Thursday, April 24, 2014

What kind of liar am I?

I'm the kind that can't
say goodbye
I'm the kind that loses time
forgets it somewhere
I'm the kind that says what
he thinks and believe
what he says,
I'm the kind whose life is
one big joke no one gets,
I'm the kind that's effortlessly
dying, formally insane,
I'm the kind that writes down
his every thought but never
reads them,
I'm the kind that can't lie to the
page,
I'm the kind that let's anyone
and everyone down,
I'm the kind that wears it like
a badge, all scarlet and drowned,
I'm the kind that's like this
and I'm the kind that's not.
who I am.

Entry point

My life has
one great schism
there was before
and now after,
there was a terrible
Hurricane, Edd clasped his
hand to door nob,
plates blew off table,
there was an infinite
open space, maroon skies
cerulean floors, a silver statue
without form, without face,
I died and was reborn,
I was someone else and myself,
a mushroom cloud eruption had
slowed down time, while I
sipped imaginary tea at the
top of the stairs,
I'm still waiting for someone to
tell me it's okay to come down.

Space Virus

came down
look at star
shooting westward
always westward
I'm on that trip
on that way
foreveralwaysneverendingly
stuck seeing empty
passage revolving
heat birthed bodies
in the cold sinew
between one form expanding
out from the beginning
one being working the insides
sentient consciousness individual
consciousness is a virus
star grazer we've been infected
with misunderstanding, I'm trying to
get back there, to the first step
to the all-being-one-ness
to the entry point

I wanna see how it used to be,
I want to be what's next.

"Okay," She said.

we waited in line,
with all the other
suckers, we had different
reasons, but we waited,
they waited, all the same,
I tapped my foot,
another guy leaned forward,
leaned back,
then he got up there
and started talking to the
lady, he had mail,
gave his room number,
she left for maybe a minute,
some more people joining us
in line, she came back gave
the guy his mail, they
exchanged pleasantries,
he left, I moved up, looked
around the lobby, too many
old people, too many students,
I just wanted to use the grill,
finally,
I got my turn,
"I'd like to use the grill,"
she took it in,
fixed her glasses,
sighed,
this was a tough one,
this wasn't mail.
"no propane," she said.
"Oh,' I said.
"yeah," she said, "sorry."
"thanks," I said,
"I'll just cook upstairs."
"Okay," she said.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

I'm calling you

imagine color
rainbow drawn over
clear sky and you,
white dress nipped by
breeze, smell of flower
can't quite pin it down,
spring warmth and tanned
legs, cloud casts fleeting
shadows, there's a field
you're walking barefoot,
hint of smile, unknowing
gazes into the horizon,
obscured by green, green
trees like everywhere on
the east coast, it's so green,
and the day is fleeting, already
going, afternoon golden sun,
tired sun, earth turning,
another day, a peculiar
way to tell time, the only way,
you rest your hand on the back
of you head, turning turning
toward the sound,
with your other hand waving
imagine the sky blue blue
blue imagine.

Is my life over?

Old man,
your memories
are worth
nothing
to me

Thursday, April 17, 2014

COntext CLUEs

HOw'z'it'nOW
I'mjust NOw realizing
justnOW that the moOn
peeksout from leftsideof
building standingstark in
front of me and all blood
moon eclipse I'm watching
wrong direction, THen,
that was then, I was,
I couldn
't wrapp my head '
roud which way which was
it, &living on north/south by north
south highway makes that
pretty sad NOw I kNOw,
I said it myself like,
HOw'z'it'thEN
I'mstill NOt thinking
thisthrough right just not
sinking into where it hastogo#
I just(forget it) I just (I'm gonna
end it) my thoughts scatter like
scatter liek thoughts given way
din-din-din--din-din-din--din
it's en it's en its end is ending
is GOne oh no oh god ah fuck
oh why why why
I wouldn'
t
t
ttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt--
hold the k(e)y
WHy'z'it'We find ourselves
here //SO oftEN//

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Some days

I'm a big ol' blank slate
with no words,
a terrible failure of a
poet with nothing to say,

I've been lying on the floor
drifting in and out,
sleeping 12 hours a day,
wondering why I can't write,

forcing myself up
every now and then
to vomit out some bile,
to click and save,

I tell myself to ignore it, that
it's a rough patch, that they come
and they go, I can't decide
between coffee or wine

I pour both

I drink neither

I go back to staring at the ceiling, I
try to keep my eyes open,
I fail

I'd rather dream about
all the writing I'm not doing,
I'd rather not think about it.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Same old

Rainy
grey
same old
place
umbrellas
ticking clocks
shoes
walk to
work
same old
thing
another day
same old
people
sentences
yes
no
pretty good
and you?
desk
lamp on
computer
hums
bodies
moving in
and out
revolving doors
beige building
facade
acronyms
breakfast coffee
lunch
same time
same roads
no windows
carpeted floors
murmur of
useless conversations
uh huh
numbers
oh
clock moves
slowly
I can't see
myself here
but I'm
here
what do I
look like
outside
I don't
belong

where am I
going
why aren't I
going?
why am I
here?

10:17

powers down
blood moon behind
thick rain clouds
soaked this morning
right arm left arm
bandana under hat
waited up, couldn't see
eclipse through heavy
sky, what a waste, what
a har-har-something-somerthing
argher-hargh-argh-sumetin-
hag-aw-well, sleep outside
sleep on stomach dream crash
nightmare see thought like those
thoughts you get moments before
sleep come like crashing waves
images bleeding into each other
like reading a story and seeing the
picture in your head, at night tonight
in the night I am hearing this and seeing
in steady streams what I am believed to see

every morning I look at my bed and think, "I
should cover the mattress with a sheet," and every
night I look at the bed thinking nothing and fall asleep.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Sunday, April 13, 2014

A conversation over type; I'm still looking for my first badge

now that I('m)
done saying all the important
things I thought to s(ay)
I can (dis)appear
(and) you won't have to
go on missing me
or my words.

I'll pick the letters for
my tombstone anagram

that'll have the scholars talking in
a hundred years

"what'd he mean by it?" "What was he trying to say?"

"Is it a puzzle?" "Are there clues hidden in his work?"

If they point to this poem,
if it's still hanging around,
make sure let them know it
was a set-up a cosmic joke
a big laugh

the alphabet has (english) 26 letters

I've used every single one of them.

scouts honor.

Sunday

you just sit here
and type following the
keys hitting enter
hitting space hitting letter
hitting shift without glancing
at the screen just going along with the song
sound of silence instrumental
version spring night rev of
cars whistle of air through
tree branches already blooming
red tinted flowers gone
chimes, guitar strum acoustic
slow drum haunting notes
light becomes starker the difference
sunday night head starts beating
with work hours of free release
ending back to cell doors gates
tomorrow, bongo drum duk-buk-dunk
waits again sky is still navy
visible buildings lighting up
hum of tires sounds like steady
drizzle, I'd enjoy it if it rained
could sleep outside, song starts over
repeat one long endless circle-thing
minutes click thinking of getting pocket
watch felicia types away rosamond
wears a path room to kitchen sffffffff
sfffffffff sfffffffffffff rug to tiles flip flops
on sfffffff clack sfffffffff clack
kitchen door kitchen light baking
sunday night sad song dun-da-da dun-
silence.

Admonishment

Read I've Shouted... without
realizing it was only three
quarters typed out, last 3 pages
made a lot of sense for the overall
theme, but I guess it was
unnecessary
for the reading, or maybe
that's me making
excuses for fucking up,
who knows probably is
I won't say, but it sits on my
conscious now, I can't shake it,
like something undone, or a word
I can't quite grasp tho I know the
damn meaning I want and need
oh well, I say I'm saying I'm telling
get'em next time make sure it goes smooth
make sure you type the fucking thing out
quit giving in early up early
take fucking notes.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Notes on a napkin

every now and then
there's this moment when
a waiter has to reach extra far
in order to hand me my coffee
and I'm caught in between
reaching out and taking it from them
or sitting back and watching
them lean all the way across
the table to place it in front of me,
this usually ends with me
staring at them until the coffee is
gingerly left in front of me
and I stare at the cup and mutter
thank you as they walk
away.