I am finally reaching the point where my best is no longer enough

I am putting out full power

Wattage overdrive

And it sinks

It sinks

It sinks

And it hits the bottom

And the air evacuates my lungs

And I simply stare up at the sky

Through the surface

A surface I will never break


And the crowd

On land


And laughs

And laughs

And I hear them laughing

And they are laughing at me


At the bottom of the fucking ocean

And they laugh at me

Look at him he can’t breathe

What a loser

Fuck that guy

Fuck that guy

He can’t even breathe

When nothing really matters

I see you knowing me on the inside, on the outside, deterred

By the understanding of both distances from and between one another

Standing typically at place and in stead of wondrous things

No nonsense just a lust for the wild

And thoughts of deeper places, unknown to us

I think of them

We go there

The distance is measured

But it’s all a waste

Because nothing really matters

Heathen Undertow

They take crows from the grave to make toenail clippings into magazines

No one’s telling twice whether we mean for reading or shooting

The camera is the gun

We mean we do we run

And go on

The heathens in between carry twice the load to the mountaintop

We breathe their air and steal their time

Because they have too much to give

Without knowing why it ever took them astray

I line up in my mind

Ready for the firing squad

It will never come

Time will kill me first

And the molecular clock

Keeps on ticking…

Dentist: Don’t Like It Much

I wonder what part of me knows that I can hear my mother on the other side of this wall in a house where we two live and know that it doesn’t matter how you space these words out

And then subsequently think that the premise being spacing remains likewise for family and suchwise for words

And what is the comparison now? As to like to is? And behooven?


I’m stationary but the detritus of dress rehearsal in the morning spinning tails in my ears never sent me off to the dentis’ any way I would’ve wanted

I wouldn’t’ve wanted to go anyway

where did you go?

when in doubt the belittlement of the nuance tucked under the rug or carpet

left letterwise for your own very own soul

I promise it’s for you

left there under that rug

and it seems


to be


it was forgotten there

and we couldn’t find you

and now you’re gone

so it just sits


and out of respect

for you

we leave it there

Work Work, Spirit Guide, Work Work

When life gets simple

I come up with not only scientific explanations,

A scientist,

But with formulaic patterns,

Not a mathematician,

To explain why

Why why

It is like this

Why it has become like this

Why it will stay like this

In my estimate

In my prediction

The marker is elsewhere

In spacetime

But now it is here


As your eyes follow

So why not your heart?

And look

How much exercise


And love you really express?

Why would you doubt yourself?

I grieve for you

Who are sad

Who are narrow

At the bridge

Like me

We together shall make it

Trust me

Like I trust you

We are stronger than this


Come with me

To the end of time

To defeat whatever mentality plagues us

The “it’s not real” of your world

The one of mine

Only misguide us

The science will do its job

Let it

But as for us

We are spiritual souls

So we should do ours, too

What Is the Role of the Poet?

Makes me wonder: What is the role of the poet in society or elsewhere? I really don’t have an answer to that question, I haven’t thought about it nearly at all. And I’m going to have to, if I want to monetize the career path in any mean. I mean to say, is it about something for yourself, or something for others? A mix? Fixing? Other things?

It’s hugely complicated and I’ll try to write an essay on it at some point, if just to (among other things) prove to myself that I can still write essays. =/

We’ll see. We’ll see how this all pans out. It’s so chaotic and worrisome I really have no idea what to expect. I hope you all survive the lens flare among other demons who partake in our juicing.


You never knew

How much I cared,

Did you.

You never knew

That I was in disguise

That I was secretly


Because of your meanness

Your ugliness.

You never knew

I was one

To spit back.


You remember me, the chair

You will not get anything in return

And I had better get used to that

If I am not already

Then this has surely been a painful journay

An observation (besides that some people are pricks):

I forgot