The television plays
static and bad news,
You sleep on a pillow
under the basement
below the bed,
You are barely sleeping,
I am barely dreaming,
needle-sewed nightmares
that wake me and have me
jaded and joyless,
taboo thoughts,
just static,
just bad news.

-Jamie F. Nugent

Start with an idea and go from there.
Just let it flow,
like Titan strikes back at the dawn.
Always remember that the worst a person can be,
is when they are by themselves.
Sometimes,
staring at the sky,
nostalgia forgives me.
I would like to think that I am a good person.
Momma says never lie.
A lie will lie to the liar.
A thief will steal from a thief.
Once I saw Jack the Ripper,
asking for a favor.
"Come with me", he said.
So, I did.
Clocks ticking and tocking,
rocking to the rhythm of times to come.
I remember a time when happiness was a memory.
Please,
oh please,
travel the World and see the people,
not the sites.
Okay,
maybe see the sites.
I once saw The Fog,
moving swiftly across the pond.
Engulfing everything in his path.
Why is The Fog masculine?
I don't think he even knows the answer.
Yesterday,
there was an article describing the state of the World.
It has since been taken down.
Fitting really,
the World will end with a click of the mouse,
destroyed by the comment section.
Walking down the stairs into The Underground,
figuring out all of life's questions.
All aboard.
Do you realize?
I watched the sky fall.

I have done time in the prison of the mind

sewed a blue chip on my  shoulder

left the valley to roam and wander

nurtured a black, tormented seed

gave myself over to a blind man's need


I have done time in the sanctity of the moment

stripped down, undone, naked, free

felt the healing waters wash me clean

nurtured a bright, unfettered soul

gave myself over, finally whole

Ringing in our ears,
wild haymakers throw us off balance.
We are The Smoke.
Eyes jump and jive,
dancing,
to the music of earthquakes.
we stick and move
through terrain so tough,
The Devil himself gets tangled.
Feet pounding on yesterdays dreams.
Thundercats roar towards the sky.
Forgiveness is not given to the weak.
Hammering on,
always look twice before the fall.
Remember what it is like to fall and
forget the taste of strength.
The birds are hungry for their pound of flesh.
Move!
We run.
Left, left, right,
two forward,
three back and
once to the side.
The birds are closing in, watching with red eyes.
Swollen,
we run and
cross
this path,
leading us to the spit soaked floor and
broken chair.
Another round
and round we will go.
Hands cracked with every minute the clock beats down.
Forgetting the taste of victory.
Our lungs are filled with smoke.
We fall.
The wild ones smash through the Heavens,
warriors through and through.
We must forgive ourselves.
For glory,
we will shake The Smoke.

I wrote a short story once.
The villain was standing in the end.
Waiting for the sun to rise over the mountains and
the snakes fell through holes.
I can hear the sounds of silence.
I can see colors floating through clouds of liquor.
A bottle of wine and the whole world seems
flawless.
Maybe,
I am the flaw and the world is trying
to erase me.
The blood flowing through my veins is electric.
It is strange how the world turns,
yet these walls don't break.
Staring at the ceiling and I can hear the birds chirping.
Please,
God help me through this day.
I can not forgive myself.
Only the heroes remember the past.
It is simple nostalgia.
That is the key to destruction.
Love.
Maybe,
that is the key.
One
Two
Three
the trick is over and the spark ignites.
The Earth will one day turn to gold.
One day.
Stars sparkle in the night sky and
the pieces move about the chess board.
Only through capture is there hope for escape.
One day.

Laundry spinning and the humming of
other tenants.
I am drinking wine again.
There is a pattern.
Don't let anyone tell you differently.
The world is made up of shape and sounds and colors and
clocks ticking towards the end of another day.
If this poem is depressing I am sorry.
My sincerest apology to the past and the future.
The present isn't looking for another sin.
Always genuflect before entering this house,
the owner watches.
Do what makes you happy and
watch the TV fade to another show.
Yesterday the curtains refused to open,
the weight of the world is on their shoulders.
Forget the candles burning,
hot with anxiety and
go to sleep.
Frame the world in dark wood and ask the God,
any God,
for strength.
Laundry spinning and I rock in the chair,
thinking of eternity and how mice fit through such small holes.
Flip the channel.
Pull back the sheets.
This could very well be the end.
No mints on the pillows,
no courtesy calls.
I'll let you be the judge today and remember the shapes of clouds.