Epilogue (eulogy) to a
(for a)
Poem

Absentmindedly
or ironically [I don’t even feel like bothering with the brackets
on this one you dumb fuck (but I did{i always
will})].

It all boils
up to immaterial
evidence;
some immature
sentiment,
and a bottle
that will never warm
no matter
how long or close you hold it.

Somewhere
there is
a beer
that won't go flat.

I'll never taste it,
solid against the universe
that's
projected onto my
scream.

More fun than five o'clock. Faster and without phil's fading hairline and four of his allegorical cures: internet psychology.
No actual introspection required. It's less of a horoscope than fortune telling kind of gag.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Moderate
Schizoid:	Moderate
Schizotypal:	Very High
Antisocial:	Moderate
Borderline:	Moderate
Histrionic:	Moderate
Narcissistic:	Moderate
Avoidant:	High
Dependent:	Very High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Low
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

one year ago
in this same
afternoon light
i was empty.

Superbowl Sunday

Christen the new black colander,
it needs a name like a baby or a boat.
chili and prizes.

One hand against the sky she
casually says:
"forget this you ever happened",
another pint and it’s forgotten
though her footprint has marked dust.

and there’s a decent coat of salt on the main
three buckets,
two buckets,
one bucket,
no buckets
(okay so -1 bucket,
but
that was more than
decent).
Now:
broken line.
Now:
busted chops,
a
bus bin to empty
a
bus bin to fill
run
run
run
run
run
run
run
three stairs(:) too many.
RUN
run
run

44 hours a week.
The rest,
i sleep through.

Steel Toe

The white cracked paint
rims the extremities.
Rusted through in spots,
i see myself:

that ugliest point
on an unke(m)pt metal surface
you can
barely

keep
your-
self
from
kick-
ing
in

each time you walk past the fire
hydrant
Four houses up the street from yours.

What,
the Handcream?

It sears;
a snowball clenched too long in a young child’s fist,
but it’s not to be thrown.
It’s the exquisite beauty
of the pain
to be felt,
in the infinite
moment
before
climax
takes over,
releasing,
it(')s cascading waves of raucous laughter.

I hold on ever tighter
to that fireball of slowly melting ice;
my anchor
dissolving into the dusk.

stop. please god, oh god would you all stop being so cool, my face hurts.

sometimes i wish i would just fade out. i could be a shadow, then i'd have nights to myself.

Brackets should be able to superimpose themselves over text under the artist’s [(almost)parental] guidance. We need to begin approaching the complexity of the simplest music.

Poem

And i don't care
what
you want to call
it
e.g.
confessional,
sappy.
and fuck

i never meant
don't
analyse (why in
christ's name are
you
getting defensive?),

do,

for shizzle,
cuz if you don't,
i'm nothing
to
anyone
but a poser.

i don't care now
that after realizing
the dragon never leaves
his lair
enshrined in an elegant
tomb we disguise as myth
i have nothing
personal
against myself [i'm not
really
ashamed. Is that not modest?
i'm (not really)
sorry,
i was just being honest].

i don't care
that i'll never fade
into something bearable.

i don't care
because
now i can simply write this
and
cuz' of
all the other
people
before me
(or ahead, whateves),

i can simply write
this
and it
is
a poem

Contract Compassionados

plainly pain has arbitrated
and if you ask me,
that's maybe the
worst
idea you've ever had.

me,
i'm gonna get drunk
and whatever
i
can
get
my
hands
on.

It's Nothing

and i almost
wish it would hurt
when i stubbed my other
toes now,
it would be
easier
to remind myself
that nothing is
nothing
and that the twisted ruins of
my archaic life will remain
no longer than
i breathe.

i wish
that when you read this
you would excuse
my immature devotion
to truth and love me
anyway.

i wish
you would
recognize the stregnth
in my bent knees
and the will to keep
my shoulders
just
above the mat,
and the will
to
black and bind
blindly,
letting it
go
until i cease,
quietly.

Phhhhhffffttttt

And i guess it’s what
i wait for
every night;
the silence,
the heartbreaking victory,
the spared pain of

the grocery clerk,
Her dented symmetry
as nature
never
intended.

i’ll wait for you to sleep
because you will,
always before me,
because i know(,)
and(that) you never
Will.

Love (for Lack of a Better
Term if You Must)...

politely you might call it,
only perversely
or if you were a pilates instructor
bending bodies
to
fibrous favours
you’d have me
misconstrue
as luck of the draw
ten thousand times repeated
till a winner is found
in this small lot.

But i knew,
i knew
because late one night
lying in bed exhausted
you’d asked for
it
exactly the same
breathing hot on my neck in the
casually cast light
whispering my names
all in a row, chanting,
incanting a binding
spell ,
till logic and magic
have made up and held
sweaty palms
up,
caressing
each other in the despair
of knowing they’ll
never
conceive.

i turned on the TV
but i was fucked,
thought i saw Welcher Crotch-kite
and got scared
so i turned it off
set it on fire
and threw it out the
window.

i left the house once today.
It was to check at
the store to see
if they
had gotten
any more strawberry rings,
they hadn’t.

i went home.

i’m still here
getting drunk
drunk
drunk
and high

again.

You Promised...

My back hurts
and i’m tired
in a boring kind of way.
i feel as if
i’ve walked one hundred
thoughts across a windy desert for
a chance at
nuggets and my
favorite
golden sauce
but when i got there the take out window was closed and
i’ve
never had much of
an ability for
animosity,
nor husbandry.

i guess i will
just
look at some
nice ladies
spreading as if they
like
it,
soil my stomach
and
sleep,
sleep,
wake,
breathe, sleep,
deep, sleep
deeply

until i ache
from rest.

Curiously the detail most absent from modern accounts of the tale of Icarus is that at the time many others were cavorting quite carefree on wings of wax in the lower stratosphere. All of this stopped cuz one kid pokes his eye out. Fuck.

today is tomorrow as well...

one day
at three or four in
the afternoon
grudgingly admitting
to consciousness,
i realize that
it’s just a flaccid substitute.

Later, after misplacing the thought,
i won’t be able to recall
what it is i decided
i am replacing;
is it the tenth drink, a pill, a snort,
a good woman, a fucking whore,
an assorted bag
of candy in which
i like every single one,
a song to dance to,
a song to sit through,
talking with a mind
and a love,

or is
all that
for want
of
this?