if the world were ever fair
they'd let me build a tree house
to lose my mind in.

and my pretend children
might build a counterweight
to pull the sun down.
betroth it in front of me
to keep the wolves away
at the gates, far from the crops
they tell me ive harvested.

a congregation for the lonely
is all this place can ever be.
dead hearts and broken people
spending too much on rent,
like an eclipsing sky line
could fill the holes we've dug.

well, everyone lives there.
of course they do
where else would we go?
we come with nothing
so that anything we have
is nailed to the floor.

i don't have enough ram
to process all the ****
i hear sometimes.

i could yell
every secret ive ever heard
from the top
of the cn tower.
and the cars
would keep driving,
id still be afraid of heights,
and she probably
wouldn't care for me
anymore than she already
didn't.

well what's the fun in that then

all i want to do
is buy wine
and chocolate chip muffins
but i wheel my cart past the aisles
and i see a familiar face.
waiting in line.

of course
its not really her
the real one
is a thousand miles away
the real one is anywhere but here

when i really love something
it is an all consuming journey.
i cant see very far past
the things i love
when they look me in the eye.

when i really love something
its all i can do.
my heart lives on one track
in one gear, in one speed.
like a bullet straight ahead.
ripping through my free time
through the things i should be saving.

when i really love something
i promise to never leave that thing,
because i cant promise i can be
without that thing.
im scared to see what this
may look like with out that thing.

but when i really love something
it always finds its own way to **** me
and then i take a year to recover
before i lay back down
on the sidewalk like usual.

when i really love something
it will eventually tell me
that i am a liar
and that i broke a promise i made
before the weather got bad.

and when i really love something
i find myself explaining
that i never lied to it
just that the truth keeps changing.

when i really love something
i let it go
to see if it will come back
and when it doesn't
i am surprised.

sometimes i cant tell if this is good for me.
poetry, the broken mans art form.
i give up on all people
at least once a month
and i think im doing it again.

//

i dont like heights,
but i always thought
maybe id like being an astronaut
i could use a break.
read a book,
enjoy the view,
walk through nothing.
maybe then
id have a reason
to feel so alone
instead of drowning
in a sea of people
i cant feel when they touch me.

my head
is too big
to fit the helmet
thats supposed to protect me.  

i found out today that i am not immortal.

i still dont know
how to deal with
learning something
you thought you already knew.

i found out today that i am not immortal.

if i could
wear a mask
every day
i know that i would.

i found out today that i am not immortal.

if i could
do it my way
every time
i know that i would.

because i am always right
until someone points out
that im not.

my head is a beach where hope comes to flourish,
where the water is warm.
until someone reminds me
that they hate the beach
and i cant help but agree.

i met Sharon buying christmas trees
for a four bedroom house
full of college boys
that could barely afford to eat.

she said my name's Sharon
and im here to help you
make sure you don't split
these trees in half.

i barely caught a word
that Sharon said
got too busy
dancing in her eyes.

she smiled a bit and said
lets move along,
im sure we've got some trees left
that youll want to take home

i swear to god
it was the most beautiful thing,
she cut the whole tree down
before i could blink

she laughed and turned to me
and said that should do
i said theres no way in hell
i leave here without your name

she said my name's Sharon
and i already told you that.
but we can talk about that later
if you want.

not good

i bought beer
for the first time today.
ive never been drunk before.
that's not hyperbole
or some kind of metaphor.
ive literally never been drunk before.

never been me.
i just know what it does
and what it would do to me.
but here we are
the end of whatever is left.

i cut my hand on the cap
when i put it in my bag.

i slide down a mud hill
to get to the bus

the bus driver
wouldn't let me back on the bus.
it was the same ******* bus driver
that handed me the transfer
to take the ******* bus home.

i dont think god wants me to buy beer

just what i needed
a storm through my room.
my clothes
on different parts of the floor.
it was a mess before you rolled through.

she dances
sober
and smiles when she does it too.
its really a sight to see.

tell your friends you love them today.

it's great to be here.
i always say it's not
and i never feel like it is.
but its great to be here.

everything ive ever loved is here
in the meadow,
swanning for all of us.
singing our names.

i focus so much on the cold
i forget july
i forget august.

its great to be here
its always great to be here.

i had another writing class
above the pharmacy today.
we watched a movie about bank robbers.
and in our discussion our professor said

there is so much evil
in the world
i dont even wish
to understand it.

i dont know if i agree or not
i dont know if thats the right answer.

//

eighties ladies
spray their hair back
wipe the snow
off the mirror.
march on.
glitter and sparkles
can always make
a dead thing look alive.
right?
youth and marriage.
love and wonder.
age like bread
on the windowsill.

there's something
worth loving
in here.

i am iris murdoch
i am hussein of jordan.

i sleep in the shoes i have to fill.
lighting up a pipe dream,
leave some smoke behind.

blaze the trail.

i can't wait until i have a room with a view.
to clear my head.
and watch the day come
over the trees.
sip a coffee with two hands,
tell my wife
how nice she looks,
when the sun shines through the window.

i turn 19 today.
i feel the same
as 18
which felt alot
like 17
not much different
from 16 either.

i feel my age
i see my wall
i see the light
behind it.

i need virginia.
and so do you.

virginia is the flickering lights
of an emergency room vacation.

virginia is the bruise on your cheek
from a cafe seizure.

virginia is the moment you realized
you changed your favorite color, without ever asking yourself first.

virginia is understanding that nothing we do will ever change what will be.

virginia is your pink wet tongue frozen
to the telephone poll.

virginia is the moment at the funeral
when you realize you've never seen a dead body before.

virginia is all those times you stole lighters from the corner store
and all the times you never got caught.

virginia is the woman you sleep with, after you crash your car on the freeway.

virginia is who you call on the phone, when you think it's all over.

virginia is a story worth telling.
let it breathe.
let it breathe.
let it breathe

somewhere between
misery and euphoria
i lay my sunken head.

the grass peaks out between her arms and her shoulders.

"lets stay here forever"

"why would we ever do that?"

i burnt the roast on christmas day.

my loves sat in silent pain
waiting for my neck to crane.
summers night and winters rain
couldn't cook this ******* roast again

i cant believe i burned the ******* roast.

each of them had different reasons
to feel so **** upset this season
it never felt right to believe in
love that can feel so uneven

ive cooked this ******* roast before i dont know how i ****** it up so bad

these seconds will never pass
table breaks the hourglass
my wife she's a lovely lass
why didnt she cook the ******* roast instead

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

a look of sadness on my face
anxious forks hit sides of plates
i look to my loves and say
im not sure there'll be roast today

how could you burn the ******* roast on christmas?

the wine was almost nearly empty
most of it from my aunt wendy
whose husband left when she was twenty
but she brought some new man lenny

who also drank most of the wine
and was also upset that i burned the ******* roast

i didnt drive all the way out here
just to drink a couple beer
i know it may not be premiere
but bring that ******* roast out dear

okay mom.

i went back to the kitchen to get the burnt ******* roast

i found my wife her head ashake
frowning down to my dismay
you burnt the roast on christmas day
we'll find the love in your mistake

she kissed me
i tasted the roast and it wasnt that bad

i mean, it was pretty bad
but it was still there.

all those chairs, a different person
neither in their finest version
let my love be a diversion
**** you from your introversion

i burnt the roast on christmas day
lets find the love in our mistakes

dont talk about it
today
if you wont talk about it
tomorrow.

the day might change but we never do.
stuck in the mud
stuck in the mud
stuck in the mud

if i end up as a teacher
have i failed?
i pray nobody believes
in themselves like i do.

if he really knows how to do it
why
is he teaching me how to do it

am i an *******
because sometimes
i feel like the smartest person
in the room?

not about physics
or math
or anything really
but i just
know.

i cant explain it,
just that i know.
i dont expect
anyone
to understand.

i dont think im better
than anybody
im not.
just that im the only
me
i know
and i cant fathom
how that couldnt
mean anything.

a guidance counsellor
told me once
she was
surprised
i was doing so well
and i told her

you dont know anything about me


//

winona road
runs long and narrow.
a dame red bakery
fills the left side of the street
with smells of cinnamon and sugar things.
the floorboards creak
and the chairs wobble,
but the swoon of a welcome bell
still warm a familiar smile.

it has to be together
before it can fall apart.

my writing class is above the pharmacy.
an old elevator
still rising
when the doors open.

nothing poetic happened to me today
so why am i here

ive never been
to this part of town
before.

second thought
ive never even been
to this town
before.

then why
does it feel
so ******* familiar

why do i remember
getting drunk in
that bar
chipping my teeth on
that curb.

i think the parts of me
that don't like me
stay here.
calling out for skin.
im freezing out here.

i havent been
warm in so
long

the dread i feel
from valiant effort
to a broken railroad.
an endless love
sent down the stream.
it sails.
i watch from the peer
but pretend not to see.

i feel schumann in
the mirror.
we let the same notes
push us off the cliff.

watch me stumble into
something nice.
the sweater i bought
at the thrift store
turned out to be worth
a little more
than the price
i paid.

chalk it up
in the win column
i say as i
slip it on
wondering
praying
dreaming
of whoever wore
it before me.

just hoping they lived
a life
full
of life
and maybe if i
never wash
some life might
rub off on me

a tin sky
my love
dances
around
a garden

my eyes
roll
into
my skull

i wear my nice sweater
for the performance.
but i still put on the makeup
the wig
the shoes.
never let anyone
decide when im ready
even me.

i danced for my supper.
and ate it with the fork
from the road that divides me.

two tall blondes
brought me flowers
we took pictures.
i left the roses at the show

two men
outside a starbucks
chainsmoking through
a saturday lunch

the sun is up
melting the snow at my feet
i wait for a bus that never comes

easy on the transmission
she says and
i feel
skin on my hand
i breathe a little

think of your happy place
she says and
i see
waves
and palm trees

where are you
she says and
i say
the beach

you hate the beach
she says and
i nod
in agreement

i can smell
the liquor
through the phone
while
you
rip
up
all the stitches
you scrambled
to
sew
together.

i don't know why
i keep
wasting
my time.
on these
careless
pursuits.

i cant
tell who
is supposed
to win.

I really thought I found her

I bought groceries today,
and held my bags in my hands
while i waited for my car to arrive.
leaning by the carts
bundled in a winter coat
cursing the wind
watching the family's walk in and out.

A cashier walks out and stands beside me
Bags under her eyes, a little smile
She comments on the cold weather
and lights up a smoke.
coughing with each breath.
A few more puffs
and she throws it on the pavement
and goes back to work.
the smoke still rises
I am still waiting
for my car.

A garbage man walks up to me
he smiles brightly, his eyes big and warm.
and says that mother nature only got it half right today,
the suns out but its too **** cold.
I chuckle and nod as he removes the filled trash from the can
"she never loses that ******* does she? I think she likes us cold"

"haha, I guess so!"
We exchange a smile, and he goes off to the next can.

I wait for my car.

The cigarette that the cashier left is still burning
the wind pushed it back to the door
And I watch closely as every leg danced around it
and every wheel rolled beside it.
The smoke kept coming.

A family of three exits the store
a handsome man in his mid thirties
and a burgundy coat pushed the cart with his wife
while his young son walked ahead of them.
The son pulled out a flyer and began to read
His father approached him
and ripped it from his hand,
crumpled it
and threw it in the garbage beside me.
He looked his son in his eyes
"you're being ridiculous"

They kept walking
The smoke kept rising
The can isn't empty anymore
and I'm still waiting for my car.

My Aunt Hazel smokes so much
She watched the curtains burn red.

She looks and sounds like Patty and Selma.
A pitbulls bark for a swoon
That rises like the tide
At any who dare
To swing words like swords.

No smooth edges on Aunt Hazel
A dash of whisky might
Bring out the tiger within the lion.
A lion with oddly questionable views on hot-button topics,
spoken with irrational confidence.

A beautifully real caricature of an east coast mother.
So deeply entwined in the comfort of small town fallacy
And big time conspiracy theory.
Although, those two might go hand in hand.

But

She makes gowns for a living.
Her skin withered like an old catchers mitt.
Strong is the storm that knocks on the glass
But every crack in the wall always ends up filled by her hands.

The silent whales of watching your oldest boy
Thank you for everything
While he rips the tendons off his belly
That connected two forces from ever being apart
And wondering how she could bear it again
And again.  

I envy the ease of such loving hate.
To wield venom
And dedicate your life
To helping love.

My Aunt Hazel smokes so much
You'd think she didn't know what love was.
And that if it were real
It must be at the end of a cigarette.

My Aunt Hazel smokes so much
She watched the curtains burn red
And smoked the pack through.

love is all i know
in all its forms.
puzzled faces ask how could i know
at so young.

i've given away every part of me.
as everyone says it's noble
to give so much.
but I've seen no open arms
no one knows how to treat something they've never seen.

a whole world built on blissful ignorance.
where following all the rules doesn't actually make you happy.

i could power this ******* city
with the time i've wasted
pouring my soul into someone else
to make sure they're full.

bakers dozens of country miles
couldn't keep the drug out.
vinyl records and chalkboard elephants
gone with the wind.
with the run of a hand.

we never let the bread rise.
always kneading away,
putting out fires before they start
and missing the drought
in front of you.

the wind rattles my straw house,
so i feed the Wolf
to get some quiet.

eating the ****** weapon and
wearing the fur.
i have nothing to say so i ramble,
and think about what i should buy you for christmas
and how ill give it to you without
tripping the wires
you keep around me

There's a parallel universe where I have abs
And cool hair.
Where I ride the bluest wave Back to shore.
Where I tell people to *******
Because I hit every ball
They ever threw at me.

Instead I give myself a mulligan.
And surf the green waves of the flatline.
And hum the same B flat
Until it sounds like
B

no mountain too high they said
i rip the wood from the trees,
to build the road to Juneau
and bathe in the endorphin river

dry my ankles
and let them breathe the cold air
so the people know
im just a nobody

break my hands
to feel my legs again

break me down
so i can love again

The sun casts two shadows of me down on the pavement
And I could do without either.
Oh what to do when your own novelty wears off,
But leave the clown for the birds.
Some swords have two edges but what does that matter if they're already in your stomach.
I don't believe in God yet,
But I do believe in karma.
So **** the part of me that loves the world
And I promise there'll be hell to pay.

I kept the corsage in the fridge,
Which is why it felt so cold to the touch.
I just wanted to keep it alive
Unlike most things I hold.

I don't know CPR
But I do know how to leave well alone.
A white flower glued to a sequence band
Two things so awfully out of place;
Felt painfully familiar to me on that day.

You wore a red dress
Which speaks more
Than any metaphor I could have written.

I read a lot of books.
I should have seen the signs.

I'm tripping the breaker.
Soaking in the burn of the wires,
Tracing the line back to an old fuse box
With a broken switch
And a battered shell.
Grey with ambiguity and boredom
Seeping productivity like an oil spill,
Diluting the green.

Twenty one centuries.
And some pocket change
Just so we can all act
Like the pressure was worth the diamond.

There are certain parts of misery
That never made sense to me.
I never caught on to the self harm thing,
I figured I already felt bad enough.
I never drank it away,
Because a hangover was just a reminder
That putting a coat on
Doesn't stop the snow.
DABDA doesn't make sense either.
How can you be angry
About something you haven't accepted yet?

I do now understand masochism.
I certainly don't practice it,
But I get it.

The thing with masochism
Is that you really have to love it.
You really have to let go.
My nerves are just nerves.
My skin is just skin.
My eyes just make drawings out of ****.
******* purple from the fourth wall
Letting the people eat a different truth.

My brain on a steady loop
Of Whose Line Is It Anyway reruns
Just waiting to invent the next thing
We all take for scripture.

A dictionary in a bag of bricks.
I watch it sink down the swamp.
Words only mean what we do with them after,
So I never feast until I know there's dessert coming.

I am the stone before the statue.
A block of possibility.
Waiting for guidance like a wiseman,
From anyone that can convince me we're not all mad for trying.

I am the stone before the statue.
Waiting to be carved.
Waiting to be told who I am.

Dust of the earth
Put fear in my heart
And black in my eyes.
How blessed I've been
To live a life so short
And play so many roles.

I've played the bull.
I've played the victim.
I've been the bull.
I've been the victim.

A tac pricked through a wool shirt
Keeps the sunlight out of my room.
I watch the black paint boil over.

Being everyone makes me nobody.

Finding the line
And walking it.
Not giving a ****
Which side I fall into.

Kids like me die
Because of
Kids like me.

Give me a dollar
And I'll make something of it.
Give me your time
And I'll waste it.

Staring down the red pill and the blue pill.
Trying to decide between nothing and everything.
Making sure the Dread Pirate Roberts doesn't drink his own poison.

There is no hand I would least rather die at
Than my own.

I never once kept the door closed,
Despite everything that would make you think otherwise.
My arms tremble at the thought
Of pulling all this weight again.
But I was ready.
The things you do for love
Or what you thought love was.

Nothing says emotional stability like dollar store sleeping pills.
Inertia for a brain
I let it all pile up
Until I'm buried in snow like a cokehead fever dream.

I fell asleep on the high road
Waiting for you to run me over.

If you follow all the sirens
and the red flags
you'll see what the news papers would call a man
but not really.
just a boy with a beard
pretending he knows how to put things back together
pushing the people he loves towards alcoholism
like it was all he was good for


//


I used to think love triumphed over all
But I'm starting to doubt the sincerity
of love
and all its trimmings.

Why do we romanticize love
It's not ever the fever dream we hype it up to be.
It's vulnerability in it's purest form
It's done more harm than good.

I'm selling my stocks on love

I'm done pretending I understand how the world works.
I'm done celebrating before I cross the finish line.
I'm done believing in something that I'm not sure is real.

I'm selling my stocks on love.