"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

"Why would I wanna die?"

 Here are two new poems that I'm still unsure of. The first was inspired by this: http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/alowell/bl-alowell-patterns.htm  
 

The second poem, Joanna is a character that has shown up infrequently.. I think she's been prominently featured in two other poems and mentioned in one other. This might be her last appearance which makes me sad.

“patterns # 2 (amy lowell looking over my shoulder)”

come summer i will stay indoors, i will

pace the living room and irritate the cat

i will take new lovers and

be frustrated by the heat until

evening comes and cools

my apartment for a few hours

if i should stray outdoors

it will be for brief journeys

 to acquire necessary essentials

whomever i’m sleeping with will lay naked in my bed

she will fuss with her hair, i will

simply sit and watch her move

if fall should ever return,

 i will revel in new arrogance, i will

take no new lovers, i will take

my independence out of the pawnshop i

will forget about fear i

will even leave the house occasionally

but now, summer is coming

i lay awake dreading its return

my stomach is unsettled and my beard is unkempt
but i will remember each kiss

like the first kiss

in my imagination, where

i live, i am never alone

“j@40”

see joanna at 40:

all of her friends are gone

her husband is doing

the mid-life macarena

couple pounds of cocaine and

a half dozen waitresses, by now

maybe if she were interesting

she’d be able to survive

jo chews the skin around her fingernails

and whispers lullabies to herself

in and out of quiet

she sits with her modern housewife decor

and doesn’t think of anything

the things she dreamt of

in her teens and twenties

have all come to pass

turns out her prayers were hollow

even the brightest hope

learns how to fray

even the dullest bulbs

give off a little light

joanna’s life

has reached its crescendo

this is where she will stay

until she expires

it’s so sad, the things that go uncelebrated

little victories become forgotten because of larger fires

even just  a few years of happiness

is a brittle dream to most of us

traumas be come unsettling and lives fall back apart

quicker than you can remember the catalyst

if you catch someone shaking, stay with them

provide a little warmth for as long as you’re able

"But our silence was a concern.."

This is brand new. I'm very fond of it. It's in my usual disjointed, verses seemingly barely connected style. The verses are of course very much connected, but per usual, only I know how. If you can guess where the title came from, you win a prize. Really, it shouldn't be that hard..

“damned damned damned”

a shot of heartache hit me like the sun

it broke up the monotony

 i had been happy for a while

it reminded me to shake my fist at the sky

to get mad at nothing

because that’s all that matters

i make jokes behind your back

because you’re no longer around,

but your presence remains

if i missed you as much as i want to miss you

i wouldn’t be writing, i’d be crippled on the floor

i wept for your benefit, not my own

i hope for new accidents

for things to suddenly get exciting again

that small moment

 before the cracks start to appear

is the only moment i want to live in

even still, that moment might not exist

you never think about

how fragile finite things are

even after you’ve seen a few things broken

but those memories recede, just

long enough for you to hurt yourself again

but maybe if beauty didn’t end in tragedy, it wouldn’t be any fun

i, american

This is the first poem in a much longer cycle. If I told you the scope of the thing you would think I'm insane. I've written three poem in the cycle thus far, the second being only fifteen lines, the third (the first draft of which I finished less than twenty minutes ago) is slightly shorter this. This cycle is meant to evolve over a period of time, so don't expect to see anything else from it anytime soon.

"i, american # 1"

(1)

i’m trying to resurrect something

maybe an ancestral memory

some item pulled from the past

but all i come up with are apologies

gripes or petty grievances
my poems are road maps of exactly what not to do

my mother is a schoolteacher

she really tries her best

i would break my back if she needed me to

but no one needs me

this should make me sad

it should, but it doesn’t

i have no history

no presence in the past

my blood is too mixed to be of any advantage

but i am an american

this ground was stolen, but my roots make it my own

i can trace my footsteps back through places no sane man would go

(2)

fullerton, california, december, twenty twelve

almost six years after the breakup

i needed new scenery

but didn’t realize i’d never change

this is where i learned what not to do

this is where i made my stand

socal is a dream to middle america

but to me it’s a wasteland,

a place my dreams could never come true

skeletal youth with eternal cigarettes

they used to kick it on commonwealth

i don’t know where they went

but they’re gone now

there, by that taco bell

you might never see me again

(3)

i remember the last time i heard “heart of glass”

as american as apple pie

rock n roll keeps my feet on the ground

hip hop beats keep me moving

i owe my existence to my country

everything i love is here

the cities i love are alive with sound

as only american cities could be

the surface stuff is unappealing

obviously, i can’t condone my government

but i’ll defend my nation to the death

if only for rock n roll

(4)

you do the sleep, i’ll do the driving

you can take the wheel sometime around dawn

or jesus will

and we’ll drive into the sun

i want to have faith in something

i really do, i do

but the only things i can believe in

are things that i can touch

if you find it frail, i was right

but if you find fulfillment, i’ll shut my mouth

baby, hold still

we’re exactly the same, with or without

some ways are easier

i have my beliefs

but i won’t defend them

you can’t defend nothing

i’m sorry if you need faith

but religion has flourished in my country

in a way that makes me scared

look, i’m not sure you can rely on anyone

i have a hard enough time trusting myself

(5)

seattle is a city of abandoned furniture

its bald spots are crawling

with dead things that used to live

but died without knowing

that it was time to cease moving

if it were only my sins

that kept me moving

i would retire immediately

but i believe i am building something

that is bigger than i am

from my living room i see skyscrapers

i wouldn’t mourn their passing\

but i would miss the skyline

stars don’t belong in cities

most of us don’t do well in the dark

(6)

trees and concrete

the scent of a body of water

the eternal thrust of human beings

all of these things provide me with a comfort

i need my city as much as my country

american born, i enjoy being home