percocet.

I've got my feet in the clouds, my head in in the stars. I'm taller than you'll ever dream. The silence is golden, and so are the thoughts that are floating through my thought stream. If I were to tell you that I love you, would you smile and turn away. You're a coma in a bottle, waiting for me to wake up. You're the colors in the sunset fighting for me to shake up. With a bottle full of gasoline, I set the sky on fire. I watched it flash and flicker and sear the feelings into me. I saw you come out of your bottle, of your coma. Come to me. The world is full of broken glass, but today you can walk with me. This beach is blood-warm sand, so take my hand. I'll lead you under me. Can you see the degredation of this hollow strung-out nation? Clap your hands, cohabitation. Shed your clothes and inhibitions. Leave your bottle in the sand. I'll fly circles and you can come with me. We can let our wax wings melt in the sky I lit on fire. When we fall, silence will save us. I will fall right into you. We'll hit the water and open our eyes when we want to. That will do. You were a coma in a bottle; never moving, always still. When you shed that glass and we got past, the thrill was enough to kill. Paint a sunset with your body. I'll be the ocean pressed up to you.

that girl-----////------desert song

i need that girl.
i want that girl.
i loathe that i don't have that girl.
this isn't what i need.
no, no, this isn't what i need.
i see that girl.
i feel that girl.
i loathe the fact that i don't have that girl.
i just ain't pretty enough,
but she's so pretty.
i see her pretty eyes.
oh no, no, no.
i see that girl,
and breathe that girl.
i breathe her in.
i want that girl.

she breaks my heart.
she's in my heart.

/////////////////////////////


the cool red clay on the desert floor
cracks beneath my cracking feet.
break the mold and you'll unfold
these folded blankets in these spaces.
spaces caught beneath the floorboards
passing promises, promises, and truth.
in my home entranced by desert wares
far away from gruesome stares,
the windows spring forth wide
trying to show off what's inside.
the cool winds blow through the glass,
and bring me desert dust.
my house is built on shallow graves
of past mistakes that i have made
and the cracks beneath my feet
let it all seep through my bones.
burried bones and broken homes,
funeral songs and something's wrong.
i sit alone in the desert that's my home,
knowing it's the only thing that is my own.
all the dehydration cracks and creeps,
stretching for miles where no one sleeps.
i pull out all the cotton sheets,
and bide my time while nothing weeps.
my house whispers cracks and creaks.
i pour the whiskey past my teeth.
this desert is the place for me
to burry these dying bones.
this is the only place for me,
alone in my desert home.

the flight of the phonies

crushing my voice
he breathes new life into me
soaring higher than the albatross
wings spanning the eastern skies
my throat swollen shut
i labor with tedious breathing
he flies the skies, the eastern skies
a faithful night where all was quiet
slapped between piss-colored walls
the soaring phoniex drops the fluids
through the tubes and to my veins
i feel dead now more than ever
swollen shut i feel my voice dripping away
they add the cold drip, the pain meds
my soaring phoniex drops needles
the way armies carpet bomb
nine or ten shots hit my throat
and everything goes numb
vision lost is vision found
he flies the eastern skies
she runs a dull blade through the back of my throat
the pain slowly melts away
my voice is no longer lost
vision lost is vision found
the phoniex drps the breath into me
and i drop into the eastern skies

awake and tweakinggggggggggggggggggggg.

The son of Carl. Who the fuck is Carl? Who am I? Where am I? What am I on? Who's on top of me? I don't really mind. I have a mind. We all have minds. Mind your mind. Your mind is yours. Yours is ours and ours is mine. A diamond mine full of blood. Blood is filled with Iron. I am the Iron, Lion, Zion. On the mountain, screw you Moses. Drop the tablets? Getting high. Novacaine, cocaine, mescaline. Smile! Nany Reagan's war. Just say no. She got raped? Nancy, Nancy, Nancy Reagan ragging on the masses. Go to church. I am the Christ child. I am the walrus. My tusks are sharp. So are the thorns on my crown. So are needles. They're so damn sharp, but so am I. I is for infinite. The universe is infinite? Prove it. Pound it. Place it. Push it. Pushers sell their drugs. Nancy Reagan just says No. No Carl! I am not Carl. Who the Fuck am I? I am here, but do I exist? What is existence? Did Carl Exist? I need to know ASAP. Moses got high on PCP. Jesus loved his GHB. God's gift to earth was LSD. The sick abreviations. Letters written to the editor. Dear editor, Edit this $entance. It's a copy-paste job. It's a copy-paste job. A good job, with good pay. Good dollars are green. Crispy, fresh, stacks of dollars. I got a dollar in my wallet. Look on the wall. It's the window with green blinds. It's the blind who cannot see. Who needs to see? I see a vision so damn clear. Floating through the ocean blue. True blue seas. Look in the seas. There are tablets floating there. Drop two. Take time, unwind. Rewind the VCR. I want to see that part again. Repeat the pretty scenes. Pretty faces, pretty screams. Screams and laughs. Laughs out loud. Loud needles lowered into veins. The only dope worth shooting is Nixon. Nixon, were you not a crook? Stealing like a junkie with a monkey on his back. Good morning Karl Marx. How are you? I'm feeling fine. I love you and I love communism. Let's go grab a drink. Do you like Vodka? I like vodka. Hey, you're Russian. Go Stolichnaya! Marx is a demagogue, a figure-head. Would he have read The Fountainhead? There's a fountain down the street. It's filled with snow. Snow and ash. Ashes burn off cigarettes, slipping through the streets. Criss-crossed like Kriss Kross. Banging out the early '90's. Banged until she's black and blue. Nancy Reagan's quick to bruise. Her eyes are black hole sun. Jesus Christ, I've got a deal for you! Deal or no deal? Take the case you basketcase. Take the pills. I know you want to. Do you want to fly? Die, then fly? On the third day rise again! Good Lord, you're spiraling through the window with the green blinds. I am not blind. You took some opium to mellow out, and get locked in the tomb. You got a rise on the third day. Jabbed it right in Nancy Reagan. Made her moan You get back what you give out. Give out. Put out! You're a slut Nancy Reagan, but Jesus Christ knows you love sex. He was only mortal. Mortal like Marx. Him and I are sipping Vodka. Jesus, grab a seat and join us. We can listen to D-R-E on C-o-d. Coded words that won the war. Secret messages. Secret words. Bottled up like addy and valium. A smile on Nancy's face. Moses is tweaking, Jesus is erupting, and poor Nancy is collapsing. Saying no all those years, made her want to finally say YES. She didn't just say it. She screamed it. Then Jesus ascended through the rock. That man was out on roxicet. Silly Jesus, Trips are for kids. Special K. K stands for Krist. Christ stands for Nancy. Karl slams a shot. He orders another, and let's it slide. Sliding down through the streets like ashes burned off cigarettes. Smoke it, toke it. This shit's so great. Christ, Reagan, Marx, Moses, and me. Vodka shots and LSD. Smile in this pool of vasoline. Swim right through the Ketamine. I'm waxed on like I'm Plasticine. Melt away into the ground where mere mortals screw and rot.

a letter with no apparent recipient.

_________________________________________________



dear __________,

you were my only friend.
i hate that i have let you go.
a reminiscence of my past,
and all the things i thought were true.
i've let you go now,
but that doesn't mean you don't creep in and out of thought.
i guess i hold you in a darkened part of my darkened heart,
which is more than i'd let on.
it's been so long, and still it hurts me.
deep inside, i stand conflicted.
i always ask myself what happened,
but then i slowly let you go.
your touch, your laugh, your words, your whispers,
the smell that hit me every now and then,
i let them go.
i let you go.

incinerator.

all the things you've touched turned to ashes before my feet.
i've walked through the city streets and smelled the sulfur and gasoline.
all the precious things that i have had, all the gritty truths,
none of them could compare to the ashes i've seen under you.
the dreams don't come true when you don't want them to.
love won't shine through when you just don't want it to.
and the things i love will burn, no matter what i say.
drenched in gasoline and burning flames, ashes save the day.
when i talk to you, i hide inside.
everything goes frozen numb.
these are the days that i hate, and the nights that i loathe.
baby, i talk to you and you smell of gasoline.
i love the smell. it's a thrilling feeling.
singed the flesh, and signed with healing.
change your ways and cut the touch.
my ways serrated, cut the ties.
my wound are open, call the flies.
nothing's ever come this close.
burn it all with gasoline.
touch me, employ me,
ashes to ashes, sinner deploy me.
cut my feelings through the air,
the smell of gasoline throughout your hair.
i love this smell, and hate your eyes.
sinners' eyes, i realize.
etched in deep burned-out beliefs,
witness the miracle and i will weep.
tears of gasoline, down these sulfur-scented cheeks,
weeping for a miracle that will never come to me.

aromatic candle

the cool-berry candle burns an aroma so sweet,
and i sit here with nothing else to do.
well-rounded like a baby's head-
well-tuned like a baby grand piano-
well-weathered like the hills that we live in.
i am reading a new book that i just picked up.
a pretty piece by ayn rand. it's her romantic manifesto.
i like her language, her word choice, and her own point of view.
she puts a smile on my soul.
i got another book explaining tao, and i started in on that too.
i've been drinking from a green glass bottle,
trading off sips and pours.
i let one hit my lips, and that one's for me.
when i pour out a drink, it's for my dead homies.
the sky is dark like a jagged sea of glass,
and the sun is underneath me.
i want to dance on top of the bay area smog,
and briskly walk through new york city's lights.
i'll stop when i've seen everything.
until then- the breath in my lungs will not stop.
a sip for me, a sip for my dead homies.
the liquid brea-brea-breaks my heart.
and for now, ayn rand and me have a date.
can you smell the love we're about to make?
with the turn of each page, and the glance at each word,
i take it all in and scream.

museum quality.

paint my body with your fingers,
smooth strokes of lavender down my spine.
last night was cool winter lust,
and we made it happens four times.
i dipped my brush, and got lost in strokes,
up and down, and criss-cross your back.
i took careful anguish in each color,
i contemplated each flourishing line of color.
from blank canvas i saw something begin to take form.
my masterpiece came to life.
in its infancy, wrapped with umbilical cord, and tissue lining,
it cried for life. it cried for being.
vicious strokes of cerulean, and carmine swirled about.
i took your figure and traced every curve,
with my hands.
the snowflakes fell on you, but your colors did not run.
they stayed true.
when i was done, i let you finish me off.
with your horse-hair brush, i let you finish me off.
from head to toe, the colors trickled,
each pint of blood infused with paint.
you stopped with me, and i stood there,
one of the masters' last stands.
a botched bordone,
a carelessly-crafted kraft,
and none of the masters will ever look back.
i am the piece left unfinished for lack of understanding.
i am the piece done up so carefully, but all alone left standing.
they hung you up before your paint dried,
in a quaint museum for the hungry public eye.
all your strokes done with perfection,
there was no need for intervention.
as i sit and collect dust, i wait for you to return and finish me off.

digitally yours,

saturated in digital chains we feed into everything around us,
and i call out for something to stop by and save us,
but no one can hear me in here.
trapped in cyberspace this fast-paced world swims circles around our heads. our heavy hearts are nothing but binary cuffs.
slapped upon our wrists and ankles, we're held here to this fate.
call on me, i will be here in this false and fucked prison.
fretting all day and searching for answers, there is nothing here to save us.
these global chains of buy, sell, trade, fall across the great divide.
in the corners of this cyberspace, fake tits, spread legs, and god knows what else overtake everything i have ever known.
it is a vaccum, where there is nothing, yet i always find something.
sometimes i see the news, sometimes i see the blues, sometimes i hear the pain and it makes me wonder.
are screams and pleas and all of these things silent when held in these chains? my eyes are red and dry and scratchy and numb, so i put my wool sweater on. i pull my sleeves halfway over my hands and hide my whole head, save my eyes. i cry for chains, i wait for change.
in this world, saturated in digital chains and digital pain,
i wonder if anything can save me if i digitally complain.

0110100100100000011000010110110100100000011000110111001001111001011010010110111001100
1110010000001100110011011110111001000100000011101000110100001101001011100110010000001
1101110110111101110010011011000110010000001101000010100110100100100000011000010110110
1001000000110001101110010011110010110100101101110011001110010000001100110011011110111
0010001000000111010001101000011001010111001101100101001000000111011101100001011100100
1110011000011010000101001101001001000000110000101101101001000000110001001101100011001
0101100101011001000110100101101110011001110010000001101111011011100010000001110100011
0100001100101001000000110100101101110011100110110100101100100011001010000110100001010
0111010001101000011001010010000001110111011011110111001001101100011001000010000001101
0010111001100100000011001100111010101101100011011000010000001101111011001100010000001
1001000110010101100001011001100010000001100100011101010110110101100010001000000111011
1011010000110111101110010011001010111001100101110

does any of it make sense...does it make a bit of sense?
my lips are split and they are bleeding. my mind is hollow, blank, and bent.