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poetry is just drunk chunks of undigested thoughts pretending to be a meal that must be suckled from the floor for feeling * poetry is unpoetic far too often and often too far from poets who try to say all that’s been said by saying very little for that bit is how much has mattered … Continue reading
i am gone though i have only just arrived at the bar where people come to go to where i went without much thought besides for the hope of being led deeper into this like an anchor that doesn’t hit the bottom or a boat that does * why do we do when all that … Continue reading
i wonder if i repeat that i will not die will it happen at the end the beginning or the middle of a sente- * what is the point is a pointless question to ask and even less to answer for all there is are the small things like tomorrow or yesterday or if this … Continue reading
modernity is defined by absence by the i don’t get it why i didn’t get it by the empty space meant to show distance and safety but the buildings’ lights don’t turn off in the night and the basement hasn’t been explored yet because its too dark by irony and iron both crusting and rusting … Continue reading
the tragedy of the commons is that we were born too soon to learn how to stop our birth * my mom is in love with my dad and booze at the same time and one leads to another though i forget which way the direction lays like a beast feasting in roadkill after a … Continue reading
i’m starting to wonder why i’m writing so much and i believe it’s because i feel something coming, something contained, something good because it is also going, spooling, limitless for i have yet to touch and taint it with me, with these words that haven’t done much as of yet besides for make me come … Continue reading
if you are reading this i am dead like you though we both have some life left here as both the container and the contained in your mouth like a cavity that can be filled with a finish less filling than flesh sweetened with tenderness from your lips * i’m followed by shade with the … Continue reading
something outside isn’t right because the day is shorter than a stripper’s skirt and everyone remains sick with the morning is healed by the night and are ill again when the sun yawns as though nothing changed even though they have for they brought home a story of these girls real pretty funny too whose father wasn’t … Continue reading
i knew there was always something wrong with always knowing something wrong about i like how i can’t write about myself all too well because once i say i’m pretty great with all the ugliness i can muster i feel myself sliming out just like that: mustard gas slinking yellow that makes me hurl on … Continue reading
summer is sick throwing up on itself into fall where the city burns itself with the lights of buildings and night that look like stars against the loneliness and dark for like them the buildings are empty with no one around and there is only one me staring outward hoping for someone to notice me … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 