Fatigue

Do you roll out of bed like a rag doll, minutes before the work day begins?
Only to prove that you can do it, with the possibility of a shower and shave long gone with the whites of your eyes?
Do your bloodshot pupils hover over the fuel gauge as you smoke the last cigarette that you had enough sense to save last night?
Is your lunch break filled with smoke and hunger?
Do you drive home hungry, on empty, aching, but at least with more cigarettes?
Is your night filled with superstition and sacrifice and blind ecstasy and loose bill folds and loose women and loose change?
Are you frightened of madness, oh Poet?

Moody

Sweat past the exterior Sun on my face
The clouds say hello from the far side of the room
A dark film between two dilated cameras and the world leaves me extracted from society
I died a hundred deaths for lucy, each one of them as real as the last
But the rebirth, innumerable in count and kindness
A sunset that will never be forgotten leading to a sunrise that isn't hardly noticed
Fear is smothered by beauty and beauty is compromised over time
A little bit of breathing can keep you alive for a long time

It's hard enough going home with who you brought to the dance

Vague Certainties

The Cat doesn't always land on Her feet
Nor does She always know which way is up
However, this usually isn't the case.
A balance beam being her forte, Harmony between Herself and what little solid ground there is beneath.
The Cat doesn't always land on Her feet
But she will claw wildly all the way down.

Instinct. Instinct. Instinct.
The only measurement we have not produced.
The only measurement that one can truly find true.
The only measurement I have found that satisfies.
Simplicity is sought after as though one would find it hiding.
Do not search for it, simply find it.

Feeling whole and feeling flawed. Feeling. Improvement. Running, knee deep down the poorly lit hall. Lights flicker on and off and off and off. Water, kicked up, leaving nothing left unpunished. Go through the first exit and then through the next. An exit to an exit.

Why does one Trust another?
There isn't a person who doesn't give you reason to question their words.
I want to Trust you. So I do.
I want to Love you. So I do.

Brittle

The mania and the voices have returned once more, so in turn the poems have as well. They always have been there, both the poems and the voices but now stepped up to a notch not seen since simpler times. simpler times. Don't cry "I can't be saved." There is nothing to be saved from. Death is but a train, taking us to the next lonesome station down the line where there will be no one to greet you. We are all carbon. We are all the Earth. We are all the Universe.
Save your mourning. I will see you in the morning.
I will see you in the morning.

I cry madness, I plead insane.

Madness is naming your poems so that they'll be easier to teach eventually in some highschool poetry class.
Madness isn't listening to the voices in your head, but arguing with them(Or worse, agreeing with them).
Madness is the subtext jumping out at you like it's meant for you, only you.
Madness is writing poetry in the earlier hours, hunched over your desk in a quiet house, you know you'll hate yourself tomorrow.
Madness can be summed up with one God Damn Four Letter Word: Love.

Helpful Hints

Defeat writers block?
Be: angry, tired, frustrated, sex deprived, Love deprived, alone, unsympathetic, apathetic.
Watch something die and be happy for it.
Bring something to life with ill intentions.
Think about the medication.
Refuse the medication(unless of course recreational).
Hope that helps.

Self imitation is suicidal plagiarism

Pale reflections of a burning passion Illuminate my horizons
Fully.
Capitalized consonants.
Cut down cut down cut down
Re-grown and re-pruned only to be cut down
That dull blade only gets more and more and more nicks in the reflective steel and gains exponential heat from every hack at my limbs and lord hood.
Sex poems; jokingly(DEAD SERIOUS?) written. Read whilst weeping.
A forrest, dark and damp. pulling me into it's wet underbelly. Feet pounding creating heat founding fear. Cast out into the empty grasslands, where all is fine(?) but oh so lonesome and nothing to do but hurriedly jot colors in brail that all may see but none will see.
My greatest inspiration
My greatest inspiration
MY MY MY Greatest Inspiration
Not gone, but resting outside my window upon the street below for a blind man's easel
He will never know that it is I who is painting the truer form, as I steal glances through the glass.
Like my pain, your sign is never ending. My favorite sign. A beautiful paradigm has shifted once more. stretching onwards into itself, pain overlapping pain, sorrow overlapping sorrow, poems overlapping poems.
Hating Love. More common than Loving it. Self loathing over Forgiveness.
Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Depression.
Acceptance.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Rep∞t

Time, A Line

Linear intelligence heading clockwise.
Options. There are none.
Never doubling back to crunch the numbers.
Crunch numbers
Underneath my feet as I travel forwards
Never looking down and back.
Ticking down to the nuclear end?
The end of nuclear time telling?
Your half life is as long as my life,
but oh so lifeless
A bell, larger than myself
I stand beneath it, letting the air exit my lungs and enter my shout
The initial idea bouncing off the copper sides every which ways and back
Creating new as it changes over time at top speed
Then it cracks.
Then I crack.

Animals

I want to see you naked,
With the moonlight illuminating the cigarette smoke between us.
I want to see you naked,
Not because your frame is as beautiful and fragile as it is.
I want to see you naked,
For I want to be the one who conquers your defenses.
Break past the barrier
Break. Past. The. Barrier.
Make wild that which was once tame.

Running, not to or away from anything. Running. Desperation, desperation, desperation, cry at the moon in tongues and speech that does not exist. Get your message past the birds, past the clouds, past the atmosphere to our sister in the night sky. Not communicating with words, but with generalizations. hard surfaces, ninety degrees, heat, angles.
Everybody has an angle.

Berry Picking

If She's ripe
Pick Her
Do not allow Her to stay on Her vine past Her prime
Her juice and sweetness gone to waste
Listen, migrant farmhand, navigate these rows of bushes of bliss bearing berries with an eye for beauty
Look for those that are ripe
Ready for consumption
Do not carelessly throw Her into your bucket before She's ready, for the rest of Her days will be spent bitter
If She's ripe
Pick Her.

Carbon

Pyramids of Love built on foundations of sand and adultery will stand the tests of time
Despite the initial consensus and wishes of the slave laborers who made that dirt reach the sky.
Stop and go politics have taken the poets and the beards and the bicycles off of the streets
Only to be replaced with the clean shaven mutants who don't even share their cigarettes
But who cares!? So long as they buy and drink the beer and hold the state upon their shoulders, like it were the football star prom king.
Oh, Huck! No longer the Drunk, but the former drunk locked up in your cell
I saw you caged long before they turned the key.
Oh, Huckleberry! Oh, Coyote! Oh, Old Wisconsin!
Where is she?
Where is she, who has done this to you?
That first lady who made YOU the way you are today!
We all know where She is, that first big storm that came rock 'n rolling through our midwest pastures to tame us, only to leave the next season
She, who we once all drank to and toasted.
Now we drink to forget Her.
Poeia!
You told me this Ben, you wandering Fool, you Poet in Coyote's skin clothing.
But you REFUSED to tell me the meaning, for you did not want to ruin the meaning for me!
Bless you!
Bless you and anyone else who refuses to destroy the alluring subtext.
It was also you who showed me without teaching to pocket your cigarettes, lest the birds pick up on our nasty habits.
My teeth are stained with cigarettes
Clothes burned with cigarettes
Ash covered poetry
All we are is ash.
All we are is smoke.
All we are are ghosts.

Growing up middle class
Granted perfect teeth for a perfect smile
A smile with nothing behind it but angst and superstition
Wanderlust leaves a soul that's trapped in one place clawing at the cage

Damaged goods always sell for less
If not cast aside or given away first
There is no Sin
There is nothing to confess