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


Release: The Passage is Still

[Alternate Route]’s editor, Michael Starr, has released his first full-length volume of poetry, The Passage is Still. It is postmodernist abstractions lost in his thoughts about various topics of observation in his life as a mentally ill person and as a normal person, sometimes one sometimes the other.

I won’t waste your time selling you on it. It’s $3 because he’s greedy and wants that profit. But it’s about 70 pages were it a real book, so you estimate if it’s worth it. He tells me amazon is still figuring out the x-ray, which he thinks is the preview feature but he could be stupid and wrong. Maybe he just doesn’t’ know how to do it.

Well in any case. There ya have it!

Enjoy! =)

Oh yeah, it’s on Kindle only. It should be available on the Barnes Nook soonish.

PS: Yeah I looked it up, the Preview feature should be available soonish. It’s automatic but takes a few business days. Business days because we’re in business, baby.

What Were You Looking For?

Into the revellion the ever astute demise of calamity the catastrophic meandering two-step I’ve-got-to-make-it-mean-more-than-this that your parents wouldn’t have wanted for your (but these are just borrowed words)

And these, in our coat pocket withdrawn at the cusp of an edge so lightly intercizing the skin rending in half

the forearm and the mains

I never know whether to mutiplex it or not but have at it in one go and remember your times

I will remember your times

There is no nasal spray but that we often get caught up in memories that are grotesque and try to clear them

So to make sense of it

But in speaking: There isn’t any

What were you looking for?


This won’t come off too kindly but, to fuck you, to fuck your race out of you, to make you go faster than your ejaculation to make you cum like a nigger on the street with blood splattering spewing in an instant out of his brains onto the concrete pavement like a work of art

To tell you I love you like his red hair now that it is stained with the matter of his prior thoughts to know that I loved you like I still do that this announcement

On the loud speaker in the bedroom of the police officer’s chambers came down on me like a hammer

And in his hammer I was still in pain though still knowing, still going, still growing…