I find myself moving around the room, like some lost dancer. Residing in one seat after another, finding then losing the energy. I'm followed by a constant anti-muse that I can't seem to shake. Glass after mug after glass provide no assistance as they usually do.

If someone asks you to explain a joke
Laugh in their face
If someone asks you to explain a poem
Tell them it means nothing
If someone asks you to step outside
Hand them a cigarette

I've heard speak of revolution
From the mouth of a non-revolutionary
His smooth hands holding his Columbia brand jacket over his shoulder while the other held his Starbucks latte
While sweat gathered on his brow in the forgiving Wisconsin warmth
He told me how corrupt the system was
Not realizing what the joke was
Or why it was so funny

What will be the worth of man?
The crows, the worms, the maggots, the scavengers who will punish our bodies
Redeeming us, bringing us back to our Mother?
The hand drawings by our final artists of our final events on the walls of suburbia made out of blood, fecal matter, anything at hand?
The broken glass, plastic, metal, silicone laying among the tall grass that will hinder grazing animals?
What will be the worth of man
When none are left to carry the fire

What is the worth of Man?
Is it our blood reign over every other specie that was and is?
The mosquito feeds upon our blood.
So I know it cannot be that.
Perhaps our cognitive ability to know we have stolen this Earth?
Not unlike cancer steals from it's host body.
Tell me, what is the worth of Man?

You met my Dark Brother
The night you drove me to the hospital
The night I called you and you hugged me with tears and fear in your eyes
The night it seemed a razor and a bottle were my only comrades
The night you held me and the weight of my sorrows so strongly until morning
All others have only caught him out of the corner of their eye

An Introduction

My dark brother has never left my side
This is no benign commitment
Few others have had the displeasure to make his acquaintance
Thankfully he is shy and cowardice
Waiting for me to be at my weakest
To whisper sick nothings in my ear
My dark brother will stay dormant from time to time
Attempting to gain my trust or wait for me to forget his name
That way when he moves my hands for me, guides my steps, I'll not suspect him

Stars
They’re lifetimes away from us
No man
No woman
Has seen them in person
But we still look up at the night sky
And bask in their mock simplicity
Knowing they are actually unfathomable
Stars
Are Beautiful

Insomnia

language constantly fails me. I say this to myself in my mind, the only thing or place I know to be perfectly true, as I lay awake once more. It could be any night really, falling asleep has always been difficult for me. Every night that I try to sleep sober
I lay awake with a hundred different thoughts exploding in my head at once. I'm not certain if I think so much at night because it's something to do while waiting to sleep or if I can't sleep because I'm constantly thinking. Language constantly fails me. Everything I have ever penned has disappointed my mind's original concept, knowing that if there were a purer form of communication I'd have so much more to offer. Even though we both know the same words, for the most part, they still resonate differently for me than they do for you. If I have a thought, I must find the words to most accurately depict or describe it to you, tell you these words in a digestible manner, then you must take these and translate them with your mind, which works differently than my own. Language constantly fails me. Even as I am constructing this thought into a way you will hopefully understand, while I shift once more in bed trying to get comfortable, I know that I will fail once again. Language constantly fails me.

I haven't been taking my medication everyday
Like before.
My medication that could
Ruin my records, They keep.
Cost me money, They print.
Limit my freedom, They dole out.
Just because they want me to buy their medication
But not taking any Medicine has re-opened
This box of memories that I had hid
This set of tools I'd long forgotten
I haven't been taking my medication everyday
But I'll borrow other's
If they don't need it

Laying on the ground
Feeling Heavy
The waves kiss my toes
ithinkofyou
Sweat runs
Down my body
Down the bottle's body
Three camels
Sticking out of the sand
March North
Not to litter this pile of tiny rocks

The Sea leaves all it touches
Coated like a reluctant margarita
This Ocean has claimed many souls
Even more lives
It parallels my mind
That almost claimed me
The breakers never cease
Not even remotely at night
If you were to be emerged within either
(As I Am Always Within One)
Do not become idle
the thoughts
the waves
Will surely consume you
I know this
Because I have seen the flames of hell
Creeping through the ocean floor

Thank the trees
For providing the wood
Thank the water
For nourishing the tree
Thank the sun
For warming the tree
Thank the craftsman
For shaping the wood
Thank the businessman
For disregarding it all and taking the credit

The title poet has been chained to them
Like a sex slave chained to the radiator
Someone probably should have at least fed her
She's beginning to rot

The old man
Is fragile but not as fragile as his words
The warm lights reflect off his cold skin
As he stand before this room full of lost souls looking for redemption
His words mirroring those in print clutched by his delicate hands
That have not been used in the fields
Have not been been covered in dirt
Have not clutched hammer and nails
Have not been soaked in blood and sweat
Have not held a bottle like it were his only child
But the audience looks on with solid intent
Taking from his words what they will
His art that is recognized by the state is no more an art than the fucking sitcoms
The audience claps on time
The starving poet looking on from the back
He knows
He knows that the whore hooking in the streets, the drunk in the gutter, the abused children and spouse
This is the true poetry

Hookups
Are the way they are
Not because I wanted to use them
Like a napkin, tossing them after dirtying it
But because there is nothing more to those types
Nothing more to her
Nothing left to learn about her
Nothing more to discover
Nothing left to learn from her
In fact it's not a hookup at all
But a single serving relationship
That has run it's course

There are two kinds of people with depression
Those that take proper medication
Always on time
See their Doctors
Always on time
Talk and share with their therapist
Openly and fully
These people can manage being "normal"
Then there are those of us
Who don't take proper medication
I hate how it limits my mind
I don't see my Doctor
They could never empathize
I could never trust any therapist
Let alone anyone
Enough to be fully open
So I will continue
To self medicate
To talk to myself and write
To fuck being normal
Striving for happiness
If that is still attainable

"Do you do anything for your depression?"
"I smoke a lot of weed."
"Does that help?"
"it's hard to be depressed if you're not lucid."

A cigar and small talk on a dark drive
What just happened
What does it mean
"Will this haunt me" never entered my mind
The elements are close to coming full circle
I needed to hear my name between baited breaths
I've been stricken with wanderlust
But I forgot to pack my heart

I believed that distance
Would subdue the feelings
That was the second biggest mistake
I have made
Subdued they were not
But stalled at the point
At which I left them
I tell you
I have seen what it's like
To have the same nightmare
Every night

My empty pages
Envy the ink
Of another
Only the first few of my lines
Have been written
Some of them sloppily
Hastily

The death squads are coming for us
Enlisting the weaker ones of our ranks
Burning the crops of what we have sewn
Erecting their own faceless monuments
Where they have laid waste
The death squads are coming for us
They come bearing gifts
Trading beads for proper armament
The death squads are here

Shut the fuck up
For
One
Moment
You do not see me writing pointless nonsense.
I wouldn't dare waste a second of my time with whatever it is that concerns you.

Those with their mouth constantly open will never allow others to open their's. But it is they who are cursed, for they will never know anything other than that's right before them.

The first few days of spring are a power struggle, are they not? How the valiant sun gains ground in those early hours, holding it for a few hours more. At the end of the battle she must cut her losses, to come back fighting tomorrow once more.

I have looked back on my short life many times. Doing so is like watching a cigarette explode, as if it were a star in the darkness of space, in my rear view mirror.

Sometimes
I wish I believed in an eternal Father
To make up for the other one

I stifle another yawn with my hand that holds the pen. But I can't rest, there's work to be done, so I return the pen to paper. We all hunch over this table making ideas tangible, like children in Taiwan hunched over making Nikes. "The pay is horrible." Someone remarks, but it is a job that needs to be done. I get here with sun pouring through the windows, watch the envious staring at our coveted table, I will say my farewells hours after the sun has said his. Huck gets up to leave the table, "I'm clocking out guys."

When the sun comes out
So do the legs
Following suit bringing warmth
This is winking weather

Stretching in stretchy pants

I want to get a yoga mat carrying bag
To carry over my shoulder
Stowing a bow and arrows in it
I will make conversation with the yoga enthusiasts
When they ask me if I too enjoy stretching and controlled breathing
I will answer
Not in the way you do
As I plunge one of my cupid's arrows deep into her heart
Then it will be she who is watching me walk away

Patio chairs and a table on the sidewalk
We watched it get darker
We felt it get colder
But continued to huddle around this focal point
Passing a cigarette around
The butt of it still warm from the last persons lips
Am I glued to this table of discussion
To learn
To debate
To teach
To have people to huddle with?
The workers hesitantly came to evict us at closing
And we began to stack the chairs

Everyone I know in this town has a nickname. I think of this as Huck walks in the door while Coyote is telling me tales of the magnificent drunken poet, Roxy Reno. What a hell of a storm we had last night, stories of it are exchanged across piles of paper, a typewriter, and half empty mugs. "Yeah, I just stood on the porch watching the lightning."
"It was beautiful wasn't it? Roxy Reno went into the streets outside the bar, naked and out danced the storm. He'd pick up worms and throw them into the grass yelling, 'You owe me!' Stark naked and dripping water everywhere he struggled with both hands to close the door to the bar behind him, but when he managed it he exclaimed, 'Another drink!"

It's been a cold winter
I haven't felt a warm touch since my birthday
January
It's been a cold winter
No warmth in speech
No warmth in touch

The grandfather clock stands
Majestically
But alone
In the room behind locked doors
Each cog purposefully fitting their respective partner
The spring keeps perfect time with the earth spinning in the darkness
Hands pointing always where they're supposed to be
Bu there is no one to tell the time

cold breeze shaking knees
pages turned lessons learned
If it wasn't for plants
I wouldn't know
How many grams in an ounce

What comes after
After the sex
After the cigarette
After getting dressed
After not calling

Pool cues with teeth marks in them
Vomit and semen stains on the felt
The culprit still lays below
Clutching the eight ball

Give thanks to water
Water has given me life
Water will allow me to have children
Water helps you survive the next morning
And go out drinking agin the next night

The man with the radio on his motorcycle
Forgot that he could have a woman on the back

My mind is every wilting fern
In every corner
Of every mental hospital
I need to water the plants

It brings people together, when I think of this it reminds me of the coke head i'd befriended back in that program. (God that feels like a lifetime ago) He said Cocaine was a greedy man's drug. If you had the money for it you sure as hell weren't sharing. But marijuana. That brings people together. That's why I'm here sitting in Coyote's car as he packs a bowl with my pipe and his weed. "I prefer to bring the separate elements together from separate parties." Says Coyote. "Sorry my weed tastes kind of bad." He adds offhandedly. This second statement is delivered in a way that you could forget he's wearing a cowboy hat.

"Cheer up"
That sentence retains the same meaning
When cheer is replaced with "Drink"

I found this poem in an old notebook

I can hear the skin rip as the blade is pushed in and dragged across
The blood does not come right away like it does in film
Wait three seconds
There it is
It ebbs and flows
Like the ocean
Bringing life below the surface
I rest my head against the wall
I hear the sea

"All you Wisconsin people act like you're nicest people in America, but there are more dead girls in ditches here than anywhere else!" the man, one could only assume was drunk, yelled across the counter. "Seriously. Just get the fuck out of here." The girl on the opposite end of the counter retorts. "HA! See! Not so nice now are yah?"

Spare change.
Mugs half empty.
Piles of poetry.
Questions asked
Are they getting answered?
Completely?
Not at all?
Am I looking for knowledge?
Entertainment?
Bullshitting is a serious game.

The seagull surfs far above the ocean waves
With the
Hard
Tanned
Humans left mimicking
Below
Atop of the coveted warm breeze he rides
Instead
Of the aqua cool waves beneath

The son of God
Someone told me that he walked on water
Let me know when he walks on fire

Some men will chop off their ring finger
Before they even attempt finding a band that fits

Although my heart may be made of stone
It still retains the ability to be light

The Cat doesn't always land on her feet
Though she'd like you to think she does

The Owl possesses the ability to see everything
And it haunts him each and every night

Everyone has a different way to survive the winter
Some hide in bars
Losing countless games of pool
Constantly needing a refill
No matter where you find yourself cowering
Chances are you'll be huddled together

If Nature is our eternal Mother
Today she is drunk
Smashing plates against the wall
Yelling about our no good dead beat Father
Hopefully she'll sober up tomorrow
And do some cleaning to gain our forgiveness

The Poet stands upon the partially lit stage with the audience below still pondering his words that still ring in the empty spaces. He speaks with one hand grasping the mic, pressing it close to his mouth. "This next poem is my last and it's only one word." Staring at the shoes of the front row of rigid people, he lets that sink in for a moment. "Digestion." A residual hum falls over the audience as their inaudible expressions of curiosity becomes audible together. The Poet slowly looks up from the shoes to look at the thoughtful looking faces attached, just staring until they've accepted the poem is over, and begins to walk off staring at his own shoes. Stopping mid stride, the Poet cups his hands and yells, "It means nothing!" The audience begins to applaud.

Pools of water in the yard
Congregations of people in temples to themselves
These dreams we share are unmeasurable
Just like their importance or meaning
Tic Tic Tic Tic Ding Click
It is the the hollow nature of a cup that allows it to hold substance
Intersections may cause crashes
But they also let us change direction
The secret to obscurity is to paint the simple as unobservable

How many different shades of blue do you know
Will you paint them all in front of this audience
Do the paints drip and glisten when others are around
when no one is around
If nobody bothers to notice it, is it still art
Does your easel slouch or stand on it's own
What naked devil sitting on his stool have you painted

The drunk sits in the corner with his machines
Both reliant on the substance within him
The typewriter needs his words to produce
the leaves of verse
The bracelet shackled to him measures the influence
in his body
Both are completely necessary

A foolish Coyote told me
That the cat does not always fall on her feet
Certainty never exists
And our language often fails us
For it was the prideful man
Who said he saw the sun rise

The simple differences
Make all the difference
The addition of a word
Punctuation left out
The geese a few inches off course
A couple degrees too hot
Have you ever seen a tidal wave in person?
How about the constant tides that eat at the shoreline
Like so many homeless in a soup line
Cancer manifests itself slowly over time
Each cigarette is another pebble on the scale

Who is in control
The man who pours the drink
Or the drink itself