the placebo effect

the problem is,
is that this world
continuously gets sucked
through
our ears and eyes,
causing derailments
and explosions in our brains.

we couldn't avoid this if we tried.

we are the distraction
and we are the fix,
the curiosity
brought upon
by some god's experiment.

it's no wonder
why
this is a planet stacked with
junkies and dreamers
and fundamentalists,
searching for some kind of
cure,
when really
this is only the placebo.

the life of names

i.
the earth is flung,
around a star
at 67,000 mph as a matter of fact,

we have nicknamed this star
the sun.

there are an infinite amount
of stars
named the sun,
but each planet
in our own family
has a real name.

the earth just runs around
in circles,
like some dog
chasing its tail,

it never stops.

ii.
here,
on the skin
and within the pores
of this planet,
the same guy
begs for change,
between the train cars,
i've seen him before
and i recognize the pitch
of his voice.

teenagers move
from car to car.
another homeless lady has made
a bed, in the seats in front of me.

the white couple just wants to get
the hell of this moving train.

and the only thing i can do
is just stare out the window
like i'm going to see something
for the first time.

iii.
i'll be back,
they'll be back,
you'll be back,
even
if none of us want to be
back
hunting circles
on this particular line.

iv.
every single one of us has
a name,
even those dogs
that chase their tails.

v.
nobody ever explains what happens
after we're dead,
when the last human being
who remembers our name
is gone.

the songs you remember from your mother's car

you remember
some of the songs
on the radio,
in the back seat
of your mother's car,
when she listened to music.

you didn't really pay attention
but
you were always going somewhere,
safe,
protected from the darkness
of beings.

and as the years have passed
inbetween now
and then,
everything has happened.

the bullies aren't kids anymore,
they become the bottle
and the cellophane baggie
that lead you to the bottom
of a squad car.

jobs have fangs,
feeding on nothing
but your veins.
and love is a chinese star
caught
on the jugular
of some of your years.

monsters are breastfed this way.

then
much later,
one of those songs
from decades ago
explodes somewhere
inbetween your brain
and celestial radio.

nothing is safe anymore,
except
for that thought
in the backseat
of your mother's car.

you remember this,
as you are drunk
and alone.

who they were

you never forget
skin
and the heat
emanating
from those pores,
like heat lamps
on
the coldest day of the year.

they'll wrap you,
warmer,
in a way that only survival
can dictate.

then
everything just seems to happen,
somebody cuts the chord,
they slowly begin to float.

sometimes you'll reach
but it's never enough
to hold.

you reach
with nothing on the ground
but your toes.

they float further,
into the mouth
of the horizon,
until
they are nothing but pinpricks
piercing your eyes
and working their way
into a ventricle in your heart.

then
they float even further,
beyond blood,
until they dissipate
into scattering wisps
of ghosts.

june

i sweat, even though
the only thing i am wearing
is a pair
of cut off jean shorts.

no a/c
in this apartment.

i've just been too lazy
to install the wall unit i bought
two weeks ago,
and the hair
growing out of my brain
and face
feels like wool.

i almost like it this way
and i did leave
a few windows open.

early june in chicago
is spun of humidity
and girls wearing
mostly skin.

the calendar
that god made
was intended this way.

right now
all i can hear are the screams
and moans
permeating through
the mouths
of every single bardoor
on this block,

and all i can do
is listen
like its a piece of noise
flung out
by some mother nature
desperate
to give birth.

i light
one more cigarette
just as
i'm offering the remnants
of the previous one
to the bottom
of this beer can.
(a beer can
actually smoke.)

and here we are, somewhere
between the lines
and pores
of this earth,
where water cannot even help.