I’m dead inside because of you.
I see those times we shared
laughing and being real
until you left me hanging.

It’s not fair being human.
I want you more than anything—
even toast, like when we used
stay up late at night smoking weed and sharing
secrets.
Even the dark ones that nobody tells
because they make them look bad.

I want that feeling again.
That desire to be more.
But alas, this is not my shore to
get off on.
Because I’m drowning and
not walking on solid surfaces.

I want to be warm like a blanket.
I want to shower you with kisses.
But instead you shower me with a
cold shoulder and an air about you
like you think you’re better than me.

You empty me
and make me cry.
I’ll never love again.
Because I’m no longer a virgin.
And you took away my chances at heaven.

I knelt down next to him,
The knee of my pants quickly
Sucked up some of the blood.
I propped his head up on the
Railroad track.
The brown grass devoured
The blood like water, and
Suddenly the sun stood up
Accusing me.
The trail of his intestines
Slithered through the grass
And underneath the overturned car.
The two wheels facing me were
Still spinning.
I couldn’t tell if the sky was
Red or black.
Finally, the bright white of his
Eyes and the flies landing in the
Half of his face that remained
Attached to his skull made
My decision for me.
Carefully, I wrapped my belt
Around his neck and placed
My shoes onto his shoulders.
Dying through suffocation is
Supposed to be euphoric, like
Falling asleep. The
Clawing of his fingernails on
My jeans seemed to disagree.

I wanted some good old fashioned schizophrenia the other day,
some conflicting mind interest to get the ‘ole ticker clicking.

At first I was hesitant not wanting to pursue conflicting questions
arisen but instead pursue some truth and forget this blind vision.

Turns out the mind doesn’t work that way being mistaken for something
else rather than that pigeon nibbling on its feathers outside the window

by the kitchen eating Lord! knows what between its feathers
exploring its beak, it’s a shame this fella can’t speak.

I’ve got this box of radiation that likes to hang out
sending ripples into my eardrum trying to make meanings.

My lips don’t make this same frequency is it really happening
I don’t even know what Wolf Blitzer sounds like in real time

In my mind he happens to carry a clipboard and a beard on his face
facing this contraption camera capturing captivating careers

of tacit hatespeak. I want to understand Islamo-Fascism and who their leader is
and the basis of this philosophy and why it’s not made so concrete

to me and you and everybody between the news and the truth
and this schizophrenic dive bar.

Will a poet’s words be remembered after the drought of many seasons?
How do you organize the abrupt snap from the dream when you’re all disoriented—science?
When the leaves whisper in your ear, why don’t you stop to listen?
When you laugh, do you subdue it or laugh loudly that others might ask what you are laughing about?
When did a shiny new penny lose its appeal?
Where have the zeppelins gone that turn clouds of ash?
Are they just another set of lies told to make weak minds believe?
What is the sound of all the world’s music played rhythmically together?
What negative space did you break through today?
Why does the pen put me down whenever I pick it up?
When we step into our slippers, do they sigh with plentitude?
When Alaska finally collides with Russia, will the blue of one country on the map mix with the yellow of the other to create green?
Is twenty going to feel any different?
When will eighty be the new twenty?
So now that we are so bored is it ok that I play video games while we fuck?
Why does life sometimes seem like a cycle of awakenings and sleepings?
Jesus, how many times have I eaten of you, how many thimbles of your blood will it take me to get drunk, no, plastered?
When does Sunday rest for prayer?
When will we remember our claws, our languageless dreams?
Why does the dictionary dictate our words, when it is we that dictate the dictionary?

Thinking of my future.
I picture father’s face,
And realize,
That I’ve
Liked the Nobel Prize.
Since always.
It carved my smile.
The prize that’s never,
Advertised.
Like the pictures flashing
on all four walls,
That the boy’s black pupil,
Magnifies.
Laughter sickly rises.
From Radiation Roy.
That inanimate,
Mushroom-
fuck blindfold,
That changed all mankind.
Is paid,
to try,
To change my mind.

I’m trying in turn, to turn
This Indian summer,
And unwrap confusion.
With just you and,
my, Shaking,
Hands as my, case against apathy.
It’s in flames
My state, fair
Wisconsin, is
Frying, but ma
Says, we must try to stay happy.

I could write of the great divides.
In America.
Or the Americas.
But, rather.
I’d like to be with my selfish right now.
I would like to alter my state,
Of being, legally,
Become officially obliterated.
One night only.
Thanks folks, I’ll be here all week.
Herbert Hoover said:
Blessed be the young,
For they will inherit our national debt.
I say, Blessed be the embryos,
For we value their lives more than our own,
Than our poor.
Than our tired.
Than our weary.
Here I am speaking again,
Naively, foolishly, of the divide.
And on which side am I.
I still must get up,
And carry out my duties.
And carry out the trash.
I must face the faces,
I still must deface, to save face,
Public places. With a spray can,
I will rise, to alpha male status,
And forget the void behind me,
a hindrance, behind me.
I will be ecstatic, plastic sunshine,
A sublime meld,
intertwined, pop culture,
Prophecy, and pharmaceuticals…
I will be on the cover of your magazines,
I will enter living rooms and shit in T.V. Dinners
Replace them with prime rib and sweet corn,
Place medals of Honor, across the bloated hearts of the obese.
I will tear compassion a new ass hole.
And eat social workers for breakfast.
Not to be brash
Not at all Condescending,
Simply overwhelming.
Trying to play- A childs game
Hopscotch cross the great divide

I am a real man.
I know
everything.
I am a good Christian.
I know that the Great Gatsby is trash.
That Fitzgerald had a money fetish, and no more class than,
Charles Manson,
And no talent.
They had a knack to,
engage an audience.
English majors who dig symbolism,
And teen rebels who hate their parents,
All cream themselves simultaneously.
I don’t, I laugh,
“pathetic!”, I cry.
Give me:
Bukowski, and raw meat.
Season it with pepper spray, MSG, and aspartame.
Give me grain alcohol, LSD, and Ol’ Dirty Bastard.
I want:
trench warfare, heroin, and orgasms.
I want hardcore pornography, Shakespearean tragedy, and pyrotechnics.
I want hydroponic marijuana, Needles, and mentholated cigarettes.
I want cancer, photographs of the deceased
AIDS, and heart attacks.
I want scolding black coffee, and ice cold showers.
I want heartbreak to physically break hearts again,
some good ol’ blackmail, and genocide.
I want impenetrable fences built along all borders.
I want hone$t politicians, and dirt
poor royalty.
I want all cell phones broken, right now.
All tires slashed,
All windows smashed
with bare fists,
right now.
blood, right now.
I want a fur coat made from something endangered, and
Warm blood in my bucket of popcorn chicken.
I want a Greek goddess with anorexia.
I want a bi-partisan federal
agenda for total chaos.
I want to wage nuclear war with the rest of the world.
I will write love letters to the enemy, and
Suicide notes signed, Jesus Christ and Elvis Presley
I would have paid Judas off in store credit.
I am the idle idol.
I am a modern man.

This gross thickening feeling
Collecting in my stomach
At my base,
I feel weighted down
She gives off a stifling musty air
Suffocating
My short little breaths
I do not want this
Pain in my legs
Below my waist
Tingle in my wrist
Disdain for my face
A reflection I can’t touch
A girl I couldn’t name
She swarms around me,
With her bony little fingers
Wrapped around my hair
Pulling back with ease
The strands slip through her fingers,
Coming out in clumps,
They fall loosely to the floor.
I stand abaist
Reflected in a frigid mirror,
Emotionless, cold
My head feeling like my soul exposed
Breaking points hang loosely in the air
And I’m just dangling
Waiting for my thread to break
It bends from my weight
A bruised discoloration of the skin
Fragile limbs,
Hang from a vaporous body
Effortlessly
The uncomfortable determination
A cold, like I’ve never known
Shakes me hard and forces me
To spill
A fluid melody
Everything I touch
Stain a dark hue of red
The heat,
It burns
Melting the words that left my lips
They took my breath with them
A soft choking sound is all I am
Gasp for just a little taste
Of her bony hands to twist around my waist
Follow close inside her foot steps
The control,
Diminishing
The harrowed look
Flickers from her eyes
Incinerating any will to survive

East, West are just words
Wind’s direction matters not
Lonesome traveller

Catharsis feels good
I bet you think that’s epic
But truth is, I’m fucked