This is prophecy. God is with us.

My bones collect
at the bottom of a furnace
casted into the heart of the
deepest frozen sea.

I glimmer to passers-by.
communicating a demeanor
that keeps me alive
without deflating.
Never letting the absence
of substance allude that
a predator has become prey.

We clutch hope at the center of a shell
desperate to make it somewhere big
but what could be bigger than the unfathomable
depth of solitude.

The juices flow from tightened muscles
and regurgitated thoughts. In the absence of light
we make our own. We breath the poisons
from the bottom of church pews
envisioning the rapture and bitter endings.

a let down in the shape of a man
holding letters and fruitless attempts
to see things crystal clear in a house full of shadows
and bad days.

If i could wrestle this gun from my temple
i would build an alter to the falling sun
and let the twilight hours be the holy moment
when heaven and earth split
and we were young again
able to make mistakes
we could walk away from
without regrets
instead of shutting out the voices
of those who love you
letting the waves pull you.

and at the bottom of it all
is where you exist
holding a moment
praying to swap lives
with yourself in a past tense.

American Heartland Vol II - Hunter Gatherer

I am a creature
of an extinct tribe.
175 pounds
175 pounds over weight.
I fall into tar pits
and end up resurrected
by the next morning sun light.

I give blood to the moon
and offer water to the sand,
the sweat of my brow
stains the floors
during faithless hours
in Purgatory U.

I sustain my spirit
by living life on the edge
with a thread
clinging to a collar
where seconds are more like hours
and failure
doesnt offer
another helping hand.

God damn
this beautiful sky
cutting through the blinds
into my rapidly expanding pupils
and this bed made for two
that nests more pets
than people.

I am the procrastinator
the cursed one
with high hopes
and self destructive patterns
low patience and too much sense
but never enough change.

im destined
for great things
like the atomic bomb
and the dead astronauts
who still watch and wait.
for the love
of just one final embrace.

Maybe its my blood
filled with heavy metals
and toxic waste
alkaline waters
from the run off
of Cuban beaches.

Or the pompous fortitude
of the Scandinavian northern
desolate winter survivor.
iceberg son
drifting into the darkness
hoping to strike home
reaching out
and feeling the oil
from her cold steel chest
cover me
as she sinks
deeper to her knees
and tells me


all those lives
are worth it
for me.

i would eat every heart
and let the salt water
flood in.

The Title of something youre the only person reading.

Sore back
and blistered feet.
walking for weeks
in an afternoon day dream.

The sun
it bursts
like vegas lights
when the power switch get thrown.
A supernova
we are eclipsed

my brains
spilled out
across the fractals of broken glass
that complete the street
you grew up on.

the fire
burns deep
like coal shoveled into the furnace
of my inner peace.

I slip on
old shoes
that know how to walk out of a thousand doors
but cant learn to feel welcome
in any city.

I cant
stop this
from happening.
with chewed nails
i refuse to except
my failures as fate.

i leap
to have faith
in something
like the early Americans
once did.
Geronimo.

We searched
for the holy spirit
in between vanilla tits
deep thighs
and tained glasses
Finding cursed nights
with demons
pouring ectoplasm
all over the bathroom sink

A psychic
witnessed
the promise land
She whispered
in her raspy cigarette voice

What the fuck
Does it matter
with the price of tea in China
how your movie ends.

Everything is about someone else
fade out of focus.
To Black.

Transylvania on the radio.

I grind my teeth
expelling steam
mashing gears
picking scabs
burning bridges
feeling the gravity of a world
with no feeling.

You walk down the empty streets
in a haze of memory and false senses
of "I've been here before."
Ive done this.
many times
finding my hands shaking
before the sun comes up
smoking cigarettes
unsteady
like a house of cards
around the windy kids.

Through the years ive
molted & evolved
the thickest
skin knives and tongues alike
dream of invading my carapace
like wooden stakes
This would be a vampire embrace.
Bibles on dressers
and money on the glass.

we lived like movie stars.
and ended up nobody's.

We'll always have Romanian sunsets.

Watch Maker - INPUT 2

Some days i have faded spots in my vision.
A psychic once told me that was the fate changing before my eyes.
A shaman told me it was the moment past lives over lapped in similar circumstances.
A doctor told me it could be diabetes.

--

How it would feel to just exist on the background landscape of my mental plain.
Knee deep in a shit storm of spinning lights and whiskey flavored pipe bombs.
How the sensation of falling stars clashing against my chiseled upturned spine.
The hollow sound when old spirits of my short life come to visit
and watch an interesting young man
become that weird old guy.

The projected blue body
masturbating in the night
to highschool panty dropping day dreams
the way you used to stain a dress in a high class
establishment.
Smoking the devils lettuce and inner city church hymns.

A golden fleece draped over my ghost
keeping all the demons at bay
til the moon crashes
the way my pupils dip south
as my eyes roll back
and im covered in my
good fortunes.

god let me live.