Saturday, December 29, 2012

Occipitus the Dangerful

The aneurysm
crept up your scapula;

like a series
of mini fevers

that all break at dusk.

You don’t need it anymore

you don’t need it

you don’t need

In the desert
when the darkness comes.

Blood dancing
out of your eyes
just barely ajar;

hands clasped

listening to the sound
of rushing water
beneath your feet.

There is no optimism here;

you've seen it always.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Dreaming Princess Inside the Devil's Castle

The street lamp
light crumbling
the tree branches

and thick fog –

dense enough
to suffocate;

O.D. on condensation.

A fire stronger than god

is the sunset
in the window
                   in the distance.

A bird
in a used ashtray;

for some
misery isn't optional

but rather
the only option.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Don't Beast Ranger

The thin film
over your eyes

when you first wake up.

Last night
in the snow –

on the falling eaves;

echoes of talk shows
enough to send you

into panic.

Just go east for a while…

you’ll be surprised
at how quickly

you fall asleep.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Pathetic Justice

The room was stagnant
and still and
somehow piercing.

(I had a really great line
for this part, but I forget)

There was something
stirring inside me

but I had become accustomed
to these inconveniences.

I looked over
to a bleak nightstand;

“separation happens in life”

… wouldn't it be nice
if we could shake life up

like a snowglobe

and redo everything
every now and then?

[insert great ending line here]

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Force-Fed Human Flesh

Maybe there was
broken glass

in the room
with the woman

who was all

save her lifeless head.

The teeth of
the zipper

on her dead jacket
and biting;

the sharpest knife
she owns

sliding across
stainless steel

like a broken bow
across a red violin.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Clouds on Fire

Our world
is a perfect circle

an island.

And it’s imploding
through a door
outside of your front

An age of permafrost
and apocrypha.

Ice will keep your drink cold
ice will keep your body fresh from decay

ice will only melt
if you allow it
the privilege;

it’s nice to be on the verge
of freezing to death
once in a while.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Shadow War

I sleep strangely these days;

lower to the ground
but less grounded

like a moth
trapped in a cup
with two openings.

Bones cracking
beneath the mattress
with each breath –

sirens sounding
as a whisper
when the shadows are

One dark cloud on fire
with a thin descending line
isn't necessarily a tornado

or maybe it is.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

The Magenta Monkey

Do you know
how many people
there are on earth?

Imagine you spent
one second on each person

to take on their suffering.

222 years later
you would know
the plight of the world,

the struggle of
the entirety of
the human race.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Double Ellipses

I told myself to turn on something
familiar and reassuring;

euphoria immediately
and inevitably
followed by dread and anxiety.

With eyes closed
in still

delirium trigger.

Simultaneously detecting
subtle changes

in the earth

in the atmosphere.

In the empty ocean
and in the swirling reality
of decaying superficiality

testing the resiliency
of my small
finite population.

Physical Stimuli and the Hatred of 144,000

The problem
with the youth today
the youth today.

By the closing
of each day
my soul screams
for forgiveness.

In my heart,
there is nothing
but contempt and pity
for the obese masses

pouring out
of my local Wal-Mart.

Stares take one down
every now and now.

One down
seven billion to go.

Skeptic – yes
Cynic – yes
Pessimist – yes
Misanthrope – yes


Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Bright Spring Mourning

I’m having
some sort of reaction
to myself;

rooted a paranoia
in my blood
so deep

it can never
be dug out.

And there’s just enough light
coming from the television
to illuminate
and affirm

my unstable
fleeting sanity.

Is mania
the cause of medication
or is medication
the cause of murder?

Murder is
the cause of mania;

definitely mania
because of murderous

                   and scramble.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Sick Nostalgia

Simultaneous screwdrivers
in my brain
my liver;

a combination

fairly common
in the twilight
before blinking.

When clouds are close
enough to reach
up and caress;

the dread
that accompanies
a false
but albeit

convincing death.

Phantom Pulsations

There's blood
in the milk;

a satin coffee stain
from a styrofoam cup
on a newspaper
is sick

childhood anxiety
that runs
in the deepest abyss
of your stomach.

I bit the inside of my lip
until I tasted blood,

but I had siphoned
so much of the night

my blood had turned black

running invisible
beneath the stars.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Photon Band

We’re clearing the cold
from these mesh screens.

I’m saving it
scraping it
salvaging it
for winter

when the flannel sheets
grace our bodies
and make us sweat.

If I open the windows
in the scared scars of dark

sultry delirium

to let the icy breeze in
and swoon me back to your arms,

will you promise
not to fly away?

Saturday, August 11, 2012

The Demise of Kerouac

Whiskey and malt liquor
at 11 a.m.

or mountain climbing
and spiritual revelations;

maybe both,
or maybe
one won
over the other

Blood poured
from his mouth
faster than
his rising fame
and new label - 

Father of the Beat movement:

A label and a fame he equally despised.

"Something good will come
of all things yet."

But blood won't clot
with a damaged liver.

"Live, travel, adventure, bless,
and don't be sorry."

...and don't forget
to drink yourself into the grave.

Your lifetime of scenery
save your cirrhosis
from a lifetime
of tequila margaritas.



in the sky

on the road;

I'm bleeding."

Friday, August 10, 2012

Mo(u)rning Dew

The sky was bluish-gray
more blue
than gray...

maybe glue?

My brain couldn't decode
what my eyes were seeing:

happiness being found
in misplaced things;
misplaced happiness -

the mast
the sails
the millions of trees

that aren't speckling
the ocean;

the forest in the boat on the sea.

Some exaggerations
some understatements
some both.

A vision - quite like you -

that got too vivid
too perfect
too beautiful
to bear.

Monday, August 6, 2012

there, here, it's you

there’s a storm coming;
there’s a storm here.

there’s a horizon falling
there’s a grey mess blackening.

here’s where I stood and
here’s where nothing is wrong.

here’s when I see dissonance
here’s when it doesn’t exist.

it’s freely flailing
it’s rattling around my cranium.

it’s a ghost, a mirage, a phantom;
it’s effect is more real – more traumatic – than death.

you’re freely hovering
you’re still scrambling on your own.

your inhibition is plaguing and
you’re killing me and
you’re healing me and
you’re killing me.

Friday, August 3, 2012

The Magic Bullet Theory

…and tonight,

we don’t even have
enough time
to settle in

and say goodbye.

Still sweating from the sodium –

we’re creating
future nostalgia now.

the subconscious can

and considerably

warp the reality of waking thought
to where I don’t
understand it at all.

Too many years standing
in the same hot water
gave me an arrhythmia;

terror stretch descending compression.

$1500 for a Broken Elephant Piano

and if you really love me,
you’ll take this icepick
and jam it through
my parietal lobe.

You’d think sleep
would be the reset button
to all my anger;

false news – not to be used
as an anti-coagulant.

The miserable misanthropic
young man
that was once a hero…

but that was a lie.

A Silhouette Sobbing

A paranoia
on one death

preventing me
from concerning myself
with another.

One kiss
from cold
engraved marble

on my unprepared

was not the goodbye
I envisioned…

not from you.

We’ll turn off
the physics here;

in the realm
of inverted gravity

gas plummets
(as/and) we rise.

Spoon in the Mulch


This plane’s going down

and all the runways
are in rehab:

a miracle
or a tragedy –

 a miracle
 of a tragedy.

We skyrocketed
to the clouds

and obliterated
a series of horizons

but seriously

screw those clouds
and fuck those horizons.


Did you say footsteps
or foodstamps?

A tantrum thrown
in complete silence.

Listening to Asia
at 6 a.m.;

nothing is more delicious
than mac n’ cheese
when you correct it


Hers is the name and place where time stands still. But you’re so far away it makes me claustrophobic. I a blessed earth man a man of blessed earth am your pitch-black darkness in the cold dead of night and you’re the nightmare I (live/love) to dream. Your touch cures every (one of my) daymare(s). But sometimes you don’t exist for 8 hours at a time – sometimes I can’t function funk shun without with you.

Psychosomatic Auditory Hallucinations


Too much blood
in the melody
and the melody’s
on fire.

This is why
and when –

smoking again
in dreams.

You gave my life purpose
and I’ll never forgive you for that;

making time go by faster
but so much more
than someone to merely pass the time.


of you
curled up cold
in my bed;

reminded me of that road
by your house…

the smell of which
made me happy,

and then sad.

The road

Poise: On

I saw something in the sky:

maybe it was the clouds

or a slice of descending

I can’t be sure…

Communicating with an
ethereal phantom
this past month
has been terrifying.

Like something out of
your worst daymares…

the sky bluffing a miracle
of secret storms
and sekrets…

you’re alone
in a world of unrest

like a hot glass of ice
trying to expedite
the creation of water.

But a bee won’t fly
to Iceland
to deliver a message
to a sailor.

At the Corner of “Hope” and “Home”

One street is a sanctuary
and one is a sunrise.

There had never been
a more lethal storm
on the fraying skyline.

I drove through it –

were half-hours.

When I finally rolled
past the wind and gravel

you were illuminating
your front lawn

with eyes like soft diamonds
cutting through the incurable dark;

lips seducing the moon
to break from its orbit.

Your hair came down
upon me –

cascades of every breath
I couldn’t summon

at the corner
of Hope and Home.

The Heir of this Knight

the air on this night
was thicker than usual.

the panic was like a fever
that wouldn’t break
and kept trying to raise its peak.

it broke
with a warm
sultry sweat.

the manufactured vortex
was doing just enough
to sustain the frail
fragile window of comfort.

a delirium trigger
out there.

every ache was a memory
of some hurt I had once inflicted;

every one unintended,
but every one easily avoidable.

every one I want to amend,
every one I’m not sure if I can.


the fever’s aftermath lingered
for a few minutes.

you descended from your cloud
to bring me solace.

solely to bring me solace.

there has never been an encounter
with this goddess that didn’t cure me.

every hopeless winter
with dreary dark gray
and cold bitter death

is at once a virgin sky
that sets fire to
the wretchedness of my nightly deaths.


I was always saddened
by the scars of the morning.

there never was
a never was.

for the ghosts
of the mirage

for the mirage
of ghosts.

bleed out the miles
between now and serenity.

600 onlookers in distress
60 screaming stars
6 more skies in shock.

oh, great believer,

make me believe
that you aren’t so full of shit.


how long before life support
becomes death torturing?


prayers for hope
ignored for prayers of demise.

and if you hope for demise
then listen:

woke up to the sound of pouring rain…


and when I closed my eyes
and had seven of my biggest fans
simultaneously simulating serene
wind at my back

I felt like I was in the clouds.

a mere spec of smile
blowing through the vast
space over miles of plains;

lush and a lush.

when sleep is always far off
and the insomniatic crimson
is constantly consistent

retreat here with me
and dream the storm
is further than we can reach.


Gravity graces us with fear
and aligns us with treachery;

too many close calls
with hydroplaning –

a déjà vu
I wish I never knew.

But I sang
that brief wave home.

Invincibility is a golden leader
with many followers
and no survivors.

The dark blue
before dawn was piercing –

acknowledging that darkness,
I wanted nothing more
than to descend into
its seductive slumber…

but some goddamn creature
stares at me
well after I’ve pretended
to fall asleep.

This Clay Myrrh

The knife went clean
through my skull

and just enough
to puncture my pillow

case about a quarter
of an inch

or so:

the routine
existential crisis
before nightmares –

always on cue.

I became so wide-awake
in a moment of self-induced
fear and paranoia

it was embarrassing.

The next four hours
were something of
a nocturnal sunrise;

Dvorak had some idea
but was still far off,

withdrawing all the things
that withdraw me from sleep
including this.

Ambivalent Ambulance

envious of some impossibilities
and treading this speckled terrain
like a scared little kid.

She had just slid down
and closed her eyes
and I wished I knew how she did it.

I couldn’t get inside
her dancing mind;

she didn’t know that
she was living the way
one ultimately should:

a flawless blemish
on the decrepit human race.

Her wagon hitched
to endless stars
and every road lined
with serenity.

She didn’t see me as the anchor,

not yet,

but as soon as she did,
she’d be just fine.

something something prologue/epilogue

already given up

just waiting for the right time to show it.

Every haiku
drifting on the Atlantic
and every second

I wish you were gone

because I’m not worth
your goddamned time.


Watching night
turn into day
enough times
can drive a man


I see detailed visions
of places I’ve never been before.

And I’m without you.

Still collecting
plastic memories
and recollections
and glue.

But after August
I’ll start to recycle them –

you’ll be gone then.

Elude the affliction;

sick of Drearytown.

I’ve been driving
for too long today.

I’ve been driving
for too long.

I’ve driven myself
somewhere unsafe.

I’ve driven myself
somewhere insane.

title borrowed from market fresh pastry filling

at first, the thought of disinterest
with everything is terrifying.

and the overabundance of analytical
reasoning really ruins moments before they begin.

they never begin benign
but rather align themselves
with the malice of logic.

and now I’ve bored myself
with the disinterest of my disinterest.