Better than none?

I been thinking

A sharp jab to his face

With my right fist

Would do the trick

How quickly I forget

That I’m not running

His shit

And he certainly

Ain’t running mine

So on a time

I get to feeling violent

Willful and self-reliant

And the idea of smashing

Sense into his brain

Is the most reasonable

Course of action

That seems to remain

But then I stop

And feel the love

Surge over me

And something greater

Is holding me

In place

Til I rememerge

From my rest

And know the only

blow I can deliver

Is one to my own ego

So I don’t have to simmer

In my fear of being abandoned

Ideally…

He was a christian boy

Of good taste

And upbringing

Sort of salty

On a time

In a way that was

Unbidden

And colored by nothing

Wrought by wanting

To be redeemed

Of sins never even committed

And so he never was one

To find himself lost in a bottle

He was more likely to get lost

In meaningful cinema

And think that it’s profundity

Was more true than the tale

Of his lover’s experiences

And that was why

Everything I thought

Would be right

Wasn’t
Sympathy is not

Empathy

These are the hands…

books for a birthday

pink and red and black

flowered and

my own well handled

and held in my heart

can they really be

only words?

rhapsodomancy in

the late watches

i have looked for a sign

a beacon, a lamp

to guide me to

where we are

but i could not find the path

i got lost in the dark morass

of  a song of despair

but i know where

we were

was simple and honest

a hearth,

a place of rest

and renewal

however brief the

tenderness

how fleeting the day

and it goes now

quietly

into the night

i close those books

and stop trying to

rewrite the lines

Poemtrees I Climbed

Snarling

i am coming
i can feel you
in my bones
and i am coming
teeth bared
and gnashing
limbs throbbing
and shaking
everything aching
for that last mess
made
the swan song sung
all of it done
for love
for loss
for grief
for the cost
of living in cages
i will come
and unchain you
for one last hour
one last red towel
slung over a chair

Tidal Shift

I cannot fight against
The tides
The ocean will do
What it has always done
I cannot fight against
Your going away
Aloof and detached
It is what you do
Get gone
So far into yourself
And the microscopic world
Of your mind
The small motions of your life
Oh, I know
I know what you are
How you move
I watched you so long
From afar
Before I broke through
How did I…
How did I elude
Your defenses for that
Brief, beautiful time
How did I
Penetrate
Resonate
In such a way that you saw
Something outside of you
And yours
It is like the waves on the sea
Decided to sleep a while

i used to fly like peter pan

these words hurt

they wont be beaten

into submission

and i’ve become

so submissive and passive

with the making of them

the shaping of them

has long gone akward

and unreliable

it has semed

so fucking undeniable

a poetic poseur

has taken my place

and my face

isnt my own

if i cant carve up

the bones

of sentences

and make a

collection

of necklaces

we live in a church (remix)

somewhere there is a place

made of glass

shards like puzzle pieces

fitted perfectly together

a place where the light

is golden and diffused

through so many panes

we thought were shattered dreams

broken lives

sorry stories

-of the people who blame God

for the darkness of man

yet this then would be the place

where it all comes together

and makes sense

doesn’t prick your finger

it exists somewhere after forever

and began before you were

cracked and come apart

i will walk there, then

(are you coming with me?)

with no clear direction, but instinct

intuition

may I not cut my feet

(our feet?)

on illusions and trappings

not cease to trust

lose faith that there is that place

where everything begins to slide together

and become a whole

diffused light, yes

and perfect clarity

(and it pains me to think

of that simple sheet of glass)

oh apollo, where art thou?

cyclical in nature

perhaps the sign infinity

the snakes devouring eachother

but that is a harmony

an admission that

this has all happened before

and, well

you know the rest…

Hipster Hating Volume 12: Poetry Edition

All these sweet hipster honies

and Hazelden alumni

Write poetry

Too

And I look at them

With a twinge of disgust

Think to myself…

” FUCK, IS THAT YOU?”

But then I remember

This isn’t something I picked up

In a shiny ego haze

Of drug fueled invention

Or put pen to paper

At a counselor’s suggestion

Cause

I don’t know where this thing ends

Or where it began

Years have just made it what I do

and that’s part of who I am

On a fundamental level

Reduced to base identity

But still I do have to wonder

Why this low nastiness

comes at me

Why do I give a damn

What these silly girls do?

And if it makes me happy just for today,

why  worry if I’m pretty goddamn

Silly, too

poem from 2003

There can be no denial
I loved you
Like fireworks
On the fourth of July
Like snowflakes
Caught on my eyelashes
Like a climax that never ends

There can be no denial
I fell out of love
Like a perfect pale
Turned to sunburn
Like a cigarette
Burned down to the filter
Like a full moon
Obscured by so many clouds

I am not proud
That I hurt you
But I am allowed
To move on

Forgive me.

Forget me.

Here there be monsters…

So…rants and raves from a few years ago that I found to be quite exquisite in their insane rendering. I thought I should share.

May the 2nd 2007

and you know sometimes the fucking fear and loathing comes upon you and were it not for some sense of grace and dignity windows would get smashed and im kind of angry and the moon is full so that just means im off ie not crazy but certainly malcontent and its a wednesday and wednesdays are always fucking wierd. here we live in the land of swine and my ex lover in his bright lavender joker tee shirt comes up to me and looks at me but says nothing and the thing about that is that were incommunicado and i want to rip his fucking head off for the sheer fact that he has the balls to assume anything about what i think or feel and i am wearied by the fact that we can sort of read eachother like a childrens book in huge print. whatever and whatever amen.

Poem: God Knows Where I Left That Thing
I went for a walk
to God knows where
I wandered off
And ended up
In the tangles of your hair, again

Was it years
Or hours ago
I curled up cat-like in your arms
And stared at the line of your jaw
The tranquil sea in your eyes

On my journey I watched the world born
And so it goes, I watched it die

I come back now
From God knows where
Coming back and away
From your skin so milk white and
your long locks so fair

It is now and
Hours to come
I do not curl into this one
His eyes are dying leaves
He knows nothing of the sea
He wears his hair shorn
And he means nothing at all to me

Who has seen the world born
And so has watched it die

All now I can do, taking seat
Is mutter incomprehensibly and sigh