nervous. the crowd
about to deflower me.
staring eyes,
expecting...
the unknown.
am i two-bit?
or am i...
legitimate?
they'll never tell.
applause is
a courtesy. kind souls
but i need to know
the truth.
mouth is dry,
hands are sweating.
ironic, isn't it?
how situations
of the imagination
can drive the sane
to the very edge...
of psychosis.
i'm ripping my hair
out inside. screaming
for answers but
they have
no tongues
to speak from.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
lost
today i came across
another blog titled,
desolation row.
and although i never
figured that i was
the only Dylan fan,
i felt cheated.
as Bob must feel,
when cheap
two bit poets like
me use his titles.
now i sit here
and i feel empty.
like i've sold
my creative soul.
fingertips churn
tap tap tapping
on the keyboard.
my eyes are burning,
lacking sleep and
anticipating threads
of insecurity.
another blog titled,
desolation row.
and although i never
figured that i was
the only Dylan fan,
i felt cheated.
as Bob must feel,
when cheap
two bit poets like
me use his titles.
now i sit here
and i feel empty.
like i've sold
my creative soul.
fingertips churn
tap tap tapping
on the keyboard.
my eyes are burning,
lacking sleep and
anticipating threads
of insecurity.
someday
the ashes of my mind
drip slowly away.
the soles of my shoes,
made of quicksand.
i'm sinking deeper
with every step
that i take. screaming
for help does no good.
no one can save
a lost cause.
reaching up, i struggle
to grasp something.
anything.
the only thing to brush
my fingers, is a foreign
concept. lost in my mind,
swirling around
with no outlet
in sight.
drip slowly away.
the soles of my shoes,
made of quicksand.
i'm sinking deeper
with every step
that i take. screaming
for help does no good.
no one can save
a lost cause.
reaching up, i struggle
to grasp something.
anything.
the only thing to brush
my fingers, is a foreign
concept. lost in my mind,
swirling around
with no outlet
in sight.
Adrenaline
Tired and zoning silence
fills the car.
Only Modest Mouse
can be heard.
Midnight.
Traffic is heavy,
oncoming. They come
within a foot
of killing me.
Something snapped
me out of my trance.
I jerk the wheel,
avoid the asshole.
Barely.
Almost lose control
of my speeding vehicle.
Wide awake now.
He almost killed me.
Something must have
made me aware. Not Him.
Must have been
Modest Mouse.
She didn't see
them veering. Staring off,
lost in thought.
Contemplating
how well the car
was running.
Must have thought
me crazy. Are you alright,
her query.
I laugh hysterically
and wonder
why i jerked the wheel
at all.
fills the car.
Only Modest Mouse
can be heard.
Midnight.
Traffic is heavy,
oncoming. They come
within a foot
of killing me.
Something snapped
me out of my trance.
I jerk the wheel,
avoid the asshole.
Barely.
Almost lose control
of my speeding vehicle.
Wide awake now.
He almost killed me.
Something must have
made me aware. Not Him.
Must have been
Modest Mouse.
She didn't see
them veering. Staring off,
lost in thought.
Contemplating
how well the car
was running.
Must have thought
me crazy. Are you alright,
her query.
I laugh hysterically
and wonder
why i jerked the wheel
at all.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
Frostbite
The night air is crisp
and clear.
Fall is settling in.
The exhaled smoke
mingles
with the frosty breath
of my lungs.
The moon is nearly full.
I realize that
the man
in the moon is,
indeed, crying.
He feels her pain,
as I do. It is my pain,
the same as it is hers.
Unsure of the next step.
It could lead
to a free fall.
Hope that something is there
to catch us.
Not knowing is frightful,
yet exciting.
I walk the edge
kicking rocks into
the abyss.
I contemplate
leaping.
and clear.
Fall is settling in.
The exhaled smoke
mingles
with the frosty breath
of my lungs.
The moon is nearly full.
I realize that
the man
in the moon is,
indeed, crying.
He feels her pain,
as I do. It is my pain,
the same as it is hers.
Unsure of the next step.
It could lead
to a free fall.
Hope that something is there
to catch us.
Not knowing is frightful,
yet exciting.
I walk the edge
kicking rocks into
the abyss.
I contemplate
leaping.
Bad Puppy Chow
My dog sits
and stares at me
intently.
I ignore him.
He tilts his head
from side to side.
I can sense his
disappointment.
He expected
greater things
and I've failed him.
I don't know what
to say to him.
I mean,
he's a dog.
His frustration mounts,
boils over.
He trots over and pees
on my leg, then
walks out.
and stares at me
intently.
I ignore him.
He tilts his head
from side to side.
I can sense his
disappointment.
He expected
greater things
and I've failed him.
I don't know what
to say to him.
I mean,
he's a dog.
His frustration mounts,
boils over.
He trots over and pees
on my leg, then
walks out.
Canopy Lights
It's bright outside
moron.
Turn off the lights.
Her rotten brain
functions slowly. It's sad.
Voice is a blender,
chopping anything in its path.
Teaching her kids poor
english and worse
manners.
Someone should sterilize her.
moron.
Turn off the lights.
Her rotten brain
functions slowly. It's sad.
Voice is a blender,
chopping anything in its path.
Teaching her kids poor
english and worse
manners.
Someone should sterilize her.
fatty
breakfast is two butterfingers,
four packs of chocolate donuts,
and a five dollar
instant.
lady, you're already
pushing 400 pounds.
enough is enough.
another scratcher bites the dust.
four packs of chocolate donuts,
and a five dollar
instant.
lady, you're already
pushing 400 pounds.
enough is enough.
another scratcher bites the dust.
Ass. Manager
She's two-faced and
rat like. Mid thirties,
she looks forty five.
Pock marked like
Edward James Olmos.
Atrocious.
Nice to your face,
she talks evil demon
spewing things about you
when you're not around.
She's silent this morning,
creepy as always. Man beats
her, everyone can see why.
Doesn't make it right
but gives the
rest of us
a little
piece of satisfaction.
She's hated.
rat like. Mid thirties,
she looks forty five.
Pock marked like
Edward James Olmos.
Atrocious.
Nice to your face,
she talks evil demon
spewing things about you
when you're not around.
She's silent this morning,
creepy as always. Man beats
her, everyone can see why.
Doesn't make it right
but gives the
rest of us
a little
piece of satisfaction.
She's hated.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
The Redneck
He walks with a limp.
Sleeveless tees are his staple.
Drives along in his
pick-up truck.
Back window plastered
with white trash euphemisms.
Hip hop blaring from his
high end system.
Money better spent on
his five starving kids
and battered wife.
I'm confused.
The man appears
more Hank Williams
than DMX.
Hopalong, mullet man.
Sleeveless tees are his staple.
Drives along in his
pick-up truck.
Back window plastered
with white trash euphemisms.
Hip hop blaring from his
high end system.
Money better spent on
his five starving kids
and battered wife.
I'm confused.
The man appears
more Hank Williams
than DMX.
Hopalong, mullet man.
Jesus Tomatoes
He died for you
sitting on my patio table.
Good people, good intentions.
They must know we're sinners.
Save a soul or two
everyday God damn it!
Labels scatter across
empty space.
Only He has heard
the blasphemy.
Nails in the yard.
Let them come save us now.
sitting on my patio table.
Good people, good intentions.
They must know we're sinners.
Save a soul or two
everyday God damn it!
Labels scatter across
empty space.
Only He has heard
the blasphemy.
Nails in the yard.
Let them come save us now.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Enlightenment
Opened a door
to nowhere. A dirty
old man sits in a corner.
Jesus. God.
Whomever.
Piles of riches.
Insane laughter
fills the room.
His mouth
remains motionless.
The fools still believe.
Faith.
Faith is for the hopeless.
He winks,
I wake.
to nowhere. A dirty
old man sits in a corner.
Jesus. God.
Whomever.
Piles of riches.
Insane laughter
fills the room.
His mouth
remains motionless.
The fools still believe.
Faith.
Faith is for the hopeless.
He winks,
I wake.
Dictionary Slut
Writing, not caring
whether it's good
or bad.
Just flows.
Have to do it.
Insatiable.
Pen is a nympho.
Fucks paper
just to fuck.
No feeling of pleasure.
Plenty of pain.
Enjoyment comes,
only occasionally.
More often the pen
is left unfulfilled.
In this never ending
search,
my pen becomes a whore.
whether it's good
or bad.
Just flows.
Have to do it.
Insatiable.
Pen is a nympho.
Fucks paper
just to fuck.
No feeling of pleasure.
Plenty of pain.
Enjoyment comes,
only occasionally.
More often the pen
is left unfulfilled.
In this never ending
search,
my pen becomes a whore.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
yellow walls
an ashtray,
an empty wine glass, two pens
sit on my desk.
mocking intonations
screaming from each.
canvas is blank.
still nothing done,
deadlines passed by.
wine glass shatters,
mock no more.
pounding temples and voices
aching to escape,
to be heard.
click.
start writing.
thirst of the pen
is quenched.
canvas overflows with
literary brushstrokes.
an empty wine glass, two pens
sit on my desk.
mocking intonations
screaming from each.
canvas is blank.
still nothing done,
deadlines passed by.
wine glass shatters,
mock no more.
pounding temples and voices
aching to escape,
to be heard.
click.
start writing.
thirst of the pen
is quenched.
canvas overflows with
literary brushstrokes.
Monday, September 20, 2004
summer days
wake up early,
sit on the front porch
share a pot of coffee.
friends pass by
stay to talk awhile.
the air is getting warmer,
sun tickles your skin.
look at your watch
but your wrist is bare.
it's summertime, man,
there is no school.
out on a first date,
sharing Chinese food.
there is no place here,
for contemplation.
june, july, august
for the here and now.
toss around a frisbee,
crack open a beer.
just as it begins,
the end draws near.
too much left undone,
but the sun has set.
sigh and shrug,
there's always next year.
sit on the front porch
share a pot of coffee.
friends pass by
stay to talk awhile.
the air is getting warmer,
sun tickles your skin.
look at your watch
but your wrist is bare.
it's summertime, man,
there is no school.
out on a first date,
sharing Chinese food.
there is no place here,
for contemplation.
june, july, august
for the here and now.
toss around a frisbee,
crack open a beer.
just as it begins,
the end draws near.
too much left undone,
but the sun has set.
sigh and shrug,
there's always next year.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Friday, September 17, 2004
i don't care about the dolphins
context? can't remember.
too drunk, probably
too stoned
to remember anything.
except...
the bleeding through,
scarring children. turning
innocence into something
dark. forbidden,
yet she continues.
goes on.
irreverent behavior
is her norm.
lacking the switch
necessary.
too drunk, probably
too stoned
to remember anything.
except...
the bleeding through,
scarring children. turning
innocence into something
dark. forbidden,
yet she continues.
goes on.
irreverent behavior
is her norm.
lacking the switch
necessary.
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Therapy
There is a woman spread
eagle on my office couch.
Her calf length skirt,
hiked around her thighs.
I can see a portion
of her pitch black panties.
She looks disinterested.
Not just in me,
but in life.
She fights off boredom,
fidgeting with her hair clip.
Thoughts of something,
someone, run through
her head.
One can't tell
what these thoughts are.
Silently lost in contemplation.
Oblivious,
to the staring eyes.
One foot rests
on the back of the couch.
She doesn't seem to hear,
my voice.
Her eyes close,
her foot falls.
She sleeps.
eagle on my office couch.
Her calf length skirt,
hiked around her thighs.
I can see a portion
of her pitch black panties.
She looks disinterested.
Not just in me,
but in life.
She fights off boredom,
fidgeting with her hair clip.
Thoughts of something,
someone, run through
her head.
One can't tell
what these thoughts are.
Silently lost in contemplation.
Oblivious,
to the staring eyes.
One foot rests
on the back of the couch.
She doesn't seem to hear,
my voice.
Her eyes close,
her foot falls.
She sleeps.
Luke 8:45
Jesus said, "Who touched me?"
when all denied it, Peter said, "But Master, the multitudes throng and press you and you say, 'Who touched me?' "
But Jesus said, "Somebody touched me..."
when all denied it, Peter said, "But Master, the multitudes throng and press you and you say, 'Who touched me?' "
But Jesus said, "Somebody touched me..."
How does it feel?
Deserted.
You're a leper
craving warmth.
Alone.
Emotional,
like the barrel
of a loaded gun.
Recognition and attention
swam away.
Imaginary fish.
Desolation
never gaining.
Laughter pointed at you.
Firing until the only thing
that abounds
is misery.
You're a leper
craving warmth.
Alone.
Emotional,
like the barrel
of a loaded gun.
Recognition and attention
swam away.
Imaginary fish.
Desolation
never gaining.
Laughter pointed at you.
Firing until the only thing
that abounds
is misery.
I hate scratchers.
What's a scratcher? A scratcher is a disgusting, ignorant, instant lottery ticket playing, piece of human garbage. Often a scratcher smells bad, sometimes not. Most scratchers are extremely annoying, although not ALL of them are too bad. The worst are the old ladies who stand inside the store at the counter scratching their tickets, preventing you from getting any work done because THE MINUTE you go to do something they are at the register wanting more tickets. Fucking scratchers...I hate them, as if you couldn't tell. A majority of scratchers work at the casino and aren't able to get their gambling fix there. Whiney voiced, mousey women asking for a Cashword...The worst one of all, the bitch who packs her cigarettes by pounding them on my counter for 5 straight minutes, ignorant of how grating that is. I'll stop ranting now...I'm almost positive there will be more ranting later.
President Bush, you're an asshole.
I think the title pretty much sums up my feelings on that topic. Short. Sweet. To the point.