Dark patches of hair

shivering in the breeze;
today is your camera
today watches longingly
today is reflected in a tepid glass of water.
What garbage wafts from the street
and into the open windows
is brushed away swiftly,
painlessly, into the absorbent surfaces
of a ghost dark room
at two in the afternoon;
tomorrow is bound to your headboard
tomorrow is begging you for more.

how perfectly god-damned delightful it all is to be sure

my destiny is to live
between hangovers and warm 'hellos'
and go from an angry sleep
in your brothers bed
to some time spent alone
which i capitalize on by doing the dishes in the nude
collecting as many spare socks as i can
and longing for the green lake,
and the time when we talked about it.

good grammar and your girlishness
wont save you today, or even tomorrow
even if the hole is shallow,
we'll still bury you
because i'm making friends for life
the kind that go out of their way
to save me,
and let the wind do the fucking you over.

Do you listen to Steely Dan?

How about Donald Fagen?

Real Snarky
Snark Level 100 %
The Nightfly.
Get oun that shit.

the names of your enemies

vision of the end
a wreckage of kitsch, and a fragile paper boat
swirling past us

a babbling creak of vodka, full of Swedish Fish
sugary bloodstains on my shoes, and in the back yard
another day to get it clean
what a catch, made for trophy

the main problems have been negated
because wrought iron men never bend

lying feels so good, when you're beloved

like elbow length velvet gloves
the sky is pulling back

a zipper made of stars, and bone-china
is blinding white

the fear is palpable and pulsing like a radiation migraine

the holes we cut for our eyes
are sometimes back-lit
sometimes gone

the suburbs and the city
the front porch and the balcony

i could be yawning, or i could be snarling
but my facial expression makes no impact
on any Yankee conscience.

Chicago, This Time Of Year

You only had one piece of advice
Relax you said, take it easy

In repose, in narrow jealousy

I wanted truth
As much as I still want it
What I know now, though
That makes it different.

If you get locked out of your house...



I broke the window
With urgency that glittered.
And now, I'm down the street
My pain is fresh, as much as it is forgotten.

Shards of glass across the stoop,
Stuck in my fingers, under my nails.

Whats on my hands,
Is also in my heart.

My advice:

Bleed, Sir.
You need to bleed.