waves

I DIDNT THINK I COULD WRITE ABOUT THIS BECAUSE IT WAS WAY TOO BIG.
BUT IM SUFFERING AND I ONLY HAVE A PEN.
I'M GOING BACK TO CHICAGO IN A FEW WEEKS.
AND THE CLOSER I GET, THE MORE I FORGET, HOW BAD IT WAS, HOW BAD I WANT YOU BACK.
AND MY WAVES OF EMOTION, AS BIG AS THE OCEAN, SWALLOW ME WHOLE, IM PARALYZED BY THE COLD.
MY OLD FRIEND IN THE HOLE, WATCHES ME AS I CHOKE.
AND IM THRASHING IN THE WAVES THAT ARE SMASHING MY HOPE.
I AM AT THE MERCY OF YOUR CHOKE HOLD. BUT EVEN YOUR HANDS I LOVE AROUND MY THROAT.
I CANNOT DESCRIBE THE DANGER I'M IN. THE DESIRE TO DROWN MYSELF IS JUST AROUND THE BEND.
YOU STOPPED HEARING ME, OR CARING, SOMETHING HAPPENED.
YOU CHANGED AND IT CHANGED ME,AND NOW IM SICK.
DEATH BECOMES ME LIKE A DRESS OR YOUR NYLON FIX.
I FEEL LIKE IM GONE FROM YOUR ARMS AND YOUR KISS.
IM NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO FIGHT THIS ANYMORE.
TO FIGHT YOU IS A LOST CAUSE.
YOU'RE MY HEART ATTACKED WITH YOUR SWORD, YOUR GUN AND YOU WICKED TOUNGE.
YOU'D BE MY CONFIDENCE. THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID.
I LACK COMMON SENSE.AND I SELF DESTRUCTED.
WHY DID YOU PUSH ME TO LENGTHS I COULD NOT COPE WITH?
YOU KILL ME AND YOU LOVE ME ALL AT ONCE.
I BELIEVE IN YOUR ABILITY TO GET WHAT YOU SO BADLY WANT.
BUT AT MY EXPENSE.
IT IS NOT IN THE STARS. SEEMS LIKE I AM NOT IN YOUR CARDS.
BUT IT WASNT LIKE THIS BEFORE. ONE HOTEL MADE YOU A DOOR.
AND AT FIRST YOU THROUGH WITH SUCH FINESS.
BUT YOU ABANDONED ME, AND YOURSELF.
NO, I DIDNT WANT YOU TO STAY ON A COUCH.
BUT YOU WERE FUNNY, YOU LAUGHED
YOU NEVER SCREAMED OR SHOUT.
WHAT ARE THE DRUGS OR THE PATH YOU ARE ON?
WHEN I ASK, YOU JUST BLOW UP.
IN REGARD TO ME, YOU LIE TO YOURSELF.
YOU'RE CHASING A DRAGON AND ITS FIRE WILL NEVER BURN OUT.
IM OUT OF YOUR WAY, YOU HAVE TO BE SOMEWHAT RELIEVED.
RELEASED IN YOUR CARE, YOU SIGNED SO OPENLY.
MAYBE YOU TRY THE BEST YOU CAN AND I AM THE VICE YOU HAD TO END.
I WAS THE INSPIRATION ,
I MADE YOU STRONG ENOUGH,
TO PUT US TO DEATH.

HOLE

SINISTER HOLE.
DEVIANT TEMPTATION.
ASSHOLE.
JUMP INTO ITS UNKNOWN
WITHOUT REALLY THINKING.
AND THE HOLE SAID
"YOU COULD LAND IN A CROWD, AND IT DOESNT MEAN YOU'RE NOT GOING UP WHEN YOU'RE GOING DOWN"
IS THIS MY NEW BEST FRIEND?
THE HOLE WITH SENSE?
I GOTTA TELL YOU,
I CANT TELL THE DIFFERENCE.

soft rug

as i lay on this rug,
with
the softest fibers.
i wonder who's hands made it possible.
so i take a trip without moving a muscle.
look for the woman, so i could thank her.
but as i get close, her house is a hut.
and when it rains, her floors turn to mud.
my voice becomes weak, when i see her teeth.
rotten and brown, and her cracked white lips bleed.
my eyes well up,
with a mettalic taste on my tongue.
she says, "my god. you're not even young".
'just leave. dont thank me for the work ive done.
i've never felt its luxury.'

SYLVIA

what a terrible way to get attention.
an ill timed intervention.
i dont think it was her intention, really.
a great mind is capable
of such powerful mistakes.
im blown away.
how could anyone think they could save her
from something so inate?

six foot by eight

read my notebooks. my dusty things i still say. ive made no headway in beds ive made. still sleeping in shame on trains in my brain, under steel wheels of worry, pills and thrills are only temporary. it stayed. that cluttered land fill with broken toilets and warm refrigerators i stole. i thought i could stuff them in the hole. thought i could make them new with a fresh coat of paint. but my frame is falling with gravity, and now people are noticing.my cracks need to be stuck with needles to freeze a frozen expressionless face. i am now art with veins. im a picture for sale, six foot by eight. im a giant cheap vase, with plastic flowers, no water, no leaves. flawed bendy stems made in a sweat shop by the taiwanese, with rough edges, that if you touch, you will bleed.

the butterfly collector

i wrote this about a year ago, but didnt have a place to put it. so i'll put it here. xxx

THE BUTTERFLY COLLECTOR
net. net. net.
the butterfly collector collets.
yellow yellow
red red red.
flutter flutter
goodbye.
dead.

without a shout, word or sputter uttered stop,
just like butter.
slip slip slip
pinned, squished on the lips
one hail mary,
closed in a book like lady cottington's pressed faeries.

a killer is patted on the back,
back with his net and wide brimmed hat.
hello ladies. wher're you at?

the butterfly collector collects.
It is a sort of sport,
this kind of catching,fetching, bedding and spreading.
it is a good day to console a chipped shoulder.
a prize,
something to show for,
for getting older.
an artistic mind, butterflies die in such experienced hands.
clap.
clap.
applause.
good one.
congratulate.
fat.

city sparrow

Northern Cal..
makes me want to watch sparrows in the grass,
unlike city sparrows,
who wont let us park our cars underneath their nests.

all the boys on the block shoot their be-be guns
and throw rocks and sticks.
mother said "dirty birds with lice and ticks."

but even weeds are good here,
with blooms of their own.
the possibilities, i have never known.
this is a place to grow old,
in the thick green grass,
watching sparrows.