"hey, do you know what this is doing to me?"

Hey, look! A new poem!

“nonsense”

woman, you’re defiant, and often at war

you play your cards like checkmates, or revere

foreign and national examples of excess

bourgeois things and royalty substitutes

hollywood princesses land tits down

but get back up to primp and preen

as your devotion grows larger

frail spectrals

fame’s ghosts, you see yourself onscreen

focused on nothing but the shot

no hair or makeup

can hide the fact that you’ll only be beautiful for so long

are your priorities in sight?

listen, lady: there is nonsense and little else

alive in this world

it will shake you awake

and force you to stare down the dawn

or fierce:

beautiful, messed up and magnificent

something renewed

a sacrifice from the streets

a calf brought back from the altar

and returned into the light

i could define

all the things you are

dear darling, oh inspiration

i could take forever to chronicle your peaks

but then i wouldn’t get to watch you

and i’d miss something

necessary for me to live

"you've got a power source/it's like a solar system"

New poem, kind of a mess, kind of raw. I've been trying to write other types of stuff, but I'm fond of this.

“balance # 2”

keep me honest, but

don’t keep me too honest

my eating habits may

distract you for a while

but tonight will be fine, will be fine

i’m timid and afraid that

you’re just acting

i watch every word i say

which is really

never my normal course of business

if  i’m too careful

you’ll grow irritable and bored

but if i let loose you’ll be scared into silence

so i blance, oh i balance

everything always comes back to fucking blance

"heaven is a place with you"

 Not really going to say anything about this, other than I've been messing around with style. I've gotten pretty bored with most of my traditional formats. I like this quite a bit, even if it might be a bit generic. I'm not great at writing stuff like this, but I'm getting better.

“# 7 “

her body reacts the way a woman’s body should

she gasps and arches and continues her ascent

i kiss her mouth and grasp

ah, but i’m just as content

when she’s lying still in my arms

she gets up to find a cigarette

i hold back to catch my breath

she pulls on her shirt, i mutter a complaint

i watch her when she’s walking away

as closely as i do when she’s arriving

we sit in silence

or hatch insane plans

she turns her face towards me

everything that matters is there

nothing is more important, nothing is as free

"her smile was pretty, but her body was strange/it could have been just the shadows from a passing train"

 Old poem from '09. I think it was in my chapbook Crack Cocaine Kisses and Other Poems, but like three people read that. Depressing as hell, but I'm fond of it.

"collapse"

you came to your collapse like it was a dance and you were fire

you looked around your empty room

as if you had just realized

that you were alone and were afraid of being alone

you came to your collapse without coffee filters, and so

you took to the vodka in the freezer, and began to toast

days you had dreamed up full of fashion and the flames of lovers

delusions go down like water, but fail even quicker when you chase them with liquor

you came to your collapse and you were fine

as long as you were absent, and the checks kept coming

the pill bottles emptied, the ashtrays filled, and you ceased being hungry

lost track of time, turned out the lights, and left the phone off the hook

you came to your collapse with no hope of a savior but against all odds, advantage, or anyone's wishes 

folks will come, the ambulance chasers who only care when you go missing

raise the shades, lock the door and pray

that whoever is there won't be desperate enough to find a way in

"i was sought"

New poem inspired by a different version of the song below.

“ in my heart (with apologies to carey mercer)”

war, war is in my heart

but your love is all i will cherish

let wounds appear elsewhere

your love is the light i will hold up

against the chattering, darkening sky

oh, but i have basked in battle

i have taken up my sword against loss and entropy

i have stood awash in blood and sorrow

and war remains in my heart

my dissatisfaction has grown too large to just ignore

i fist my hand in anticipation of your soul gripping mine

i smile at the vision of you i hold in my head

pretending i could be cleansed

i sing radio songs that remind me of you

your love is all i remember

though through the threat of war i’m still possessed

my mind doesn’t collapse in on itself, as i would hope

it doesn’t turn to dust, cold and miserable

you’re the little bit of blasphemy i could always take with me

if i’m buried on a battlefield, you’ll keep me alive, and fed forever

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UT1uExqHZM

"But I looked back/it was a bore/it was a fucking horror"

 The first of these is mostly insubstantial, but I like it well enough. Most of the really good stuff has stayed in a word file lately. I feel the need to hold some stuff back. 

The second poem is another mixture of true and false (especially the last verse, which is either 99% bullshit, or the vision of someone else). It's me arguing with dead poets again, I can't ever be accused of being unambitious.

“ untitled # 9”

i remembered good times

i swallowed, coughed, then spit

i adjusted my hat, continued walking home

i saw it all again

transfixed by saturation i moved the needle onto the record

a cachopany came through the speakers

i swear i heard your voice, you whistled so sweet

you never did sing for me, i always thought you would

i have only so many directions to choose from, although

i have no clue as to where any of them will lead me

i choose the path with love and loss and random chance

i’m at my best when i don’t know what’s coming next

“seeking alive (fuck william blake)”

if the doors of perception were cleansed

we would lose our identities and cease to exist

every person’s world is what they perceive

if cracks should appear

insanity will beckon

i’m the only one who feels myself exist

the only one who can see my place in the patterns

why should we do for others?

when we can’t even prove they exist?

i brush a stranger and apologize with a smile

and then go to find my seat

i want to know what others are thinking

but can only go on what they tell me

i position my words in hopes that

no one will guess what i’m thinking

i only care for my outer appearance

i write my missives mostly for myself

but if you find my words, take them, whisper them some place new