Thought about it
Thought about it
Thought about it
Until the thought itself
Died its own
Private death
From utter exhaustion
The wheels burst open
They lost their grip
The road dead ended
At an unused field
Two inches under rain water
Pencil tip reached
The eraser
Reached the pencil tip

A friendship born
And done
For the grip of dust
And under the raining brush
Split yellow with shards of green
Dripping down
Unlike the glass
It learned to cut from
Independent of previous talk
The chatter gone and done
A friendship born
To die
If not attended slowly gently
Like a fussy
Delicate plant
Or
A hyper tasty dish
That deserves
Or requires
Attentiveness at all times
Before
Ultimately getting consumed
Quickly, innocently
In the mouth of animal powers
And turned
To shit

Its dawning on me
A nice conversation
That lingers
Like a good dinner
You deserved
After a long week of listening
And never speaking
After a long week of waiting
And never getting your turn

Its coming slowly
Over the gray hills
Over the brown hills
Its goo falling down
And collecting the branches with it
It’s a half speed wind storm
With all the force
But slow
Painfully slow
Like watching a child
Untie an impossible knot
With no fingernail tips
For help
Like watching an old man
With a cane
Cross a busy intersection

Its here
Right in front of me
And it is
Not me
And I can hear it speaking
Under my skin
Between my lungs
It’s a collective burning
That climbs up
Rung by rung
To my throat
And soon
Maybe
I can tell it to you too
If you care
To know

11.5.08

hey punches to the pouch
straight to the face
covered by jolly fat
hahahahaaa
we laugh and we eat it up
it’s a cherry in my drink
it’s the many cherries in my very many drinks
and its readjusting my blood
its turning cherry red
and you can taste it on my lips
I see you looking, looking right at them
But you won’t
You can’t
You wouldn’t dare
So go ahead and stare and remember the taste of cherry
On your own lips
And hey
You can always go ahead and throw a punch
To the back of some guy’s head
Look, he isn’t looking
Go for it
All yours
And when he turns around I’ll say the other guy did it
And when he stays mad
I’ll make him taste my cherry lips
But he won’t forget
So get the fuck out of there

goodbye

Funeral
For an old idea
Funeral
For a dying box

May the dirt
Remain on top
May the fire
Burn down
the fear, the expectation, the confusion
of the same
mistakes

time to pay respects
for how
these feet function
somehow
on ground
and how
this back can bend
without pain
here is my respect
to my sick ideas
newly departed

there is no heaven
there is no hell
it’s cloudy sky
with sun behind
that’s not a secret
its not mine

Don’t trust
The killing instinct
As she wakes up
And pulls the chain
Towards the center

Revolt from the ground
Look up
Be blinded
I heard rumors that we develop eyes
If we try
And so I allow
Sun stabs
To swallow my head
In hopes
Of losing vanity

Don’t trust the thing in the ground
That growls
At you
When you begin to run
When you pick up speed
That seems to be beneath your heels
As you refuse
The temptation
To turn around and look back
Run