the affliction one must bear
gives me the after taste
of a bitter god
full bodied flavor
of sprockets and cogs
as fulfilling as tap water
but with a bit more shame
than when you bend over the sink
with parched lips
and limited options

chaitea XD

the cables and wires

are steadfast in my

skin and bones

the tugging won't

tear them free

they feed me 1's and 0's

and whisper in my ear holes

till it all seems make believe

you didn't introduce me to your man

when our legs were touching

but my lips are sealed

so i'll wait for the lonely night

when the snowball hits my window

and you will be my pillow

lindy is in town
to celebrate we brought all the cushions in my room
into the walk in closet. and smoked a giant nugget blunt
jon said he was almost as high as the time
he thought the road was just a hologram projection from the headlights
gabe said he must have been really, really high
i said it must have been pretty dark while you were driving
he said he must have been reading poetry

Complimentary

The beauty of melancholy can never be seen by anyone but the host of the melancholy. Melancholy is such that it is held inside us, only to sparkle in the true beauty of its essence in pure isolation. No one will ever see or feel the moments I spend while pasta is boiling, smoking cigarettes, drinking red wine, reading the greats and listening to the classics. This perfection in beauty can only crystallize in the utmost isolation, the most perfect moments of loneliness. When I feel most beautiful is when I feel most alone. Sorting photographs and counting the colored leaves, I feel as though the world was designed as a habitat for my longing, for my unwillingness to comply.

twilight of the years

The last girl I made love to
Is still missing at sea
Her father never blamed me
As I begged on my knees
She had a swagger to her
Like linens hung out to dry
She moved with the wind gusts
And winced when the wolves howled
We'd play out by the gallows
And she'd mock all the traitors
Right before they were to die
I heard her curse the almighty once
With her hair all up
And her skirt beginning to un-hem
Her boots had no scuffs
But you wouldn't believe me
If you saw the way
She used to kick the rocks

_virgil cross

I am no horseman.

the murky
stagnate water surrounded him
on his descent to the lake bed
the rush of aquatic envelopment
exhilarating
and nearly washed the shame
moss and dirt
from the rapidly sinking rock
who knew that life on the surface
was no longer possible
after seeing the clapping arms
smug smirks
and contemptuous snarls
of scissors
as he explained why paper always wins
________________________________________

there is a playground
where no kids laugh
no moms smile
and no dads come back
and I embrace the silence like
my faceless future wife
and let my aching feet
carry me
through the birds and the bees
who’re swarming and
stinging and clawing
with needles
and talons so darling
darling
darling
darling don’t turn around
don’t look behind you!
darling don’t turn around
or god’s glare will find you!

It's been a while

8 hours with no window to wish through
smoking secret cigarettes
sinking reasons not to kiss you

in the river that bore us
and gave us our names
silly silly devices

keeps me complacent
playing their games
and tightening vices

_________________

The moon and stars aren’t interested
The tide still rolls in
The birds build their nests
And warm their eggs
The faces on the subway
Don’t flinch at your condition
The trains arrive on time

Across town the waiting room is packed
A nurse rushes in

Across town a door is kicked in
A woman screams

Across town a bullet ruins a cashmere sweater
And the business man sporting it
A baby is born


The pavement
The soil
The lilacs
The spider in your kitchen
And the moths
making love to the porch lamp
hide their faces from your tears

__________________________

the stilts we wear aren’t made
of forest remains
or smelted metals

the common strangers
won’t know what to think
of our parade

they’ll throw dollar bills at our feet
or fists at out faces
but we’ll scoff
on our soap boxes
and high horses

and open a page of Berman


_Jackson Grind