Sure as I breathe

A friend once asked me to explain myself.
I wondered how this statement would come out.
I proceeded to open my mouth and shit on this stupid question
but in mid rant my wheels spun upstairs because i dont know shit.

I feel like trying to explain myself
from a tripod setting
observing the choices ive made
it feels surreal.

I dont know what it means to be anything else.
what does my bed think of me
the toilets tired of my shit.
my car is crying all the time.
my laptop wishes it knew sleep?

what is it to be anything.
i dont even know what it is to be me...

Here is my thoughts for a moment
followed by some shit you cant read.
or dont.

How could i feel...
Near mid-twenties man
with some Neurosis haunting him,
"garden variety".
a familiar ghost a day
always keeps me away.
awake late
I have nothing to do...

I could do things...
But the effort is lost when i contemplate the outcomes of this parallel life.
Where i did do things
and i made differences
It just wouldn't be me.
If it was the word effort wouldn't be involved.
Its already as good as its gonna be.


The sheets have been off my bed for over a week
and every time i go to put them on
i find myself pedaling miles away from the cave
I feel automatic,
life becomes a simple left right or straight answer.
Maybe i get hit by a car.
Maybe i fall and get hurt.
eventually ill get backup
and if i dont im sure my momma knows i love her.

I wont ever be an astronaut
or marry Ms. USA.
But i can always manage fine
My father died a few years back
and for some reason it has consumed most of my thoughts.
Because i didnt know him?
Because i look exactly like him?
Because he was murdered?
The list goes on a while longer and i cant really find a solution.
I have a grandfather who dispite his proper and admiral lifestyle
tells me he sees everything good in me.

A war hero who speaks 6 languages and is worth more than everyone we know combined?
admires me....

I dont get anything about my life or how i fell into this place.
But i guess im about...

Living the dream.
Doing what makes me happy.
and letting everyone chase what makes them happy.
Letting things go
Holding onto the things that stay close.
and bikes comic books...weed.....arizona fruit punch.... my moms.
a couple of other turbo nerd jams...

eat shit.
Thats my life today as it stands.
Tomorrow could be better or worse.
I dont pretend to know the future.
I can see just fine today.
---
Formally. [Whiskey Hotel Craigslist Charle Bravo. Classified AIDS]
Animal Mother
You are just a missed-connection
on some late night confessional
covered with someones viral tongue
spinning webs in your empty head.
Holding onto the headboard
head over board
headed down the wrong way
down a road you know
doesn't ever lead home.

Call it shameless
indulgence
conviction
out of focus
the picture reads
like braille
to my brittle eyes.

I just want you to love me.
or hold onto something
something that matters.
something that's real.
Hour glass eyes
with the late night diner coffee lips
mustache cured with smoke
and twisted into vines
you would wrap around your
finger and never forget.
I know they haunt you.
and every dream you
dream alone.

My skin exerts enough ex-rays
you could see my fractured skeleton
Calcium deposit caverns
bridge my blood
which has a tox-screen that reads
like the table of elements.
Black Lung compressed diaphragm
the pressure in my breath has
diamonds pouring out
of an unguarded mouth.

lead-paint skin
paints the bellows
to the bruised up ankles
of Sunday getaways
in a careless
sun that collapses its curtains
when it passes out fucked up
a little after six
the street lights are the only
bright thing about this city.


Clemency

My father
once told me
my body was filled with gods.
Some good
Some evil
and they live forever
as long as im breathing.

i felt my soft skin
and looked under bones
and he laughed
as i was twisted into awkward
positions
combing through my reflection
for a sign of revelation.

That was the last time i ever saw him.
I have come accustom to my tenants
and identified them in the mirror
looking through dialated pupils
or climbing on the roots
of the brain stem.
to an attic full of abstract lights
fantasies and dreamscapes.
They play my home movies
til a tooth cracks
from biting down
in the midst of vivid flashbacks.

I have identified each shift
in my emotional fault line
with an outward appearance
and voice box
that modulates to the influence
with the eb and flow
of cigarette smoke
on the shores of this deserted island.
Where the light houses never stop blinking.

fin.