come down (the fire or the fuel)

she
is the
brick
i am the window
or something
like it...
who knows if thats right
maybe she's the lofty stars in
the blackest night
or perhaps a law broken
or a love unspoken
she is surely a catastrophe
and she is the loving arms
and the warm fuzzy sweater
laying on the sunday floor
and she is the glass of water
but
she
is
not
the rain
well, maybe the rain
if it were in a cup
bit she is not the sure thing
and she is not the luck
she is not a storm approaching
but she is lightning when she leaves
she is not
the walk on a warm day
and neither is she the
window shade
she is not the
empty street
but she is the breaking of the day
and thats not what i meant but
it is what i mean to say
she may not be the brick forever
but i am still the window
and
however it
comes down
she has completely
shattered
me

incumbent: or, what will

i am the man
the withered man
too tired for what is here
in front
and behind
so instead
i made chicken soup
from scratch
and contemplating the chicken
and how it lived its life
not expecting someday
i would be standing in my kitchen
rooting through
his entire being
looking for every little
bit
and morsel
to honor his passing
for my nourishment
and then i thought of you
and your candied smile
when we drove naked to the lake
for skinny dipping
oddly named
as i wasn't skinny
and you would 't dunk
your head
i guess tonight
is another small moment
in a life
amber lit
here in my sanctum
i suppose
i will find it
my polar bear on main st.
something big
to tear me
away
from my insomnia
and my incumbent needs
and all of this stumbling around
some might say
i need a shrink to
make me shrunk
and maybe
i need to be made
even a bit smaller
before i can fit between my sheets
to go to sleep
and not
stumble around my apartment
making soup and
shouting at the cat
to quit
his incessant whining
regarding all these chicken parts
in my hands
3 a.m. and
now for the spoon
and the bowl
no...
(not that spoon
or that bowl)
i am not
that fucked up
yet...

night slurry

night tore through
like a lunatic cement truck
bearing down hard
soaking all the world
in its darkest gunk
and i was the fool
at the bottom
swimming up
trying to writhe free
from this circumstance
this statue to
to world
and all my failures
on display
stars resting on my brow
at the bottom of the syrupy stuff
yet still
i was electrified
and alive
writhing
at the heart
with my purest
intentions

insipid blue light

tonight

this insipid blue light

is tearing through

the sinew of

my very eyes,

bloodshot

and boiling with

the fluid that is

bent and misshapen now

and no rest for the

wicked bullshit

which this modern world

requires

handed down not from forefathers

as the station of man

but as a new disease that we have all

contracted

this divalent

viral fungous

into the very marrow

of man

and here i am

a fool to still be seated

in a deceivingly hard chair

my brains melted down

to the floor

and i roll over them with every minor

adjustment

i have gotten good

at some

of these things

and others

i am so far removed

it wastes far more time than

it saves

and i long for days

of woods walking

and running through fields

i should become a ranch hand

and never see the glow of

the power

again

i’d be sure

to read

by candlelight

instead

or, fuck that

just go to bed

and rise with the sun

cured of this vampirical

disease

and standing in the

first rays of day

finally fit as a statue in the

gleaming of the sun and thus

modern man

reborn

waking

what waking dreams have kept me here
within the land of dreams
where i usually think on her sweet face
but tonight im lost from the means
to return again to keep her love
in the garden of time and waste
a rush to find the doorway there
and now i'm in haste to the waist
and thats not all
there is a tiny man
watching me
yes every move i make
and if i see him sleeping
at the slightest move and he wakes
so i cannot escape to where you rest
as long as they know you are there
they watch me now
for i had bragged
that you were worth much more
more than gold and more than steel even more
than all else in deed
and all else is mad
and sharpened the blades
to bring forth the war onto me
its 5 am and staring up
as sheep jump over fences
and all i see is your sweet eye
dripping in sweet confection
and i have spoiled the healthy stuff
now this one im sure i should mention
i hang on tight
onto the wire
strung high and high with tension

medicine man (or, fuck you, i tried)

i always knew

i was just your

soft place to fall

and someday

with wounds healed

you’d walk away

from it all

but the broken

things you left lying

were probably overkill

your collateral

damage

dancing

on the end

of that last call

and you didn’t know

that i knew i was

the doctor

and the medicine

that fixed you

was not my love

but your

poisonous

heart

purging

its yellow puss

all over my

clean white

intentions

i gladly left them

lying around

a sterile field

to soil

with the infection

you were nursing

along

waiting for

a soft

place to fall

and i put on my

paint and feathers

and played the

part to the “t”

a shaman all shaking

shakes free

and the placebo

draws the humors

from the depths of

her sea

and she was

not laughing

the slow

bleeding

and weak

and the patient

begins to shriek

and that’s when

you know its working

when they lose

the control

and it looks like

magic

and then it’s all over

and the shaman

goes home

and puts on a movie

another days work

down

the tube

and as he fades off,

one whisper,

“fuck you.”

but the only one

left is the moon

who smiles

and whistles

a tune...

p.s.

the shaman was me

the woman

was

you

and, oh yeah, the moon

was definitely the moon

if, but

if i were

a free floating seed

on the winds

of this

gentle springtime

i would

light a while

on her sweet

flowing field

but alas

i am a tree

rooted

and curled

comfy

in the soil

of my circumstance

and her abundant

nurture