,
with a ***** in lo of a white pawn
and a bottle cap for a black knight -

Playing one of those
Chaplineque Men
who were not born
but one day
fell like a shadow
from the coin-chute of the pool table,
spilling out so stale
immaculate and unshaven
like any of those crumbling men,
who long ago left dreams
of living the life of a lotus eater,
to hark on,
                   prattle on,
                                     bore,
as if trying to empty
the contents of their brains
onto the floor,
or into you,
or into an ashtray -
You stare at the board
seems like months and months
as he relates in loosely related grunts
fished up from a sunless sea
speaks of how
the radios are smaller,
have clogged up the air
with more music than ever,
but with less notes than ever,
                 more talk, talk, talk,
with less...........pauses.........
no fingers to turn dials,
one now only need utter the words -

In the past, the future thrill us!

We should stop
meeting on rainy days
in dim rooms like this,
but on second thought,
sometimes,
all it does is rain like this.

Raincoats retrieved,
we left drunkly, drably
dressed in gray, and pale,
blending into clouds
like how Sunday stew
get in the air,
like how love get in your bones.

Remember love
when you lived by the river:
We'd return to remnants
resting on flattened grass,
abandoned fishing rods
with snarled reels,
chicken bones and orange peels.

We could stop
meeting on rainy days
and drink nettle tea
as if was absinthe,
drink nettle tea
and see if your lips sting me
as it were the logical last step of history.

I throw your questions behind me like bread crumbs.
Although I have no intention in finding my way with them.
I am amazed at the patience to twiddle my thumbs
Growing those lost and leftover thoughts in my head.

I feel the muscles flex behind my eyes as I move them right and left
Suddenly I'm still in the dreams from last night soundly drunkly sleeping
Ah, ha: I'm the dreamer but in each dream, a guest.
That subconscious sending coded signals of what awake he thinks I'm missing.

Why can't we speak the same language? I can read, string together words; mend what some had tore.
Not internally produced motion pictures that so many times lose vital chapters.
Later the 15 second gap between open eyes and two feet on wooden floors
Sometimes becomes the only time to recollect the main characters here and thereafter.

More time passes and I step outside my door to see weather I never prepare myself for.
So many people check the weekly predictions on phones and local stations.
I walk through the fog, I recall a glimpse of a nonsense dream from deadweight nights before.
Feeling cold mist against my skin is happily one of the most familiar sensations.
Never a new revelation. That's only the speechlessness accompanying flashbacks.
Those flashbacks from shallow, followed by deep sleep.
Wondering if my most remote subconscious will ever introduce himself to me.
Maybe another, a half, the unseen core of the awake me? Is he always there, does he use my eyes to see?

He has to. It is the lens he uses to make those short films that I am lucky enough to wholly remember.
And when I see each frame by frame I leave the plot dismembered.
I play it backwards and forwards, and I get into yet another speechless fender ******.
To which I once again surrender. Leaving so much lost and left to render.
Wondering if to these mysteries I will forever be a contender.
Wondering what was in that letter I didn't write but sent her.
Wondering if I will ever finish some dreams and be the great avenger.
Maybe I'll settle for being frozen in the sweeter frames forever.

I could give a speech to thank my army for following me to victory.
I could get stuck in the one where I was in a textbook for world history.
For a moment today, I wanted to take a day dream with me.
Keep me company.
I am not my dreams, well, except those times I want to be.
I just wonder why some dreams come back, and some will never revisit me.
Sometimes if I could go to sleep to the same perfect dream, I could sleep much more easily.

Facing daily nightly unknowns; I see the cold hard irony
That the person who edits and and draws it all from the bones
Is the producer with whom I share the reflection I see.
It is me.
Interesting how hard speechlessness is tied to the need,
To understand an idea so you can finally speak--

Sleepless and speechless.

I'm glad my pencils can always take flight.

Because I am always speechless when I sit down to write.

vii.x.xii