The Space Between

the space is growing larger, between realities i mean, so i medicate myself daily, with caffeine, nicotine, ephedrine and ibuprofen, it's hard out here for a hustler. movies fuck you up man, they make you see and believe and hope and dream for these illegitimate bullshit make believe tales. out here, greed and envy prevail, and the good guy gets pissed on constantly in the rat race of life, as he's trampled so everyone can be stylish and lose themselves in themselves.

it's watching the sun burn and the leaves dry out.

it's being spent and still pushing forth.

it's throwing up liquor that hasn't even been digested, it still has that stench.

poetry is dead
and music is singing it's death tune
i hope none of you understand
and i also hope you all hate my writing,
my cussing and incorrect use of words,
i wipe myself with "poetry" rules
although i am vulnerable
almost all the time
how can i be?
when this world no longer knows the term humanity?
i care too much, and that's probably my demise
anyone who is close to me will understand
i ask too many questions and think way beyond necessary,
but that's because i'm curious
and i do want to know
i saw an older lady, with a walking stroller,
get stuck between the doors of the metro,
and none of the bastards around me would help her
i had to stop, and wedge myself between the door
humanity
hardly any of us have it to begin with.

it's easy to be an asshole; just don't care. sit there, let people get crushed, say, "yeah whatever" and just let everything roll off your spine. it's too much of a task for you to put out your hand, so instead, you ball it into a fist and use it to pound against the walls you've built around yourself.

knock knows

when you breath,
it dissipates
and if all goes right, and exactly
just how it should
the wind will blow it my way,
and i'll inhale, deep down, forever true,
just like i'm suppose too
part me,
part you,
part of what i never thought i'd write
but that's the beauty of this thing
that it makes me go unexpectedly into the night
and crawl right along the edge of the rug
and down the road i can see a lamp burning for me
the place for travel to rest his head
financially, it'll all balance out
personally, it somehow makes a difficult stand
but all around,
it's where i'm good at
for this time
this place
for this is the piece
that we all need right now

Dah dum Doo Dah

... the dream you mean?
sure i'll tell you about the dream
so i'm standing there, doing laundry,
in a laundry the laundry place?
uhuh
ok. go on
and i'm folding my clothes, actually they're not my clothes,
they belong to somebody else, but i'm folding, and i start getting
to the bottom of the basket, as i reach down for my last pair of socks
i look up and there's this guy with glasses, and he has this bloody
red ball of mass in his hands
uhuh
well i wipe my nose with my arm, and would you believe this,
the fucker is holding a piece of my brain
what the?
yup.
anyway, he has this big cup, with a bunch of sharpened pencils in it.
and he's stabbing your brain?
no exactly stabbing, he's breaking off the tips of the pencils into it
can you feel it?
not really, but every time he breaks off a tip my thumb twitches and
the screen flickers
you're nuts.
not me, the dream is nuts.
so what do you think it means?
i think maybe it means that i should start using pencils and stay away from pens
that doesn't make any sense
who's the one talking sense here?
what do you think.
i think you should stop projecting
i'm not projecting, you're projecting
would the two of you shut up i'm trying to figure something out here
.....

Mediator

stop it
no.
stop kicking the back of my seat or god help me
i'll pull this fucker over and beat you with a golf club
pfffttt...
from the passenger
so what do you think? should we go on with this?
my only worry is that someone might interpret this the wrong way,
in which case i'll end up back on the bright side.
it shouldn't matter
easy for you to say, you don't have to confront what i do,
you can just dissipate and nobody will ever know the difference.
but you'll know.
yeah i will..
from the backseat
i'm hungry man, lets get some hash browns and jam
no dough
that's always your excuse, yet you find dough for the cake.
piss off man.
hey, what if we pretend it's all a game?
what? when did you get here.
i've been here, i just don't really ever say anything unless necessary.
and you find it necessary now?
uhhhh.. yeah
the man has a point.
yeah, this guy over here (motions with thumb)
he's got a point.
ok, so lets do it, hash browns and jam and we'll play the game
let's just not get carried away, remember who's in charge here.
hey, everybody be cool man, it's a cop.

we all slumped down in our seats

Conversations with Oneself Before Stepping into the Bathtub

"it's cold in here"
i agree
"you really should of waited longer to get in, or out"
negative, the water was warm and ready, almost calling for me, so i jumped right on in, whatever the end result is, i'll deal with it.
"you're not understanding, what if it's not the right temp and you throw everything off, you're really going to piss into the wind for this?"
i will
"you're a stubborn bastard, but i like it, you dedicate yourself to things, that might just be your end."
i'll be
"damned you mean?"
of course
"don't forget how bad it might get along the way, you are going to want to give up several times, and it might not even be for the right cause."
that doesn't matter
".. what do you mean it doesn't matter?"
what i mean, (i put my hand on his shoulder at this point)
is that it might not be perfect, i might get worse, or i might get better, i can stand here all day arguing with you, but the water will only get colder. so lets settle on this, shall we? the temperature of the water doesn't matter right now, only the water itself, it surrounds me just like i want it to, it washes the dirty from me, and it makes me relaxed, if at some point, this furthers my sickness and i fall into a coma, then so be it, at which point, i would like my room to be painted mauve and to be covered in cherry blossoms, and i want a crown, a crown while i sleep.
too think to far into it
i'm just pissing into the wind.

cough, sigh, hack hack

the typewriter sits in her case,
lonely, under my desk, waiting,
i feel her kicking at night,
sometimes i can hear the clicks in my head,
and i can see it grow legs and walk up onto my chest,
and scream, "fucking do something!"
i'm scared
what if it's not good?
fuck it if it's not good,
i'll use the pages to wipe the snot from my nose
or the blood from my calluses
this keyboard is too hallow for me,
i need interaction.
give me interaction!
you don't understand do you?
you shouldn't
it's one of the those things you keep close to your heart
locked away in the cellar doors of your mind
to be awaken with the sun shooting through your blinds
as the morning cold runs up your toes and grabs your
balls and squeezes them tight so you have to place the pillow
right between your legs for some kind of warmth
she's starring at me now
the typewriter i mean
i'm faithful i swear,
i've just been busy with work,
don't hate me, you know i do my best writing on you,
just give me a minute to get in place,
in a good place and a good movement,
i don't want to waste you on some bullshit story about
the death of moths
.

Catch a Body Coming Through the Rye

park bench
and Christmas lights
macaroni and cheese
melted and gooey
spaghetti O's
oh!
newspaper wasteland
tumbleweeds neverland
and freeway overhangs
huddle masses under awnings
and holes with shoes
socks drenched with gutter water
through and through
straight to the soul
and down into the blood
streaming cheeks
covered with traces of mercury
and decided to reopen the letter
sealed with milk mustache
pistachio shells crumble underfoot
and the nurse tightens the clamps
this white room isn't big enough
for the three of us
so get the fuck out