1-27-15

In My Dreams, In My Nightmares

Molasses wallpaper dripping
dripping down the sides of
my face. Time moves slower
here. It's close; it's near.

Smoke rising up, the color
of burgundy and Edgar
Allen Poe, ravenously slipping
its cruel grasp around

my throat. Do not disturb,
do not enter, do not pass
go, do not collect 200
dollars, do not

love. Do not say
goodbye unless it's
necessary. We're forced
to say plenty of goodbyes

Talk to me. 

1-25-15

My Album Drops This Week

I made it for you,
I make everything for you.
Like rain
and shells.

1-24-14

There are Better Things to do

Than watch tiny droplets
of water roll off the
side of a glass,
than watch snow fall
outside the bay window
in the dining room,
than to sit alone and
think, than to sit alone
and think.

1-20-15

Signs of the Future - The Ballad of Betrayal (Part Two)

Down and around and
all over the sliding
slippery slopes of

Why do I enjoy the

taste of rotten 

apples?

Arrogance rolling down

the street like amphetamines,

like a voice screeching 

about the end

of the world.

Why can't I?

Why can't I stop loving

you?

He stands at the bus 

stop, stopped for us,

gazing up at the sky

rainwater falling 

from a bloody sky. 

1-19-15

Three Headed Devil - The Ballad of Betrayal (Part One)

Jack, who lives down on Oak
street, sells week old newspapers
and pot. Disheveled hair and
abrupt buttons, ripped clothes.

Beneath the billfold of a
duct-taped wallet, made by
his niece, he keeps a few
two dollar bills he thinks that
are gonna go up in value soon.

Just wait! just go
sitting on an monkey toothed
championship highchair.

Feed homes and hopes. They
don't last.

He struts down the sidewalk, kinda
swaying back and forth, like
the axis of the planet is constantly
shifting. Wolves cry,
and day shifts to night uncontrollably.

Jack, man of his word,
man of many faces and
friends, given to lovers and
loathers, wearing loafers.
money and plastic baggies
Exchange hands in a school
playground, the snow falling
in sugar shakers, and he
turns, leaving footprints
that are gone eight minutes
later.  

1-12-15

Songbird

All we can
be, or not.
Crystals and
diamonds will
energize and produce
fractals. Fractured fraternities
going off the deep end, going out of
history towards the moments where they
ignore and implode. Roll over and under the
joints of my kneecaps, sing and song and sunder
killings of dreams and world leaders. That is a
low blow, sir, a low blow, sir, a low blow,
merciful God, make me remember,
never let me forget those little
overreactions she desired,
pined for, it is absolutely
quintessential that I
remember. Why?
Sing of those
theaters of
unread
vibes.
We.

X marks the spot,
You know I love you, I'm a
Zealot from the church of you.

1-11-15

Eavesdropping

Sitting here,
earworm worming its worminess
over the hall and under
your wine glass, you
think that I'm unable,
incapable, impossible
that my sense of hearing
would be that good.

Words that twist and
bend over the and across
and through simultaneously
singing little inaccuracies.

I wonder if you really
think those things,
I wonder if I believe you
too.  

1-10-15 Long title, Short poem?

I used to chew on bits of plastic, which was before my first job as a taxidermist, but that's a story for another time, and that's how I discovered that I fucking love lemonheads, and any other sour candy but sucking on the sweet, sugary twang of a lemonhead just makes my fucking day, man, and reminds of those times I used to spend with my old girlfriend, sitting on the bumper of a 1994 Ford Taurus and listening to the radio, passing the box of candy back and forth and taking a swig, dreaming and loving until we ran out of candy and realized we had nothing in common - we broke up, but that's a story for another time, what I'm really trying to say is this:

I'd give up lemonheads for you.

1-6-14

Wine Soaked Daydreams

Salivating gutters slip and
slickly slide across cellophane
and slapstick wine soaked
shirts. Fall and stumble,
let the crimson and
chamomile solve the
chrysanthemum night.

To strut across the neon
of faded, washed out glory,
thirty feet high, balenced
precariously across the moments
we long for, across the people
that can never be with us.

Cross the tower, tightrope
walk through the night, through
the words you want to say,
but are too afraid to speak.
The answer is known to you.
The answer is far too
terrible, too terrifying and
real. Soak your daydreams and
your night dreams in love and
loss, live in them for as long
as you can. When did things
go so wrong. 

Return from Hiatus 1-5-15

Ode to Bean Burritos

Piercing, abrupt flavor
arcing across adjacent
taste buds. Oh! how
I love Bean Burritos.

Woe to the fool,
woe to those who
have never tasted your
sweet embrace, alas

I know there is a God.
The presence of Bean
Burritos, the one absolute
good in this world. Sink

your teeth in, and soar,
know enlightenment.