Finger painting.

How it feels to come alone.
tip-toeing over the internets anonymous love letters.
the way broken glass gives my feet long deep hugs.
theme songs for pets playing trash hockey with pictures
i drew when i felt something bluer than those skies
when the days had a fresh hue to them.
Like every day was 1997.


The dreamer
blowing the ballasts
on my afternoon submarine.
I am the chlorine crocodile
Floating in self loathing
and beer cans second gadget manifestation
of cigarette kamikaze receptacle.

Handsome as hammers.
i am the factory worker of your dreams.
saving frogs from street cars
and appearing negatively optimistic .
 i slumber in the sheets of the void
til a little past noon.
Wrestling with my demons leaves rest
unsatisfied.
I fall to the floor
digging in piles of dull colored
 machine washed scumbag armor.
for my first magic trick.
How to turn a boy in to a stone age smokestack.
Cromagnon man reinventing the wheel on the north side of town.
Where the weird looks
and "faggots" flows out  passing windows.

I fall in triumph
to the pavement with the thrill
of my heart beating like ten thousand,
thosand suns merged in to one small place
i get up and i go over it
again.
the hue is illuminating
i am skinned knees
and in my center.

I talk about it with her over shitty coffee.

I have probably written
enough pages of misspelled words
and poorly written feelings
of my misspent youth
jerking off in the shower to flash backs
of wet tits
and fingers gliding
as sensually as my clumsy hands could maneuver.
i bite my lip and bang my head against the tile
as I cum too soon with a dull ended feeling.

"Was it worth it."
I always ask myself...

I play back so many days of my life
I imagine myself sitting in
a shitty movie theater in my own head.
Sticky floors,
Smoke filled,
Broken seated,
Condom cupholder.

I cant be too harsh.
Some nights are better than others.
Like the night the power went out.

I am eccentric
a gypsy fortuneteller told me
last week...

My moon is in the death house.
"What the fuck, true."
 My moon is always in the death house.. 

I figured nine cigarettes for a balanced breakfast.

i am always in constant peril.

Always almost out of last chances
or free spins.
Almost always falling behind
hanging on by the strongest thread.

You stop checking your mirrors
looking over your shoulder pedaling
rush hour cave man.
Wrong  century for a wandering spirit.

I guess your not afraid of going.
Just afraid of being trapped
in tight small places.
watching home movies
cumming on sore bookmarks
in your journals creases 


This probably makes no sense.
...................................................
yea... nothing. nevermind.

A day.

Morning.

The cold chills
that wash down
your rosary pebbled backbone.
You lean forward taking the gasp of morning air.
It comes
delayed and cursed
as your pentagram gut sloshes forth
releasing the blood of our savior all over
the cigarette burned carpet.

I am alive...

-------------

Day.
 
The heat radiates
exploiting my disability
of muscle powered teleportation.
An illness of sitting still too long
thinking.
what if...?
You caught me doing it again.
 I am a ashamed of being so distant
but i am a candidate for the first cosmonaut
to set foot on the sun contest.


-------------
Night.

You feel my blood
slither in reverse
returning like snakes
from the third eye
in my wizard palm.

spinning coins
games of chance
will i make it
head is high
 tails your life is shit.
how many mulligans is regulation
are in my daily prayers
To the man upstairs.
Wishing i could pick the lock
of st peters gate.
just to hear ghost stories
by Alfred Hitchcock
put me to sleep
like it was ninteen eightynine..
before the magic sunglasses
stopped working.

I still stay up late.

Curses and Evolution

Scattered swarm
buzzing stinging
summer breezy
vacant eyed
cromagnon ice blocked
bitter boxed
and empty bagged
pretending to be a human
going places
being.

I have time to kill
that i borrowed
from dangerous jars
under my bed
full of ghosties
and ghoulies
that disengage me

Detached thoughts
like tornadoes in your shower drain
turning in a tunnel of endless waste
asking why when im flailing my arms
hoping Final Destination XII stars an
unsuspected no-named man
riding his bike into oncoming traffic
and deaths fingers are twitching in my
already shifty gears

snatching out the lights
like the last blown bulb
in a good idea factory.

If i was stronger like you
 id be self reflecting and repaving
my new identity still
drying with empty ass prints
from the lazy kids
i get desperate enough
to let shit all over me.

Im doing my best to keep
a smile on this jagged tooth mouthpiece
killing enough beers and weed
to make a highschool party
want to cut open my rib cage
and find out where the home my heart
is snowed in is.

On some rare occasions
i feel a subtle vibration come from
an empty space where they say
your restless soul lives
in a vegan cafe
profound kind of way 
that gets pussies so wet
thinking you're deep til they get disappointed
fifteen minutes after netflix vomits some monstrosity
and you realize you just dont wanna die alone.

And now im not so sure i wanna die
with watching eyes.
 An audience or an echo are going to get me the same hell
for the things ive done
and thought
and manipulated
and maneuvered
and wrecked
and crashed
and burned for.

I will always be shipwrecked
on some fucking coast
with cracked knuckles
shifty glances
looking back fondly on the five year stretch
of handsome youth i squandered
being trusting and caring

Forged by holy fire
and jesus blood
constructed out of
hexed wood
from doomed voyages
in to the brave new world.

I am
the way i was made to be.

 

Interdimentional Shift

Amalgamated creature
double feature
censured southern son.
Culling the midnight black
from the fading sky.

Vacuum space apartment
the gods playing pool
downstairs ball bust
through the night
swinging cigar comets
wizard smoke pours through
the floorboards of my Sanitarium
Planetarium

Slowly my quicksand fingers
ring the evaporating glass,
telekentic echoes
like heartbreaking wifi.

25
still alive
and in love
with dead people.

I get up everyday with the faint taste of blood
and shakey teeth
from biting off more than i can chew
and wrestling for life in the lions den
of my dreams.

Such an eccentric boy
filled with confusion
gamma rays
and a black box
filled with more
I.O.U's
and im sorry's
weekly trips to the sun
dumping feelings into the sea
is a fulltime chore.

Red sea
apollo-gizer
a million times the speed of light
drifting deeper
where days blur together
and you dont sleep
you lean back in cane furniture
craning your head
with a dying cigarette
reflecting on the times i could have did things different
and
the exact moments
where they went wrong
as you drift off at the wheel
of your cerebral mothership.

Den of Bears

A short story.

Soundtrack:

---
Water slides
through her silk roots.
The warden of the cold sun she was.
Feathers and fox blood
flowing from the chalice
tipped back
she was the deity of destruction

Wolves fur mantled over
her thin frame,
plastered firmly
around her milk white shoulders.
When she walked
the ground blighted
and burned
never to bare fruit
for endless seasons
the curse looms
in roman numerals.

Salt of the earth,
Hair of the moon-gazer
so black it swallowed the light.
the wind howled over her cracked skin.
A desert that never ended
but ended many deserters
who challenged the thorns
which hedged her exterior.
Like an oasis of beauty
pumping toxic waste from
the breast of the earth mother.

Snake venom taster
leviathan heart .
Neurosis catcher
Dream crusher.
Boulder thrower
going
to the dead gods.

Return to sender son.
raised by wolves
Wandered the sand
leaving layers of peeled skin
in footsteps
that are lost among faux waves
of never ending.

Foe waves,
i return dagger stares.
spit in-between exhausted breathes.
Tired of pulling these rattling chains.
haunting myself.

I have come in search of loving shelter.

She smirks a dead smile.
"I am the den mother"
piled bones,
A throne of misery
she sits back and reclines
semi-sided and draws her thin
long slender finger to a curl
extending it repeatedly
drawing me in.

Her nostrils flared.
exhaling visible breathes.
eyes fixed
an unbroken stare.
A specialty for finding old wounds
and feasting on the vintage
of time cured wine.

Her eyes fade from focus in ecstasy.
her belly swelled and sloshed
as she threw her hair back and laughed
letting the last drops fling upward
and back down across her face
running down her chest into
thighs.

"You are nothing
i am everything.
I am the end
as you are my morning.
I am filled
as you lay empty"

True.

"You have traveled an eternity
as i have never moved.
You have exhausted
as i am insatiable
and have sustained."

True.

"Say something!
How scared it feels....
To be alone,
To be consumed
To be cast aside
"

i am not scared
because dying
isnt everything.
i am not alone
because you are here.

Her eyes begin to widen
as she senses everything
isnt as it should be.

i too have drank venom
under the red moon

She begins to feel the aching
in her stomach grow stronger with each passing word
as her precious blood slowly
begins to flow out from her still flared nostrils,
they begin to relax. . .

I too have challenged the gods
and fought long cold nights.
In search of others
and others found me.
slinging stones
and shattering bones
instead of giving me shelter
in homely arms
and pillow chests.

I was never finished,
crawling further to an ending
where the hollow sound
drowns out your agony and spite
as you are snared by your own doings
and only you
would collapse on to knees
and know that just the opposite
has taken hold.

though it is cold
and i am alone
and my hand is shaking
i am not afraid

Yes i am
here mortally snatched
in passing
with empty belly
while you sit full
and feasted of pestilence.

Her eyes begin to roll back
as she makes final pleas.

for i am nobody and my life
is just your day.
Im sorry
but this day is eclipsed.
You will never see the light
or feel its warmth again.

and
Yes i will die
here today
but not before

the end...

You
cum way
harder than you
want to
when thinking about
the people you
hate the most.

å

Adaptation in its purist form.
i feel the cold hands of old ghosts
grasping at my flesh,

Peeling back
my inner sanctum.
Climbing my highest mountain.
The challenges of staying unparallelled
is learning a process that self replicates
so i dont have to be
a fire fly at night
trapped in jars
tabbed out bars
looking at the same old newspapers
being printed
over the same tired eyes.
drink after drink after drink.

Lightning bulbs
News flashes.
Remember that from seven years ago
when you werent there.
and you look down
on the tired
sleepy folks
in knee banging
photo-booths
photosynthesizing
blood rushing to
love muscles
growing in artificial timelapse .


She rubs her demon pit
as she repeats those old words
the way i would recite them
like i was by myself
shouting the wrong lines
to every song.
a cigarette dragging
exaggerated lines
in the darkness connecting
the constellations.

because it made her smile
like after fucking high fives
and underhanded
movements to strike kings
off horses
because the game isnt
fun if you cant win.
We act like
these petty battles
mean everything.
That theres no war on life
and im not killing it everyday.
Rough to the touch
radioactive rhythm
to the busted engine
under the disposable exterior
passed from generation
to longer lonelier generation.

afraid of dying
in coffins shaped
like old black walls
with the sounds of owls
calling the scores
when you already
know your team lost
and the wager
was a laptop full of bad memories.


id give it all away. . .

Crash my internal memory
shifting out of it
like the cut out masks
when we were kids
I could disappear a hell of a lot better
than those days
where i could change my shirt.
and wake up in a new city
with a wallet full of pictures of
sunsets and burning bodies

Where Charlie didnt surf
and the napalm wasnt what i was breathing
in and out
over and over
til my ashes were tired
of the heat...
of the bra busting...
and pussy eating in back seats.
rooms
in the eve of looming comets
where everyone finally said what they meant
and for one night
everyone told the truth

Just like
In the beginning....
When the universe was still young
and expanding.
Particles of ash, ice & primitive gas swirled together
and created a rudimentary basis for life as we know it.

And then there was light.

Bordom Cosmonaut

I find myself
in a constant melting atmosphere.
the whisper of old hooves
echo the back lanes
and the stoops of this pre-american landscape.

Her avacado center piece
off centered me
like uneven couch cushions.
Her couch sucked too
stuck to my half Spanish
sweat covered winter coat
from biking across town
to be witnessed in my
Hindenburg costume.

I scrape myself out of awkward corners,
I am gum on her floor.
counting ceiling tiles
Imagination space station
i summon a planetarium
and dream planets i would become an outlaw on.

"I wish you had a car."
i wish you'd shut the fuck up.
and let me finish forgetting
sitting in ant piles would be much more rewarding.

i wish i had a lot more. . .
i wish i could have my time back.

text messages from people who arent alive anymore

fifteen minutes
and
a few lost and found kids

A throat
swollen and scratched
choking smoke clogging
barred doors.

Prepackaged personal
gas chamber made for two
emergency ejected vessels
following star charts depicting dead gods
no occupancy
we drift down the moon river.

old bicycle wizard
killing minutes with
toothless grins
casting spells all over
bathroom sinks
banging your think box
against the reflection
of someone invisible
on this side and another.

Curtain caller,
the lights give way
to hastily levitated
objects that bare the hexed demeanor
of rapid flash back memory.

The great deceiver.

--

Drenched in the wet afternoon sun
smokestack five foot
eleven knocking harder
and harder
throwing cinder blocks through the patio
sliding glass door.

The hidden spectrum
a.k.a. every familiar block
you dont go down anymore.
The color faded like former glories
founded in downtown fistfights
on dyke nights
with lead pipes
drinking whiskey through glass bags.
hitting on all the ladies
eating nachos at dirty larry's
with uncrossed legs.

my crossed fingers hugged
till snapped
and folded
like sleepy power lines
during frantic phonecalls from
panicked babysitters
in crystal lakes
at 3:33's
nation-wide.


the lights go out
and you arent alone
when you really wanna be.

clutching relics
hoping fortuna spins her wheel
like drunk drivers
soul seeking
near death experiences.

Some days
youre communing with friendly ghosts
others youre burning for your beliefs
when all you believe in is
is something better than this.

untitled

MJ come home i miss you.

In the essence
of a thought

how long it takes
for the air to hit my palm
with a finger pyramid cupping
the long sigh of a loved one

who's gone and not coming home.


The jewels of caved in eyes
crushing tears
out of unfulfilled sleepy lids.
So stupid to be so upset
about feeling so alive

an electric bolt conducts a city
with a move of my wand like
broken index finger.
Indexing old files of passed loves
and the instantaneous failure
like exploding cars
one day its a nice ride
til its not.

The hope of late night phone calls.
or looking in familiar spots hoping
almost seeing it visually in the opera house
that is your inner-psyche...

a face enters from left stage
leaned around a curtain corner

"So nice to see you."
A bite of the hand
a kiss on the finger
a wave
a tilt of the hat
with a scratch of the scalp
dipped in a deep smile.

God bless a memory
because these crosses are getting heavy
and i can live wherever i want inbetween the alternating seconds
that weave reality
back into the matter of all things.

The manner in which i conduct myself
is sometimes less than becoming of a man like myself.

But i care.
and i miss
y
ou.

Whoever you are
i miss you.

The best news ive recieved since I didnt die.

Never die.

To all the people who will never read this.

You bite into the sun
seeking the gospel in its
cleansing fires
letting the molten judgement
demolish your deepest secrets.

Divinity
Described only as
the blank slate
the infinite fog.

I am lost there
following the sounds
of fleeting horns
this is my effortless life.

I feel most alive
during sun showers
when the hot arid summer
is washed between
a cloudless rain
and for a second you believe in
long lost family spirits

That even alone isnt ever alone
when home is where your heart is.
and youre sleeping by the payphone.
God is with me
the sticker reads.

and i read it
over and over
and over
and
over.

Things i write on Napkins pt 1.

I am
a creature
to my own devices

animal of
my imagination

demon of my dark rooom
sleeping with the hall way light on
cracked ajar.
laser prism
disecting me into half segments

securing sleepy shades of red
spilling through the floorboard divider
spelling scrabble like words
on your bedroom ceiling.
when you cant close your eyes
because the feeling of dying alone

is sinking in.
and your dreams are just that.

Shes on that David Copperfield, Shes gettin' tiger nice.
A little sweet and low
on that italian ice.

Bulk mail.

The air so thin
i bite my lip
til it bleeds

she slides her hands
across her hour glass
like they were snakes
burning in late eighties blue
projected input channel light.

the shadow
kept at bay
across her cool semi-reflective surface.
Goose bumps begin to emanate from her center
and span outward in all directions

her beating core feels
the winters gasp
escape from an ajar jaw
across the room

i am translucent
sendng bioluminescent flashes
from this cheap motel leather
spilling my body's poison
across the carpet

BPM pileup
right jugular turnpike throbbing
a brain storm
in the saddest city.
Eyes tapering inward
hollow sound
drowning out the world.

Aurora Borealis
eating the sun
so we live in endless night
killing bottles
and smoking til our ghost
turns black
and they turn this old bed
i fall into
into

a coffin
with enough room
to fit
every spirit
that haunted my hexed architecture
like the halls of a hospital
where bad things happened
and people didnt make it
and the sole survivor
was claimed
many years later
by makeshift hangmans rope
kicked off the dining room table
watching the broken clock
next to the oldest calendar
remembering the day you should have died

paying hand over fist.

--

She waits
for her turn
to steal the air
from my impatient lungs

"Wait a minute"
setting me on fire
with a stare that pierces
a hole big enough
she just walks through me.

a penny for my thoughts
no deposits for weeks
angry hands
punch holes
and the friendliest walls
Exodus
while she exits this
shit storm.

I am the moon
the sun is my friend
i breathe the clouds
she laughs on the other end
there is a world between us.
I stay up late
on some winter mornings
just to watch her work.
She is my everything.




Somethings wrong...

possessed
i vomit
rays of foreign light
she stands behind me
all i see is darkness
i am not used to these condition
my fragile icecaps
melt in the intensity


i am prepared
to endure.
gifted with an ability
to survive the burning days
and the vacuum of night.

i am indestructable.



The embrace
her hands clasp
dug in behind cold shoulders

a knot
in my stomach loosens
she expands arms
displaying colors
defined as broken beams of light
transitioning spectrums
til the warmth was in the moment

and the moment passes.
She consumes me
slowly
starting at my face

i hold still and
allow it to unfold
waiting to see if it will stop
and cry
with tales of unimaginable heart break.

I wait...
and wait....
til i lost a thought.
til i cant remember why.
til i lost my mind.
til it didnt matter.
til it was shit.
til a memory
was a memory

and the empty void
just didnt seem worth it.
so it collapsed in on itself
and nothing knew its place.