It’s getting colder as I stand in the bathroom.  I’m stuck, peaking, melting to the floor.  I don’t feel like putting in the effort to move, in fact it feels just fine to stand right there just as I am


they’re drunk in the front seat and she’s reaching for my dick again trying to be wild but she told me late at night that it just makes her feel safe so I reach over to the stereo to turn it up and


I yell out the window to them my friends when I see them like someone something is pulling my strings is it me? Is it me that is making these motions? Am I actually alive do I


do I fuck her right, am I really the one, do I keep her interested.  Maybe I could have something more pretty anyway, maybe I’m just getting bored.  Her friend makes more money than me, and he’s way taller, she’s probably either fucking him or thinking about it.   These are just more things to worry over so I pop a xany and watch 3 documentaries on terrorism that was yesterday and today is my sister Riri’s birthday so I’m picking up my clothes from the laundry and walking over instead of driving and that’s just another thing to think about


5 AM as the ATM spits its cash out at me


Yesterday was like today was like the day before just different enough.  I want something that eludes me, something that sits in between the cracks of what I am being shown.


I still feel safe when I hold her at night.

Homeless Man at the Window

Five six even eight stones

counting keeps me busy

still tired and I’ve got some things

falling up is the game

read into my opened mouth

by your window

by your food

your computer

I’m not, you are


You know what what’s funny

I panic when I don’t see you for too long

You are my reminder that I’m here

I’m not sad or whatever

I’m not

I’m not sad

that’s a long time ago

a cigarette

let’s go


Bottom Twin

Little brother
how I hate you
squirming in the pit
of hydra’s necks
I bring for dinner
I remember the day
when my tears
turned to a flood
animating your limbs
to dancing sticks
I closed the door
little brother
and I turned away

Modern Loser

all I have are choices
on a bleach white bed

panic, patterns



I pull the wires from the wall
and it’s my decision
my will, they said
that I’m a wretch
pissing away time
being boring
fearing the end
unlike them
at least I know
what it means
to be alone



30, safe in the sink
your violet green
has failed to form
humming, pouring
from morning’s static jaw
tracing idle hands
you force your throat
to swallow spit
feeling the flesh
and when it’s fine
you descend
to the glow
of a new day



I’ve never known such darkness
your silhouette
coming, going
in stabs of shock
pressing my eyes to the wall
buzzing like a lost bee
it moves through my safety
cutting my neck
with words unspoken
holding me close
shaking me with the thought
that one day I will send it back
into a night
that’s never known
such darkness



the real … I was in a dream and I forgot
lifting my heart like a weight unspoken – dream I forgot what I wanted
leave me the shadows are on the wall, I’m waiting
pylons link one to another I’m waiting and I know my place
comfortable with my place, my role, my space
when my spirit soars in the night sinking feeling washing into the light
there’s always
a moment where it hangs like a question
like a warning
slipping to the maze, a wake
I’m so nervous nervous why? it pulses through
like a coiled sorrow and I might just let let it pass
over me
under me
say it so I don’t have to be alone
you are waiting, and so am I for moments
that decide for us
and I am open, liquid, crying
and I –


A Room in Spain

The war had been raging for so long that I have forgotten where I was, or where I was going except that I was running for a long time. I stumbled into a room which I had expected to be chased out of and I was alone. It was like it had never been touched by the chaos outside; the room was dimly lit by several candles on the kitchen table. The walls were covered in large wooden sculptures, framed as if they were paintings; it seemed to be one piece, broken into many, that wrapped itself in a flow of waves along the walls, each one resuming where the previous had ended.

The peaceful dance of the flames accentuated the stillness of the room and the feminine curves of the art, and it made me feel absurd standing here, alone.

On the kitchen table was a note. It read,

“My dear, how I never wanted you to read this. Sometimes, we think our heroes are good people. But in my life, I have seen that many times they are not at all that we think. They are broken, desperate, abused and driven to the edge of life as we know it. And as much as we want to believe they sacrifice themselves for the greater good, they don’t. They do it for themselves. They do it because there is no one at home that loves them, waiting for them to come at night. Someone that needs them. They do it because they don’t have anything else, and they want to be loved by something, even something as vague as the world at large, and it’s stories of them. They would rather die than fade away into nothing, never having been known, or loved, by anyone. I’m sorry. I hope you will forgive me for trying to be a hero.”

I couldn’t tell which way the shells were coming from anymore, so I sat alone in the room, crying.


Like a Gun

travel travel over to my severed spine
and pull out what you want
from my naked mouth
I’ll spit it out
to filter blood spent out in the hours
I’ll watch you wait
in the meadow, like a ghost
like an eye that hangs above
and always knows
that when you speak
it’s like a gun
like a picture
or something


Hopeful Idiot

angels on a string
like christmas lights in the water
glowing glowing glowing, inviting
into the waters where it’s all about shallow feet
prickly feet that wade inside the shallow mud
they always seem to move aside because
the shock of a hard cut
from the back-drifts of the night
is scary scary
all the fishies
want the taste of a hopeful idiot
I like to feed them by the pound
and move my little feet
from one bite to the next
entranced by the light in the water
glowing off the shallow mud