I am the one,
pacing through cigarette smoke
passing crowds, head down
eyes heavy, body weak.
I am the escapist,
barely seen in dark alleys-
a quiet street,
and the night is clear.
I am the ghost in the distance,
on top of hills,
quiet neighborhoods,
affected, hidden..

I see your bodies,
buried in leather
bullet-proof,
hiding never-souls.
I am the distant,
I am the noise.
I am the rustle in the bushes.
I am the target of death-squads.
I am the undercut surprising.
I am the failed, the weak, the cheap.
I breathe through my nose a dirty air,
and from my mouth,
salacious gestures.
The art is now dead,
the spirit all but gone.
We are the generation,
hearts torn out and spit upon..

I am the non-political,
the leech, the apathetic.
I am the one who buries himself.
I am contemptuous of complacency.
I am hung with no audience,
no cackles, no adoration.
the poetry now exists
between blades of grass
unnoticed, laid upon.
I slip through pinholes,
vacuous and black
disintegrated, non-matter.
There is no rhetoric,
which I may conjure to explain..

my platform is sinking, broken.
I will die alone,
like the ones that never existed.
I am an eyesight,
a laser beam.
I am polluted with the presence of my neighbor.
I am an edible rose, eaten.
I am broken plastic,
silicon on forgotten asphalt.
I project to the cosmos,
a sound, an image dispersed,
thinly, widely absorbed
into eternal, spontaneous gravity.
My pages are the embers that envelop your fingerprints.
I sand the crests down to their troughs.
I am the illiterate reading a newspaper;
the incontinent, needlessly whirled.
I turn knobs, become offended at myself.
I close books quietly, brush them,
betray the words..

I am never, ever again.

i once strut a morn
in a bland city with pale sunlight
a hue grey as the sidewalk
the breeze clashing with my hairy legs
i inhaled a joint
and felt dizzy already
it was 9am
i didnt feel like going to class
i felt i would burst laughing
and embarrass myself,
for the professor looked like larry david
although i doubt he would think it was funny
since he reminded the class
of their inevitable
'death and demise'
so i went back to my car
drove home
wondered if it was the dark roast
i was to prepare
or was it medium?
african roasts
must be the dark ones,
i thought
and it was a sullen morning
the ants moved along
in their capsules
not staring at each other
and i yearned to go back
to cities with canals
and maybe i'd be hidden
beneath a subway
where my heart finally burst
and we spoke across tattered connections
floating up and down staircases
until it was done
and you never saw me in the mirror
i was never there
and i never was
just a terrible wretch
stretching legs uncomfortable
aroused by sounds
no one had heard
a resonance
swept between my feet and the earth
and to all greyness i will see
much closer
the bottoms of cups, red
and always again
the strangeness struck me
alien and forbidden
balancing between houses
knee-deep, moist,
and unforgiving.

depress-
sion
is
a
frag-
mented
po-
em;
mis-
leading
to
some
giv-
en
up
by
many;
but this
time
it's not
art rather;
it becomes
necess-
ity
when your
poems leave
you
to your
so-
li-
tude
like a
brokenhearted
woman;
leaving you
to rot;
except when
they have
K
I
L
L
E
D
me
they will
find my
corpse of words
shin-
ing
in the
faded sun
for all
to see
like a
train-
wreck
of sorts;
but it
will be
for-
got-
ten
like uni-
verses
before us
exist-
ing
to
de-
exist;
all there is
is fate
and i guess
luck, too
so pick up
the fuck-
ing dice
and throw it
all across your
doomed
Existen-
ces.

i have devoted myself,
devoted myself,
to death.
you are living, yes,
you are living,
but you devote yourself to death.
i devote myself to you.
we are devoted to death.
but i love you, love triumphs death.
love is passion, passion is immortal.
that is, that which results from passion.
you are my life,
you are my death.
i may be slight, you may be diverted.
i don't blame you.
you are you.
you are beautiful.
you know it.
i've let you know it.
those who are better than me,
have let you know it.
so i don't blame your decision.
it is only rational.
that is, where ration is rational.
sometimes it may be senseless.
sometimes it is senseless.
sometimes it makes sense to be senseless.
sometimes it doesn't.
i don't blame you.
i don't blame anyone any bit.
i believe that is sensitive.
it's too bad i don't care.
it's too bad, too bad, yes
sensitivity to death.
so slight, yes
i only exist in words,
possibly, the only way i exist,
that is, tragedy, that is
diversion, that is,
too bad, yes,
too bad.

'oh well, too bad.'
that's what it will say
on my 'tragic' grave.

i saw her in a dream last night,
dark hair, close
a whisper in my ear
a touch, and i was finished
i awoke to my dream
alone in a bed
somewhere
and i knew
it had to be the wine
i drove to the store
paid two dollars
and forgot.
i found her in a dream
i find her in my heart
i find her beside me
haunting, dragging
i find her in a nightmare
of this life gone wicked
i find her when she isnt found
i find her in a drawer,
in an envelope, in a bag
i find her in my bed
i find her underneath calloused fingers
i find her with no money
i find her on vast highways
wondering where the people went
i find her in boxes
i find her in hollowed books
i find her in blinding screens
with eyes gouged out
i find her in california
i find her in new york
i find her in utah
i find her in the pueblos of mexico
i find her in the canals of amsterdam
i find her in glass bottles
drained and useless
i find her in my wallet
i find her in knots of wood
i find her everywhere,
her beauty haunts me
and i am the sensitive heathen
pale and doubted
hiding in small rooms,
i need you,
i need you like a child,
helpless, and naive.

drink thy tainted liquid,
black and syrup,
fiery as nether realms
and holy as cherubs

down thy poison
and anti-emittent
until thy mind soothed,
the suede of opiate

the soma of earth,
the light of moon,
and a vacation soon.

the peace of earth is sunlight,
the peace of earth is passivity.
the peace of earth is love,
wherever it may be.

inbetween sidewalks,
inbetween counters,
inbetween highway lanes
waiting to be devoured.

in a drawer, in a bag
in a hollowed book
a hidden stash.

we stand like fences that divide us,
losing traction, and sinking.

precipitate; show me the way.