I Was Expecting Rain

rubbing my face,
harsh against the glass
being somebody
nobody.
watching as the leprechauns migrate around me
waiting for my one slip
my one mistake
so they could rob me blind
and beat me
upstairs
god how it hurts
the pain throbs at the windows
the glass bleeds slowly
a shit load of glass hammers
beating the stuffing out of us
us
we
you
me
i
key
uh oh.

Deny ME.

down on suppression plant
leaves breath
quick change mind
i don't mind
below all else
like nothing else
below your sweet stench
i live
like
a mother
fucking demon
.
oh.
yes

It's Not Glamours Work

sew me up
as i lose my stuffing
my inner fiber
the demented dollar
even the peanut butter is melting
separating
in it's can
losing its sustainability
questioning it's moral ethic
even the peanut butter melts
and
and
the dye was cast

Dougal sat there, grinning, stupid wide mouth grin, town fool, town drunk, town crier.

When the Trees Bleed

walk on the beach with the crustaceans
as i crawl
and we crawl
down on the beach
when the surfers wash down their waves
and beer on the ledge
never looked so good
as when you stood
in front
of me
on my own
personal beach
damn your eyes
damn
your
eyes
i awoke
sometime around early "am"
when you pulled the blanket tight around yourself
and the heat from the fire burning off the 210
slowly dissipated
because the sun was down for so long
i watched as the sun finally came in through the window
and the early morning buses rolled by
and the leaf blowers fired up
and i stared at your beautiful body
next to mine
and i asked myself:
"how'd i get so lucky?"
it's a question without an answer
so don't try to think
because we'll break our brains
and that won't be good
all i'm saying
pretty baby
is balance
and balance
as i licked your soft skin
and you tasted of bubblicious
it was
unlike anything else
and
i undid yourself
with my teeth
pulling at the silky string
hanging from your hips
just
one
more
kiss
before
we both
simmer
and now
as you lay your head against my arm
and i drove us into space
and beyond
it was nice
it was clean
and
i know you felt it too

At the End of Pine Cones

alone
he slams on his pedal hard
alone
he laughs in the face of death
alone
he can no longer cleanse his bullshit
alone
he drips down
the pipes into the sewer
the air fills with ashes
and they land on our car
welcome to los angeles
where everything burns
and as the sun sets
and we dress up
and venture out to our make believe
story telling bullshit
that was your own fault
you knew what you knew
but deny
deep down
inside of you
the truth racks your brain
but you turn a cold shoulder
and routine follow your routine
the death of us
shall be you
for you know exactly
exactly your first thought
is what you should follow
i know
you know
but you don't want to move
so i make moves
and look like shit in others eyes
if you don't take part in the game
you can never lose
never be hurt
never be anything
except what you want to

don't
ever
be
anything
unless
you can
be
into
everything

Cold Spaghetti for Breakfast

its easy to write poetry. there's no explanation needed for any of it. people read it and hear things they want to hear, the writer doesn't have to be constant, things can move here and there. it's easy to write poetry

the power of the word is strong though. words like: marsupial, cunnilingus, apathy, senorita. these words and many other like them have a wonderful feeling when said outloud. the way the roll off your tongue. the power of the of the word is beautiful.

some writers write for other people, which is hard, and i can understand their need to push the boundaries, some writers write for fame, which is bullshit, and i hope you pig fuckers become famous and are unraveled as the frauds which everyone should see you for. but the good writer, the constant writer, the writer who doesn't feel the need to put it down, but enjoys the process of doing so, the one who can string together words with a single thought, those writers are the ones that outlast all of us. did you ever wonder if Fitzgerald knew that we'd still be reading his work long after he was dead? you know what that is? that's a legacy. that's beautiful; although Fitzgerald was a shitty person, and if i met him i'd probably punch him in the face, the prick, he had a way of using the word, arranging the word like a musician, so the story is constant, points are shown, the strings are there and all we have to do is pull them, and watch the words unravel.
hell of a writer that guy.


you're probably wondering where i'm going with all this. keep wondering, because i haven't gotten there yet.

what i do know is this:

these words feel more important than anything. i love my friends. and if you know me well enough, i often make choices that are questionable, but not morally destructive. self destructive not so much, although i do enjoy pain. so whatever.
meanwhile, lets return to the point. i love women. you are beautiful. i have some problems with you, but i rather not list them at this time. anyway, you provide me with the view sometimes needed to align my bullshit. so thank you.
you can't look in the mirror without seeing just a touch of horseshit smeared over your top lip.
it's a fact
i do it everyday.
we're all shit eaters!
the worlds going to collapse upon itself.
holy jesus!

this is phase, a time in our lives, where discovery is key, and although the media has thrown this blanket over us, telling us how we should dress, who we should date, what we should be doing with our lives, why are we here? blah blah fucking blah jerk me off. we should assemble as a people. what have we got in our mid twenties other than alcohol, one night stands, low paying jobs and a constant need to fuck everything up? nothing. we're the workforce of America, we're being trained and molded so that we can pop out some kids and keep working these low paying jobs and walking around like a bunch of jerk offs with shit smeared on our top lip.
so why all the hubbub, bub?
we don't have much except ourselves and other humans. lets enjoy this. still fight, because the world will stop spinning if we don't fight. but if a nice thing comes along in your life don't respond with, "ah fuck, that's not what i wanted.."

try more like

"ah fuck, that's beautiful"

the small victories
you hear me god!
the small good things

it's good when it's good