words:fail:me

player piano

2010-09-30T08:25:00.000-07:00

hush
don't be like that
it's just a pinch
a tickle
a slap

i realize now
what that city has made you
what it made me

an animal

i have strayed from the pride
found an ounce or two
of humanity
between the times
of utter madness

but you stay sharp
visceral
you keep
feeding
on me

i'm nothing
but a sun bleached ribcage
and you
are
still
hungry

the kissinger carcass

2010-09-23T00:10:00.000-07:00

it's easy when the
madness
is on the outside
you can
react
move
slice
attack

try evasion
when it writhes
from the inside
like your forked tongue
flickering
300 miles
cutting me
another maudlin letter

your messages
swallow a box of
razor blades

a brick of
nonchalant invocation
and i can feel
my own spine rise
until your diplomacy
burns my throat

watch the acid
rise and fall

do me one last favor
and
dip your head
into
the fire

a killer's prayer

2010-08-23T12:47:00.000-07:00

i see you,
sweet salvation

the wind cools
the sun blankets
the people walk
get haircuts
and read glossy magazines
they laugh
feel the purpose of things
and as they bask
in your peaceful tide

you are
screaming
but i cannot hear you
i am
deaf
to hope

four forty in thirteen

2010-08-09T15:00:00.000-07:00

you're
all
killers

and
this
death
inside

is

my

armor

burned

2010-08-03T04:38:00.000-07:00

all of it
gone
stay with me
lick
the ashes

i hear you
you can't sleep either

we fight the same madness
with different weapons
this war
of boredom, of frustration
hopelessness and spite

we are soldiers
waiting for our turn
at death for glory

our mercy bullet
never coming
soon enough.

all that you've paid for

2008-11-10T11:02:00.000-08:00

alive or something like it
among the empty houses
i sit upon their mental furniture
they won the war
for war
so we can have it all the time

it’s just another gathering
A social noose
this jacket and tie
judge and jury

the sweat and the tape
the give of the hollow hardwood
we’re round from all angles
we’re broken answers and crooked smiles
your latest
florescent
counter top
philosophy

like arithmetic
and other forgotten rituals
i see the future
processed, ironic and dead
you’re just one in a murder
swaying directionless in mid flight

i laugh and welcome myself to
the old western front

everyone’s got
their own barrel
to scrape

three reasons to walk home

2008-11-03T15:10:00.000-08:00

age has an honest stride:
don't question anything
it's the surest thing
you'll go to sleep
and wake up as yourself
the you that you know
a layer thinner
a little more grey
safe and dead
dumber all the same

404 point 2:
i'll
stop
giving
my
opinion
about
people
when
i
start
being
wrong
about
them

10 East to the 60:
everyday
you take
you tire
insulted
like
gunfire

overhauled

2008-10-28T10:27:00.000-07:00

You had me there for a minute
and every other minute after that

they are weak and trapped

those minutes
romantic and sick
sixty ticks

It’s so easy to to manipulate the line
between want and need
when you’re bored
when you’re hateful

you move

it’s pencil shavings on a blank page
one eye closed staring at a telephone pole
open the other eye
and watch the wires move

perspective,
it’s a war.
Your words explosive,
and I’ve fell
on every grenade
you’ve ever mouthed.

I left myself out on the limb of humanity
thought I was hungry
for love and the fruit of life
and now I’ve noticed that your reach
yields a saw
not a hand

perspective,
it’s a drawing

a line
between
your reality

and mine...

brian wilson isn't crazy, we are.

2008-10-20T14:40:00.000-07:00

lockstep into oblivion

beauty in this country
isn’t beauty at all

views of hills
now clogged with views of houses
who want views of hills
with houses on them

the pedestal isn’t for teachers
or thinkers
or artists
and god forbid it was for pacifists
or anarchists
or dissenters

it’s for corrupt athletes
for corporate logos
speeding in circles

musicians who don’t
write
what they sing

all of them
peeking around the cross
fooling you

turn your head
watch the affordable big, flat screen
while we
murder
everything that moves
and a few things that don’t

your hands are filthy

until we wipe the slate clean
and there is
war
in the streets
will we
ever
recognize beauty

a moment of nostalgic nihilism

2008-10-13T09:18:00.000-07:00

i want my 1995 back
my highland park
my hollywood
my glendale
and pasadena nothingness

to see the scared look on my high school friends' faces
for the last time
i was bleached blond,
dyed red
suddenly loud,
mean
and
alien

i want angry band fights
to play el arco iris
i want to scream along to falling sickness
"it's too easy to get all tangled up in life's big bed of nothing"

i want the controlled disarray
the school to drop out of
the jobs i would take
and definitely would leave
driving along
in my band-aid-on-cancer mustang
i was invincible
and the world owed me
goddammit
and it knew it did

women were scary
but beautiful
and new
i want those things
you first whispered to me
in the dark of your room

i was crazy and manic
depressed
and i said i hated 1995
but secretly,
deep
deep
deep down
inside
i was having
the time of my life.

wanting these things
brings me
closer to death
than i've ever been
because he promised
i could live
in 1995 one more time.

what dirt tasted like

2008-10-08T08:25:00.000-07:00

somewhere between
baseball scores
and pancake desserts
lies a seething hatred
for my life
whether it be slathered in paint
or between the strings of a bass
in you, the scorned woman
and
easily found with the best laid plans
of record labels
or book publication vehicles
everything's done the hard way
and so pardon my indulgence
just for a moment
while i dream
of a great
black
final
violent
sleep.

the grey train slides slowly, howling deeply, taking me into the black

2007-12-03T16:32:00.000-08:00

this is the last one

you've read it before anyway

the last one

about

the nights spent burning
for you
for this city
for something
to feel
just about anything
even if it
is always

whatever

you
think
it

always

is

the last one
that became swallowed bricks
of broken ego
shattered faith
shunned acceptance
and laughable narcissism

this is the last one you'll ever read

and it just so happens
that

this is

the last one

i'll ever write

three cans of painted revelry

2007-11-21T08:17:00.000-08:00

#1: two coats, rage red
honesty
gets you
everywhere
you don't want to be
in the real world
and
nowhere
in the world
of the
plastic
breaklight
sunset
which is why
you spend your time
running in place

#2:olive green despair
dark telephonic abyss
taught me everything
about nothing
i get what's coming to me
because i choose to poke
a sleeping nostalgia

#3:fill my eye sockets with beige
i didn't sleep
because i was afraid
of what they'd do next
i missed your mouth
and how it used to
breathe out stars
upon my midnight sky blanket

someone moved the night

2007-10-31T23:54:00.000-07:00

you've learned to
silence

the noise
the clamor
the calling
for your heart

turned a deaf ear
to the promise masquerade
the lies sweet disguise

sincerity
will scream itself
hoarse

hollywood hot death machine

2007-10-30T12:39:00.000-07:00

metal cells moving
in dead blacktop artieries
full
but empty...

there was that someday,
that swelled with romance
and yellow laughter,
ushered
by drunken bloodshot eyes

but now you suffer
in sober reality

thought you had an original thought
until you feigned sleep

they seeped into you
from the television

it's either hot or dark
in the neon wasteland

sometimes

it's
both

saturday morning funeral cartoon

2007-10-30T12:29:00.000-07:00

the least i can do
is be a gracious host
to the nightmare
i've elegantly invited you to--

a black tie back stabbing;
i've zipped you open
left you for
the pushers,
the takers,
the bleeders,
and
the
pulchritudinous liars.

if you survive,
look me up
and
bring your worst.

from romance to rock

2007-10-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

tonight it is your turn
to leave everything
running

i was unclothed against
your inclement storm,

unable to articulate
the correct switches
on your massive control board.

nevertheless,
if they
hurt
you
there will be
bodies
to count,
scorched earth
to heal.

oh, the words
they jumble and dance
macho chainsaw rhetoric

thinking, swinging, and missing.

2007-09-14T06:29:00.000-07:00

the pleasantries
weren't put aside
as much
as
they were
tossed;
abandoned.

and the open hands
became bricks

because the failure
had become
too much

and the honesty
was easily
pushed around,
quick to load
into
that gun

we had eluded
regret
for the time being--

it was outside
flirting
with a sunset,
counting
birds
on a wire.

kiss from a judas

2007-09-04T10:04:00.000-07:00

something in the air
was wrong.

shifting,
warm,
fried and floral.

i drove
at dawn
listening to concerning eye

remembered how you laughed
like you've never been
scared
before.

it was never the same
after the accident...
you professed
love
for a god
you didn't even acknowledge
the week before

a blanket,
a ruse.

forced the harvest hand;
and the lost
always
find a way
to become a loss

you weren't one for goodbyes
just some really good stories left behind
some books you called friends
some paintings you called children

words.
words.
words.
words never saved a fucking thing
not anyone,
not mine, yours
or theirs.

it was another day
just a happy song
broken into sad parts
as i drove
into
the dusk.

number 12, crimson.

2007-08-29T13:16:00.000-07:00

i can see you sinking
but i'm
trapped
behind this glass

i watch you
drift
fighting at first,
then
deathly still
you sink
into the depths

i'm sorry every day,
greedy for one more time
to be as one

eternally damning myself

pounding until my hands bled
wasn't enough
to break through

sinking is what i knew best,
a lesson
i wish
you never learned.

black x return

2007-08-14T11:38:00.000-07:00

hung by strings
forced limb articulation

championing grin
and closed eyes
you sunk your teeth in
fed me your poison
your lies

to your surprise
as you opened
those eyes
i've been waiting
and
planning
your demise

immune
bleeding
and cut loose

safe circadian discourse

2007-08-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

the asphalt reaches
stretching to nowhere

the sun illuminates
burning flesh, metal and brush

the cars built for speed
sit by the thousands
whine and rot

helpless,
i bathe in frenetic sonance
creeping toward the evening
and its personal oblivion

it's days like these
i wish
for the hand
of an almighty force
to grab hold
of this hopeless stretch of humanity
and
shake it
clean
like a blanket
full
of ticks

and though
it would most certainly
mean my demise,
i'd gladly
punch my card
to take
a couple of the bloodsuckers
with me.

underscore

2007-07-25T10:10:00.001-07:00

they probably love me
until they don't

and
all the wealth
of words
of actions
cannot promise
an ounce of love

though all betroth
it will be

taken

away
from you

always and someday,
like
time
and money,
sanity
and youth.

they say our articulation
of the subject
graduates us
to the top
of the food chain

i think the only thing
separating
us
from the apes
is our ability
to
shave

sugar coated sugar

2007-07-11T06:03:00.000-07:00

gloss and recreation
broadcasting
the suggested brain programming
the usual narcissism
the same old materialism
packaged and shiny,
extravagant and clean.

nothing too thought provoking,
and nothing too creative

if we all drink from the glass of mediocrity

we will share the virus of apathy

is it time to be on the offence
to the attack on our consciousness?
when we the masses
feel stinging
disappointment
and tune it out
with a million screams?

they distract us from the murder,
the lies,
the disheartening poor
and disease
block the bleeding,
the dissent,
common sense and
the enlightenment
yearning to awake

i've got an axe for every pedestal,
let me know when you want to borrow it.

the sardine resurgent

2007-06-20T15:12:00.000-07:00

i've been cut out,
folded over
erased from memory,
on paper at least.

scoffed tone
eyes rolled
just a phase

a lapse in judgement
comparative
to your current
victim/married/chemical
happiness
you've got it all

but i'm not a phase
not so disposable

i am flesh,
i am blood,
i am resolve--
not revenge
a buckshot
sprayed
upon unsuspecting judgement.

i live for the movement
for my beliefs
with the sword
or on it

you're bought and sold
repackaged by the dog
with the most to offer
your shattered piece of mind

a phase
breathless
and snuffed out

drawing a cut hand

2007-06-08T12:17:00.000-07:00

we are bound

bewildered
and contorted
and straining

moving

our pieces around
passing them along
person to person
expert and novice
stranger and muse
trying to make them fit

hoping someone will have the answer
we are looking for

all the pieces
in my hand,
in your hand,
don't even
lock into place.

reminding me
that you cannot unbreak it

it doesn't matter
who broke it
or who owns it

just make it fit
or find your pieces stolen

accept imperfection
or suffer
internally
eternally

the black tide creeps up

12 p.m. dropoff, 5 a.m. pickup

2007-05-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

cut open,
sleeping on iodine

the shadows
are my
blood
now

your brand of
murder
was only
supposed to be
skin
deep

yes, this is what it's like
every day
inside my skull

a dinner guest
at your table of purgatory

[eat me alive]

the cost of brevity

2007-04-13T13:12:00.000-07:00

1. you should see the other guy
i'm the joke
you've run out of ways
to laugh at

yet
you still hang around
when there are plenty of good
punchlines
out there

2. morgue
my thoughts are corpses
falling out of my ears
when i sleep

i spend a lifetime
sweeping them
into a corner
to deal with later

3. on writing
their words cut you
in
half

your dreams
eaten off the floor
the electronic disembowelment

4. embargo
no more surprises
i've locked them
all away
the next one i see

gets shot

5. black and red
your stare
shoots napalm
on unsuspecting passers-by
open your mouth
and it rains knives
oh how you hurt

i love you

keep the car running

2007-04-04T09:01:00.000-07:00

i once loved a girl there

amongst the tops of
swaying pine trees

listening to the clatter
of loose boards beneath our feet
as we walked upon the pier

swiftly we rambled across
the bustling downtown streets

i was not enough to save it
all these things

sank

...and splintered memories
of a murky soul

float

to the top

i'll think about it later

2007-03-16T15:22:00.000-07:00

spilled ink.
every day
i sign my name
a letter,
a period,
six more letters.

proof i was here
signing for something
that i don't want
or can't own.

paying the bills
signing a clipboard
a name i hate
a name i couldn't pick out of a line-up

it's a box,
an envelope,
a vase of flowers,
a suitcase,
chocolate,
a book
it's anything but me anymore.

seven letters,
twenty times a day,
six years and counting

a period

it's your birthday

vanhorn pilfered

2007-03-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

#1: just another day
more time spent
burying the bodies
in my mind
only to dig them up later

i just wanted to say hello

#2: i moved again
a friend wrote
living in god's waiting room now
with another guy
i don't know
but i'm supposed to
judging by his first name
she refers to

she treats her freedom like cancer

#3: wash myself off in kerocene
in fairytale land
honesty gets you killed
i was told the only thing i love
is my self-fulfilling misery

i sat there waiting for the punchline

#4: do i cast a shadow?
we all get tricked
into tasting humanity's poison
we all resent the person
who made us believe

it was ambrosia

indefatigable zero

2007-03-06T08:58:00.000-08:00

call me a sociopath,
but there is something so...
righteous

about
watching
you
writhe

i bet you romanticize us,
forgetting the horror
put me on your bended back
and place me on your pedestal

it's like i've pounded
a dna-encrypted nail into your skull
you can't get rid of me now, doll...

i'm yours forever

in agony
in despair
in loneliness
in every dark corner

i am there

wearing your favorite outfit,
wearing nothing,
in your favorite place,
in your favorite position.

and i know
you know
i don't think of you at all,
and i smile when i think
of how much that hurts you.

your existence
doesn't graze upon
a blade of thought in my mind

and the mere smell
of the same perfume
on a busy street
sends you crashing to your knees

i've kicked you
like the sugary habit you are

i've kicked you
and i'll keep kicking

i'll watch you walk in circles
like a bird
with a broken wing

you'll beg to let go,
you'll want to bleed
and die...
you won't.

you are pathetic
and i enjoy your pain,
i find it so fulfilling

it quenches my thirsty soul

what would you be
without your angst?

what would you be without

me spoon feeding it to you?

normal? ha.

i've made you

interesting

when the rest of the world

found you unpalatable,

made you invisible.

thank me
for your disease
you're an awkward social mutant,
a scurrying rat
in a human suit

i lit the flame
that moves your blood,
set loose the termites
that are your thoughts,

you
are
so
ungrateful.

blast furnace fundraiser

2007-03-06T08:40:00.000-08:00

they poison us
[the government allows this for a cut of the profits]

hijacking your self respect,
duct taping its hands,
slitting its throat

replacing it with apathy

...and by the mouthful,
by the bucket--
it will extinguish entire bloodlines

cherishing
every stomachful
and paying
full
price.

drunken directions to a meddlesome soiree

2007-03-01T10:04:00.000-08:00

the pieces

they fit together so nicely
like a backbone
a collection of freakish parts

the x-rays,
they don't lie.

i saw straight through you
and your collection
of
jagged
friends.

they smile upon
a discolored trend

cramming themselves
into that photo booth
you call life

i am the piece not pictured
left out
lacking use

a social coccyx

pershing to constitution

2007-02-16T11:15:00.000-08:00

nightmares.
the fruit
of
a sick mind.

in them,
you are
beautiful.

a bronzed effigy
eyeless,
souless,

cold to the touch
and
eternally unmoved.

[wake up to the real thing]

the sleep jury

2007-02-08T11:27:00.000-08:00

we talk of spirit anomalies
about their reason to be here,
the allegory of their trapped state.

mouthfuls of purpose
shackled to them--
unrequited ambition,
tales of romance,
revenge.

maybe they are here to live in peace,
they live to walk among us unhindered,
enjoying the earth's beauty
equal,
observant,
tolerant.

time?
what of it...
they have no pressing matters,
no one to impress.

we think we live,
but we rot,
we die,
painfully
by time
and fate's
cold
hands.

everyday
a little more trapped,
a little more in debt,
a little more intolerant.

is there no greater life than one unbound?
no worse death than soul trapped by beating heart and pain of flesh?

the ghosts
they laugh at us,
but offer no pity.

it
would
be
undeserved.

ghost mileage

2007-02-02T15:02:00.000-08:00

a relationship,
beginning to end:

walking through a warehouse
engulfed
in
flames,
armed with a glass of water.

you called it
relatively
unscathed.

secondhand astronaut

2007-02-01T09:15:00.000-08:00

so quick
discourage
disarrange
cut the world
into tiny
little
chunks.

i'll ride it,
every word
over the embankment...
steel,
blood,
stone,
mud--

become one

we think beauty to be serene,
but
it
is
complicated
and obscene.

hollow cost survival: three days.

2007-01-31T08:20:00.000-08:00

monday, the first:

my mind
always driving
nowhere
i get there too early, usually
and end up idling,
waiting for

tuesday, the second:

listened hard
for the sound of nothing today--
a
daunting
task
nowadays.

wednesday, the third:

counted thirty-three nails
in a coffin,
wondered if the number held any signifigance...
decided it didn't,
just
like
everything
else.

crime begins with god

2007-01-30T14:58:00.000-08:00

my little spider-

be mindful not to fall through...

your web
has
entagled

so

many

insects.

arrogant white noise

2007-01-15T23:39:00.000-08:00

push on
the blind religious
human time bombs,
the oil men,
the wealthy conservative,
the weak minded followers--
the fanatics, bastards, liars and cheats
the racists,
the sexists,
the homophobes...

push on, consumers--
the status quo fulfillers
and big business cogs,
the bored and stupid,
the drunk,
the armed,
the brave and righteous,
the addicted and obedient...

line us up
against that wall
a gangland ritual

infect us
the sick at heart,
the queer,
the questioning,
the open minded...

save the hardest kick
for when we are down
when we are low
be beneath us

we need the approval
of your disapproval
more
than
ever.

long distance execrator

2007-01-11T09:29:00.000-08:00

they chase me

(the ghosts)

i see them
when i am alone
when i am weak

pursuit with intent to
alter
my state of consciousness

i run, barely escaping
carrying a wounded ego
on my back

(dead weight)

someday, they'll catch me

and

i'll

laugh

...and ask them

"what took you so long?"

...and the angels dumped napalm.

2007-01-05T15:06:00.000-08:00

i study you when we kiss
looking
at every pore,
every line,
every crack.

you are you
but
you are also
someone else

i wonder
what would hurt you more--

knowing that there is someone of similar flesh
living
amongst the same tide of humanity,
or
the fact that you remind me of someone

i
hate

...are you my second chance,
my tuft of hair
from the beast that bit me
or
a synthetic salvation,
a blank canvas
to paint an unjust revenge upon?

a conversation with the wounded

2007-01-03T16:23:00.000-08:00

i've reviewed
your toxic resume
and the sweet outer shell
that hides a rusty razorblade.

i've bled with every bite
and gone back for seconds.

we're all the same...
all of us a pound of flesh
for the rotting corpse in the sky.

kept
on this treadmill,
this catwalk
of mindless,
lustrous
distraction...

stiched the fanciest of words, you have,
the finest barbed wire couture.

such beautiful lies
you let us wear,
they tear the flesh
from the truth.

and i am not the fixer of all this,
not the hero.
i am the broken,
the reason
the catalyst
the excuse

it's a shame
to be fond of me
regardless.

the culture of disease

2006-12-13T09:14:00.000-08:00

thought about
you
today...

and
laughed.

you would love me now,
i have found
a way
to chip away,
to kill myself...

incrementally

just
like
you
did.

opened my eyes
with an excited disappointment.

another today--
a rising force,
a setting sun,
another chance
to
pull
away

...with the rest of humanity,
i am never alone
in mining misery's sweet ore
to
the
bone.

surrogate sense

2006-12-04T12:26:00.000-08:00

one picture and i am there..
swimming in enough thoughts to drown,

as summer's hope

turned to

winter's despair.

a heavy heart
the paperweight for a soul,
keeping track of
old debts owed
and
scores settled.

anchoring
that which should float.

the ego fire

2006-11-28T10:30:00.000-08:00

this hero's cape you've given me...

heavy

soiled

and when spread, examined--
bugs
fall out
onto
the
ground

and s c a t t e r
with much guilt in their antennae

a cape, made of words
(bugs)
and only a fool
would attempt flight with them.

it was a long drop,
full of blood
and enlightenment.

nous sommes les morts

2006-11-14T09:24:00.000-08:00

the reflection holds it in place,
this picture of mystery.

eyes

staring

eyes of a killer?

eyes of a victim?

depends on the day.

...though it's usually

one

more than the other.

depends on who's
looking
into those eyes

horrific at times

chained to the beholder
a perspective is,
freed only before death.

some days i want to cut them out...
but that won't make the past

bleed

out
of
them.

you don't need eyes
to see pain

to see failure

to inflict

just a heart,
some shallow words

and

a
lie

dealt or promised to you.

the benefits of living flat

2006-11-07T16:41:00.000-08:00

worry not my love...

duck under the rapid tide of humanity,
snapping the horizon in two.

drown in all that we had,
and all that we could of been.

threadbare are the foolish deeds
this mortal coil requires.

disregard me

2006-11-01T09:29:00.000-08:00

dispatched is the enemy of emotion-
a knife to his throat,
drowned are the last utterances.

a fire:
immaculate and antiseptic
for every home, every file...
napalm for every tree,
cyanide for every hungry, lying mouth.

the distance wasn't far enough,
he still returned, smarter,
though broken and wrong.

he burned in effigy,
and when the ashes rose
burned again...
and when the ashes rose
burned again...
and when the ashes rose
burned again...
and when the ashes rose
burned again...
and when the ashes rose
burned again...
and when the ashes rose
burned again.

if you're expecting an apology from the vicar...

2006-10-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

burn me when i die.

ingest me,
keep me always.

the together we never were.

the revenant will have the last word

2006-10-25T10:06:00.000-07:00

reflected and repaid,
righteous and reborn.

molded in stone,
the last laugh.

we never got to say
you
were
wrong.

404

2006-10-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

hope
is
nothing
more
than
heroin
for
the
naive.

just another nazi love song

2006-10-04T15:49:00.000-07:00

the well of originality
is long dry.

we have fallen in
and reduced ourselves to voting
for our favorite broken parts.

accepting,
knowing,
every word said
has a trite, worn combination
with all the others.

a cup overfilled
with stagnant water,
a choreographed boredom
into welcomed oblivion.

corrugated dancing partners
falling in love,
feeling trapped,
and
breaking
apart.

the lexicon revisited

2006-09-27T09:32:00.000-07:00

clockwork conversation,
the only kind
i ever
seem to have.

hindsight in the rearview,
i'm a failure in fast-forward,
giving chase to shadows
and long gone absconders.

giant volumes
caked in dust,
well read to me
between the lines.

red box cheyenne

2006-09-12T10:24:00.000-07:00

it's a massacre
of souls,
of eyes,
of minds.

it floats
in space,
upon airwaves,
draped on atmosphere,
somewhere between orange and blue.

the rise and inevitable fall
units pushed,
adverts sold
in between bouts of public disbelief.

i do not struggle,
rather i crown
sloped perspective
as king.

left with romantic lament
of black and white dreams,
where headstones forgive
and return
warm embrace.

math invented god

2006-09-03T00:20:00.000-07:00

an angry mob forms
at the base
of my skull.

they want your blood,
your head on a spit.

on good days
with reason as salve for peace,
i am able to calm
the rushing tide
of a murderous sea...

but on most days,
days like this,
i
just
let
them
fucking
tear
you
apart.

pull your heart through your throat

2006-09-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

your life's validity
chased...
on the end
of a golden string,
usually attached
to the latest
tabloid fodder.

a bait-and-switch personality,
pulling the carpet
out from under the feet of reality.

i see the golden string
becomes the rope
you swing from.

unloved, used...
a fat hollow log
swinging with the breeze.

it's enough
to stick your head
in an oven,
isn't it?
no?
come on now.

imagine the who's who at your wake...
is there a building big enough
to hold
your bloated corpse
and the throng
of b-list onlookers?

misery's love letter #3

2006-08-01T15:08:00.000-07:00

i read about hope once
through the volumes
of television static.

i absorbed it.
it cut me open,
and your head rolled out,
so there we sat.

it was an embalmed fable
with a sour ending--
a failed marriage of sorts...

like waiting
in a long
long
long
long
line,
one that closes
when you get
to the front
of
it.

proletariat death bed: random pieces of matter V

2006-07-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

7/14-carved from death: outlived. shed our cotton skin, grown out of old skin and teeth. we outlive each other.

7/15-benedict: a traitor in the flesh, my own. a lie turned on myself. i think this about you and i.

7/17-finished by unfinished: this is the last note, from the last room i'll ever be in... the last woes placed [thought incomplete]

7/19-pass the torch: welcome to the gaslamp district--home of tanned flesh, plastic cares and the sound of acetylene.

7/25-bombs for jesus: your solution is the antiseptic wash of capital religion, bitter and burning.

under an early grave lies a reluctant freedom

2006-07-11T14:05:00.000-07:00

strange but not unfamiliar,
our place in life is cement.

limp handshakes and
plaster painted sentiment,
the smiles show the cracks
of a stripped machine.

these worn hands,
feeling severed and wrong,
used to hang the moon...

and in its light i saw a vision,
high heeled shoes in hand,
floating across asphalt
placed gently across the other side.

burned in memory,
it was as if
this was the last thing
these eyes
ever
saw,
or ever wanted
to
see.

misery's love letter #2

2006-06-15T12:27:00.000-07:00

we speak in xeroxes.
a similar perplexity,
a different day.

these equasions,
trite and obvious,
held effectiveness.

your words were fingernails,
my ears the chalkboard.

i just got tired of watching, waiting for the dust to settle.

misery's love letter #1

2006-06-12T11:14:00.000-07:00

the gun didn't sound like i thought it would.

outside looking in, everything went in slow motion.

it spoke.

righteous. loud. raceless. faceless. quick.

it spoke, i listened:

it's over.

bang.

common death interest

2006-06-12T10:38:00.000-07:00

a desperate, unlucky place.
the
white light
hot nightmare
you can't wake from.

walking among the stench,
humanity's low tide.

old structures painted over,
but never truly clean.
like coating a piece of rotting flesh
would keep it from going rancid...

a beautiful face can save--has saved--all of this..
the lie
i
tell
myself
every
day

laughs

[hope dies here]

letterbomb 497

2006-05-22T13:44:00.000-07:00

nostalgia:
regress,
regret,
repeat.

all left in the past,
dried and withered
forgotten in ancient textiles...
pressed between pages
of old text.

i'll eat that humble nostalgia
you package and rest in my box--
swallow it whole
veins and all,
with a sneer for the ages
and another plan for your demise
as beautiful as azure cradling
its fiery pink sunset brood.

[you should be thankful that i keep your worrisome ego up at night]

end of side one (flipside platinum)

2006-05-18T10:33:00.000-07:00

maybe it's weird
that i want to look in your eyes
and find the honest and final truth.

those eyes in the mirror
they lie,
condone,
patronize.

maybe it's weird
that i want to know
the origin of your last name,
and why you wear your eye makeup
the way you do.

i walk dead
dimly lit corridors,
listening
starving for truth
hiding in shadows...

manufacturing memories
colored in crayon
a perfect dance--
our first kiss,
when you first held my hand,
the smile you--

no.

the futility of this thinking
is the convenient synthetic cinematic story
and i fade to black too quickly.

but still i wonder...
about your favorites,
your heartbreak,
your inside jokes,
your closet full of idiosyncrasy.

maybe it's weird,
but it's true nonetheless.

one of us is a murderer

2006-04-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

my words became
hollow
wood
blocks.

with them,
a monument was built
in your name.

a tribute to
the most hopeless
of emotions.

seeing only a meaningless structure,
you kicked,
brought down...
into errant piles
and loosened dirt.

there was a final sunset
through the settling dust--
pure,
beautiful,
and most importantly...
true.

of borders, kings, and orders...

2006-04-10T15:53:00.000-07:00

followed the funeral procession
of the brain
to the local purchase-plex.

america's closet,
a warehouse for
the coveted,
the shiny,
the mentally flaccid.

a sad trail
of sad insects
attempting to prove their worth.

the fairest of flesh pressed
into the tightest of clothes...
the million dollar rapper
selling the manliest prose.

we are simple toys,
and they know how to pull
the O ring attached
to the backs of our vanity--
color,
size,
shape,
image.

in our perambulation
of mindlessness
we fail to notice
the sealing
of the doors
behind us.

[are you more than what you buy anymore?]

the slur of an awkward mouth

2006-03-30T15:47:00.000-08:00

i built a god out of paper,
it was photocopied and stapled.

had to shape it,
every stroke just right,
so i sat
alone
every night...

pondering what i would be
if i hadn't built this deity.

your words are as empty as that gun you're pointing at me.

2006-03-27T14:31:00.000-08:00

i am a carcass.

animals
in human skin
revealing only killers eyes...

by the time you notice
you're not shaking a human hand,
it
is
too
late.

devouring.
perfect machines
never reminiscing,
romanticizing.

feeding
sleeping
feeding

fat stomachs from
trapping their prey--
dangling savory dreams
of
perfect,
unconditional,
affection.

(i am) a chunk of unresolved gall lodged in the throat of logic.

2006-03-20T11:17:00.000-08:00

disconnected.
stood there...
feeling like the punchline
to love's cruelest inside joke.

skull pressing against the cabinet,
holding to my ear
a piece of plastic
that,
when connected,
shoots
the sound of your voice
into my ear.

the trouble is,
with the same technology,
you
are able
to hear
my voice...

desperate
bitter
verbiage
falls
falls
falls
falls
like flocks of revving chainsaws
thrown
into plate glass windows.

you disconnect
because
i
am
disconnected.

[i don't blame you.]

the cemetery ballot (a short story)

2006-03-13T16:37:00.000-08:00

the sound of a thousand car accidents screamed in my ears.
i awoke, startled, not knowing if it was a dream.
crawling,
i peeked through the dirty slats of my window,
pushing aside the dusty curtain...
dark.
nothing.

still,
sitting up,
i felt as if something was missing.

numb.

painful needles shot quickly through my blood.
i had been left a gift from someone.

it was from my soul.
it was once brilliant,
but grew ever grey,
like its flesh and bone imprisonment.

it left these melancholy verses in a note,
pinned through the shirt, right to the heart:

i grew tired of running away from a stark reality
larger than a hundred elephants.
you have asked of my wisdom,
and yet my answers to you are of no consequence--
they do not covet vanity nor wealth.
i am a useless appendage..
i have left you something to fill the space.
use it when it comes to how you feel in general.
don't worry about my well being...
you could, i suppose,
but then could you look at yourself in a mirror
without calling yourself a liar?

ever notice that being told not to worry
automatically makes you do so?
i peeled back the layers of torn skin from the puncture wound.
i am now made of mud.

i don't know how i continue to live.

it had always loved the ocean of space,
my soul did--
envied the second nature of birds.
i like to think it traveled to be with you
where it felt most at home.

it left behind a leather-bound book of photos,
displaying events now unremembered,
people only vaguely familiar.

got dressed. wanted answers.
leather bound book in hand,
i stepped outside my door and began to notice
that life was now void of color.

i was not alone.
occupants of the entire
tree-lined,
suburban nightmare
dwelling congregation
had too, heard something crash
and stepped outside.

by the looks on their faces,
we shared solidarity in our experience
on this grey morning.

we have all lost our souls
to something.
just living out our days,
waiting for the mud to dry.

an epiphony, stolen.

2006-03-03T10:14:00.000-08:00

where is the future?
is it us?

a fool,
longing for the endless light
that thoughts of yesterday bring.

empty shells.
waiting for war,
celebrating indifference.

[on the move again, searching for the blindspots]

photocopied and stapled

2006-03-02T10:37:00.000-08:00

a place to sit,
to be alone.

to feed an ever starving misery,
and pick the world apart...

piece
by
piece.

into a pile of jagged scraps
left at my feet.

a fork in the road to decision

2006-02-22T15:01:00.000-08:00

crossing t's
and dotting i's,
gnashing teeth
and sharpened knives.

the carnival
of funerals...
left feeling jet black
to the core.

the social
and the sharks
are what circles are for.

the billionaire is still a waiting corpse

2006-02-15T12:06:00.000-08:00

the dark of night,
the blanketing of stars--
a simple theatre.
melancholy,
deep and infinite.

if peace is what you seek,
you will find it not on this plane of existence.

corners become
flat,
crowded.
stomping your solace,
without knowing,
without caring.

they spraypaint a smile over their core,
their fatigue.
a chemical reaction,
a lie.
void of ugly honesty.

[we find the most creative ways to fill the plots]

proletariot complacent: random pieces of matter IV

2006-02-07T09:33:00.000-08:00

1/20-love is a place (don't go there): she will wait for answers. a viper's nest made of stone statues. disemboweled. a saint's brevity has its fill of blood that day.

1/27-the path traveled: the road to man's ruin is paved in flesh, made from broken parts. held together with tape; salvaged. three sheets until six feet.

1/29-your compliance is ingested: feed. don't think. large becomes extra. just don't stop feeding. don't question. they will make a larger one to cover. feeding feeds the machine. do not slow the machine. caloric bombs carpeting, dropped into the skin from that B52 of a mouth.

2/3-rapid eye revelation: i woke up realizing i was made of glass. a recepticle of clarity at times. half empty or half full as my fluid swings. sharp and bloodletting when shattered.

syndicated flatline genome

2006-02-03T09:03:00.000-08:00

shadows and shades of grey
land upon suits and faces...
codeword languages spoken in
darkened, smoke-filled corridors.

the blueprint to a powerless land
unrolled
scrutinized
pointed to and planned on.

divorce us from empowerment,
effectiveness, productiveness--
seat us in slackjawed service jobs...
knowing well we always take
the well-beaten path of convenience,
like rats taking, feasting on garbage.

you can't bring change with complacency,
you can't threaten the gears with wrenches
when they don't let you near the cogs.

[kill the machine. take your life back.]

night sky mainline

2006-01-31T14:17:00.000-08:00

outside.
where they want you.
facing the product.
[remember the days when the outside provided escape?]

find yourself
losing yourself
at a desperate bar,
faded neon
faded minds.
dark, dirty tint to the glass
serves its purpose.

you've lost track of existence,
humanity
time and matter
crawling into a bottle of flavored oblivion,
staring at the flickering screen.

a fly,
trapped.
banging its body against the glass.
buzzing angrily,
knowing there is a life out there
they desire yet cannot obtain.

you are the fly.
your television,
your bottle...
the windows to false escape.

fresh water for rotting flowers

2006-01-25T09:04:00.000-08:00

how we grab for our chunk of
sweet,
frosted,
vanity.
we don't wait for the plate.

making sure bloodlines
never run thin.

the colder bodies
passing the warmer ones
the boxes.

boxes of tradition.
predjudice.
fear.

aristo-crash: the seasons.

2006-01-18T10:39:00.000-08:00

you're a big fish
swimming in a very small bowl...
do you know this to be true?
i used the knife you planted
to cut a chunk out of the deep spring sky
that covered your tiny little town.

the last words you said made no sense.
the bridge you were standing on
became engulfed
in an ocean of fire.
it was summer, and you
quit
fighting
it.

self-righteous receptacle
disemboweled by a fall wind.
we all see how you were no more than litter--
useless,
discarded,
parts.

memory eater,
cold and grey
photographic fuel.
salivating over synapses,
placed on a shelf,
to distill, ferment...
waiting for the passing,
for the jackboot of winter
was oppressing the seasons once more.

proletariot triumphant: random pieces of matter III

2006-01-13T08:56:00.000-08:00

12/23- homeless/nameless: spit from the mouth of the government, scraped from the boot of society.

1/9- diving is falling: memories, like shipwrecks, sink to the bottom of my heart. all in sedimentary ash.

1/10- hissing tears: your crying eyes are snakes, the traveling shapes down your face are not tears but tongues lashing out against the air.

1/11- king size concrete: light artificial bathing nature's blanket in acidic lumination. unready but not unwilling to face the last day of my life...[thought incomplete]

1/13- the error in control: be still my darling night sky, so i may hang the moon upon you. fractured, falling off the ladder, i see stars... [thought incomplete]

straight ahead standard

2006-01-11T10:32:00.000-08:00

long legs and black beating heart,
jumping from the pages
of the latest
fashion
tragedy.

eyes like scissors,
cutting you in half.
novelty set to flesh,
american
teenage
wasteland
nightmare.

dirty looks
and credit cards,
all gone before you notice
in self-defense.

the leak of bessemer trust

2006-01-06T15:22:00.000-08:00

when does this all end?
she turns to me and asks.
when they bury me,
i reply.

there's a beautiful agony in all of this...
like the million colors that become
one
morning
horizon.

a ritual,
a method,
descending.
an heirloom.

old as the yellowed pages of an antique volume.

tears of a hypocrite

2006-01-03T16:03:00.000-08:00

...and if these hands become weapons,
bury them in burning sand.
...and if this mouth expells bitter words,
fill it with saccharine.
...and if these eyes burn holes in your head,
blind them with darkness instead.
...and when feet kick in defiance,
fit them with cement surroundings...

all for the one party plan,
a status quo incarnate.

[striking striking us down striking us down and keeping us there keeping us there there]

coin operated consciousness

2006-01-03T15:40:00.000-08:00

a beautiful glance,
caught.
oh, those marching minutes...
never still, but on parchment.

a photograph.
just paper,
reacting to chemicals
and the starvation of light
between the spaces.

capturing a moment,
sans meaning,
at the time.

a girl's grace--
stepping out of a vehicle,
i caught her face.

love was a season.
warm,
then inclement--
uninhabitable.
an empty street,
policing...
ushering drunk, stumbling leaves
along an asphalt body.

moments pass.
some collected,
some burned.

[which moment are you?]

twelve volt manuscript

2005-12-23T08:46:00.000-08:00

a man,
murder in his eyes
so sick
of breathing
the lies.

for all the things that we are,
it is the things
that we are not,
that he is not,
which make him sick.

he couldn't drink enough,
sleep enough,
shoot enough,
build a big enough wall
to escape it all.

[watching them]
hand over fist,
pouring out of public markets
like blood
from a slit throat.

purging
hording
clensing
pushing
shoving

time.
it was time to move on
with nowhere to go...

click. bang.

one lemon, one apple.

2005-12-12T11:34:00.000-08:00

and i dug deep
into earth,
building a staircase
so you could touch the moon,
because it bended your whim,
i was happy to do so.

bend the notes
in two
in two
making sounds never heard
but for your perfect ears.

without you
i am half a breath,
a broken plate,
a sunset seen
with one eye shut,
a ship sans sails
to catch the wind's spry legs.

this troubled seed i am...
through your labor
your words are wings.
sweeping,
carrying notions
birthing lifelong fruit.

a dulcet tone of conspiracy

2005-12-07T10:18:00.000-08:00

peeling themselves from billboards,
stretching loose flesh into bony fingertips
from pools of unseen waves...
they force their ethereal hands
into
your
mouth,
pulling the vocal chords.

they asphyxiate,
your brain a useless appendage to those two dimensional.

you fall for what leads you,
want for what bleeds you.

solace in pain,
a candy-colored smiling nightmare.

[changethechannelchangethechannelchangethechannel]

black cloth constitution

2005-11-28T18:42:00.000-08:00

this home,
an above ground grave.
the bastard son of long lost revenge
contemplates his hand grenade love affair.

a murder of crows
swooping in swirling formation,
cutting boundaries of sky and schoolyard fences.

free will handcuffed,
walking six feet in reverse.
the heart is an empty consignment,
ever searching for its steel solution.

calibrated stepladder conveyor belt

2005-11-28T18:21:00.000-08:00

once meaningful rebellions,
revolutionaries,
wrenches spraining oppressive spokes...
all have become
convenient,
vapid,
capitalist conduits.

faces on a teeshirt.
worn to the soundtrack of a barren culture.
time spent in an icon vacuum,
never to see a day's enlightenment.

a cliche celebration:
western demise,
pulling facade counter-culture youth,
heads throbbing, bobbing in unison..

accepted rebellion,
under watchful eyes,
safely classified
in their mall-shaped boxes.

sneeze and your soul escapes

2005-11-21T15:56:00.000-08:00

the gods had finally had enough,
and as the city burned in chaos--
burning down around my ankles--
i cease my rapid gait
and realize this is what i've always wanted.

i trace my finger against glass,
pushing the ashes
into a portrait of her face.

move along. enjoy the madness.

rows of beautiful women and men,
tied to vanity,
embodied as giant stone blocks.

they are gasping,
reaching,
begging for freedom.

a moment's hesitation spent,
contemplating...
attempting
to care for their plight
but coming up short.

three shots, three days (no reloading): random pieces of matter II

2005-11-21T09:33:00.000-08:00

11/18: this bullet, in my black (heart) shirt pocket, has a date with an evangelist.

11/19: i am the product of years of haste. wrecking ball electric alive.

11/20: fiction. romance. the technicolor dreams of the black and white living.

the end of book one

2005-11-14T15:44:00.000-08:00

it is in the places you don't see--
behind eyelids,
behind the doors of dark rooms
and long homebound commutes.

these are the places where only the heart of hearts can be held--
unguarded,
solitary.

it's a glass antique. fragile.
out from its smooth wooden case...
a pine box with creaking hinges,
the inside encased in velour
protecting its contents.

an integument,
the automatic marionette.
programmed by social animal instinct,
well versed in the alien dialect
of humanity.

this dance in rhythm quells the committee.

alas, inside i pray:
dear sweet agony and misery,
you have given me life--
moved my blood about.
i repent and vow my allegiance.

this man,
a weak being
behind the puppetry,
impatiently waits for his impending demise...
grousing about,
knowing the karmic bounty paid,
the subsequent disappointment pushed upon the masses
if his mission,
though capricious
was aborted early...

...though plans were fantasized about loopholes and quick, clean exits.

[please let silence be my only eulogy]

ink path escape hatch

2005-11-13T09:29:00.000-08:00

the moon loiters,
lingering awake to see the dawn...
a last stand,
a celestial standoff.

refusing to back down
against the star's might,
this so-called dead planet
finds the life,
the will,
to defy.

eyes crescent,
pupils straining to accept,
i ponder this unnerving madness.

this isn't a family reunion, it's a massacre

2005-11-08T10:29:00.000-08:00

assassins
versed in the art of emotional murder,
complete their task accordingly...
fading out,
eating their shadows.

men with success suits
equipped with shovels
covering.. always covering...
their voices echo catch-phrase sentiment,
the assurance
that everything
is going
as planned...

yet the treason pours like sand,
falling from their lips.
your lips.

this government,
this family,
this regime...
poison genetic politics.

[ we grew tired of sharing blood with you. ]

the march and fall of emotion

2005-11-08T10:01:00.000-08:00

looking through evergreen,
pulling the tides
by the gentle flick of a wrist.

an ocean,
she nutures,
covers,
creates...

the sentient beings admire her shimmer.

i am awestruck,
a mere mortal.

the beauty of it all--
her presence
motions the suns
set and rise,
set and rise.

thread, gut, or wire?

2005-11-04T08:54:00.000-08:00

designer suicide...
sometimes liquid,
some die solid in form.

a favored savior,
limping listlessly along.

a black hole,
spiraling, sucking emotion.
the wound drains inward
with no help from a suture like you.

the poison vote (criminal thoughts of you)

2005-11-01T16:04:00.000-08:00

our love was a pipe bomb
and baby, you were a lit fuse.

your words incarcerate,
separate,
saturate...
soaking in flammable material.
the sparks from the flip of a switch,
the snap of your fingers,
have set it all ablaze.

trapped
scurrying
from corner
to corner

to corner

a fate inferno--
my fate.
i faintly remember a porcelain face,
a perfect kiss,
a crashing ocean...
a muse...

an imagined, prosthetic romance,
rusted out and useless.
a burning, horrific lie.
i found out too late.

pocket change proletariat: random pieces of matter

2005-10-28T11:54:00.000-07:00

10/20- life at ten miles per hour: the sickening smell of diesel fuel, nicotine and frying oil.

10/21- clearance whore: this worn machine once had blood, pumping dreams and loyalty. the operator, a vampire. a machine now left lifeless...fatter bundles hold his appeal.

10/22- love song for the deaf, part 1: the chambers of this heart, scarred and tender, knew love and pain as one.

10/25- robotic emotion response: (are you real?) a series of wires, circuitry, zeros and ones. arms short, straining to poke holes in ethernet, siphoning morning's pink-orange-yellow refractions.. to put a delicate hand upon your sleeping flesh [thought incomplete]

10/26- love song for the deaf, part 2: it all happens in the blink of an eye. every day living is another day dying. time won't wait for you or i.

10/28- two words: broken fate.