from a porch, number two: trying to find peace in reality

doubting double-takes

going for another

it’s in the clouds, mist gathering causing a shudder from my insides out as i wander about dipping and gliding forgetting how to shout a subtle sigh pushes out my lips as the currents of air begin to rip and i finally feel eternity with no weight, now, no wait to melt into the gathering of other midnight mourning souls wishing away another breezeless night alone in smoke gathered rooms pretending we figured out our plight safety displayed in plumes that’ll fade away

eventually bringing morning, we shake that world from our consciousness

and drift through our day

from a porch, too angry to articulate

don’t tell me you didn’t have plans

that the same thing keeps ‘just coming up’


gain what you want, massage the message

it works with them

i already know your end game, so the steps you take whether stomping or prancing are all the same it’s the run up

to streetlight walks home, well, the home with a changing key for the next few nights that affect eternity and the buzzing of children who wait for your touch underneath their endured screams from someone who knows too much and can’t stand the throbbing pulse, pushing temples aside and blurring vision

double, now fly eye

learning to die

it’s simple division when one goes into two

you innocently mention the size of his phone asking if the number still works for the pad key code you used in madrid where you thought it was safe

where you hid

away from the throngs of passerby’s and street scene dealers whispering away cries from a thousand miles away, never to reach you

the ones who’ll believe they’re at fault

i denied myself trust once

engulfed in escapes through time and space to tree fort saturday nights letting him trace the lines leading me home

from bed, crossing property lines puts you in cages

kids in cages for crossing property lines

stay off his lawn, if you cross this figment of their imagination it threatens an insecurity born out of their disturbed, dirty, dead-soul mind-frame, and Gogol isn’t here to hold the mirror to the flaws you absorbed from enemies past

one time monsters are now what you hope to be


are you afraid?

afraid, brown people will spill over to overthrow this overture to a symphony sewing discord, redirecting our friendship glances another distracted direction, wagner would be proud

waiting for your ovation

glimpses into the ebb and flow, of dots and nature’s boundary, needs you have down below, who am i to judge?

we froze the friends above, they used to be unthawed

so polite

i’m done listening, trying to understand

you don’t deserve the second hand that is heard clapping in forests alone where you’ve yet to tap natural nutrients to buy and sell for a single cell, there’s a cell in hell waiting to capture your lifeless soul you bought and sold for no more than the price of gold

they’re digging it up for you

stand still

wait here

we’ll come to you

from a stool, letting go ego

i lost track

not time

the rails that keep me focused

so desperate for you to hear my calamity, joys, and distant insanity

i force these worlds over yours

i used to ask questions for you

discovering, how we are interwoven souls becoming nothing

some might say one


the soul is done when hearts are hung on strings dangling from willow trees alone in fields easy for us to find

in recent days

i’ve been self absorbed

soaking in how it all relates to me

i’ll wring myself

better yet, will you clutch my being, squeeze, and choke this misguided mess of a righteous asshole i’ve become

leave the discolored filth of ego on the floor, if you can’t see it, you deserve to slip

it will evaporate in time

continuing the cycle of discovering a path

i’m committed

to forget about me

how are you?

i’m asking for a friend

there are no guides, defined ways

only open movements left up to interpretation


it all means the same thing

from a couch, streamy stream

i can’t stand to be behind what it is you do to be kind to the mental state of those around you

i talk to myself late in the night trying desperately to rewrite the codes stuck on spindly dendrite ends waiting for me to pretend i’m like all of you

and that’s true

except nights i understand my value

when you can find me on the front page of blank blank blank “today” or “telegraph” or whatever you want to call the pages splattered pollack like with information only relating a tradition that we have some connection to seeking truth

can you find me one?

a genuine, truthful, gentle heap of flesh who doesn’t cling to preparation for the next life

more strife?

i’m struggling to see through your blue blocker haze, it left me for days writhing in pain, as i slowly chiseled my words in stones outside your house until the reality that we can’t exist in a moment is captured and placed in a cage holding my head still watching the bird slowly lose the need for wings, and evolve into a position on the food chain as fodder alone

give or take the son-of-a-bitch

and those were the words you decided to hitch your family wagon on while slamming two for five dollar drinks with enough chemical energy chewing it’s way through ignorant nerves to cause you to swerve, and wish i’d cut you off, so you could go off, blow off, the head of a traitor only trying to find truth in the folded fabric of a flag used to brag that somehow you understand the past better than i, problem is, you never read a book

radio stations are modern day campfires where oral-tradition lies will give us another enemy-battle cry, or hero to try, and maybe this time it’ll be more believable than a white skinned man coming back from the dead

your sins won’t save you, neither will your disfigured dreams donning the newest fashion

you’re fucked

from a porch, caught in a cycle


reversed reverence for what we might see walking forward

yet, we were signaled to stay put

wiggling defiantly through cracks in the foundation poured by the great-grandparents of dissidents who cease to pay homage to horrors displayed ensuring we can play with like-skinned caregivers

i coughed up the blood of my mothers birth

caught it in my hand

salty, full of sin, and preposterous

stupefied by language used to continue the spew of opinions without substance

i try to forget everything i know



from bed, hacking the breeze

relied upon institutions bastardized by a revolution of technology, masses conjure their imaginative egos pretending to have put in the time

fooling you, they’re real

discipline lost

paradise, long gone

sweet steven priest wrote a new song

i’m tricking myself that this poem, however long, contends with hughes, whitman, and what’s that haniel?

i belong

validation was cast in the lake of credentials, genuine appeal and voice discovered, developed and verified by the dirt under your nails, sunken eyes framed by the denial that everything is ok

prove myself

keep moving

they’re just as real

the words

i’m not the bash brothers containing my accomplishments with new blood juice, i’m letting loose the noose and finding an excuse to keep emitting emotion into an atmosphere of nobodies pressing ‘likes’, dismissing the possibility that i might have ‘something’ here

who wants to go first?

out on a limb

can’t cling to ironies ease, cackling, waiting for silence to assure you’re not alone when moments seized in the breeze of another’s sneeze and you said something

don’t bless me

dismiss me as a hack


i don’t have a name?

selfish flying in internet space we ego-righteously claim it couldn’t be

just be


moving pictures of animal interactions are easy to digest

i’ll keep making meals lactose thick

i want you to hear me when i come out


contemplating a new page in this digital age, no one will define good for you

unless you join their monthly club

you made your box

now die in it

from bed, i’m done waiting

while opening the door to your mistakes

i was worried about you

wondering where you were hiding in a house you wouldn’t leave

comfort is the only thing i could rely on you needing, certainly not me

i opened every closet door slowly, a whiff of your memory wafted by the door as hinges creaked and i slowly peaked panting begging-breathes that you were ok

hide-and-go seek

i counted past ten, to twenty, i forgot how old you were, “i’m coming!”

you were in, and around, every corner

a piece of you

slippers wanted, never worn

family games shrink wrapped, never torn

children’s clothes, waiting to be born

he won’t be

to you

i can’t continue carrying my blood stains as a measure of our mistakes, misfortunate lakes-of-love, we used to paddle around in peddle boats pushing in unison to a shore where we found soft fertile ground waiting to be penetrated, holding the one memory we could have clung to

we didn’t, it proved to be fruitless

rains came and washed our seeds away

we saw it as wasted time

i need to get my stuff and go, i’ll leave the doors open, come out when you’re ready

i’ll never know

from bed, i have a hammer

forcing a voice over my own that sings the right chords and delivers a tone for you to remember long distance phone calls wrapped in a cord wishing your mom would come home instead of wandering countrysides picking up strange rides, to be plucked and prodded, poked along, left with a hollow soul outline for a song

where i belong is next in line

detours never bring comfort to the longing panics and strange outlines i trace on the back of childhood menus where they never understood my order

i didn’t get what i wanted

i couldn’t complain, shut up eat, we have to beat the rain that clouds above our heads, your precipitation filled words, language without verbs, adjectives to describe the way i let you down again

without this pen, the pressing of keys, i’d think about telling you how sorry i am that i had a bad day, i didn’t live up to the version of me i put in front of you to accept the facade i know you want to fuck without intimacy, that’s implied, a version of you shaking hands and casting sunlight glares with mirror eyed stares helps you rest assured that you are right

i’m nothing

a whore to your ego

i’ll bend, twist, rise, and fall, a sacrificial blow up doll without plastic creases leaving marks, smooth

who’s your pimp?

which way do you go after me for your hours of shaken soul confiscation and desertification?

from a counter, distracted by the day’s events

flames lick the fingers that i stick in honey buckets sitting on-top cherry tree splinters fallen at the hands of mythic creatures we distort through history, a placebo swallowed, no side affects

demons compelled to dance in the dark children’s screams fuck the sounds of our hearts beating for the last time, while biting ears ringing with humiliations birth, rattling through thighs, dripping with surprise as you look down to find nothing