Crow's Eyes

They can't be seen,
Those little invisible faces
Staring sadly out
Into yours. But every apple
Core, toothbrush, and
Glass of milk is
Staring back, waiting
For that moment
When you
Detach yourself
From it.
Like an exhausted love,
It waits for you
To toss it
Into the bin, so
It can be with its brothers again.
They can all stare together now,
Stare at you.
Each beady black eye
Like a crow's, unblinking
And poisoned.

Reheated French Fries

I put them in my mouth without hesitation.
I put each of them, one by one, into my mouth,

And chew

Each shriveled appendage all yellow-brown,
Greasy, and unsatisfying.
They're just as I expected, and though
I hoped for some sort of surprise
In their hot sickly black pepper smell,
Nothing came. But there they go,
Mindlessly, one by one,
(and sometimes in pairs) into my mouth.
Each little reheated potato tentacle wrapping
About my heart
Coating it, crushing it, entwining it
With memories of the way they used to taste.

Brothers

Oh cruel lunar dagger, break the sky
And let loose each bright burnt dot,
Each precious star from our vast
Blanket of blackness. How they fall
Like cores from boils free to your feet,
As you laugh and crush them underfoot.

They're all gone now, are you happy?

Dear brother, I know you are selfish,
And I know you are beautiful, and
I admire your face in every one
Of its pockmarked expositions,
But you must understand that you
Are not the master of anything, your
Everything is not of your design. No,
You will always be my lackluster doppelganger,
For I am the one who can blind all
Those little people whose love you crave. And
Even in their blindness they can still feel me. So
Just remember, dear brother, when I rise,
All of your work will have been in vain.

.

be.cause. we. can.not. sep.a.rate.
our.selves. from. lan.guage. we.
try. to. make. up. new. and.
al.ter.na.tive. ways.
to. make. po.etry. more. and.
more. diff.i.cult to. read.
but. why. not.?
.
it. makes. the. trial.
worth. the try.ing.

Box

She took the evening back home
Upon an ancient rusting train.
I was watching her from
Across the aisle, but she
Never noticed.
Her red eyes were
Locked on the blurred amalgam
Of stone and fire
Outside the car. Quivering,
She held a tiny blue box
In her slender white hands.
It was a small weathered thing stained
A now hushed sickly cerulean, and
Though she did not cling to it,
She kept her fingers
Tight about that box. Then with
A sigh, she closed her eyes,
Turned her face and
Slept...

Our stop had come,
The whistle hissed, and we
Stepped off the platform into that
Thick familiar air. I turned
In that red darkness and smelled fire,
And saw the swollen eyes of the hearths,
Pulsing in time all across the horizon,
Glowing regiments of
Pitchmills, seething
In their heats, howling
Low and feral.
I turned back, and found the
Train gone, and
In the flicker of a street lamp
I saw her, quivering still.
Head down,
She extended it to me. And
We stood like that, with the
Ash-wind sticking to our bodies,
With the blue box between us.

Rebirth

"And he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die,
and we sleep like that together with our secret pact.
And it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep.
Do you?" - "Bluebird" - Charles Bukowski

Once, when I was amongst the inspirational,
I came upon a dove in the rain outside their tent,
His feathers overflowing with juxtaposed brightness. I
Was entranced the moment he appeared, for
He was not frightened by the myriad of passerby.
No, he was not afraid for he had lived within me
Up until that moment, when he finally broke
Free from my skull. His purity had kept me with you,
Kept me innocent, but now he was just a bird and
I was just a man and you, just a woman.
And though I was sad to turn away from,
I did, and went back into the tent
And shook the rain from my shoulders.

Bat

Five years and
One early morning ago
I awoke in distress
As a scratching plagued
The inside of my wall.
To me it seemed
That a mouse or more
Had made its home there.

My parents must know! I thought
As I crept to their room.
Dad was the only one to get up
And bravely investigate my mystery.

We lumbered back to my room
And flicked on the lights...

IT'S A BAT!!!

A shrieking comet of brown fur
R o c k e t e d
Counterclockwise above us, angry
At the addition of light to his "cave"

Now we were wide awake!
No time to think...
Grab a broom, grab a stick
Grab anything! Just don't
Let it upstairs!

I found the proper armaments
And stood in the stairway
Like a pajama clad centurion, or
The star hitter of broom-ball,
Ready for the bat to come my way,
But it was Dad who got him,
Oh he swung with exactitude,
With such unintentional grace and caught
The bat midair and
Hurled him into my bookshelves.

Delicately, Dad blinded the creature with a blanket,
Wrapped him snugly within and took him to the garage.

The sun was rising as we set him loose, and
We watched him fly away,
A little black star crawling across the morning sky.

And to this day, the mystery of his entry still remains unsolved.
The garage door had been left open, but the door
To the house was not ajar. Perhaps its childish to think,
But maybe he let himself in...

Ghost In The Mall Scene

I see a spirit rising over fake luminescent evergreens.
Through rags of rough silver hair, he hangs from the ceiling;
His undead magic destroyed by a mortal leash.
He seems so docile, so out of place,
Hanging and priced and plastic,
Like a bastion of Halloween towering over a plot of early Christmas trees,
Harvested far too soon, and set out before the wares of his holiday.

I wonder what this ghost of consumerism
Must think as his unholy day is
Smothered by the holiest. I listen close, his mouth is agape,
As if in the midst of a scream, or a cry, or a whip of disgusted sound,
But nothing comes. He wants to reply, but his voice is
Lost in the silent rustle of a windless plastic forest,
And the footsteps of sale hungry housewives.
Beasts in their own right.

Jaw

I listen to it and shudder
In tenebrous gooseflesh
As his jaw grinds itself
Apart. Oh how his molars
Screech in that sadistic ceremony!
He doesn't feel it dreaming,
But those poor torn tusks will
Tell of torture at daybreak.

Coin Toss

So to you I'll toss a coin.
A coin for you and me.
It's only a simple litte flip,
A call of heads or tails.
Believe me we'll like
The outcome!
Just call it, I'll tell you
What you'll et when it lands.

...(cling)...

HEADS!

Your prize...?

Me, and all my
Charming
Imperfections.

There's enough of those to keep me
Anchored
To the bottom here. I'm not going
Anywhere,

Trust me.

Ah! It seems your boots are
Just as heavy.

Don't fret,
We'll be alright,
Just tighten your bootstraps,

We'll be fine,
Down here,
Together...

In our blinding coin-toss love.

17

And as the new year is born, all wrapped in warmth
We're on my porch, ears red from the cold, amongst
A jubilant war of pots and pans afire,
We four laugh and chant, but I am mesmerized
by her black pea coat. When I was seventeen

She was something I could only dream of,
A swirl of rose in her nose and cheeks,
A perfect form I didn't wholly know, but
It was a smile and sway that drew me to a
Plan executed, when I was seventeen.

So as the year took another hour of
Our lives, this wondrous girl had to leave for home,
But I shan't let her rose swirl escape me
Without knowing the truth, my subtle truth.
In my arms, she too is seventeen,

But I can't go forward, no, not with him there,
My friend so fragile, someone like him would die
If he knew... Bah! There is no time for thinking!
I have to act now! I want her to know it.
I dash out, snowblind, to the passenger door,

And plant love on her cheek. We were seventeen.

Demon Cloud

I saw it
Up in the sky.
An aerial blanket
Of ominous purple
Looming violently
Above me. Perhaps
It's there to
Shield
The angels from
Some underworldly
Joys...
Perhaps He wants
Us to witness His
Wrath, but He is
Weak now, He
Is old, and
Wrath is but a
Cough and a
Feigned swipe
Of claws in the
Face of its
Former self.

Eternal Life

I have heard the cry of a ghost in song,
His languish splayed before me, his guitar and voice
Upon my eager ears, his somnolent touch
Raps on my soul, as if to be invited in
And nestle close with Sir Drake and the victory rose,
All awash in sweet, undying, mercurial
Peace, there within my heart
They wrestle to be my cantor
To lead me Into sublimity, into peace
Where I shall surely find some tranquility
Amongst Elysian notes and strums
From a godly Telecaster I know well
The champion Mr. Buckley cries out
His lost Grace from across the mortal void.

Perhaps Our Enemies Talk...

you're a line from nowhere
you're a caress without care
you're the horror of dreams
you're imagination in streams
you're the drown in the drink
you're the glance and the blink
you're e'erything to E'eryman
you're the flaw in the plan
you're a quill of heaven's lord
you're lying cold on a coolin' board
you're the cliche of red and violet coos
you're the gooseflesh in Waits' blues
you're, your, and yore used wrong
you're banality in e'ery love song
you're the one I can ne'er quit
you're the one that makes me poet

Muzzled Bliss

In those moments of muzzled bliss
You can almost hear the world coughing.
Oh it's there, believe me!
And what I'd do to hear it again!

She's got consumption!
She's got the plague!
She's gone in a bad way!
She's got Man in her veins!
She's a husk...
She's the part
That you throw away.

Oh! Her coughing is
Klaxon to our
Delight, our
Un(bridled)known
De(light)struction,
But she does not scream.
No, she does not scream,
For there is no pain we
Children can muster
For her to bleat so pathetically, and
In moments like this, that choke beulahry,
Sh- sh- sh- sh- she who is
"Eternal" laughs in our faces,
Quaking and resplendent,
As we tear her to shreds.

The House Next Door

The house was burnin' down next door

I heard her scream, I heard him roar,

But when I woke I knew that she'd been dreamin'.

So I took a match out the box,

And took a drag, and went down the block,

But by then I knew that she was gone.

So then I took some steps in reverse

Through the ash, the pain, and the curse,

And broke the glass in my bathroom window,

And I stole the china that was in your care,

Mama's touch, and the dog's bristlin' hair

So what's left but a dream or a song?

My Lord, so comely and featherweight

My hellish truth lies in the break

And burden of souls named and wrought in blood,

And where's van Gogh who coughs aloud,

To shield my face from haze and cloud,

And coughs again, and then again once more?

Now this ain't my hundr'd-fifteenth dream

This shit just kinda pours out it seems

So I'ma let it keep on a-flowin'

So let's take this thing as far as it'll go

Up to the moon, and back to the blow

Of ancient wind that sings softly through me,

And keep your gold, and keep your silver

It don't cost nothin' for me to kill her,

'Cause the ones your love'll never see it comin',

But the grave I'll dig, it won't be shallow,

'Cause in'll go me, my love, and her shadow,

But my shade must fill back the hole.

So here we lie in our earthly hood

Between mattresses of dirt and wood

Left to breathe in each other's air,

But we'll just laugh and melt away

Burn our flesh for God to say,

"Come with me, now it's your time to go!"

(Un)Holy Ambiguity

I can feel you
Rolling the wind
Over the hills,
Over the bend.
I can feel you
Drinking my sin
From a cup
Broken
From summer's din.

I will eat you.
I will starve.
I will cut you
Out of the stars,
I will break you
Into tiny bits,
But what will
Come from any of it?

Good Morning Goliath

There's a TV on somewhere
In the
Background
Someone is moving towards
My room. There's that
Feeling
Again
Feeling
Again...

Oh no...

Fate is upon me.

I'll pretend to sleep,
But here
Comes Colossus,
Ready to
Finger-jab my
Soft spots and
PRESSURE
o
i
n
t
s

Until I reluctantly rise
From my sheets,
And stumble into some clothes.

Such were many a morning
Of my youth,
Now nothing but nostalgia,
I guess I'm a man now,
Suppose
I have to rise on
My own now,
Free from those
Dreaded
Tickle-fights and
My Good Morning Goliath
Of adolescence. They're
Gone now,
When I
Probably need
It the
Most.

I Am A Shell, Broken

I am a
Shell, broken
Under
So much of this old
Bitterness,
Amongst
So many of these
Dry, crystalline
Carbonforms,
That spawn the
Daily cocoons of
My new selves,
Pointlessly
Drying their
Vestigial wings
In the dredge-fog.
So much of this is
Why I want to
Leave, and yet,
In a year or so,
This place will
Leave for
Me, and
I will become a
Wanderer.
A wanderer with a

  Home,

Made up of
So much of this
Thing they call
M e m o r y .

Please,
Clear me of this,
The fog must
Burn today,
I need to
Float
         Silently
Away...

Somnolent Cusp

With a faint taste of cavendish
Lingering on my tongue
And eyes like
Twin heads of
Sparrows
Frantically searching for
The horizon under my
Eyelids, I slip from this
World, and
Rise in another
I may or
May not
Recall in the morning.

What a shame the
Mind cannot bring
These precious evening parcels
Back to the waking world
For in these morsels of
Premonition and
Fantasy, we find
The world,
We find
Death, find
Life, find
Terror, find
Ecstasy, find
Amalgamated places
Scraped from the various
Hovels of the skull
Performed invisibly
Upon optical prosceniums
Through varying shades of
Black indistinguishable
From the next, yet
Swimming
In colors only
Darkness
Can conjure.

And despite the
Fleeting grandeur
Of it all, I want to
Forget those
Poignancies of
Life that my mind
Gives me in sleep,

Because even
Fate can be
Wrong sometimes.

Carnival

What a carnival you have
Oh ringmaster! It's almost too
Fantastic to keep in line, I will try
My best to keep your wits at ease,
But the hula girls want more
Spotlight. Now hula girls are
Something special, but they
Need their limits, for when
They try the trapeze, they'll
Only fall. It's only a sprained
Ankle ringmaster, I promise
It will heal in time, as do all
Scrapes and bruises. And never
Forget, dear ringmaster, that
The hula girls don't despise you,
It's merely them finding their
Footing under this canopy,
Even more complex
And chaotic than
Your own.

Lonely Place

I see you go by
Once in a while.
Why did you
Let me break?
I was always
Good to
You. I need you to
Save me...

They came by,
Gave me a
Notice, told
Me I was
No good to
Anyone
Anymore,
An eyesore in the
Community.
Can you believe
Them!?

I guess you can...

You're not here...

I was here before any of
Them, I am the
Last of my kind,
Sure I let myself
Go a little, but
I am still
Beautiful... right?

What happened to
Christmas? To mowing
The lawn? To all of 1997?
Where did I go wrong?
When did our bond sour?

I may have kept too many secrets
From you... about her...
Please forgive me! They're coming...

Save me!
My darling, they've
Brought their
Yellow behemoths.
They've come to
Demolish me, within
Steely maws, and
Coal-belching coughs.

I'm scared... master...

I want you to know,
As my dying wish,
I've never had a
Better owner,
Not since my
Building. Please,
Tell your
Children about
Me, I think
They would've
Liked me.

I thank you, and
Love you,
Even in your
Abandonment.

Imagination And Reality: I Love You

Narrow stairs mark my descent
Into an evening bedroom
Where a coy rapture
Lies in jubilant
Thralldom
Slowly winding amongst
Fragrant oxbows of
Smoke, hissing from
The tip of some
Incense's
Embered tongue.
We will be together
All night,
She breathes, and
Off we sway, in
Sweat and friction,
Passion and touch,
Until infinity is
Impossible, and
It ends. And though
We now lay amongst
Waxen darkness
All splayed and entwined,
It's three words spoken
By you
That reach down into the my
Chest, three words like warm hands
Wrapping with gentle tightness about
My heart, that then bristle up under
My skin until all I can do to quell it is
Embrace you. It is with that phrase
That I rise above all pervious carnal joy,
And am reminded of what made all that tussling
Wonderful.

And then I woke up.

Road Spirit

I came upon a
Road Spirit
Last evening as
I drove on a
Highway
Jacketed by an
Ashen haze.
I caught its
Misty huddle,
Touched only by the
Fuzzy edge of my
Vehicle's vision.
Its construct,
An arrangement of
Dull orange
Crescents
Forming the faint
Outline of what could be
Human. Equally
Apprehensive, we
Passed through
Each other at 80 m.p.h.
And as I inhaled
The vapor of its
Body, I knew
The euphoria
Of death.

The Moment You Know You're...

Where am I? Can
You tell me?
Your dilapidated voices
Aren’t telling me a
Thing…
Hello!!!
I can’t lift my
Eyelids to look
At you…
Annemarie!?
Darling, I hear your voice,
A lachrymal spear,
Hurtling towards me and
Now… away. Never in
My life
Have I heard you so
Sorrowed.

What is this great
Pressure now? Some
Tenebrous
Compressor making
The darkness even
Darker…


I’ve heard that in
Complete
Silence,
You can hear your
Brain
Throbbing. Well,
They must be
Wrong. I can’t
Hear a thing.

Elevation,
Release?
Truth?
I CAN SEE!!!
The Sandman must’ve been
Working doubletime… my eyes
Felt like pearls in sealed
Clay shells.

Ah, but that’s of
No concern now,
I can hear the
Band. Keep on
With that
Sweet Zydeco,
Somehow more
Heavenly than
I remember…
I’ll just traipse-dance
My way down
Bourbon Street…

But then it
Stopped me,
I remember it
So clearly.
A glimpse into a puddle…
Such a bustle in the reflection,
Had I been so distracted
Not to notice?
The Zydeco’s tongue fell limp,
And Bourbon Street was
Cavernous and shivering.

I’m dea…

†
1945- 1970

The Cyclical Schadenfreude Of Revolution

Stomp!
To the cadence
And beat of
An oildrum.
March! Yes,
Let your
Pores
Cry.
It's that sweet
Sweat, seeping from
Mr. Backbroken and
Mrs. Thimblethumbs
That fills our
Encrusted chalice,
Gulped down,
Then spat back
Upon your
Slumlands.
Let it fill your
Wells and
Rivers, our
Spittum,
Clear and
Unsuspecting.
You'll drink it,
You'll kill us,
You'll become us,
You'll love it,
And when He comes back,
He'll be none the
Wiser.

Atlas Shattered... Her

It began

With small

Things,

Things

One is scant to notice

A calf stillborn,

Brand new

Wheelbarrows

Rusting over.

These were shrugged

Off,

But She was

Trying to

Tell us...

Its now much

Later. We've

Come to the

Apex. We can't

Go any higher.

This is

It. The

Breaking

P

O

I

N

T

.

.

.

I can smell the

Burning

The skeletons

Are marching

To Zion

It’s coming

That great

Wrath.

I should've done

Something

I had heard her

Crying

In a dream.

We were

Dives, and she

Lazarus, and

Atlas is

Dear Abraham,

Pul-

- ling

Her away

From our

Scorching

Tongue.

And as

I awake,

She thought

It fit to

Finish this.

So it happened.

A sweep of

Shadow fouled

Our fields

With plague.

Oceans and lakes

Burst with second-long

Phosphorescence

And were

Aflame.

She became

The Tower of

Babel, we

Became

Feral,

And in one

Final

SCREAM!

Opened new

Canyon to

Expose her

Innermost

Bosom.

Oh how the

Earth died

Screaming

As her

Abraham

Tore her to

Pieces.

Where's the

Bounty he

Promised?

Metalmaid

For my mother.

I am your
Half-owned
Medallion of
Triumph and
Glory, and
You are
My goldsmith.
In hindsight,
You praise the
Great Metallurgist
That I
Carry a sheen of
Worth and
Beauty, for at
Birth, I was but a
Natural stone,
Rough and
Dripping from
My earthen
Womb. This
Will take
Time
You thought,
And it did.
At times, you had to share
Your chisel with
The silversmith,
And though you may have
Carved
Your creed
Too deeply
Into my facade
And you may have
Struggled to
Share your
Workbench,
I would
Never ask to be
Changed. I treasure
My form,
My inscription,
Everything you've
Sculpted me to be.
Wear me
Proudly about your
Neck, laced through
A strand of
Ruby beads.
Drape me over
Your breast,
As your beacon
Through strife.
Oh, metalmaid, be
My treasure, as
I know
I am yours.

Easter

No one is left here.
Oh vernal equality has
Driven them
Elsewhere, and
Opened up
Premium parking
Opportunities for
My dear Van Gogh
And me.
It is too quiet. The
Echoes of my solitary
Voice reverberate
Uninhibited down
Every lonely hallway.
However, some still do remain.
Alas, they are but
Propped-up
Flesh mannequins, who
Should be lying in
God's acre somewhere
Waiting for
Armageddon.
So, now I wait in the
Plurality of
Constructed and
Organic breath,
Waiting
For the "Waters of
Nazareth" to
Shatter the

Silence...

If only for
Her ride
Home.

The Pencil

You're the real writer.
Within that slender
Octagonal totem
Courses the
Mercurial wonder of
The universe. You are
Finite with
Infinite possibilities.

I have crushed
Many of your
Varicolored cousins.
Oh, from their hearts
Spill the mass of ideas
That escaped the tongue of
My muse.
They shall remain
Blurred, in a
Dark, sable puddle.
Left to soak into the
Oak tabletop.

I have seen you there.
Lying so coyly, longing for
My touch. The sun is setting
In the east, anti-life, for
Only in that moment do
You reveal what hides
Within you. I have seen
You, you Goliath in shadow.

A Letter To The U.S. Army Puppy Thrower

If you haven't seen or heard about this video, it is a video of a soldier in the US army holding a small puppy with his friend next to him. He then proceeds to throw the puppy over a cliff. You hear it yelp for a moment, while the soldiers laugh and smile the entire time. I have never been so appalled by anything in my whole life. This is what we send to promote freedom? I hate to call myself American or even human after watching this video. So I wrote a poem of sorts about it.

I bet you were the bully in school.
I know your kind too well. A boy,
Nondescript and lackluster,
All around unimpressive
Save for your disdain for
Anything weaker than you.
As you grew, still a
Mental embryo, you shunned
Worldliness for the opium of
Idiocy. (What I'm writing will never
be read by you) You jumped on
Uncle Sam's inviting shoulder
So you could seem tall and strong,
All ready for the oil-balloon fight,
But still you remain lackluster and dull.
Out in the sand, you found a
Comrade of your ilk, a bully-buddy of
Sorts, I suppose. My life would've gone by
Without you until I saw you become scum.
When you hurled that puppy of that cliff,
You allowed me to reach
The pinnacle of my hatred.
I am hurt and disgusted by you and your friends.
You are a demon, and
I hope you know you've
Roused that infant dog's
Mother. And her name is
Karma. And I pray her jaws don't
Make quick work of you.

Soul Boxes

You anger me
With those everyman
Phrases of "love" and
"Longing". The bile
Billows in my throat
After hearing your
Saccharine-soaked
Scrawls about all
Those menfolk who've wronged
You and loves lost in
Your infinite languish.
Grow some creativity.
Don't fake your reality,
Don't doll it up for the
Pageant, haul the truth
Out there
Raw, and bruised,
Her knees, skinned
And bleeding for even
The softest of words.
I know I cannot change
Your little gilded soul boxes,
But I can see what's inside them,
And all that I've found is
Shit.

Thin

I
seem
to
write
"
t
h
i
n
"
poems
with
as
many
words
crammed
against
the
left
margin
as
the
poor
thing
can
take.

What
you
see
here
is
a
hyper-
bol-
e.

Satisfying Poem

I wrote this
so
that I may
have
something
new to
read,
because
I have
grown
used to
my old
poems.
I cannot
rest well
(being in
such a
state)
without
coaxing
a breath
out of
my muse.
For even
a cracked
whisper,
half-heard,
is a
splendid
step
towards
a new
un-darkening
of a
flake
of my
psyche.

I Have You Now

I have you now
After so many
Twisted words
For those who
Need not know
Of what we do.

I have you now,
But I am not
Your master,
Nor are you
Mine. We
Coexist,
Intertwined within
Varicolored eyes and
A sweet melody.

I have you now,
Even in the dark.
I see your
Flawless body
Tremble
Beneath my
Cerulean sheets
From being cold
And shirtless.

I have you now,
Inside my eyelids
Lulling me to sleep
So that we may play
Somewhere between
The eternal
Phantasmagoria of
Ulalume and
The Halcyon's nest.

Come On Down!

Come on down
Let's sing
Some songs!
Come on down
Let's make
Some love!
Come on down
Let's do
Some laundry!
Come on
Let's leave
This place...

Curl

                             smile.

As I                             me
Stare at                   made
Myself                           It
I noticed                   up.
My hair             curled

Untitled (A Song For A Friend)

Gary walks down that lonely street, as always,
muttering to himself about all that pain and strife
that he's been keepin' inside himself
for far too long, inside like a scorpion in
a paper bag. He looks up to the sky for redemption,
only to find more questions tapping on his glasses.

That pocketwatch he's always got on him, its his papa's.
It stopped tickin' years ago, but Gary's never noticed.
It's always 2:14 for him.

There's a muffled hum coming from Tom's where a
jazz trumpet is makin' love to the ears of eager patrons
snappin' their fingers, tracin' ghosts' outlines, and livin'
to that cool cool groove...

Ba buh bababa boo o o o o bah...

and it falls silent

when they see Gary come in. Someone says,
"Man, th' World's been cryin' on yo' shoulder fo' far
too long. She done covered yo' whole body with her woe."
And with that he left. And the love started makin'
again. And if you looked real close,
even in the dark,
you could make out a pair of stilettos steppin' in agony next to
Gary's gray boots. She'd given him her coat, and
he was still freezing...

Scarecrow

I live with an unemployed
Scarecrow. Hunched
In front of a Blue
Screen Of Death he
Exacts his
Revenge upon
Pixelated ravens
That mock his
Homely countenance.
He sleeps deeply in his
Dank overalls while his
Wispy pubic beard
Dangles
Sickly from his
Groin-shaped
Face. He feigns
A sense of culture,
Lambasting whatever
Respect one may have
Given him with
Oleaginous inward laughs and a
Penchant for the plentiful
Grain liquor of his
Dusk capped field. What is it like
Living with a man made
Of straw and
Little else? Not enticing
In the slightest. The door
Opens
And the door
Shuts,
And the
Wind
Blows through him
As he slowly and surely ripens
With mildew,
While I
Fly to the
Tower of Babel,
Leaving behind my
Oak pole and
Burlap skin for...

Black wings and
Talons.

Gertrude Stein Takes An Axe To My Head

Let's all devolve and put on our cots
Cots that are solved dissolving, revolving
Taking chunks out of our cots
And coats and floats
Bloating where nothing matters
Of the latter of course of of ladders
Spoken for and of and around
The cots and coats, oh
My lord bloat and soak
In the juice, loose and
Crackling as they were we went
And I and us and parted upon
Notes of joyful shudders
Cluttering in in my
Face
Erase
I win
I take the light
I might
I darken in your embrace
That we were to know
Right now don't you know, know what you know,
You know now know where you go when you go with whom
You used to love as you reigned from above the cluttered notes
Of joy above what you now know as love that was taught above you
And lost in his loss of an an embarrassment
What had that scent, which had his bare ass meant? To the top I say as as I say
Up on top of the top and tops his with that way they may say that may say that that
Say of what may be and and they may slay all those little sheep
Counting those little sleepy sheep
Bloody bodies all sheepy and sleepy
One, ni, drei, quattro, cinq and on on on on til I think there ain't no more sheep
And I'll cross my heart and heart my cross
As I devolve and put my sleepy sheepy head upon that cot.

This Is How I Love You

_ _ _ _ _ . _ . . _ . . . . . _ _ . . . _ . _ . . _ _ . . . . . _ _ . _ _ _ . . _ . . _ _ _ _ _ . _ . _ . . . . . STOP

House By The Railway

That house has been there
For far too long. It's the
Stuff of children's
Nightmares. Over
There across those
Unused railroad tracks,
All caked over in
Somnolent rust.
Yet I shudder to
Think of life
Without that house
Glaring back at me from
Across the tracks.
That loving pale
Blue demon
Slowly blinks
Against the sun,
I can see it
Shake, see it
Writhe. When
Will they come,
Come to put it
Out of its
Misery?

Shave

What was I before the shave?
Was I just some unwashed vagrant,
Sojourning for a month in your
Musical? I must’ve been. You never
Gave any of your minds, none of your
Amorous glances when it hung here.

You gave me an ultimatum, and I abided
By way of shear and razor.
All so I could play a sailor who can
Only sing two songs, a sailor who wanted his
One moment to speak, but amongst the
Chaos you nixed my voice
And I became mute.

You know, I lost part of myself when it went.
I feel naked and cold, awkward like I
See a stranger in the mirror…

Don’t laugh,

I truly do miss my beard.

I Dream One Day To Visit The Lighthouse

I dream one day to visit the lighthouse
Up on that hill. Do you see it? That’s my childhood.
It isn’t far at all. You know, I’d just skidder right up
Those alabaster dunes, right on up to ol’ Mr. Hopper’s door,
And sneak a quick visit to his little cozy abode.
Oh, he’d let me in, and with such hospitality!
From here you couldn’t tell, but that place is a shrine.
No, there’s no incense burning or waters to scald demons,
No, therein lies an altar to naïveté and simplicity,
To things overlooked; things pushed aside. I would be
Baptized in breast milk, born anew with eyes fresh and
Indiscriminating. Oh, how I would want to see the ocean
And it to see me! I’d climb that nautilus-staired tower
To greet the cerulean dreamscape lain out before me.
As I would stand in slack-jawed awe, I’d feel it. I’d feel it as blue
Became my only color. I would feel it as I saw the foam, and
The bubbles rise up above my stinging body. I would feel it
As it escaped me. But I’ll never get the chance. I mean, if I
Weren’t here, who’d get all this work done down here
Knocking over all these cherubic sandcastles?

Hand

I grew for ages
In a shaded wood.
The flora lent me
Their hue
Combined with the
Precise polish
Only a zephyr
Could muster,
I am as you
Find me now,
Soaked and
Glistening in
A rich lacquer
Of verdant
Perfection.
But something
Went awry,
Long before your
Arrival.
I was once gentle,
Delicately reaching
For the heavens,
Fingers lax,
Palm free,
Until they came...
And with such
Virulence,
Uprooted me,
Severing my tie to
Mother Gaia.
So, gawk some more
At my organic bear trap,
Forever clenched
In spite of those
Who took
My resplendence and respite
Away from
Me.

Trout Mask Replica

I have entered an abomination
Where a mustachioed wizard
Howls a burning hymnal
And stuttered proclamations.
A place where Coltrane and
Miles devolve into wicked
Scythes, oh! slash my ears
With your cacophonous beauty!
This place is a writhing pink; some rooms
Boiling; others, bone clatteringly
Cold, but some part of each room
Lies in the Delta.
My guide is a man dressed
In conifer green, in a coat lined
With fur dyed urine yellow.
Upon his head the bastard child
Of Lincoln and Earp's hats.
He faces me from a distance,
But I am hesitant to heed his
Hand-amplified call.
For in place of his face,
Grows the unexpected
Gasping, dot-eyed head
Of a calico trout.
He wants to introduce me
To the residents,
To the wonders of psychedelia,
The terrors of death and Man,
To the vicious cartoon symphony.
He wants to introduce me
To the mirror, but even there
I am not alone, for
My shadow, my slave, always skips along
Behind me in bondage. I have entered
An abomination, and I see
The past, present, and future
All playing together in a
Synesthetic game
Of hide-and-seek.
A game where no one ever
Finds anything, they only convulse,
Fast and bulbous, in the polyethylene bag.
Got me?

Exhaustion & Kandinsky

Out upon
The killingfield,
Amongst the
Dead and their shame,
I have found
It.
That
One little loose thread
That holds your reality
Taut and
Tangible.
But oh how
My curiosity
Takes control!
And with
Writhing fingers
I tear open
The void.
Oh! from within
Roars,
The beacon,
Hurtling out,
Inhaling
Color,
And love,
And touch,
And scent,
And sound,
From every atom
Until it is bone dry.
I have no ( ).*
I no longer exist.

*Pick any noun for this space

Slipping

At first
I was
a student,
and the next
thing I know
I'm
a professional
wrestler
elbow
d
r
o
p
p
i
n
g

a
cold
stone
step,
that
bastard,
he
almost
broke
my arm.

Devotion

you play captain,
and I'll play ship.
crossing the ocean,
hands tight on my grip.

we'll defy the 4 winds;
sail every strait and fjord,
but a lonely mind'll bend
when the sea is your lord

our distance away
will bring us closer you see,
but the lack of civilization
fleshes out our reality.

I leak out a groan
every time land comes near,
but you dare not touch down
for dark things linger there.

so again I turn
to return you to your sea,
as you berate the land,
and I abide your fr'gility.

until that day,
I awoke to find
nowhere within me
the one who I
had to guide across
that blue dream.
even th' sea was too much...
for you it seems.

Simulacrum

Along the road to freedom
I see a crippled man weep.
Crumpled up before me,
Lying at my feet.

He said he can't remember
Love nor from whence he came.
It's just this instrument of surrender
That's his ball and chain.

Jaded halo burning bright
Overhead all through dark hours,
But it's made of cracked light
That's raining over me in showers.

And as I am awakened here,
Blinded by golden opulence.
This, my instrument of surrender
Is what keeps me in the past tense.

What The Glass Has To Say

You're ashamed to think of such things?
What's wrong with a little bit of the devil?
To take his hand and walk his rings,
To melt that ice, within, and sinf'ly revel.

"Take up the blade you must!" he scoffs,
"Oh! and remove the touch of pain so real.
Be the flame, black, that draws the moth,
And send out a tongue, CRACK! To make them feel."

You relate with a thing so "foul"!?
Surely there must be a hint of the beast?
Never have I seen a horn or scowl,
But surely, it seems, you've, to say the least.

Ah, but why do you crouch in fright?
I've seen nothing of this suppos'd terror
Before you stands all but the light,
And I am nothing but glass, your mirror.

Elephants

The elephant
Attempted,
Delicately,
To pluck the flower
With its paw,

But learned,
Rather swiftly,
That elephants
Don't make
The greatest gardeners.

The Way It Goes For Some

This poem reflects on the way some people have to do what their elders think they should even if it dashes any and evry dream they ever had.

I am in a capsule of concrete and souls,
Lost amongst an arboreal sea.
Watch us become our obligatory roles,
As we traipse through snow and tree.

Here! Try on this iron suit, his tie of amethyst,
Isn't it lovely? It belonged to your father.
No...? Not this again, you'll do as he wished,
Don't even fight it boy, no, don't even bother.

A life on the ivories, the time of the pen,
Oh, how I wish that could be me.
Ah, that is bliss, that is true existence,
But I'll trade in my heart, so I can be free.

And as I enter that room, the truth takes hold.
For I am in my father's chamber.
Where upon an altar sits his God, gold
And bovine. No more dreams for me, ever.

Where The Hand Does Fall

These are song lyrics. If you ever run into me with a guitar, ask me to play this.

walk with me a while
down by the water's edge
I've been crawlin there for miles
I might as well be dead
I think I see your face
somewhere up ahead
makes me dream of a better place
somewhere I'll never rest my head

walk with me a while
oh please let me be
so soft and sweet
layin next to thee
oh I don't need much, no not much at all
just need be where your sweet hand will fall

this house is burnin down, down down to the ground
been searchin through the fire and look at what I found
found myself an angel amongst the burnin things
pray to god I didn't burn her wings

this house is burnin down
I can't stand the heat
will we my love, oh will we ever meet
no I don't need much, no not much at all
I just need to be where your sweet hand will fall

I'm lookin down the barrel
Of a loaded gun
and you're behind the trigger
lord god what have I done
oh I''m your love babe
oh in flesh and bone
no there's no way thats possible
my love's dead and gone

you are not my love
oh he went away from me
with blood in his eyes
and tears on my cheeks
no I don't need much, no not much at all
but I'll never be where his sweet hand will fall

darlin I'm yours
oh why can't you see
a bullet grazed my heart
but it did not kill me
don't you remember
what we whispered on the floor
oh that you've caught, and I am wholly yours

walk with me a while
oh please let me be
so soft and sweet
oh layin next to thee
no I don't need much, no not much at all
and I'll always be.....
where your sweet hand will fall

A Hole

I found a hole in my heart.
And though it takes my breath,
Everything is alright,
Because it leads to you.

Dachau Replica

Reflecting on my trip to Germany I thought about one poignant moment, a visit to the Dachau memorial. It is a rebuilt model of the concentration camp. This had a profound effect on me. I really like how this poem came out.

Translations for German words: "Arbeit macht frei"="Work will make you free", "Fraktur"="old german writing style", "Rauchen Verboten!"="No Smoking!", "Schadenfreude"="pleasure from someone's pain", "Untermenschen"="lower man (name used for Jews by the Nazis)"

The grinning maw greets me with iron teeth
And Arbeit macht frei tattooed across its face.
As I walk this man-made hell
I realize, none of this is real, but it is,
A replica of refined horror.

There, on the wall, a faded Fraktur mock-up speaks German,
RAUCHEN VERBOTEN!
Brings the nostalgia of Schadenfreude,
And some courtesy
To a place where tourists now tread.

I walked the procession
Past some twenty or more rectangles.
Only two of the hovels are perfectly aged, deftly worn,
And actually there.
Perhaps there are only two,
Because any more would be...
Too real?

Inside those cages,
I see the "beds" of Jews that do not exist,
The water basin Untermenschen never bathed in;
Lockers that never held that striped mantle
Of despair.

And they snap photos, and shake their heads
As if they understand, basking in the solemnness.
But the moment they step outside,
It's gone.

The Thunder Of Idiots

A lot of people like to slam doors and just be loud in general here, and the idea of the "thunder of idiots" came into my head, and I expanded upon it.

The thunder of idiots pierces my room,
For courtesy evades them,
Other than a carnal sort.
Oh what is it that drives the fools,
To surpass ration,
For the sake of delirium?

In the idiot tribe
The braggadocio is king;
To have the least sleep,
The shortest memory,
And the compassion of fire ants,
Passes to them, a throne,
Where they may sleep,
As the peasants don their crowns.

Unknown Perfume

That smell
As I rest my head,
Stirs my love
From hibernation
To return to work
As the hive should.
Make the dream honey,
I know the perfect flower.
It grows in the haze
Of my somnolence.
Oh sweet reverie!
Please divulge your name,
I know you are not shy.

But as you sleep
In a bottle, miles away,
Your specter remains
To comfort me.

I love you,
A thousand times,
Without even knowing
Your name.

I Have Something God Does Not

I have something
God does not.
Something outside
His New Testament
Plastic surgery,
Something they say
He can't give me.

So, I thought
I'd help Him out

Here are a few
Shards of contempt

Use 'em well.

Other People's Poetry (Upon Reading Mr. Youngs' Poetry)

I wrote this after I read my 12th grade english teacher's poetic work on his website, some of which is very good. Though after I was finished reading I had this sudden urge to go read my own work, and it intrigued me.

It is a peculiar thing
Reading other people's poetry.
For the moment I finish
I must run
To the safety
Of my own work,
As if I forgot it was there,
And to know that it is.

5 a.m.

This poem was written at... well, 5 a.m.

What is 5 a.m. like?
It's just 4 red-eyed cyclopes,
The infinite hum,
And me.

Sleepless Night

I wrote this after a sleepless night where I stood and watched a flag blow in the wind for a solid 5 minutes. It was one of those moments where the smallest thing is the most profound and beautiful. I love those moments, its a shame they can't last longer.

This is my place.
A hint of Iceland
In my ears.
A cool rain wets my neck,
And blows through
Unnatural wheat.

I ponder the fog,
And how it can
Suspend orbs
Of muffled orange light.
Those dull suns
Casting their shadows
Against the wind.

Through my earphones
I believe someone
Is coming,
But alas, the wind fools
Me once more.

I turn my damp self
And before me
Is the flag.
Old Glory fighting to
Keep herself from
Suffocating.
Her keystone child
Has already given up,
Withered and wrapped
About their
Collective shackle.

For a moment she is proud,
As any good ol' boy
Would dream of,
But something gives way,
And she falls
Limp.
Never in my time there
Did she rise again.

Spotlit,
Under God,
Above me,
I watched her die
With my mind blank,
And lips kissed
With the cool rain.

I turned and went
Away from her,
Not out of sadness,
But because I knew
She would rise again,
If only in vain.

And as the fog died
That place was taken
From me.
And she became
The martyr of "righteousness" and "truth"
Once more.

Full Bloom

I wrote this for my sister for her birthday.

O little sapling!
You came but two summers after me
And grew in my shadows,
But this was no hindrance.
You took that shade,
And made it your sun.

Spring and Summer are long gone now
And to say the least,
You are unlike the others.
You are still in full bloom.
Mother Autumn’s chilly whisper
Left you unscathed;
The icy breath of Father Winter
Passed you by,
And not a petal is dropped.

Don’t let the lesser flora
Break your branches
Or loosen your roots,
For you are a spectacle
Of Nature’s fine hand.

Even after I return to the Earth,
After every other tree akin to you is gone,
There you will be,
Standing proud, standing strong, standing resolute.

O little sapling!
It seems you have an admirer!
A little girl is staring up at you and wonders,
“How did you get so big and strong?”
And through a gentle breeze, you answer,
“Because I am loved.”

The Invalid's Strength

This poem was created after i saw the movie "Everything Is Illuminated". Its a fabulous movie, really powerful and really funny, but ultimately heartbreaking.

I am a hollow Jew,
Rattling with the echoes
Of the invalid
That I foolishly call Religion.
And though he is weak
Somedays he walks
With me,
With a heart stronger
Than the one I carry.

I Must Return

I must return
I must go back to the broken bed
And the concrete walls
Of higher learning.
Who will be waiting
For me there?
I can't say,
But I hope its
No one.

Along A Path Of Orchids

This poem was inspired by the Georgia O'Keefe painting "Jack In The Pulpit IV".

I met a stranger
Along a path of orchids.
She drew back her hood
To reveal
Nothing
But a solitary blue candle
Breathing
A white flame.

She spoke to me,
Like a thought,
And drew me
Into her.

What lies beyond
Her abyss?

I reach to touch
The unknown
And find
But a wall,
Fragile and trembling.

My greatest fears have come true.

Quilts

This poem was inspired by Gustav Klimt's "Death and Life". Its an awesome painting, go find it.

This is the world
As I see it.
A place of wavering
Uncertainty caught in
An unescapable gyre.
Within the eye of that swirl lies
Flaccid equality, kept
Under organic lock and key.

But as they are whipped about
The fragrant winds, many a soul
Finds its place
Amongst the
Extant patchwork,

Until their needles no longer
Carry a varicolored wisp, and
Drop,
Rusted and dull
Into my cold, timeless hand.

And though it may be
Wonderful
To live,
I think it fine
To be
Where I am.

For I have my own quilt;
More glorious
and ancient
Than this
Huddled amalgam.

You shall be part
Of mine
My friend
In time,
In time.

A Rare Vigil

This was written on a sleepless night, when I was surprised to find the dorm lobby empty, a rare occurrence indeed.

A rare vigil tonight.
The lobby is empty,
And I am calm
In the silence.

The early hour
Does not deny
Sound or motion,
But tonight,
Only the building
Breathes
And my pen
Scrawls.

There is nothing
More splendid
Than detachment
In a place where

Solitude

Is not possible.

Makin' A Stand

This is a protest song.

Revel all you sinners
In your politics
And war.
Proto-punks
And neon chunks
All cry out for
More.
I just wanna know
What makes you think
That you know?
How much a life is worth
And when they should go.
So tip your hat
To the coffins
And the band, yeah,
Cause that's me
At the front
Makin' a stand.

Well I know you
Got your book
And you believe in it too.
Why do you ask
Abraham or Jesus
What to do?
Oh yeah, that's right
They wouldn't've agreed
With you plan.
So you lie to the nation
And tell 'em it's
For the good of man.
But I'll just mark
Another tick
Up on the wall, yeah,
Soldiers just like
Dominoes,
They fall and fall.

So don that black pin-stripe coat
All sable and foul.
Wear that plastic face
You use to hide the scowl.
Cause there's nothin'
Better than a blind nation,
Ready to do whatever
You want 'em to
Whether true or petty.
Now go stand before them,
The proletariat.
Oh my their faces look
rather angry!
Are you scared yet?
Oh, are you yet?

Oh I know you'll be around
For another year.
That's just enough time
For you to instill some fear.
Fear, oh no, you got that done.
C'mon, just another one.
Just one more soldier.
Ah send 'em over there, ha!

Revel all you sinners
In your politics
And war.
Proto-punks
And neon chunks
All cry out for
More.
I just wanna know
What makes you think
That you know?
How much a life is worth
And when they should go.
So tip your hats
To the coffins
And the band, yeah,
Cause that's me
At the front
Makin' a stand.