“Kid, quit this quiet
love. These go to eleven
for a good reason.”
1st World Prophecy
From a flawed and recalled model,
the pale rider spits pale fire
that breaks upon the air like water on rocks.
Ever time I rip apart a yogurt lid that could've helped cure breast cancer or a cereal box which could buy some poor kid a schoolbook I feel awful. It's like being six drinks deep and noticing you have the seat by the emergency exit just as your plane hits turbulence. Who the hell volunteered me for this responsibility?!
Divorce the Ms. from your Isms; all you need do is exist.
When single, avoid murder ballads on karaoke night.
My heart and mind have this much in common: they are both bottomless pits which I cannot stop trying to fill.
I know this land like the back of my hand, but I could not even begin to map the topography of my own soles.
Orthodox perfectionists don't believe in erasers, seatbelts, or condoms. I am a reform perfectionist.
What works for bone breaks works for heartbreaks; namely, RICE-- rest, ice, compression, elevation. -- Define those terms as you will-- animal, chemical, whatever And hopefully you will, at some point
in your life.
"I Slept With a Writer & All I Got Were These Shitty Metaphors"
-the alternate title of every love poem I've written in the past 4 years
After the Culling
he'd felt, when it happened,
the town's decision had brought
the end of the species
as strongly as he could still smell
the pillowcases she had accidentally enfleuraged
with shea butter, sweat and something nameless
how happy he was, on the cold walk back
to see the deer gathered again that autumn
milling amidst summer baked leaves
until the tallest buck turned to reveal
a gruesome visage, as if already becoming venison
and an omen rose in his throat
later, he will understand it
as a benign directive of reason
devoid of the lunacy of love
a hollow catharsis, perfect acoustics
for chuckles and footsteps.
Gym Nasium
in the mill room, televisions squirm
with scenes of liquid anarchy sweeping away homes
the runners keep their form and eyes ahead
while the treads turns red as it flows in and out
stretched to the breaking point over the wheels of history
in the weightroom, the lifters reload grunts
as some satellite shows them a body motionless
on crimson glass, skulls rooting on the feudal scene
missing the zambonis wiping away the blood
before it can spill out of the frozen rink
postmodern marvels mean heated pools ensconced in ice
and that we need not perish twice to see both climaxes
Am I the only one who thinks couples who upload entire albums of their snogging onto facebook are on par with the douche who keeps a chart of his thesis progress on his cubicle or the asshole who tells everyone at the dinner table how much he makes a year? Shit is just rude. Get your love out of my face.
If Maslow's human needs form a pyramid, who is in the tomb?
Like Roanoke
mystery vanishes
into enternity
The difference between nightmares and bad dreams is that the first are imaginary terrors which evaporate upon waking, and the latter plausible sorrows which take root in the flickering consciousness.
Neccesity is the mother of all invention. Appropriation is the father of all creation.
I prefer to think of myself as less of a writer and more of a thoughtmonger.
The Best Compliments I've Ever Received
1. you run so quietly on the treadmill
2. i laughed cause i was remembering what you'd wrote
3. your dic[tion] is very handsome
Remembering Robert Frost
you find it where you left it, once
you remember to look-- wisdom
from the C-section of a stale cookie
wrinkled so much it cannot tear
and fortified, you forget until famine comes again
Patch
my words and posture have sputtered,
frozen by the time they reach you.
i am still using this same brain from '99
and my circuitry is too far behind to recover
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