always never nothing everything

there is a streak of desperation on the glass
left by the last breath of a dying soul
that never felt the power of a victory
or its deeply replenishing effects

the door is cold to the touch
and outside the sky is black in the absence of the moon
living things shiver from the cold
or whatever it is that keeps us wondering where we go

he is beyond the ubiquitous curiosity of death
shaped like the mountain by time, ragged, too
his vision is settled only on the one thing
that we all possess no matter what we tell ourselves

and by the time the light comes over the treetops
beginning a new day of promise for the living
the streak has been wiped clean by a jacketed arm
leaving no trace of the miserable tear 

ally ally oxen-free

it's just a title.

and this is just a string of words I learned somewhere. put it all together and you have me on a night I didn't drink. but I think I want one.

i haven't touched my journal in days.
a screenplay in weeks.
a poem in months.
a heart in forever.

my phone calls are variations of the holy-trinity:
a mystery, following belief, grasped in despair, demanding faith and without response.

i have no one to call anyway.

i'm glad there are one more weddings. stag is an evil euphemism.

how my dog, who loves me, would react should I die

lying on the floor.

motionless, motion more.

he chews at my softest bits, first in a game.

he relieves me of my skin, the thing he feels i need least?

food.

is there a moment, a definite point in time, when I have no choice but to be ashamed of myself?

mystery upon misery

at four a.m. Buk would have a whole different set of problems. 
that may be the difference between a writer and whatever I am.

i feel like i just scooped out my stomach with an ice cream serving spoon. one of those old style spoons with the lever that scraped the back so the ice cream fell right out.

i don't have a single thing left in there to spew out. even this little tirade about not being inspired is so very pedestrian.

maybe those other problems aren't so great either, but at least i would be writing. 

sweet street weeper,s

jesu swept 

ceasar wept 
when there were no more 
worlds to conquer 

i and my guitar (gently) both, we extend play, 
sotos peak 

grieve and weep 
because tonight I'm 
fucking sad 

even in my dreams my bed is empty

i don't know if you know what i mean
when i say that i think you're unreal
it's a boy's way of misbehaving
when he can't really say how he feels
there was a time not so long ago
when the truth would have knocked me down
with no way of getting better
spend days and nights just wandering around

but the past is where it belongs
and I'm stronger these days when it comes to love
maybe I'm amazed but I know the deal
even in my dreams, my bed is empty

beauty is only a flesh wound
the infection runs down right into the soul
your smile is a vaccination
but there's never been a cure for this kind of cold
I'm man enough to know the difference
the look in your eyes is an obvious clue
victim is a role that I'll never take
no matter how much I die wanting you

but the past is where it belongs
and I'm stronger these days then I've ever been
maybe I'm amazed at the top of my lungs
but even in my dreams my bed is empty 

98 degrees of separation

even the grass was sweating today

bricks were crying because the sun would just not let up

tarmac wept openly in front of curbs

buildings began to undress (red faced, like good puritans) early in the morning, some even before the sun had completely risen

cars were wheezing and struck with militant, hay-fever like symptoms 
they moved today like sickly turtles walking across a burning cactus

it was just hot enough to warm some bread on the front porch

haze would hug you like a dirty uncle

a whisper could knock you unconscious

summertime, and the dying is easy 

I've got my spine, I've got my orange

lust rusts? genius
forget a watch, my internal clock is sub-atomic and particles dance and spin thinking that they'll never die as long as they're fashionably late

I've got my orange...

it is disgraceful how much i want in life
for the precious little i offer the world, entitlement shouldn't even make a cameo in the folds and ripples of my brain. but i'm only human

i'm (l)only human

I've got my spine, even if it does go soft at the most important bits. and (don't look now, I'm talking about a girl) I definitely go all jellyfish when she smiles.

where is the efficiency expert who will take me from operating at a loss to my grand and mighty days as a world leader in living happily?

c r u s h ?!?!?!?