same old same old

yes I fell in
love
same
old
script
she fucked up
I fucked up
same old
line
I died
bitched
until I lots 20
pounds
and here I am
writing about
love
the birds
the bitch
who
broke
my heart
what else is
new?
one night no sleep
a morning feel likes
shit
a bottle of wine
I'm
drunk
a
new
poem
the whore who
fucked
up
did I fuck her over?
I probably did
I was
wrong
she was
wrong
it wasn't meant to
be
I fucked up
she fucked up
we all fucked up
she got
dumped
she felt like
shit
knew what it was
like
but I was still
wrong
until I lost another 20
pounds
and wrote
the same old
line
about the
same old
script
about the
same old
poem
did I repeat myself?
who cares
this one is for me
the
bitch
for me
for us
for them
for you (sucker).
for fate who threads
her threads with no
remorse
a god of the
gods

classical fries

In my car at the drive-thru
radio on Classical

fat ape of a man
hands me a drink.

he's all ass,
a big ass
up to his face
and around the
tank of his rear.

there is no
crack
in the middle.

he should
not be here
of all places.

I wait for the rest.

I turn up Haydn
1777 in the key of Bb.

watch for the
Adagio section of
strings

air conducting the
string section

a riff of a
finger and a
trumpet dances
on the strings
like
raindrops in some
far off tropical rain-forest.

a flick of a wrist and
hold
on the harmony

fall of the wrist
resume

the melody
continues.

the sliding window
opens.

food comes through
the window in a
brown paper bag.

the 6th symphony
ends.

good timing
fat man.

he could
of been writing
symphonies
for us in another
time

it was too bad
fate fucked him
in that big fat ass
of his

I bet you can figure this out on your own

It must of been September or November
a few years ago
I can't really remember which it was
but it was cold and the moon was hazy
that night and there really wasn't much
else to do but go
dancing
at West Hills High School.

I was 16, she was 17
always a year and a half
older
and I had short brown
hair no furry chin
and those long button-up
polos with khaki pants
and ugly shoes.

she wasn't any better
with that elfish face,
pointy nose and corn-husk
hair in a ponytail.

she was wearing this pink sweater
that was really fury, rough, but
tight around the edges.

her jeans had holes in them
and looked dirty even though
they were washed.

anyways,
we ditched the dance
and ran through the school
ripping posters instead.

they were posters about
"beating santana high school football"

we didn't really have much
school pride back then.

somehow we tried to make up for it.

so we went from hall to hall
ripping posters and
every once in a while we would
split up and take separate hallways.

I was quiet as I tore them down
but she was laughing loudly
enough for me to hear it from
the other side.

at the end of each stretch
of classrooms we would
run into each other and
make out in between the
kissing and laughter.

we even ran through the
amphitheater taking the
left and right sides until
both sides were littered.

my hands were starting to hurt
and going purple mostly
from the cold but our
lips stayed red and we
certainly did find a way
to keep each other warm.

it felt great getting away with
it while everyone else danced
like awkward fish in some
estranged pond.

I thought about those
boys standing in
the sidelines nursing their cokes
as they watched the pretty girls
dance with themselves.

they must of felt real awful then.

I thought about them
wasting their hours after school
making those glitter-shit
posters and putting them all around
the school.

I thought about how pissed
they would be if they found out.

those ASB pricks were shit to me.
I didn't really care.

I felt real lucky having a steady girl.

and we were alone too,
just like we always were.

and we also found an even better
way to desecrate the school.

and so you see,
I would tell you the
end of this story...
but I'll let you
figure it out
on your own...

can you keep a secret?

what a clever way
to hide the hidden
truth from you

come on baby,
you know who
I'm talking about

you couldn't risk
exposing us to foreign eyes.

but fuck those half-dozen skulls;
all boring like the rest of them

I want those wild eyes
and that
hair tossing in the
wind going 80' fast
nowhere,
anywhere.

we're gonna' smoke
and drink wine and
we'll see the grand canyon
and the alamo too

we'll sneak in the back,
and I'll be a Mexican Solider
and you can be Davy Crockett
and we'll shoot at each other
with the tips of our fingers

we'll fog up the windshield and drive
into the town knowing we got
away with murder.

it would all be so great,
if only you knew.

so stand next to me on a
dangerously narrow ledge and
I'll take care of the rest.

and remember,
no one can know I love you,
not even you.

don't try

Learn about
yourself
what you can't in
thought
what you feel is what you
think
then write
work the word
and
listen
to the rest
it's
rythm
a festival of
words
on a musical
score

you could
learn something
about who
you
are

but remember
of this one
rule
when you
write:

Don’t Try.

what I don't like

I never liked war heros, Iraq, Pot, Marines, Adam Sandler, English teachers, stop lights with "No Turn On Red", Mormons, Jazz flute, Geminis, Republicans, homeless at the intersection, Betthoven, or the word "Poetry"

but If I could put all these together,
stuff them in a blender
and swirl the tornado

I would break the blade.

an English teacher high on pot
Adam Sandler in Iraq
a Mormon Gemini

Betthoven at a stop light-
writing Poetry
in traffic,
but would lose his thought
when a transient holds a sign:
"Why lie? I need change for a Beer!"

and that...
I do like.

high

I'm laying there watching the smoke drift from the ash tray.
surprisingly it looks beautiful.
it's deadly and I never liked cigarettes.
but I lay there mesmerized.
woman are as deadly
as they are beautiful too.
they give you a high,
but when it's gone you want more.
it's too bad they don't come
with warning labels.

a hangman's noose for the willing

a woman can chain
your heart so
good and
hang you with the
same rope,
all in one,
until you've realized you
gave her the rope
to do the
job
all along.

lately,
I see
them falling into
this hole and
so desperately
wrap the noose
around their necks
until it
snaps.
but by then it's
too late
to have figured
it all out.
they are blind
to their mistakes
when they had the sack
around their
heads before it
ever happened.

they're
just another pile of
bones
with the rest of
those god-awful souls
wondering where the hell
they went wrong

In the all-inclusive truth of it all

when you're
an oddity of a man walking your frame
through the all-inclusive hive of towers
you wonder if in in the end everything
will just go to hell.
will God discover and
disembowel us all?
will the ulterior truth
behest be known?
how naive we are to
each other's interest
divided by
class, economy,
and segregational ideas in the
all-inclusive system we
so-faithfully machine for our survival.
there is no unity.
I write for the birds.
when they fly, they must know
that history repeats itself
in another fall of Rome.

freckles

I met this gorgeous Australian
girl with freckles who always
smiled and said I was this
great guy,
so refreshing and new;
she wanted to take it slow.
once a week she came over
but her legs stayed closed and
the kissing got boring.
she told me not to fuck her
because she believed in God.
she told me about how great God
is and how I needed to discover him
so I could save my soul.
I told her I was a writer.
then one night I told her to stop
coming and she turned pale
and started crying as I walked her
to her blue nissan.
she came by next week anyway
and handed me a hand-written letter
about how much of
an asshole I was and
how in my poems I never
wrote anything about her.
I felt better being an
asshole than great,
I am also at a loss because
woman love both.
anyways she never came by
again and this poem is the
last thing to remember her by.
are you happy now?

don't swing both ways, but look both ways

I went to a party
with
mostly gay men
looking for one night
stands,
hustling
the
gay
or straight

I met this
drunk black girl
from Kenya
with a thick accent
and ivory body
like
the Queen of Egypt
with ear rings
and legs that ran up
to her neck

I walked her to the
apartment
across the street
and stood
10 feet from the door

she pulled me in by
the collar and started
to unbutton my shirt

I pulled away,
but I found myself
sitting on her cheap
spring mattress
looking
stupid
with my
shirt halfway
unbuttoned
as she started to
undress

she played
god awful
music with drums
before she went
into her room and
changed
into nothing
but a
skirt

she danced
to the terrible
music and I began
to rise

I walked to the
door
but she shoved
me onto the bed,
pinned me,
and begged me
stay
I threw her off me
but the challenge
made her
want more

I told her I wasn't
over an ex
she said,
we could make this
work
I told her I was
Christian,
she pulled
a Mormon bible
and was
Christian
too
I told her I was
gay
she grabbed it,
ran to the bathroom
and screamed

I ran for the
door
but she was
faster

I tricked her into
the
bedroom
naked,
went to the
bathroom,
sneaked out
the door,
ran
to the
car
buttoning
my pants and
shirt

middle of the
street
stopped
a police car
and and covered
me in spotlight

stand right there,
don't move!
put your hands above
your head and walk
slowly backwards
to the car

two more cars
came

I was
groped for
drugs

I smiled
at the woman
in blue

do you
want to
touch me
too?

paper wings

there's an angel with paper wings
and strawberry red hair.
she walks the urban concrete
naked at night
and she's all leg.

her eyes are gray and blue
but all the fire
is at the top where it falls.

holding to her sides the wind blows hard
and her arms are like noodles.

the moon showers
her in gray
until her hair
dusks red
as the paper wings
fall.

at night

half moon,
half heart,
half-crescent smile on
the red-tailed demon
clawing for a quarter-burned
cigarette.
it flakes away and
burns like time as
the clock goes forward
for another day, another night,
another burn that rims
at the filter like the end
of all things
desperate.

trace your heart out

last time I saw her was
in a parking lot
at a
Jack In The Box
on
Main Street.

I got
inside her
Chevy F150
with the broken
right side of
the windshield
and
stared at
the cracks
as the
little pieces
of light reflected
like veins.

I looked
at her
and she still
had those
easy blue eyes
and platinum
blonde hair
that was just
outright
sickening.

everything
about her
screamed
freedom
while
the
pit of
my stomach
just ached
as I traced
and mapped
every
line like
a palm
reader.

it was
then
that I
knew it was
all finally
over
and
I would
never
see that
platinum blonde
hair that
was just
outright
stupid.