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i’ll write you a radical poem dedicated to you
—six word poem 7/29/14
send me snapchat n00dz
the sun crashes on
the shores of the atlantic,
and we watch
the seagulls against the sky
while writing conscious thoughts in the sand
for the tide to suck up and it’ll remember and
we will forget
there is no art inside me.
there are just rabid dogs
too tired to keep biting and there
are just birds with broken wings
sitting in the grass
waiting for the old cat to finally
have his triumph before
god finds his old bones in the dirt.
there is no song inside me.
there are just tired days and
incomplete dreams, there are just
sad women who once loved me but
who probably aren’t sad anymore,
wherever they are.
there is no poetry inside me.
there are just the stale winds of
near-forgotten memories and
stains on the pale kitchen wall
from where i forgot to put the
lid on my sadness.
fight is far from over and
the sand is stained
with typewriter ink, and
writer’s block is winning, and
the porch light flickers, and
the neighbors watch sitcoms
until three am, and there’s
only three beers left
in the fridge that barely keeps
when the fight is far from over
we are staring at our ugly bodies
naked in the mirror
imagining blood dripping from
we keep on going at least for a
at least to see the end as it
without filters or smoke or mirrors,
without fiction or opinion.
and that is when the
SHINE A LIGHT ON SADDENED DREAMS AND THERE ARE GLOWING EYES IN THE TREES SURROUNDING THIS HOUSE AND FOR QUITE SOME TIME THE SINK HAS BEEN LEAKING AND I AM GOING INSANE AND ONCE IN A WHILE
THERE’S A FEW BIRDS ON THE WINDOWSILL TALKING THE STOCK MARKET OR WHERE I HAVE BEEN (IN BED MOSTLY)
AND THEY PITY ME
AND THEY GO SOUTH FOR THE WINTER AND COME BACK WITH GOOD STORIES AND THEY MAKE ME FEEL SAD BECAUSE
I HAVEN’T LEFT BED MUCH
AND I HOPE TO
SEE THE WORLD LIKE THEM SOMEDAY
the radio plays soothing static
for blind bats in attics above
where they pay the rent
late every time and they
break their hands every night
on keyboards made of
nothing at all.
for the birds, the dogs, the thieves,
for the paperboys, for the
weak, and for me.
i’m starting Breaking Bad at the beginning again
Gonna open a bar entitled “King Jameson’s”
I love when people vaguely complain on Facebook , do they really think they convinced us they’re not simply looking for attention
“I am so done with this”
“I can’t do this anymore…”
i wanna teach a college class on the mythology and structure of horror films entitles “Hannibal Lectures”
i ate a handful of moths today. they are making my stomach smell like an old woman’s closet. i don’t feel good. i feel sick. i plummet to the bottom of the couch and sleep with my back injected with coiled springs. i like to watch Anchorman three times a week while drinking a gallon of milk.
i count electric sheep while trying to fall into a dream-world. it blows my mind to witness this earth sinking into the marsh behind boston’s skyscrapers. i like pillow-talk. it’s lovely.