two knots

the sick sauce of the sunlight

on the mustard of the ocean

was tempered by the twilight

of their heavy hanging minds

"deny the feeling

in your sockets

and the lightness

in your pockets

don't forget

to drink the water

with the wine.

don't deny

the looping juices

of her nectar

don't destroy

the secret chamber

in her breast

please give in

to her entreaties

and take her to the

smallest cities...

but never ever ever

deny her any treasure

for your pleasure

is forever her's to test."

***

two knots knotted

sat facing the horizon.

foam licked

the edges of their fingertips

while birds,

so white & grey,

flew overhead.

Poems Written on Adderall - 5/21/10

feels like i should just do what i used to do because i was smarter then

*

really want to write some poetry

just keep thinking of rap songs that don't exist yet

*

the armpit of my brain is sweaty

hairs needs trimming

visible deodorant becoming hard

and falling off

*

the hard cock of my brain is

ready for

the virginal vagina of life

*

the bi polar old clown of my brain

is quitting it's job at the circus

after thirty-six years -

sixty-eight years of life,

and starting over again

it's never too late to start over again

*

we are perpetually 'starting over' and

perpetually ignorant

*

never felt as good as

i feel now

or maybe i have but can't remember

*

sophomore male in pokemon shirt is not as ironic as he thinks, i guess

*

i'm the best rapper alive

i just haven't harnessed it yet

*

thought/wrote 'harnessed' in the previous poem

maybe meaning 'harvest'

or 'harvested'

keep thinking of a band maybe called 'blue moon' or like, 'october sky' and they had a song that was played on the radio maybe four years ago

not 'i hate everything about you'

but another song kind of similar that was just at a slower tempo i guess

*

gonna keep writing

gonna endure the study hall of life...

*

i got the lean connect

*

going to go help my mom set up for after prom

love my mom

---

video of me reading one of the above poems after drinking promethazine with 7up, ice, and a blue raspberry flavored jolly rancher

each day's work and activities brings a renewed sense of accomplishment
but nothing was really accomplished
and i become lazy
and i am discontent with the contentment i feel

One lousy soap poem on the mirror

is all he never wrote,

and me,

look at his face through the hyperventilation,

documentary of his suicide slowly blooming,

how they made their applause!

How the they’s encourage the booze and the pain

to medicate their hypocritical contempt,

to numb for moments the lack of feeling in their lives.

Fuck off, seriously, fuck off.

I will toil the fields of language for you until my hands are blistered

And the puss fills my brain.

Seriously, fuck off.

You don’t want any of this,

you can applause from your velvet balconies and return to your homes

and fuck your lovers and use the emotion we paid for in teeth.

The early mornings are the worst, when the black of the night

sticks around until the afternoon, sometimes for days,

and the raccoon mask I wear is not some left over disguise from an orgy.

The only orgy I have ever attended involved me weeping and puking

and shaking the life out of me into my hands holding premature stars.

You ever been there?

I didn’t think so

These words, like all my words, will become your thoughts, for free.

And I give them to you.

And I hate you for it.

And I thank you.

And I weep for you.

And I pray for you.

Pray for me.

Seriously, fuck off. 

bad day in february

today his car died, forever
so i emailed him sexy pictures
i hope he gets home from work
looks at me grinning,
jumping topless in bed
and thinks "she really cares about me."

Into Nova

Into Nova

remember

there are the sneaks left at the door

of the wingless

                                    aero planes

            fleets of college kids

collecting pennies in dirty delight

American steampunk promises

captured

roar in the legs of boredom

grown into clothes too small

stuffed in the bells

of the great stone fries

silencing our steps

into nova

one future to lose

just wanting to be that someone

who

can eat the dandelions

like butterscotch bottle caps who

thinks back and

cries

because the tree rings

                        in our limbs

don’t show how starved we are

by the dominion

of compliance