Bite your lip until it bleeds, it will stop the tears.

A lone picture frame
is all that remains
on these barren,
nicotine stained walls.

You left me long
ago, with only one
memory.

Vivid, like it were
yesterday

that you sat by my side
with your hand in
my hair.

Whispers in ears, warm breath
and goose bumps.

Something grabbed
hold,

of both you and I
and ripped
us in two.

We had a chance
but you chose
to fly.

Confrontations
always made you cringe.

I wake up every
morning, hoping to see
your blinking eyes.

The thought
sends shivers streaking.

Nothing without
you.

Only a shell
of hidden potential
and nerves long ago

frayed.

I lay awake
wondering
who he is or will
be.

The one who
makes you smile
now.

I hope he knows
just how much you
can hurt even when

you hide behind
those sheepish eyes
and wolfish grin.

dead air

the freedom of being
the people we are,
slowly being ripped
from our not so iron

grip. ultra-conservative
personas overflowing this
gigantic melting pot
of a nation that we call

home. too much apathy
from the left wing liberals
while the right wing
crazies seize control

of your entire future,
soon to be a lack of.
proposals to amend,
guised as a well-placed

banana peel. surely leading
to a treacherous slide
down a nasty slippery slope.
how many years will

pass before we're
no longer in control
of our own destiny?
can only close our eyes,

hoping that a nation,
democratic, thinly veiled
as such, will awaken to
the reality that rights

are meant to be given
and not taken away. it's
difficult to imagine
a regime so repulsive

as to cut the cord
on the bill of rights.
still...shepherded in
that direction we are

bound to be shorn of
every single dream
that we can conceive.
stop hitting the snooze

button! it's already
getting bad. how can a
people so fast-paced,
not see the urgency?

polly want a cracker

two yellow feathers
float slowly down
to rest, upon a dusty
hardwood floor.
they land silently,

the dimly lit room
is quiet, almost devoid
of sound. purring starts
to interrupt

the peacefulness that
had settled in so
nicely. soon the room
is filled with an almost
deafening roar

of a contented kitty.
licking her paws and
washing her sleek coat.
looking around, guilt
mars her face.

transgression

two oxen pull grass
with yellowed teeth.
chewing lazily in
midday sun.

light dances off golden
stacks of wheat. sweat beading upon
brown brows. I cannot tell
from here, if they are farmers
or slaves.

a man and a woman, side by side.
backs breaking under
the weight of their travail.
the frenetic pace never slows.

the man swings the scythe.
the woman with the hitch
in her gait, gathers the
freshly mauled grain.

swatting the oxen as
they pull at the golden
treat. a man and a woman
kick off their shoes. tilt hats

over their eyes, lie back on
a pile of hay. sun dancing,
sweat beading, they fall asleep.
the only place that they
are free.

trappings of a questioning boy

walking from cloud to
cloud, drunk, watching
the condensation forming
above the world.

furrowing your brow, puzzled,
because you can't quite
make sense of the chores
you see performed

so far below. questioning
the reasons why so many
muddled lives are allowed
to roam freely.

why can't someone just rein them
in? who had the brilliant
idea of letting us destroy
ourselves this way?

fingers cannot point at god
he no longer exists in your mind.
abandoned long ago by
this benevolent being.

it's odd, how quickly you're
able to spiral out of control.
sliding down the ladder
you worked so hard

to climb. someone knocks
you off. never reaching the apex
is the motto that has
been tattooed into your

mind. your only hope is
to find a cushion to comfort
the blow. only naive people
expect more.

walking crabwise through a desert dries my mouth

the abomination of my existence
was generated in the uterus
of this fucked up orb
we call earth.

this long journey
can only culminate
in a long fall. stepping
off the edge of my world.

with every trudging stride
of my blistered feet, my
body becomes tremulous. sweat
beads upon my brow.

the scorching sun
envelops my hope,
burns it alive. a
conflagration of my
creativity

leaves little hope. the
migration of my mind
ends abruptly. dexterity
of thought, will be
acceded to no man.

prisoner of ignorance

she slips the book
from a shelf, needing
tiptoes to reach.
the spine cracks

as she opens the
cover. unfolds a realm,
previously figmented in
her mind.

the austerity of her
imagination, about to be
shredded. absorbing
written enlightenment,

letting the power of word
invade every functioning cell
of her long ago lifeless
remains. once devoid eyes

begin to spark as
she reaches climax.
scanning page after
yellowed page. her

frantic search for
comprehension is
unquenchable. kneels down,
sucking the marrow

from the surface.
exhausted, she reaches up
to replace the book
on tiptoes.

hands waver, her body is
feeble. she has grown ancient
in this euphoric place.
the book slips

from her grasp, falling
dreamlike into the abyss.
somewhere in the distance,
a cell door swings open.

hindrance

I sit here,
flipping through life.
3 x 5 index cards
determine my existence.

the recipe of my future
penned in ink.
unerasable. I cannot
change the immutable.

yellow sticky notes
litter the hallway
of my substinence. reminders
of aspirations

once possessed. pausing,
to pull out
the card that bears
my name. disbelief

and disappointment
smear my face. my mouth
hangs agape. the misfortune
of my predetermination

unmistakable. like every
good soldier,
I march on. my head hangs,
chin on my chest.

broken.

That awkward moment

She asks for a cigarette.
Graciousness follows
the exchange.

Introductions soon forgotten.

She talks and asks questions.
I listen and nod. More talk
than a cigarette deserves.

I drag a little harder
on my own burning smoke,
trying to escape.

She babbles about life.
Her's and how
she meets a new person
everyday.

A nod in my direction.

I could never
make these kinds
of introductions. Desiring
rather, to be left alone.

My mind begs
for the cigarette back.
Not going to happen.

I snuff mine out
before it's ready.
Turn to walk away.

"It was nice to meet you Brett."
A nood at introductions soon forgotten.

screwball

I sit on this stool,
broken by obesity.
not mine but
someone else's.

my spirit is bogged
down with expectations.
sunday, a day of rest
and yet here I am.
facing the obnoxious,
the ignorant.

work is a 24/7 adventure
customers interrupt my
every thought. spewing
sorry cliches and ridiculous
questions that they ask
on every visit.

I despise them almost
as much as I despise
my life path. desperately
needing to choke the last
gasp of air from
their blackened lungs.

glazed eyes of stupidity
stare at me incessantly.
windows into dead souls
eating at my sanity that remains.

I want to scream
at every person I encounter,
to pelt them with acid balloons,
to burn them
at the stake.

an itch, to call someone
to talk to someone special
but I fear that my anger
my animosity toward all
of humanity will frighten her.

no escape. no outlet.
I cannot get away
from them or my feelings
of servitude. I'm an emotional
slave and I want to die.
or for them to die.

nothing happens. and so,
I sit on this stool,
broken by obesity.
not mine but,
someone else's

terminally void

I'm a no good son of a
bitch. don't dare
tell me otherwise.
men who walk through
these doors lose a
little something.

a gigantic fly floats
on throughout my house.
he can be heard. wings
buzzing crazily. or maybe
it is not his wings
at all. perhaps the buzzing
filling my head comes

from the tiny fly
mouth these words again.
I'm a no good son of a
bitch. let me show you
why I was beaten

down so long that
I cannot possibly rise
revolt against anything.
repulsiveness is a forte
finely crafted after many

years ago I killed
a man haunts me
stalks me. jerks me
around I go.
flushed.

good n plenty

I gobble them up quickly.
I swallow one after another.

My throat is dry but
I force them down.

These little white
and pink pills fill me
with extreme feelings
of euphoria.

Which

only comes before
the tolling of my
euthanasia bell. ending
doesn't seem so bad

after all, consider
how fucked up this
pearl has become.
contracting esophagus

pushes down a pink
pill. lazy eyes drooping
as sleep settles in. right

before consciousness slips
through my fingers
like the yolk
of my life.

train

we stand huddled
outside smoking
and shooting the
proverbial shit.

look there, across
the street. inspiration
comes in all forms.
the sick lady no one
knows what's wrong with.

electric wheelchair
sputtering. she crosses
the parking lot comically
towing a wagon, kid

heaped beneath
piles of warmth.
manuevers inside to buy
more cancer. she can't

escape the inconvenience
or the death,
haunting her and the
silly boy she parades
around town. he stares

in wild eyed wonder
as we all do
at the befuddling and
hilarious spectacle that
remains her life.

burning blue hair of alexander graham bell

I place the phone
upon his coffee table
pick up my burning
cigarette and drag.

the pbr is almost
gone. pisses both of us off.
he's an alcoholic, i'm
almost there. sniff

the air, funk
but disregard it. mindless
chatter broken only
by the flare up
of searing plastic

burning up the phone lines.
flushed flames. dial tone.
still works. we laugh
because it's not

funny. crazy people
never were very
good at logic. he eyes
my pbr.

the last pbr at least
in our existence. which
is the only
one that matters.

pathetic.