ADOLESCENT

He’s the stoned kid in

the hustlers backpack,

giving cards to violence

because that’s just

the thing you do.

Take that body as the

largest collection of Matt

landscapes, and remember

to say his name, always,

out loud when he comes.

The thought of today didn’t

come to me in exactly the same

way it did yesterday, but then

again, I wasn’t so made of fear

as I am now, hearing the horn.

It’s easy to piss off an old guy

who always waves his hand

at you, crowing in a voice that

sounds like death dying, even

when you’re just crossing a street.

You part your proof as you do

your hair:  straight, but slightly

to the side. You saw a great ass

and you called it bad, but that

was just because he wore cool

sunglasses.

THIS ISN’T IN YOUR SHOES

These are the last shoes you’re ever going to wear today. They’re in the trash by now, likely picked up by someone who makes significantly less than you, and that means significantly less than life. Thanks for nothing, you stupid cunt. You threw away your best shoes up until now. This is the last song that you’ll sing about you, even as the nuances get lost in the holes in the soles.

11:11 (almost)

I just now looked at the clock to see it was 11:11 PM (PST).

As I usually do in situations like these, I made a private wish to myself (I'm a somewhat superstitious person, all things considered):

"I wish for a good..."

The clock turned to 12 before I could finish my wish. 



I'll take that for good enough, for now. 

Boxes, 2014

Swimming Pool

And you chose not to

or are you concerned that

you spent too much time

considering? believing

yourself lost to the science

that you read about and only

rarely experiment with?

The huge fault here is yours

and not the monstrous black eye’d

remember, like lightning in a funeral

casket, forever buried under distant

distress – are you running? running

for your health? Or are you running

for your life, being lived as escape?

Skull clinking clattering, or the barge

has been well sent off well and, for that we

belong to those still lost at sea, glimpsing with

eyes burdened with burnt plunges, sinking deep

in the swimming pools of your distant eyes,

those eyes still telling stories like the children

who always go to, and stay, in the deep end.

Come (Again) In Spring (Again)

i.

these (themselves>) people quality

                        could just get mad, or

                                                                        open a slit.

Simply stop the wearing

                                          >vowel,

                                                         a touching,

                                                         touch-not

                                                         that we touch

when we are touched such.

ii.

the place for plans

or hoisted blistered

un*planned for,

or just as well

we’re just saying

                                    hello.

iii.

perhaps as a

                        hapless happenstance

perhaps I’ll like her,

                                    after all.

SELFIE, 2.348c

     

self-portrait, yet again, as always

This notion has become a comic sense, becoming what a whip of the word is to only become an industrialized society.

I live the life of a 12-inch solver, only by my feet. The records of career ump tempts careered upon as inevitable and collapsing.

 Some times I want to fuck and sometimes I don’t.

And the times between them are littered with mothers and friends and frank conversations about toast.

I like my toast, toasted, with avocado and big flakes of sea salt, strewn like little children clothes, all over the edible.

I am an asshole.

(That is a persona I present, from time to time.)

I am a loveable bear.

(That is a personal I present, from time to time, depending.)

I am what you want me to be.

(That is, when you want me to be something I can do; something that is disrupted when what you ask is something you want me to be and I have to say, no, I cannot be that which you want me to me.)

This thing called self:  such a wonderful waste of an image altogether.