Thursday, December 23, 2010

the concept of booze

i'll tell you
what you do,

you need to grab
that really long
on that bottle of

you need to choke
like it's only
your last meal.

you need to see the skin
on your fingers
go white.

you may not
any of this
in the morning.

you might think
this bottle
is nothing
your mother.

but you'll drink
and you'll think
it's cleaner than
holy water.

but it's not,
and yet
it almost is.

it's only something
to your personal noise,
that makes you think in terms
in your own

Sunday, December 19, 2010


it takes exactly
one cigarette
to warm up my car
a ten degree cold.

i hear a song,
circa the 1950's,
something about love
of course,
some song
i've never heard before,

but it kept me interested.

something about the guy's
that sounded so sad,
something about
this girl
should allow him
to prove his love
to her.

next thing i know,
i'm going through
a mcdonald's drivethru,
thinking about slaughtered cows,
thinking that even slaughtered
cows have love.

but i'm sure,
these cows
never see the stungun coming.

i order the number 5,
two burgers
with a coke.

it's only hunger,
i'm trying to think
that something is wrong,

Friday, December 17, 2010


we take
these names
to mean

and all they usually are,
are just bits
and pieces of smoke
heading for some type
of fan.

will never believe
the pronunciation
of a lie
to a burning cigarette
in somebody's

you will think
of it,
only as a noose,
so that
the burning cherry
will burn
that noose
that you hang from

and then
the only place
you really are,
is at the bottom of an ashtray,
looking up,
imagining shapes
in the smoke.

Saturday, November 13, 2010


the sounds
in this hallway,
off the walls,
for an escape.

the walls,
in this hallway,
are always
just a bit crooked,
enough so
that the angles
have crumbled.

when your just thinking,
you swear
that you can even hear

and when i'm standing
for that room,
guided by the hand
of voices,
it's then
that i realize
that i'm lost.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

saturday afternoon kitchen

the midafternoon sun
in the windowsill
like an old friend.
i wear it
like a blanket.

all i have
is this coffee
and some thoughts
that evaporate
with this light.

there's a tiny fly,
between the screen
and window,
trying to find
a way out.

i open the window,
light another smoke,
and the tiny fly
has found an out.

i take another sip
of coffee
as i stare
at the backporch door.

Monday, October 4, 2010


a plane flys over
the city of phoenix
at 2:05
in the morning,

probably going to
either san diego
or l.a.

i'm in the lounge
drinking my beer,
smoking a marlboro,
not thinking of much,
just studying
the hue
of the early morning

no doubt
there are people sleeping
on that plane.
no doubt
they were sleeping
in their own beds
just twenty four hours ago.

and i'm thinking,
in one week
i won't be in this lounge chair,
at this house,
with a stream of tiny mountains
watching over me,
like i have been
for the past three months.

i won't be
in this town either,

just in another place
the restlessness
will reset.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

religious findings

i clutch
this bottle
the bones
of my hand,
it's some holy grail.

the guts
and bile
of this bottle,
the opiates
create the battle.

and when i'm high
i'm most likely lying
to you,
to her,
to some god
i haven't yet met.

in my laboratory,
when there is just me
and this bottle,
and i'm searching for
the creation
of the perfect excuse,

it's there,
that my findings
just turn into
a fading buzz.

and it's always then,
that i realize
that my life
into this religion,
has won.

Friday, October 1, 2010

survival skills

just melts
and fades
into stew,
and the remnents
the glue
that binds us
to what
we have become.

we are
the victims
of a lineup
of memories,

and sometimes
it starts out good.
something always
a period is placed
on the head
instead of a crown.

and sometimes
that place
was never any good,
and the only thing
we have to show
are sleaves
of scars.

underneath the stewed muck,
it's really incomprehensible
how the individual

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

the window pane isn't even cracked

i finish this drink
and this cigarette,
i'm going to pretend
i won't remember

but really
it's just my way
of rotting
to the best
of my abilities.

i couldn't had planned
it this way,
even if i tried.

it's morning right now.
the light
peeking through
the window
tells me this.

i finished that drink
and i finished that smoke,
and still
i haven't forgotten
a thing.

Monday, September 27, 2010

my first art show

passed out,
on the concrete
swimming in
a river
of my own vomit,
right in front
of my paintings.

and nobody
sober enough
to take
that black
and white
the scene.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

4:30 rambling about steak

it's 4:31
in the goddamn
and all
i can think
is eating
new york strip.

i'm not even

just haven't had
in months.

the t.v.
is making
the background,
and all it is,
is politics.

i'm not tired
and i don't think
i'll fall
before the sun comes
out of nowhere.

but at least i know
a cow
has been slaughtered.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

of reigning gods

is nothing
but a tear drop
in a bucket.

the problem is
there are buckets
filled with oceans
of these.

i believe
in rain,

and i imagine
i'll drown
in a flood
one day,
just as
every single inch
of my insides
is swimming
in unison.

most of the time,
before jesus,
or allah,
or buddah,
humans have prayed
to some rain god
or another
it was too dry,

and i just don't know
what they did
when they were

Sunday, September 19, 2010

acts of mundane violence

i drop
three icecubes
into the bottom
of the glass.

i pour a blanket
of vodka
on top.

the bones
of the icecubes
there is a purpose
to this barbarity,
i think
to myself,
and the vodka
is at least chilled.

i take
that first sip,
with my feet
still in place
i committed
this act,

and then
i continue
that conversation
in my head,
about something
i already have forgotten

Friday, September 17, 2010

her pictures

i catch
your daughter's
pictures hanging
from the pages
of the atlas
inside my car,
to the belly
of my wallet.

you even cut
me two more
that you stuffed
inside that envelope,
with my credit cards,
and other personal
the last day
i ever saw
or her.

i always thought
that i'd see her

i knew her
for two years,
and for that one year,
i took her
to school
most mornings,
and picked her up.

i was there
for all her soccer games,
and two of her birthday parties.

i played with her,
and we had our own
imaginary world,
me and her.

for that one year
i spent more time
with her
than any adult
in her life.

and i'd give
anything i had,
just for one more.

but tell me,
now that your gone
and everyday
i slip
just a little bit more
from her mind.

please tell me
how i should interpret
these pictures
of a 9 year old
little girl.

the first phase

we are
the type
of people
that will lose
in the arms
of alcohol's

and yes,
we must forget
about the drugs,
and the pretty girls
with shiny knives,
the time being.

if anything,
we have created ourselves
perfectly fucked,
in an image
that is more fitted
to us.

we are this,
the canvas,
and this skinny piece
of white paper,
at the knees.

and me,
we will be lucky enough
to die
one day,
but my god,
we will die
with our hearts
on that proper steel

it's that way,
and i promise that
nothing else
will kill us.

and when
they ask about
long after
our bones
are nothing
but compost,
with some type
of bent halo,

we will laugh,
that we were
some type
of god,
making belief
on this
stale earth.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

take drugs and stay in school

it starts out
with santa,
it morphs
into jesus.

and all along
your being told
what to do.

they tell you to study,
or else
you'll end up
on drugs.

as a compromise,
after the drugs,
and after the studying,
you drink,
that's what your father
and that's what his father

just after the rebellion,
they tell you to pick
a side,
or right, but
your wrong
either side.

our brains were lost
from the very first delusion
we were fed.

it's no wonder why
we are a nation
finding salvation
inside the church
of a pill,
just as the bottle
is emptied.

ruptured tendon

creating nightmares.

writing them
in the front part
of my brain,
and then
they are acted out
on the left side
of my chest.

i hate this stage,
and i just don't know
to erase this.

for three days
in a row,
they wake me,
these dreams,
with the gentleness
of a chainsaw.

and i can't even remember
the guts
or the faces
or even

these dreams
or these thoughts
to any concourse
of contentment,
the plans
haven't been traced,

and the only thing
i could ever draw
is knots.

Saturday, September 11, 2010


the nectar
is pulled
and streched,
then chewed.

it's that easy.

it tastes good,
they will come
for more.

the best parts are
past negativity.

of course,
there is nothing
but cracks
in the wilt
of the host's body.

by this time
the nectar has
already been digested,
leaving nothing
but waste.

nobody knows
where the soul of
dead nectar goes,

there are always
more bees.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

a thought of two years

you hold my hand,
i'll hold yours.

i'll hold yours
like it means

we'll watch
all those movies,
side by side,
with the precision
of a clock.

we'll fuck
on beds,
our parents beds,
we'll fuck indoors
and out.

we'll do this damn near
almost every day,
multiple times,
some times.

i'll even show you
what my tears look like,
when nobody is looking.

you showed me yours,
and i'll never tell.

but then,
all of a sudden,
a wall appears
that breaks our grip,
and there is always
some celestial body
that disintegrates
into the very being
of dust.

you go your way,
and i'll go mine,

and there will always be someone,
to watch that movie,
to break that bed,
to catch that tear.

and there we go,
once again,
disappearing into
the distance,
this thing called

and really,
it's no different than
the other her's,
the other him's.

but maybe,

one day,
your trapped
in traffic,
one of our songs
will appear
through the radio,

or maybe,
i'll pass by some
on the street,
with the same replica
of your eyes,

we will remember,
something good,
even if it's just
for one minute.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

because you could just walk away

as we wander
from here
to everywhere,

but really

it's just a matter
that there will be
and shit,
and magnetic
that will eventually
form a film
around our eyes.

and within the haste,
of this journey,
you will never remember
to wipe your eyes.

every once in awhile,
when you are tired,
and your feet
just need to take
a breath,

you will sit down,
on the side of the road,
almost like roadkill,

and there she is.

she is actually willing
to wipe the shit,
and dirt,
and debris
from your overexposed
for free.

you let her.

and she cured
your fatigue,
every night,
for a lifetime,
if you let her.

but to you,
sitting is just a

and there is just everything
that you haven't seen.

you stand up,
and peer
into the darkness,
worse than a thief.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

campfire reaction

we take this life,
in which we are granted.
we place it on a stick,
and hold it
next to the fire.

we turn the stick,
are never satisfied,

we just toss this meat
into the fire.

what we burn,
makes any sense.

and all we have
are these thoughts,
and these reactions,
and this bottle
of cheap wine,
and still,
it's never enough.

and my god,
if we only knew
what enough
we'd be settled
just a little bit

and i'd even bet
we'll never be happy,
until each
and every piece of meat
we feed this
some piece
of perfection,
that we place
right before our faces.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

a struggling of noises

it's been
a brutal summer.

nothing but
a dagger
slitting into
tiny pieces
of my brain,
i think,
on any given
of the evening.

on most nights,
i'd just sit outside
on the patio,
i forgot
what i was trying to

all that you can hear
up here,
is a space filled
with crickets.

at first,
you want to kill them,

after a while,
you begin to understand
they are saying,
and you appreciate
the diversion
from the sounds
and echoes
that are
thrashing about
your insides.

and all it is,
is communication.

maybe they're right,

and maybe
i never thought
that one day
i'd be eavesdropping
on the conversations
of crickets,

it's too late,
and everything
always happens
like this.

it's already
and i haven't
in two months.

right now
i'm tired,
and all i want
to lie down.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

three beers later

i wear a cubs shirt,
they try to speak to
the couple selling hotdogs
in front
of the bar.

her husband
is from chicago,

so i say
and give them
the weakest
thumbs up
i could muster.

in here,
i purchase
a beer,
and am introduced
to these two guys
i've already been
introduced to

one minute
of indifferent conversation
passes by,
i walk outside
for a smoke.

i study these people
50 something year old guys
with long
and dying gray hair,
in their twenties.
in their twenties,
trapped in some
rock' n' roll
video dream.

nobody here
is going anywhere,
back to this bar.

i find some open space,
begin my second
and the girl
to my left
wants to talk
to me.

and there's just nothing
i want to say
to her, or
to the wounded dreamers, nor
to coctail waitress
with the very small

this summer
has already been
long enough.

every piece of a lie,
every self-sale,
every introduction
has already been
spoken, tonight,
and every single night
the the birth
of the first desire.

as politely
as i can,
i finish my beer
and navigate
a maze
of people,
until i find myself
on the outside.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

to begin the next

you just
want to wear
the inside
of her hand,
like it was yours.

it's one of those
that there are storms,
hovering, over
the breath
of phoenix.

she's nowhere
to be found.

she won't return
your texts,
your emails,
your prayers.

you've done something

she's gone.

you will never
hold her face
the skin
of your hands.

you know this,
than than that one,
always make you

she's gone,

and all you can do
is spy on that valley
of lights
and initially begin
the next.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

laughing through walls

the walls
were skinnier
than i thought.

on the other side,
all i could hear
was your laughter.

you were with
the neighbors,

i was laid
on my side,
with my black hoodie
protecting my head,
in our apartment,
to your happiness
eating through
the cinder block

i wasn't wondering
you could be laughing.

i was just trying
to remember
what we were fighting

Sunday, August 22, 2010

how explosives are made

you craddle
this grenade
within the heat
of your hands
like it's some jesus.

you guard
this grenade
with every ounce
fight you have
in you,
like it's your only

but every once in awhile
you meet someone,
and the conversation
is good.
you are distracted
by their shine,
and all you want to do
is hover
in their shimmer.

nothing else exists.

but it's then,
when you forget
about that grenade
resting in your hand.

and you notice the pin,
on the other person's

Monday, August 16, 2010


i think
if we close our eyes
really, really tight,
tight enough
not to let any light

we can pretend
that we were
never there.

we could imagine
that there was never
any bed
where we played with dreams
until we molded them
into ours.

maybe those cities
and towns
that we captured
had no flag, and
and we were left
with the make believe.

but it's then,
at that moment
my eyelids
begin choking my eyes,
and everything inside
my brain

it's then,
when i open my eyes,
and all that i can see
is everything i remember.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


it's that inbetween
stage, where
the amount of cigarettes
just seems absurd.

the time wasted
on the internet,
on those three sites,
the ones where you just
back and forth
like ping pong,
and nothing happens.

when you realize you've thrown away
another night
life's neck.

the thoughts
are still there,
plotting to eat
what little sanity
you have left,
though they have just
a little less hunger
these days.

you notice
the fog
begin to lift
its heavy breath,

enough so, that
right in front of you,
is a real live mountain,
for you to climb.

and your ready,
little by little,
inbetween the nightmares
and vodka,

you resume charting
a map up that mountain.

and all that your going to leave
is the shell
of your ghost.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

we are the targets

we are all murderers,
afraid of getting caught.

we kill people everyday,
with words,
with actions,
with excuses,
with nothing but an emotion
in a thought.

we are breed to react
to what's right there
in front of our faces,
squishing hearts and
dripping toxins on minds
in the process.

we are consistant like this,
and it never matters how much
we love
this person or that person

we put on our clothes
in the morning,
one head and
one limb at a time,
just like any assassin.

and we never think
about how many stitches
our targets will need
as we walk away.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

the deepest cracks

the night
is the worst.

that's when all the shadows
come out of hiding.

and your alone,
states away
from everyone.

you might as well be
in the remotest cabin
in siberia.

you don't even remember
being this alone,

and with the nearest bar
being ten miles away,
with this state's drinking
it's just easier
to drink alone.

i have a smoke outside,
and all i can hear are
the deafening sounds
of crickets
and traffic
that is too far away
to see.

i miss the sounds
of a 9 year old laughing,
of nothing but clutter
and chaos
and burnt food
on the stove,
in a tiny two bedroom

i miss my family.

and there is nothing but
pictures inside
this camera of all of this,
and i just don't know how
to erase any of it.

on nights like these,
this is when
you notice how
the cracking begins
in your chest,
and swims up
to the highest point
on your brain,
better than any shark.

and then
you realize
where your own hell

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

the funny thing about ghosts

these ghosts
always reminding you
of scabs,
and you know they're

they married you,
when you were passed
on that one park
in chicago. that,
or they placed
a silly little ring
on your finger,
as you were distracted,
as your nose
was being rubbed
in shit, by either
your mother
or your father.

there is no chance
for divorce
or seperation.

this wring
is actually an appendage,
around your neck,
cutting off
life to your brain.

they will follow you, even
when you run away
towards a safety.

it might take one month.
it might take 2 years.

they will find you.

and once they find
the only thing you
can do
is set
an extra plate
for dinner.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

and now less than one month later

i picked up the last
of my things, collected,
and left on the patio.

his car was still there,
and with the curtains closed.
i'm sure he was there,
as you were at work.

i parked next to him.

two years,
three months,
and eighteen days later,
it all comes down to this.

and if it seems
that i don't want to be
it's probably because i don't.

the tears weren't even allowed
to dry after one week,
before he was allowed to
sleep in our bed,
smoke cigarettes on our patio,
into that jesus ashtry we got
in jerome.

and now he pisses in the same toilet
where i once pissed.

and it's not the fact
that i'm still paying half
the rent.

it's not even the idea
that i now possess the bedsheets
that both him and i
slept on, while you were


it's the way
in which you spit me
as the bad guy
when i mention that
i never want to step foot
this place,
that was once
my home.

Friday, July 23, 2010

when it's time for clouds

one day
these sounds
and thoughts
that permeate
throughout my brain,
will be nothing but
dissipation behind
the music of

when that time
i want to playing
in the nighttime clouds.

i want to pinch
the moon,
and make it laugh.

i will swim
up there,
between the slits
in the clouds.

at this time
will only be
a fairytale.

and if your watching
on the ground,
where the crickets
make sense,
just know
that i'll be better off
up there.

1:01 a.m.

The summer was great for Miranda. She had met Tony just before things had ended with her ex. And well, the excitement of sleeping with a 19 year old boy was too irresistable to her.
Tony took the summer job at the Florida Tile Company because his father was one of the people who ran the company, and hey, it put some extra change in his pocket for video games. His first year of college was completed, and he was after all, becoming a man.
Miranda was in charge of Tony. He would help her with all the filing, in the billing department, that hadn't gotten filed in four months. No one had time to do that anymore.
She thought he was cute, with his tall, slim, awkward physique. He was nice to her, and she even caught him checking her out a few times.
It wasn't long before she made the decision that she had to have him. She was in love with the idea that she could get a boy 13 years her junior to become attracted to her.

It had already been one month since Tony had gone back to school. They had talked everyday on the phone, always when she was going home from work, and then at night before she went to bed.
They had visited eachother every other weekend. He came up one weekend and stayed at her place. Then the following time, they had gotten a hotel room near campus, where they just stayed in and ordered room service. It was nice. She missed Tony, and that summer.
It was like clockwork, Tony would always call her at precisely midnight, everynight, Monday thru Sunday. It was now 12:15. Miranda was staring through her cellphone screen, beginning to wonder. With her lips pierced, she texted Tony "hi sweetie, everything ok?" Surely he was just in the middle of a video game, he had just gotten some video game that just came out last night.
She touched her screen to see the time. 12:18, and still no response. Tony always responded right away.
Miranda got off the couch and went into the bathroom to relieve herself. She flushed the toilet and examined her face in the mirror. Still got it for my age, she thought to herself. Not bad, hardly any more wrinkles besides her eyes since she started using that cream.
12:26. still nothing from Tony. She checked her phone just to make sure she didn't miss anything. She didn't, and she expected that.
12:27. goddamnit Tony, she thought to herself.
12:28 she couldn't take it anymore, "where r u??"
She hated herself and Tony at that moment. She loved that Tony had never let her down, and had always called her. She thought and couldn't remember ever having to call him, when he said he'd call her, since they had secretly gotten together. She was still amazed and proud of the fact that nobody had found out about her and Tony, especially with their co-workers. Though she was sure that Tony had probably bragged about his conquest to at least a few of his friends. She didn't mind this. She kind of liked to imagine that his friends would surely be jealous of Tony and his older woman.
12:40. Still nothing from Tony. Miranda was on her 5th cigarette since midnight. Now the thoughts starting creeping in. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. What if he's at a party. He's only 19 and in college, of course he's going to drink. FUUUCK. He's probably talking to a girl right now. My body has nothing on a college girls. FUUUCK.
She called him. Each ring seemed like an eternity to her. Then on the fifth ring his voice mail came up. "TONY", her voice jumped, "Just wondering what's going on. You've never done this before. PLEASE call me when you get this."
Miranda got up off the couch once more, went out to the patio to have another smoke. She exhaled a loud sigh just before she lit up.
She knew her and Tony wouldn't last forever. But still, she enjoyed his company, and felt amazingly younger each and every time she was with him. She figured one day she would just meet someone closer to her age, and begin an adult relationship with whomever this person was.
1:o1. Not a word from Tony yet. She went to the computer and logged into her facebook account. No messages, nothing written on her wall in days. It didn't surprise her. Since she had been together with Tony, she kind of had lost track of the outside world, as was her habit when she was involved with a guy. Still, visions of Tony and another coed kept piercing her brain like freshly made needles. She knew something was up with Tony.
"FUUUCK." This time she screamed. She hoped that didn't wake up her daughter who was sleeping upstairs.

the sinking in mud

out there
in the mud,
where everybody sinks,
i just want you to remember
how my eyes felt as
i held your hand,
promising to never
let go.

the sun was there.
it was always there.
i don't know how you didn't see

and i know you.
i know how beautifully complicated
your insides are,
and i was good with what
i saw.

sometimes people give
everything, including
their burning flesh,
and it's still
never enough.

and here we are
back in the mud.

you sever my hand
at the wrist,
with that hand still in yours.

i handed it to you,
and let it slip.

and at this point
there is nothing left
to do,
but step back
and head towards the mud's
shore, fighting the urge
to look back.

Monday, July 19, 2010

the time it was easy

the count of three,
we'll take our sides.

you'll take a lover,
and i'll take my time.

nothing is ever

i'll shoot
you've got a shield
made of blinding mirrors.

you'll shoot
i'll pretend
i'm wearing
a halo.

the center
of this earth
was once
of two people.

and now,
if your going to believe
in absolute
concrete foundations,
they don't exist.

we made fragments
out of them
with sledgehammers.

and all we'll ever be
is a trillion tiny

the only thing
we can hope for,
is that we're thankful
for this dust.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

one piece

there is no skin
to protect us, and
the buzzards
are just pecking
at our meat.

we lie here,
in the afternoon
july sun.

shade is only
20 miles away.

i can see his big face,
with his big fat smile
eclipsing the sun.

and this doesn't help,
because i'm here,
and he's there,
and the lines of communication
have been snipped
by a beautiful brain
that cared
just a little too much.

but i'll see you.

i'll see you just as soon
as my flesh is picked
and my brain is intact
in one peace.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

boys and girls

there you were,
off the plane,
and the only thing we had
were footsteps,
from museums
to the grocery store,
all the way to hood river
and back.

we flew
that easy.

then the move,
from me to you,
let's bunker down
learn to be a family.

our debts are almost paid

and let's go buy a better bed
and rent a bigger home.

you'll beat me
at our one millionth game
of rummy.
you always do.

in ten years time,
we'll even own our very
own artspace.

we even have a name
for it.

in the meantime,
let's buy cultural figurines
from second hand stores and
give them names.

you'll go to my family
i'll go to yours.

and what we have
is always enough.

but now
we both know, enough is
just never enough.

and now,
there is a boy
sleeping in our bed,
probably on the same side
where i once slept.

with your body
stretched across
on that same movie couch,
where we posed
for new years pictures.

some day
that bed,
and that sofa,
and the deck of cards,
even the figurines
that we gave names
will be replaced.

you'll always win
at cards.

and someday
we'll forget that we
even lived

Monday, July 12, 2010

the process of anosmia

on this patio
a random breeze
carves me
like a butchers knife.

i still don't know
where it came from.

i can still smell your
scent like a bee
on a bloom,

but it's a little less
than yesterday.

i still don't want to
that the human heart
is nothing
more than a kite
on greasy string,
with icicle hands
trying to hang on,

but it is,

and memories
will one day turn into

in five years
these mountains
bowing before my eyes
will still be here.

and in five years time
this scent
will be nothing more
than a shrub
on a tomb.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

my shoes in this town

this entire town reminds me
of you, and
there ain't a damn thing
i can do about it.

we left every inch
of our footprints
with their halos,
and well traveled soles
and shopping malls.

is the only thing
i can remember.

and now
that your gone,
and i'm still inside
the oven
that is this town,
the only thing
i can do
is measure
for a new pair
of shoes.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

when my head falls off

one of these days
my head
is going to fall off.

it's not going to be
or comedic.

it'll be more like fresh
toast on the kitchen
waiting on a dog.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

school rd.

a crow
sits on a stopsign,
there is never
a cloud
in the sky,
just people.

there she is,
existence, and
not a care
in the world.

sometimes all there is,
is give

and how beautiful
it must be
not to care,
when you give it
all away.

and if you care,
some crow will eat
it's like this,
and it never makes

Monday, July 5, 2010

in between albuquerque and phoenix is flagstaff

the sun sets
in my eyes

this table,
on san francisco st,
flagstaff, az
has always been

i once slept
in this town
a million times,
making hangovers
as easy
microwave food.

there were girls,
and books,
just like any other

i only stopped here
for a moment,
to get a coffee
the chest
some stupid

in a few minutes
i'll be gone.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

the sadness as we become strangers

they say phoenix is
an oven,
around the 4th
of july.

this parking lot
is hell,
and there ain't a damn
thing anybody can do
about this.

she arrives
with her daughter.
we smoke a cigarette
like zombies,
not really knowing what
to say,

we stare at whatever
is in front of us
and all i know
is that my brain
keeps getting in
the way.

people are walking past us
with their red,
white, and blue

her daughter
is reading her book.

we sign the papers
that our account is

the banker
keeps a respectful distance.

the divorce is finalized.
a future that won't be
is carried by the
back to the heavens.

her daughter and i hug
one last time,
she kisses me
one last time.

and i hold her,
like i'm tattooing
my heart
in her chest.
i never want
to leave that little girls

we divide
in opposite directions,
walking back to
our cars.

if i look back
i know
they'd be able
to hear each and
every tear drop
hit the concrete.

i just wanted to wait
till i got in the car.

it is on this day that
i drowned myself
in a safeway
parking lot.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

and they say it doesn't rain in phoenix

it began.
with two pairs
of feet,
walking to
the other pair,
one complete

this happened
in chicago.

these conjoined
feet walked
underneath the best part
of the sky.

these feet made maps.

these feet constructed
a home.

and two years
these feet seperated,

leaving footprints
of mud

Sunday, June 27, 2010

after one week

the cars go by
like a cricket's dream.

the road,
to just to left,
feels like
it's 100 miles away.

and this table,
where i sip
my coffee, just
isn't stable.

it still doesn't make
even after one

five ladies enter the
afraid to look
at me,
with a cloud of cigarette
hovering around my head
like a halo.

i don't expect them
to understand.

non verbal noise
is tricky.

Saturday, June 26, 2010


the world clothes us
in skin,
and the only thing we have
is survival.

and upon this skin,
we have created
our own cuts,
and sometimes
somebody else
grips that knife
over our skin,
carving another

and in the mean time
we are searching for
a home,
or a strip of land
to dig
a foundation.

these nights are cold
when the cuts hurt,
you just want somebody
who has a bandaid,
or at times,
just a warm body.

one morning,
you wake up

alone once more,
and the cuts still sting
worse than a million
and this hangover
just doesn't matter.

is just a stranger

and one day,
just maybe,
if we have a strong enough
we'll have the pockets
to hold onto
what we have.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

the aftermath of the cutting of the chord, day one

i could be shot by arrows
a million times,
and this pain
won't go away.

it builds up
from the bottom of my stomach.
it runs north.
it builds up
to the top of my brain.
it explodes.

i've already paced
the patio a million times,
in the hopes that this makes

it doesn't.
and neither do
the stars,
or the times you wish
upon them.

it's the realization that your
without the ability to blink.

you remember the last
you shared a bed and blanket.
coffee and cigarette
on the patio,
and the last time
you held her hand.

you want to die,
and eventually you will die,
but your still numb.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

born again

all the wooden jesus's and
their nails
catch up to you
like you deserve it.

when the only thing you have left is
and a friend
the other end of line,
it's always enough.

it doesn't make sense
we are all crazy,
shooting up every kind of nail,
in the hopes that we won't stop
running away from

the nightmares,
always right there,
scratching the bottom
stomach lining,
worse than meathooks.

when the nightmares have
and the nails have become
but a placebo,
and the only thing you have
left is digestion.

this works.

Friday, June 18, 2010


one day.
we'll all be dead.

and thank god.

it won't matter that she hates

it won't matter your nothing
but numb.

none of this will matter.

the only thing
that will matter,
is that your home.

Friday, June 11, 2010


when the sky
when we are running
for a shelter
or a rock,
and we are tripping
on heads.

you can't find anyone,
not even the flash
of a stranger,
and you want to.

this is running
and there's too many

the sky breaks
like a jigsaw puzzle.

you have nothing left
to do
but sit.

the remains,
and whatever is left
will crown