strong arm lack of arm strength into the residual slump of solitude blues resting with snap dragons and dandelions biding time ’til blossoming the big albino child dead in the water since replaced by a dozen normal flesh toned adolescents hiding under the sheets before school hoping to wake up.
Tag Archives: poet
Dog jumps to the window, 3:30 am, barking neighbors fighting threatening to pull guns, knives, yelling down the street, so we sit and listen calm, knowing, this excitement is where life is, and will never end, alone, away from everyone else.
I cannot yet understand the way love builds the way love is the way it hurt to walk ten feet to type this, opposite of the joy with which my folks take photos of themselves smiling, by the lighthouse, at dusk. The way someone forces you to build yourself, the way someone forces you toContinue reading “Sanguine Daydream”
Time Flies When All Of Your Clocks Have Dead Batteries
Had the office set up for two months before I ever sat at the desk, next to the fishtank where algae tarnished the glass and the bookshelf overflowed with old books and dust, and sitting there at the keyboard I did not feel good, wanting to weep at my failures, the passage of time andContinue reading “Time Flies When All Of Your Clocks Have Dead Batteries”
Brought the Bhavagad Gita on a weekend trip to the mountains but didn’t read a page, arguing about bullshit instead. Each night I experienced a lucid dream, one with three dimensional t-rexes reaching across my brothers bunk, one with a shadowed man, silhouetted, tapping on the window glass. During the day the dog swam forContinue reading “Northern Lights”
Graffiti on the bridge reads, “ADULTHOOD IN A NUTSHELL: The light inside has broken but I still work.” On the desk Mr. Potato head looks funny in his spectacles, so I laugh. Box fan on low, pointed in my general direction, secret bedroom door shining light from the cracks while boxsprings creak in rhythm; letContinue reading “Secrets”
In coffee shops everyone has their story: The schizophrenic, PJ, who lost years of his life to speed and psychedelics, in-and-out of mental institutions, where he was electrocuted on a regular basis, fed soup every day of the same variety, while working on his manuscript and ingesting cacti that led him to seeing ghosts inContinue reading “Regulars”
Working On It
Squeezing the juice from the lime the scent that bleeds is magnificent, when every letter doubles to an illegible pace dripping words into a juice box that produces health in letters: B1, B2, D, AA, B7, Melatonin, dreams left unrendered of stockings and styrophoam planes, floating to freshly cut grass beside a tree line thatContinue reading “Working On It”
Realized today that I now walk with a limp, left leg falling slightly behind, depending more on the right to move, to keep moving at all. My left shoulder is also ruined, unable to lift my arm above the shoulder unless, of course, emergency demands such an action to survive. Funny, then, that an oldContinue reading “Rat Rod”
Catch, Kill, Repeat
After driving a new lady home and fucking her in the driveway where her husband and eight-year-old slept inside, after hearing horror stories of depression and eating disorders, I drove home lonely wondering why lilies open and close and why flies only live for a day or two and why sleeping with your feet pointingContinue reading “Catch, Kill, Repeat”