a Good Friend

a good friend
like a brother
brother,
you sit with me when times are rough
we ride together
across the asphalt
towards patience
and anger
my brother
you make choices
worth deciding
choices
that aren't second thoughts
but a twist of the phone
my brother
when i'm gone for two days
you call to make sure
the world hasn't opened up
and sucked me into it's core
a good friend
a rarity
you know what the term friendship means
a term girls
and hallow people
throw around
my brother

Everything Burns

Just for tonight
i rather not write
i rather sit here and drink
and tomorrow
i'll wake up
and everything will be the same
just as i left it
because
people
and objects
do not change
he who left you behind yesterday
will leave you behind ten years from now
i enjoy this way too much
i see moves
before moves are made
it's no wonder
i get bored
and stare at my shoelaces
wondering if god exist
watching me suck on this rum
everything burns
the nights flame with fire
and the glow through my window
cast shadows on my dying plants
and the wicker grows sorry with every plaque
every trophy
that paces across this room
i've detached myself
from everything not worth losing
and attached myself
to the good things that withstand
the test
the time
the decay
of life
i'm okay
but you
i don't think so

a Pocket Full of Poinsettias

it was in the last minutes of that night
the end of that day
before
blurring into the next one
and the one following.
an ocean was pouring out of my palms
shaking
cold sweat
running down my back
so
i sneaked a hit to calm me down
keep my nerves in check
she stood behind me- off to my right
holding the poems
in a tiny neat stack
against her soft milky skin
the night was burning inside of me
life was tugging at my pant leg
wanting me to come along
so i did.
i medicated myself properly
before entering the "asylum"
one jack
to wash down 3 caffeine tablets
and a cigarette to balance it all out
i'm ready now i think
now wait.
ok lets go
bring in the animals!
let them gather around!
i walked up onto the soap box
which made for a makeshift stage
she handed me the poems
and i destroyed the neat stack in a matter
of seconds
her smile was comforting
and
with that
the sweating stopped
the shaking ceased
and i pulled out the bottle
took a slug
and remembered this time
the first time
that i
began to read to all of you
"This poem is called "a Pocket Full of Poinsettias"
and it goes:
it was in the last minutes of that night... ...

You've Been Immortalized in Words my Dear, Be Proud.

"all you do is talk about drinking, and fucking, and how bad everyone is."
"this is true"
"doesn't it get boring? saying the same things over and over again."
"actually it's challenging; the beauty in it is saying the same thing different ways. it's called Tautology"
"whatever, it's frustrating."
Sara wiggled her sweet little ass into the kitchen and got started on the pumpkin pie.

Jeremy threw the hat onto his knee; watched it hang there, balancing. Understanding her frustration wasn't possible. For him things were black or white, up or down, nothing was ambiguous, everything was defined and straight cut. Jeremy never had to make assumptions about anything, he just did what felt right and pushed forward, all the while valuing humanity and trying to understand why life was so long and filled with so many vacant bodies.

"Hey"
"yeah."
"let me talk to you for a second."
Sara walked back into the living room and put her hair up. Watching her, everything was sweet, her hair always smelled like vanilla and her skin tasted like bubble gum, even the air had a sweetness that trailed behind her after she walked by him. It was like living inside a bubble made of gum, the world was pink and soft, blurry, always giving to the touch, and at first it seemed very comfortable, here in this bubble, but outside those stretched walls of candy, there was a place where you could fall down and scrape a knee, and feel the air rushing into your open cuts and soars, a place where you could get your heart broken and get flowers on the same day. That's where he belonged, but he didn't want to go alone though.

"i want you to come with me"
"where?"
"out there" - he motioned towards the windows, the moon and sun were both out, fighting for day or night, neither one of them wanting to give up at all, but knowing that if they didn't follow the system of this, they'd both plunge into the ocean and die horrible deaths under a sea of empty life boats.
"what are you saying?"
"i want you to go somewhere with me, right now, lets just leave this place for a bit."
"what about the pie?"
"to hell with the pie! this is important, there's a whole living organism out there that you haven't seen. you need to get out there with me, get cut up, lose a little blood and get some scars, get fucked up and wake up in a strange place. we just need to get up!"
"you're being crazy" - she slowly started backing away towards the kitchen, her eyes were bright and big, puzzled look on her face as she twisted her "I'm the Bakers Dozen" apron in her hands.
Jeremy stood up and let his hat fall to the floor, for every step she took back, he went forward, slowly he crept, with his hands creeping up waiting for his words to crescendo.
"i know you don't understand, but i feel it, in here, and it says we need to get out of here now, you and me, we can come back soon, but we you need to trust me, follow me, come with me outside, just be with me, i know you want it like i do, i can feel it running through your veins at night and burning in your eyes, don't look at me like that!"
"but it's cold out there"
"you can have my jacket"
"but i don't want to go. i like it right now, it's warm and cozy, and we'll have pie soon, and i just put up the Halloween decorations, plus i can't waste time, i still have to make the lemon bars and cookies."
"are... you saying.. that you don't want to go.. with me?"
"i can't right now, i don't have the time."
"you can't give me some of it?"
"i told you when you came over that i was busy, i don't have time right now to be doing this."
she stormed off back into the kitchen, back to that goddamn pie, that pie that would never give her anything except self serving gratification. i'd like to see that pie take care of you when you get sick, or that pie rub your head until you fall asleep, or that pie make love to you on the edge of the bed like i do.
goddamn pie.
Jeremy walked over and picked up his hat.
"ok then, well, i'm gonna go."
"you don't have to leave"
"it's better i should, we can talk tomorrow, goodnight."

They embraced and held it longer than usual. He felt inside that they would never embrace like this again, and that she wouldn't ever understand what he felt, what he meant, what he saw through those alcohol soaked eyes. Everything burned, the city went up in flames and the people remained calm, because they never felt anything, the people were tools, empty vacant bodies equipped with a minimum internal temperature. Although they were warm to the touch, their hearts were cold and filled with bile. Through alcohol soaked eyes Jeremy could see clearly, nothing was floating, everything bolted to the ground, everything had a home, a place, even chaos was marked with the frail sympathy of order. He sometimes wished he was born slightly more blind to the world, so beauty was always beauty, even when marked with hate. If he didn't wallow in his self perpetuating desire to be a deviant bastard, then he would never be anything more than those vacant bodies soaked in cologne waiting to be ignited.

When Jeremy walked out the door, never looking back, he felt a small pain grasp him inside. He went on a heavy bender that night, staying out until the bars closed and then drinking alone inside of his car listening to the night roar.

He went back to Sara's the next day and knocked on her door. He knocked and knocked, called her several times and began to get worried. A neighbor stepped out with his laundry bag and began locking his door.
"hey man,"
"hey Jeremy, what's up man how's it hanging?"
"i'm good, i'm good.. do you know if Sara left? Her cars down in the parking lot but she's not answering the door."
"you want to climb over to the balcony from my apartment?"
"yeah, thanks Buddy, that would be great."
When Jeremy finally made it over the railing he looked in through the glass. He pushed the doors open and walked into the room.
Sara lay there, on the couch, with a small trickle of blood coming out of her mouth.
The apartment had been filling with carbon monoxide the whole time they were talking, and after Jeremy left she felt sleepy and decided to lay down on the couch.
a tear rode its way down Jeremy's cheek as he kissed her forehead.
"You've been immortalized in words my dear, be proud."
and she was.

On the Upswing

On the Upswing
no one cares
when you're on the upswing
feeling fine
like your shell is made from wood and wire
the phone rang more
when you were driving toward madness
now that you're peaceful
you washed up hack
nobody knocks on doors
or calls your name from the street below
phones don't ring
messages don't get sent
now it's quiet
silent
i can hear the grasshoppers farting
outside my window
across the street
in the thick brush
watch stops periodically
putting it up to your ear
hoping that you hear a ticking
because no ticking
is worth ticking
right?
Fucking right.

Oh boy

return to ice box
cody
i say return to ice box
we are
kids who pass in the hall
without glancing up from the floor
hands in pockets
greasy hair
dragging a bag of kitty litter
behind us
gradually losing our sand
through the hour glass
helping bad people
find a place to shit
even though
knowing
they'd shit on you
if given the opportunity
degeneration
they play on monkey bars
and we just watch
with discontent
and malice
and ride our tricycle
into the teachers ankles
laughing
the whole time
lighting trash cans on fire
and laughing
the whole time
showing our private parts to others
and laughing
the whole time
pissing in the class garden
and laughing
the whole time
we are
frail bones
covered by twisted chunks of flesh
but we find a way
to continue on
this path
of mad laughter

Dance Little Dinosaur Dance

somewhere
at the clay covered calling
i heard her wailing
between the moans
in the throws of passion
and i couldn't come running
because her sighs
were hallow and vague
destined to
never
be
heard
by the pure
i constantly lost the battle
wait
not battle
but bottle
i constantly lost the bottle
so duct taping it to my hands
i made new friends
Buchanas, Glenfiddich and Glenlivet
who sat at my side
and didn't want more
than what i could give them
some sneer
call me drunk, cynic, self destructive and negative
perhaps
in your eyes
all of your eyes
you see me as this
but how else is someone to deal
with this deck of cards
that constantly ask to up the ante?
but never play me a good hand
the game is rigged
and the worthy suffer alone
in their apartments
typing at their machines
with fever and devotion
knowing that somehow
this will all work itself out
if not on paper
or in our minds
if not on examples
of human life
you're left with
despair, angst, chaos
and the only way to make any sense
of this devastating humanity
is to write it all down
and stroke yourself
constantly
without remorse
or rue
but when the chips are down
some give up
walk away
and find another source
to feed themselves
and feel important
this is just bullshit to make you feel somewhat worthy
influential in this holding cell they call life
when you know that the problem is not them
but you
and your inward mutilation
of the heart
which you do not listen
or
heed
once the good people leave your side
and you're left alone
to figure this out
on your own
you become scared
and latch onto whatever you can
to make you big again
and these false realities
you create
will hold you momentarily
but one day
your tits will sag
your cellulite will multiply by the dozens
the face they all once loved
will wrinkle and decay
she'll realize
she
will
that all those men
that passed through her life
pretending to listen to her struggle
only wanted to shove their cock
in her mouth
and cum on her chest
fuck her on a drunken night
and never be heard from
again.
typical of the male
but you are typical female
so you get what you deserve
be it semen on the face
or loneliness you try to placate
and the one man
who would tolerate
your fickle being
has gone somewhere new
you said, "no"
when he offered to bring you along
and now that his struggle
which has been tired and trying
devastating at every turn
finally reaches its resting place
you want to jump back in
even though you left at the bad turn
he will let you ride with him
and then
without any remorse
push you out of the moving car
so that the pixies can have their way
with you
but you'll never learn
no you won't
because your mind is steel trap
the doors are always shut
he has more luck
trying to convince a donkey to quack
then to have you realize
who you are
is but a carbon copy of a copy of a copy of a copy
of an unoriginal thought
so you will never comprehend
that
you are dying
with every moment