4 days left.

better for nothing than coming up with bad news
the bitter something that consumed my yesterday and took up space within brain
I guess in a while I'll stop contemplating it
I guess in a while my teeth tighten and I'll smile for a little bit
The anger caught my throat gave weight to every single word
the issues loaded sentences I didn't mean to hurt
you really got the only conversation from my throat
I'm not saying much anything these days
wish I had a home
I'm moving today
to a place so far away
free of the main streets on a train line you wouldn't bother to take
not much changed
I'm working on this rock
pushing it up inclined city block
the bums all came to watch
they begged for change when I stopped
when I took my hand down to sift
through my pockets for a little cent
the rock came loose and smashed me flat
I didn't have time to react
the bums didn't call a medic
they just took my wallet
and the birds didn't soothe me with song
they just picked at my flesh till the rats came along
and by the morning I was just a stain
a mark on the pavement that you'd trample someday
didn't anything change
not much changed.

working on it

is it that things i'm doing are wrong
is this god's wrath that's belted upon
my back, is tired and worn I wish something would just work out oh
i wonder if i'm the target of some indiscrip
corporal punishment
I think if it was more evident
then i could relate my struggles and just accept it
and i think i am just weight dragging down in the lake
tripping up the currant as runs over my head
I'm pushing back the waves
but no ones going to save
me now.
If i could fathom why being distant and lonesome
was a solution for making you feel awesome
i would buy every perscription to apply that to inner working now
Because now my throat aches from the cigarette i can't put down
because depdency is really more than I can allow

untitled 01

In my life my affections will never be matched,
more like I'm diseased, my lover will step back.
I would like to think, that I'm someone would worth it to meet,
but isn't it funny that I'm not that in the least.
I getting used to ample rejection, toy spider shut my mouth from ear to ear,
because nothing is perfect and all the while nothing is real.
I been making decisions, but results turn out so queer,
My stomach is empty and turning but I've convinced myself that's the way to feel.
Eager smile gone apathetic, limp wrist hanging please call the medic.
An overdose a note your not getting that would make things too clear.

..did you say something?

the same jazz hands that make thin dust clouds when the finger's flutter gets to close, the fingers that clash like the straw of a broom making that rustling sound that scrapes at the pit the very bottom of your stomach,

I reach into my empty gut disgusted attempting to vomit but alas it's just filled with dead air.

I would compare my stress to the sad old song of war paramedic, I was trying to get by do good but I found only harm harsh imagery and misuse. 

I recite these jaded words while playing skillfully the world's tiniest violin, I bought it on the Bowery,

nothing can compare the distress in my face when I see the way I look, worn down, angry, and distant,

the only thing that really scares me about my own image is the fact that I can hear my thoughts, each second as I look into my own eyes, it's like a chorus of young boys gathered with rats, put into a large bag, pulled forcefully to the dock yard, and as the shrills continue and turn into blood curdling, muffled, panicked cries, tugs, and pleas for mercy, it becomes white noise fading to silence as I awake from  an empty daydream that I'm just wandering in, listless.

draft one

bright red bled from a vanilla skinned cap, that made a dark stain on your nap sack,
you shouldn't carry things around like that, shifting and checking the ground to see how the drip has been chasing you,
the red trail made a tale of the day you lead accompanied by the butts of cigarettes,
they will blow away with the urban parade, stepping lightly, stomping defiantly, drudging through,
the trail gathered in puddles at the gate, of an ex that you love to hate,
and though you seeth with hatred you still stand in that place
at angle beneath his window to gaze,
the empty window framed the empty space with drapes,
though it was obvious nothing happened it was enough to fulfill some state
of mind piece of mind, filling your time up with nonsense to pay your bills,
catching up catching up to the real way you get your thrills,
some blocks away riverside the trail trickled and stopped,
this

the trail cut off for a block at one time and in the space of those tracks you could see the garbage dragging off to the curb in a trail of slime,
then the dots became apparent just in time to gain my attention

if.

another fluttering thought that slipping through my fingers onto the studio floor,

my deaf ears can't hear it flopping around gasping for air until the movement stops and it appears to be another mark in a mosaic of splattered crusted paint of the tiles.

given

sooner or later leaves will strain their connection to their deep rooted better halves,
they'll flee for freedom, but the weightless feeling is the overwhelming sensation before they feel the crash,
and it's a mortuary, a cemetary of crisp vacant dreamers,
unfufilled but strong willed,
they lean so far left until all bonds collapse sending them off into some purpose
the whirl,
the push towards the unsure, it come with hesitation, but that's just the push and pull, things won't come quick enough speeding to death's door, birthed to a burial with family and neighbors from next door.
nothing's really sad at all, in fact it's quie beautiful the scars and wrinkles as they form,
the folds of baby fat that flatten out and grow strong, till it gives in to itself tightens is smoked, taut and torn, and then the body goes back sleep the same as before birth,
it's as you awake for the longest day on earth and return to sleep, but in that sleep you are dust.

bad date

suffocate on cake half asleep in a diner on east side of town where the eyes are little more shifty,
the crowd could testify that you weren't high just exhausted and possibly mildly inebriated,
abbreviated terms for your half baked smirk as the medics helped you to a seat upon the curb,
I had no part in your rescue I was thoroughly upset and I felt powerless amongst the team of professionals
never the less, the lesser I knew about you seemed to construed some eerie premonition i had in a dream in my bed
I remember your train wreck of actions, the breathing tube up your nose and down your throat.
this followed to fruitions as i draped your coat over your shoulders in front of your home,
don't expect a call in the near future...

the first morning of may, no new messages.

it's morning, arose
cleared the blood from my nose and the sweat on my head gleams likes crystals before the sunset.
my red eye 9 to 5, 5 to 9 , has left my back twisted and my brain fried and despondent,
how to relate to a world running on a full tank, how am I to gauge when I look like I just inebriate, sloth like footing using a chair as a crutch pushing back horrid thoughts from one corner of my mind to any clean surface and reorganizing them on a prose with rhyme.
a forayer of my memory which has burnt itself so dry, my voice cracks and falls flat as my imaginary balloon of hope collapses residing flaccid on the black linoleum floor.
good bye April mornings, hopes of lovers, and the notion that connections can make it past friendship; bitter, you bet, and you can help burn this cigarette until it falls from my cold fingers and fills me.

william / to wilt and untie

hard headed believing in a light
behind the smile,
when it turns out the light burnt out in the night
or was it there at all,
you bury pictures deep into my head and I keep the total,
in a list of everything word you said
the words have lost potency in their usage
and come to think,
their failures are endless;

---


I have become a cardboard existentialist,
a repetitive patchwork of broken grids
with no direct correlation,
I sit inside the train station powerless,
pushing the pocket lint into the cracks of my fingers,
shifting in my seat, grinding my teeth,
my brain burning in an echoing siren,
the aching thought that wilts me away,
brings me to a fever when i speak,
I force my hands deeper into my pockets,
and pretend that I'm okay, recheck my relationship to the edge the platform and the city that buries me, if this tunnel collapsed on me and think that everything would be just fine.

made in the wakeless morning being that I've not gone to sleep and my eyes have become red

images blacken like the edges of my eyelids
the tears funnel from tear ducts
making my eyelashes clump up, together,
alone as I do anything ,that's the truth,
silence and a slide show of pictures, I can recall every one,
it's brilliant, how the light flickers to faded,
but in a slow eventual loss of light
until
the sky each morning ignites,
the spark that fills the sky and it carries on expelling all the black,
until it passes each window,
the daily routines, the constant reminders,
the interactions and the actions that show you no one wants you around,
I find this out in leaving,
you fall for the comforting fill of a voice to your silence, the sharing of thoughts, the play of messages, you fall into it.
I fall in love with your bravado, your head strong light that you emanate cures the haze of this grayest of days.
How did this become a love song, when it's written while I'm alone?
Have I finally flipped my cap, imagining making you come back.
A play of pictures, a man hung from an ivory rope,
when he attempted to swing the strand broke.
A stream of consciousness that I keep to myself,
folded up in a fading memory.
your eyes are just as dark as mine,
we reflect one another
infinite eyes, until the opening
collapses.

modestly irrate

Buzzing refrigerator motor that creates the broken ambiance that forces me to acknowledge all my surroundings focus on my thoughts and create more issues, the awkward bulge in the right pocket of these jeans is a mean cigarette meant for a nicotine fiend, fiend dreams accomplish reoccurring schemes but they usually end with the loss of all currency, and when the accounts come down to a modest nothing now no entourage will suffocate you as your tears garble your wretched sound, croon to croon it is the drive that impresses you, the more pain you have the more work comes out these sickly fingers that will crack and stiffen to hold a pen that soaks up these rambling now and again, relax, don't do it, you'll never come to a conclusion, it's the horror of climax to return to prefix, losing sight of the suffix suffice it's purpose which is necessarily meaningless because every completion is private and defeated by inability to "let it out".





I suffocate the silence,
cup my ears to trying hide it..

sunday silence.

the traffic vibrations awoke me through my window
as I lay curled up next to it.
The unsettled feelings that makes me feel like shit
I have to repeatedly get to used to it.

in the morning we ate water

your fingers to floss,
the pluck, the wave, the tingle.
I am at a loss,
for words
I can't fit to a jingle.
little less than a minute to to 10,
little lost
I keep
doing this again,
but no,
I've only done this once...
a constant statement of false pretense,
we'll examine the words in and out of sleep
Your toes poke from the beneath a sheath
a feather
comforter.
You smile in between the epiphanies
you hit
at each point,
silently,
I can't help thinking
did I dream this up,
I pinch my palm
the pain alarms me,
I'm still up,
awake just two hours before the sun hangs in noon time.
In my head
these words are being written
on the back wall of my mind
A poem of the moment
I'll keep inside
because things like these might be
better to hide
Genuinely taken by surprise
the touch of lips, bodies in bed,
an ease into it .
here comes the calm, like a veil over my head
the curtains close, my eyes reopen and I can see you
face to face, cheek to cheek, nose to nose,
eyes wide open.

Timothy traded his life

for a newspaper headline

taxi under a bridge with a driver that seemed nice

but the conversation struck a tone that elevated to a turn off the road home

and the knife on the passenger seat became lodged Timothy's jacket

oh the headlines blazed in a stare 

beaming against the waters retreating outline

Timothy tried to lean forward for the door but he started to see lights

then with an upward thrust he punched the throat the driver

a lucky start to get him out of the car and down to the insterstate where he would have been saved

but sadly timothy could not get away

he was stones throw away from the driver aim

as he reared by the car barreling his way

timothy won't you kiss the stars

timothy we'll put your killer behind bars

timothy sleep well tonight 

because the world is cold under the stars' headlights

I'm sure you talk about me when I'm not home and as you caress your stomach in an endearing tone

the person on the other end  of the phone, it's not me i know, if found your notes

my name is not gregory, so i assume your cheating on me,

this is not the way friends act, guys don't usually keep their hand soldered to the small of your back.

I said to a friend, that my shifty eyes stopped dead when I saw you walking hand in hand

for a block, it was empty so I guess you were tempted, but you were too caught up to check

that red dot the smoke, the cherry of my cigarette, I saw you make out.

I saw you pull close to him and lean into someone's steps.

I heard every part of you as fizzled and those eyes I loved became vacant.

If you really ever loved me, you would know that I have a capacity to understand.

With a persona so bubbly, I could be fooled with the excuse that you just took him by hand.

But truly Julie, you should have looked where you stand, because finally you took a look to distance to check for anything before jumping into his lap.

but alas you never looked back,

alas I'm now part of story in your past.

But I'm gun hoe at times, so I picked up a brick 

chucked it a street sign it broke the lip lock and startled you two, as I walked the side walk away from you.

The house lay empty a testament to defeat, that some man came in front of me.

My tv dinner in the kitchen sink, that I'm too broken up to eat

I left your things in the hall, in a box marked don't open this just go.

I see know point in conversation, because I don't need explanation to comb over the empty words lingering in your head.

Every smile and laugh I have to question each one we had and there validity if this is how this would end.  

back stepping through the bushes

I 've been growing sick of this allegory, the same old modern high school textbook  story.

I gave it two thumbs in the crit, but honestly I think it's shit

So I'm not going to lie, but it annoys me.

When I rise from my bed 

with the crust blocking my eyes, 

the sky looks 

quite dim.  

The reality that you get 

looks for your pedantic crap,

 makes me gag and question my purpose...

I'm not nearly as small as you perceive me to be,

when I pass you in the hallway you suck your breathe in not speak.

So keep walking down this road with mislead truth as your might.

Because this highlighted moment will be worthless after tonight.

I won't stage protest, but I won't hand out life vest when your ship goes sinking down.

I don't mind the ethereal, but you've got to be real.

The people hang from coat tails like tags.

I find nothing sacred in your material,

I find you quite in inferior..

But I guess you think the same of me.

would you please,

piss off please.

would you please, 

piss off please.

the hesitation in your eyes

tells her you want more

and yet again she moves across

the floor,

but the obvious is now your surprise

and you still try to persuade her despite 

you've become an annoyance

it could have been avoided

your heart is clenched in a crimson fist

and you won't let go of making this right

at least in your eyes.

so she pleads..

won't you please,

piss off, please.

won't you please,

piss off please.

you stand hand beside hand

cradling a drink

the war is at your feet

you attempt to step ahead

but the actions are of your heart

not of your head

tripping in midstep 

a half hearted attempt

you've almost given up

raised hand with cup 

taken a sip 

turned away and stayed 

but glances back to look

you see she's walked away.

-- 

little numbers

--i wish they keep down the obscenities,

i mean - what the fuck.

I guess this date was over before i realized

 you were preparing to get off at the next stop..

queasy feelings have me shaking

as the patterns beneath my feet begin to sway and overlap 

like a blackened sea

and everyone around me looks concerned in manner

that promotes intentions that they won't keep

an overall feeling of compassion and reaction

to boy hunched over nearly bleeding tears onto the walkway

with a face so red and a sweating neck

the bundle of body parts falls into itself

my arms and legs give into me

it's like a fetal position in my seat

if you make up the equation 

it's minus 90 percent of me

because I'm gone from this reality-

i'll be

In the morning,

i will walk this pittsburgh pike

under the haze of morning smog

and the dimming 

city lights

the birds will fly low

above my head

they will peck out my eyes

and I will look to the sky

catching the rain in the holes as it pours from the clouds.

I'll be a bird bath ,

moving north bound

that kind of B-movie imagery

Not a classic or ON- Demand.

In the passing greys of grimmaces 

that are fading.

I pick up a cigarette 

put it between pursed lips

and remember that I quit

Dropping it beneath my feet

 I second guess and bend to pick it up from pavement

at that point

a yellow taxi cab clears the area where my head is leaning over the edge of the sidewalk.

I fly high like the birds in the blue

the smog is lighter when your deep in tune

A flutter that last for what seems like hours

child I was anew

freed from my brain basket 

I won't be put into a casket

And God would agree 

wasn't it a wonderful scene.

The lover lock lips in park lots

as the funeral march rounds the corner

a mother with child straightens her skirt

fully aware that she'll one day be old lonely and retired

the chemically imbalanced limp to the curb

"there's hole to be filled, in other words"

the herse is a mirror reflecting all who pass it 

and in the back 

there goes my ashes

in the back there are my ashes

to be sprinkled here and there

to mixed into my master piece

to be used in the mortar for a half way home

to diluted and written in the ink for a poor family's loans

I'll be the soil in the park to wash away with the storms 

blues

I'll turn that blues

into a bruise

If we're wise beyond our years 

then we'll move  away from here

cradle me in these arms

dulled charm

do not depend on

these cold palms 

to be of use

 to you

I'm not fooling anyone

and i wouldn't want to

I refuse

I refuse

i refuse

She moved last summer

despite your letters 

I begin something

I'd rather forget 

because it hurts

the fear turned my face 

alabaster

She'd try to tell you

in notes

but she'd ball them up

in the pockets of her coat

it came without words

in the darken circles of her eyes

you're losing your  head

you're losing you are  head

are you using your head

you're losing your head

you're losing your head

are you using your head

if not

why lie

haven't slept too good

i've been wearing my patience pretty thin
and the ghost in my reflection is here
the dark circles like glasses
the shaking palms
I haven't been to sleep
at all
Nary a woman feast eyes on this frown
too complicated to communicate an emotion with sound
my eyes peer up but always fall down
in the winter cold sticks
buried in the ground
the plastic nerves
will melt in time
they'll stick to the inside
like wax in dollar store candle light
I'm pacing off further and further from the point I came from
a mourning place, I mean morning place
where the sun hits my face
as erase all I've written down.

just a thought

i need to leave this place so I can feel real.

untitled (you should do it)

beating the dead horse

of its capsulated breathes,

the murky water settles on the shore

behind my back,

are sure that you are steady,

are you ready to leave,

the doctor gave me lots a money

when he medicated me.

I open my jar

and swung back my head

it's clouded reality

where I pay rent

you got a little to scrap together

before the clock hits ten

you've been contemplating

this mirage for too long.

(you should open your hands and hold out your tongue

and open yourself to be vulnerable

its the same way inside out)

turning tighter the tourniquet

my head feels lighter

the minute i sit it down

it will pour through the cracks

i won't be able save it,

the load of weight

that my cap has to cradle

is a figure of a mother with child in the forest,

a deep green shades and caresses the stars

until the light peeks through leaves 

like blinds to the noon sun 

I am streams;

I am a river with no end,

my arms reach out beneath these coverings and make a line to the pen,

the shift of my conscious

makes no reflection on my morals,

I am a dark opal, that's sinking into dark water

the weight above my head

and the weight i am I've said,

is sinking down into oblivion.

Press my lips shut

and carry this hum to the lips of  every sleeper

REM to restless in the hush of each bed room

The light taps of the rain drops on my window

sound like footsteps

running away into shade

down the fire escape into the bushes.

I rush through memories

to match the lights in front me,

faces on the inside of my eyelids

free existing memories,

my safe haven

in this world I've been born,

reforming and over examining, each thought as a  chore,

I allow my self one more,

one  more night to be like this

before the weight of reality

weighs on me more,

every talk with my grandfather

ended with this lore

saying you learn a little in this world you have a lot more to explore,

(watch me now)

the dreams have ceased,

I have thought no more 

it keeps me safe in my slumber, after I lock my door.

You need not apologize to me

if I've forgiven you before.

If I can see I do believe

that I can read what this is for.

  

I thought I'd be the remedy, the peaceful person, the go between.

The lapse conscious to put minds at ease, but instead I'm riding the rioting.

The push, the exclamation burst through stolid calm, the masturbatory stirring of heated palms,

on cold beer bottles as the night lights burned..

The conversations strung in a litany, telling rumor to concealed truth causing random epiphany.

Swallow your tongue, I try not let this get to me, but the walls of these strangers are about hit me.

Why so close to the line of fire, 

did you the purpose or should I retire

the walls are getting  closer and I'd still admire that impossible candid portrait of a group of a group of friends smiling.

The anxiety and the insecurity, when you know so many secrets and you hold them confidently.

The vault never cracked and that's what interest me.

That I shut my mouth, but others can't do that for me.

I thought these problems would cease around the first decade from infancy, but it still goes on indefinitely.

The good guy or so i think, goes down in some farce that's looks like a tragedy.

Bending head over heels to help who's in need, but thankless tasks leave in shambles - defeat.

The First

The ground is cold under slush and ice tonight, I'm inside at the moment, but my bones still ache like I was outside.  I think I need a rest, but the call of a crowd on a telephone, is going to lead me out to the bar before I go home.  I think I'm going to have another drink and claim I'm quitting it all again.  One more drink after the setting sun can only warm me deep within.  One more mile of dirty track and 3 avenues to get home after some self abuse, sometimes it's better to be a seclusive soul.  I shook my feet under the table in a puddle of mettled ice, and the glasses grazed the table top a percussive sound i like.  I think this beats being surrounded strangers these are friends I do not mind, we will drink, we will gorge till we are blind.  I should not start off any record with a list of my defeats, I rather begin summing up an allegory to stir up inner heat.  Till my heart is left burning and I have risen my seat, it is an inner dialogue I can never escape.  I've made it home into my bed, or so I hope I will be, I speak of it in a future tense, in hopes it will be real, and as pen shakes across this pad, the homeless man in the aisle sleeps.  I won't speak, he won't speak, I'll not sleep, because as my eyelids are turning black the dialogue returns.   My brains excited by this dialect it trips upon each verb, to imagine that someone actually loves me, and these words were hers.