The best time to write
is when you are filled
with rage
rage that,
by the end,
ends with the last words
I would throw my fist haphazardly
through the wall
but instead,
I type out these words
and by the
end of this,
if it hasn't
subsided,
I will write
another

you are my antithesis
virtue, to you,
means nothing
should it?
you hold all
you know
well above yourself
and say nothing in pity
I watch you
from below
taking the path
of Zarathustra
ridding myself
of pagan ideals
because if you
were ever to
speak the truth
like cassandra
you would not be believed
this is not the work of
divinity
this is random chance
and you still
laugh in my face
you are killing me

Art
what is it if not man's excuse for idleness
prophecy is useless when rendered toward god
refute space
refute time
"god loves you"
god loves himself
because he is you

And they will see us laughing;
ceaselessly as we end them
Don't fire until you see the sweat perched on their foreheads
coming strong with an able foot in the door
watch for the answer
splitting time into shifts
forcing tears out of able eyes
the call
heard almost too late
heard by them as well
tapped under caution
the best of us were weak at mind
our hearts picked up the slack
Could we win?
Leviathan reared back
units crumbled
stand your ground
the sickle
rendered useless
by the hammer

everyone is waiting
and as you exit the womb
I will exit your life
and be but a footnote
on your early years
but as you grow and mature
I will
have you visit me
but you,
you will be just like them
-I wasn't
although, they won't
**** that up this time,
at least
I don't blame them either
I wouldn't do the same,
though
I ask myself whether I
would ever make an
adequate parent
probably not,
morally

God’s desire
Is no more
Than that of
A primate
The nature of
His call
Priesthood
The clergy
Is utterly
Cemented in place
And it claims
It is molding
I laugh at
This as I
briskly walk
on the sidewalk
I trip and
Nearly fall
I laugh
At that
too

we have all been crucified:
in the name of love,
in the name of marketing,
in the name of god,
in the name of country,
in the name of science,
in the name of hate,
in the name of ***,
in the name of violence,
in the name of peace,
in the name of philosophy,
in the name of entertainment,
in the name of sport,
in the name of popular culture,
in the name of food,
in the name of medicine,
in the name of slavery,
in the name of freedom,

but mostly,
in the name of
love--
because the basis for all
crucifixion
at it's
divine core
is
love

"you're lazy"
his favorite two words
he is reminded of them
as I write this
an grips his steering wheel
"learn to use your hands"
"all you do is woman's work"
he likes those too
"you're a throwback"
I tell him
I think to myself
winning shouldn't
feel this *****
he's losing hair now
and he drinks every night
I would hate to blame myself
but who else?
he still runs,
so he hasn't given up on life
my brother will
be what he wanted-
I hope

I swung
I swung hard
Then connected
In the air
A hand reached out
Welcome home

The whip cracked
loudly then recoiled
standing alone
I'll build my empire

"you won't be followed"
followed by a sly grin
yellowing teeth not divine in the least
Who is the diabolical one here?

I turned my back
only to be struck again
my prolific years
ended at the last sight of the gates

They all love you
Should they not?
They're all yours
They have forsaken nothing

Doubting existence
even through mirrors
standing alone
I'll build my empire

in a fit of panic,
I ran for the exit
something grabbed hold
of me and pulled
me in the other direction--
I watched it's face
it writhed in some
emotion-- an emotion
I had never felt
In pity,
I let it take me
through depths
an expansion
of everything I held near
greeted me at the end
I was doused in absolute euphoria
I watched her body
switch from side to side
and I was hypnotized by her
she came towards me,
within inches,
and whispered
in a language
I had never heard
but knew nonetheless
In english, her words can not be found
they were divine, but they themselves
rejected divinity
I yearn to speak of this to anyone
but I would be
written off
as
nothing
more
than a
heretic

Laughing at nothing, I sat back in my chair
reclining, then nodding off into sleep
I was no longer home
I was greeted with
lavish ceremonies,
fought mythical beasts,
raised children
Loved
founded ideas,
schools of thought
grew in every way
When I awoke,
I was no one again.

I make the effort
place my hand on the wheel
put the key in the ignition
and turn
the car
sputters
but doesn't start
the cold air seeps through
elusive cracks
and I am left
to freeze
alone
as cars pass
sympathetically mocking
the *******
I drive

I like all of them
but despise them
all
the
same

evidently controlling
both you
and all you
endorse
have you ever,
once in your life
felt as if you
were drowning?
I do now
and all this water
over my head
comes from
you

The most beautiful people
are those that live quickly
when you stagnate
you die
while I stagnate,
I yearn for speed
stuck
I will go nowhere

The best ones
I have
I don’t like
I really
don’t like anyone
I may not seem
Reclusive
It’s a farce
I already know
My best years
Will be spent
Inebriated
And I
don’t even like
To drink

she asks me why everything I write
is depressing and not
happy--

I tell her I
only write what I know--

she left yesterday,
I dreamed we were
together

she dreams of other men--
men without souls
these soulless
masses of
skin and fat and bone

who will never know the sadness
I
now
feel

because they are hers and she belongs to them

I watch a fly bash it's head
against the television screen
I turn it off
the fly leaves

everything
leaves

I watched years go by
but no one
ever
grew
the way
I felt
I was growing
more decadently
oblivious to all
around me
surrounded by
boosts of ego
that boosted
nothing
Oh, how
I feel destined
to be
spiteful
unhappy
alone

Crying out in a fit of rage
Dying soon there after
the sun
blood red
perched above the tree of knowledge
keeping guard over all
This is God

“I want to die”
I thought- after
Hours my body recovered
But my mind
Never did
I still feel
Stuck- again
Lying still- mentally

When theism runs rampant
Originality disintegrates
What is the point
When we all love
Common enemies
You’re all the same
Even me
Replacing life
With all that is wrong

I think that everything I write
has redeeming qualities--
this must mean
it's all ****

"*******, zach"
I hear a friend say
and I write another ****** poem

"you're always in a huff"
she says--
and I tell her she's the reason
I write--
she hugs me and everything seems at peace
it isn't
it can't be
nothing is really awkward
and it all feels natural-
but she seems to shy away

ugliness is a *****

I hate woodstock
I hate the whole
mainstream counterculture

why embrace something as alternative
when society itself is evolving to be just that?

I almost desire to be
the textbook,
cookie-cut
worker drone
family man

but I figure,
I'll push in a different direction
than anyone I know

most writers are
bullshitters
anyway
especially the best
ones--

I could imagine Sartre
before fans,
promising a world he couldn't provide

I think all writers
at their core,
are idealists
dreamers

when that ceases,
they can no longer write

or turn
to nonfiction

He's a catch isn't he
young and far from virile
nonthreatening and funny
in an unfunny way
to me,
the textbook *******
a guy that couldn't
do or deal with half of
what I do daily--

and after all my
pleas of love--
the poems I wrote you
the letters I wrote you
bearing my soul--
putting everything on the line--
you still won't look me in the eye
bet you'll look him in the eye
because behind his eyes are nothing
you love that

when you look behind mine,
you see the pain
you inflicted
you see the dreams
unrealized
but mostly you
see the pain
and the guilt seeps
and seeps
I hope

I tried,
out of both spite
and courtesy,
to tell him you'd just lead him on--
wait for him to bear his soul
then get uncomfortable with everything
and he took my words
and put them on a platter
and, with them, sat his--
delicious, appealing, and
poisonous
telling of how you love him
and you swore to me--
he was nothing--
less of a friend than I--

either way,
you'll cause my emotional death

make me sour for any woman
much  
           less
                   you

and now,
finally,
unlike every other time
I haven't forgiven you
I have but made you seem forgiven

for, now, at the last,
is the time for me to pull
the strings--
for me to ruffle your feathers

and I hope you tumble down
and eventually make it to my level
where you see the gods from below

and find them

all
but
divine

burdened with the weight of it all,
the camel stops and lies
in the middle of the desert

the man driving the herd--
the herd that's laden
with tired, overworked
camels, walks toward the downtrodden
offender with his arm outstretched
and in his palm, sat a pistol--

then, he hesitates--

as he stares into the eyes of
the camel--
deeply--
intrigued--
but beyond that,
he felt a sense of calm, which
soon turned sour--
everything turns sour

he gazed into the dark abyss
of the pistol
turned it toward his temple
and pulled the trigger

all the camels scattered--
except the one lying down

he placed his head in the sand,
then slept
in memory of
the
fallen
herder

He wore two large earrings
but he made me laugh
we liked to discuss
the negativity of women
He- because he had been hurt
Me- because, that I had not been hurt,
I was hurt
we both got
a good laugh out of it

Nowhere
It’s a tangible thing
I am there
I can’t leave
While you grow
I wallow
In the
Defecation
Of ignorance

I just realized,
that I will grow to be
a selfish old man
who uses words to make up for the things he
never did
never said
chances he never took
these words will make paragraphs
and poems
and they will make books
that people will look to for advice
when I,
I will be looking for advice in
those who read them
and they will never see
that I need
more help
than they
ever
did

I thought I found myself
really felt happy
it was a first
since prepubescence
it all ended last night--
as if it had even started
my friends will all laugh at me
and they'll swear I'm a **** up
and it's true--
this miserable **** up
writing what you read right now
can do nothing right
absolutely nothing--
the worst of it all
is that I thought
I was
for once
I knew all the while
something was deeply wrong
if I did not pry into it all
I doubt I would hurt this much
but I dwell
I dwell
and continue to hurt
and hurt
I hurt
you don't care
no one does
so, I'll drink myself into comas
during adulthood
and eventually become a decent writer
and some people will like what I do
everyone but me
because through life,
I'll always be this miserable
**** up
nothing will ever change that
why would it?

life is a *****
but she is beautiful
she is wonderful
she makes you yearn for her
but the *****, life,
will never yearn for you
because you-- too
are a miserable **** up

a skyscraper begins to crumble
as I am left on top
I am the last of my kind
--and I sit atop the
swaying monolith
and watch the animals
around the once bustling
city streets
I once roamed these same streets
with little to my name--
at first--
then I hit it big
and I went from nothing
just another faceless being
to one of them
high society
I ate with the famous
and the famous ate with me
I slept with the fame-starved
and they ****** me
but now I am left alone
atop this building
waiting for it to crash
I am reminded of a girl
from my youth
the first to crush me
the first of many
the one that still
hurts--
even after she is long dead--
everyone is long dead
except me
and many would see that
a curse
while it reminds me of my glory days
at
the
bottom
I hear the metal beams begin to bend and sway
windows burst
birds fled

I think:
this is it, finally
as short lived as my death was
I found myself
again with the young girl
in my youth
and the conversation--
a despicable one
was different
she shared what I felt
and all was good in the world
at last, I was
at peace

other skyscrapers
continued to fall for years
and my carcass was ravaged
by animals
and rogue humans alike

and as the last of humanity
came across my body,
they swore I wore a smile
and in my hand
lay a picture
full
of
love

When words were exchanged
You only heard yourself
And I pity you for it
Should I?
You won’t ever know any better
And it kills me
You win

The old man
walked with purpose
I thought
Why grow old?
with his best years
behind him
he turned towards me
and collapsed

There are millions of words
With millions of connotations
I chose these
Does that make me original?

The trigger clicked
out you spun
careening towards me
we all watched it was slow
eyes couldn't be averted
I fell for it

all of us
from an early age
are murderers
we **** with our
bare hands--
no weapons
no remorse
no gloves
no arrest
no trial

just our hands
strangling out our victims
bringing about their untimely
demise--
and as we
slowly
but
surely
******,
we are being
strangled
all in the same
by the hands of those who
supposedly love
and care--

where there is nurture,
there is strangulation about the neck--

The red dawn rewound itself
He sits on gold
this is heaven
hell came
with but four words
the spectre is latent
elusive at best
freedom dawned
prisons flooded
it's all crashing down
for you, at least

nothing like me,
you crave excitement
I crave acceptance
from those I
wish never
to please

The best minds of my generation
don't exist
the are but historical perspectives
we're all in for a treat
when the lights go out

are you really so ill
that you can not stomach
one word
I tell you

you just nod off
as if you want to sleep
and then
turn up the music
the music you play
isn't creative
and now when I look back at
this memory
maybe you aren't either

maybe it's what I have needed to
see all along
that
you were flawed
worse than I was
and I was only flawed
because of you

but then again
I still need you
I don't know if I
can look at you,
though

I drifted away
on a piece of ice
land disappeared from view
I became delirious
I drank from the cold ocean
the salt scarred my esophagus
I drank
and drank
finally, I dove
into the water
with my stomach full of icy water
and salt
I then grew gills
and swam away.

I laugh as I
spout blasphemy
you cringe at every word
but when I walk
on the streets
I avoid
every
crack

Your problems
They are much more
Pressing than mine
Aren’t they?
You definitely know what life is
don’t you?
Oh, the eloquence needed
To creatively and elusively
Say
*******

I watched you shudder
pick up a sweater off of the floor
drink from a bottle--
then slide across the couch
wars raged on--
and I faked an excuse
to stand up
miners were stuck deep in earth
and I sat down and put my arm around you
sudanese children were ravaged
and I looked into your eyes--
you laughed at my blemishes
then went to the bathroom
I was hurt deeply--
I thought
I'd deal with all the  suffering in the world
if I could avoid all the **** that was going on now.

I got up--
poured myself a glass of water
and drank it down--
I listened to the toilet flush

The clock said
To me-
in a voice  
That was all
Too familiar
“you are my captive”
I turned to it,
told it to *******,
and went back to sleep.
It called again
Only to get the
same reaction
From me
Then came a wind
That blew my door
Wide open-
It whisked me
Away-
I knew it had won

God’s message?
No, my words
A round table sits
The feast is missing
Lavish décor
But nothing there
Which one of us
Is wrong?

Immortality
Is pestilence
Even the notion
Causes mortality
The more you
Associate with
Immortality
The less human
You become

They have been bought
everything has a price
the best way to invest
to diversify
to profit
is to take free will
and end it
the market loves that dollar
and so do we
worse than extremists
are those who walk the line
between sanity and the alternative
everything is better
without inhibition

We all love to speak
to hear ourselves
more than others
what about the mute
do they think
in your voice

Power-
The rush of adrenaline
Everyone screaming
A blood filled
Gory ****
The lights went up
And they were people
With faults like mine
But how they seemed to be
Gods
I hate that
I also want that
More than
Anything

I touched her knee as I left
--she asked me to turn off the lights
I closed her door and walked into my room
I picked up a guitar and wrote a song
it was decent--

the next morning, it all set in
--I threw up--
I made sure the fan was off so she might hear what she did
she slept through the gagging
none of it mattered
because, the night before,
I spilled my guts
told her all I could
and we're just friends
to her
"there's no way you feel nothing"
"there are plenty of fish in the sea"

I'm the fifth guy she's done this to
this sting has to be the worst of them all
I have no desire for friendship
I just made another enemy
and I love her more than anything
but that love is turning
with
slow
spiteful
hatred
but I do love her
and feel like I always will

the ******* *****...