Suicide note

I was going to try
trying but it's hard with all
this aspartame bleeding me out

and if you wouldn't mind
I'd like a sip of water so
the fluoride can drown
my aggression, I could get up
but apathy is something treasured
in tents outside government buildings
fighting a power I don't understand
or you don't understand; it's not the 1960s
brother, power is diffuse and it moves
and watches and thinks before we do,

so pass me another brain lesion and
I'll take our sorrows like a shotgun to the
back of my fleshy 98 degree mouth
counting the fucking seconds flat

The End; A science fiction story

Lost my keys in a cat accident

kneading my computer like

a soft winter blanket, to get

my writers attention, so now I'm

without the windows key which became

the T because it's more important;

O phantom of morning
when I cross your path
alone in darkened house
I fear to close my eyes,
the hair standing on the back
of my neck since childhood
I ran home in empty moonlit fields
never fearing the stranger but the
ghastly, that I wished for
at the same time; to prove this
blue globe a lie--

the clouds fall at my feet
taking everything around me into
itself, the sea born sky, she cries
like the creature I imagine behind,

My mind is haunting
the world-void, pushing me into
stereophonic schizophrenic insanity;

the voice
dream
angel
knight
brooding in the goopy afterglow
is a visage
unarmed,
is a lover of my life,

is a self-fulfilling fear--

I cannot find it in all my years,
though I search the alleyways
beneath my conscious cries,
it is the beginning.

Westernized Haiku :D

typing away lost poems
on my thankless computer
a night so dark

at midnight I wonder
what it's worth to wait
until one o' clock sleep

An angel of my mind
sleeps so beautifully
miles south and sunny

Whit curls up on the couch
in knitted blanket
I'm glad it's not the closet

Survive

"Well here we are," is all the same
and time is an illusion built
by rifled guns on the rolling hills of England,
we little piggies fight like it's 1960 when
power has moved on and read our books
and removed them from circulation. So
we fight to learn at school nothing but replication,
why do they advance and we sit outside
and think protest works? Why don't we
understand what's going on? We fight them
with the weapons and the ideas they control,
we need a rucksack revolution not a
wall street occupation, 'cause truth be told
they've already won and I've been saying it
for 15 years, we need a new strategy and
it's called survival.

More Western Haiku

my word is mountains
grown gray into the sky
and snow capped

Afternoon in the house
no light through my windows
no whispers

Friday Night

I thought, "Shit my
phone is melting," but it was only
Harry Potter's 3-D glasses on the
stove, the phone was dripping in my hand,
I panicked until someone
built a castle on top of me.
I'm a pawn taking a walk, maybe
I'll take a slightly longer walk, but
only if I'm just starting out, outside
the stars are sparkling at night
though the sky is indigo with old
red white and blue reflections;
who lives there across the alley
with their serial killer 4:08am lights on
in every room but their bedroom and
the door is opened wide, whit and I
are playing a floor above and three stories up
under Tif's covers at the foot
of her bed and his fur is so soft, and shining
black and white, I hold him tight,
I fall asleep, and sleep and sleep
a dreamless tired sleep, dreamless but felt like hours
so maybe Tif the nightmares and what we talked
about are untrue, maybe there's just
nothing and the end.

Spider Spider

Tell me something 

that's grand, that makes no sense--

I had a spider crawl down my arm

into kung pao Armageddon today

cleaned his white spotted arms,

couldn't escape it was so sticky,

I took a straw wrapper

because felicia asked me to, and

he crawled up inside, disappeared; spiders

will jumped into anything in front of them

imagine that, so will people; I dropped him 

in the corner but he didn't come back

out, I think we should swim in the 

ocean this winter, under the tundra sun,

it's a god you know-- but that little spider

he'll be in that place forever, with green covered

lamps and general Tso's. Let's do it for him;

Western Haiku

Another spider

in dim lights invisible

an overpriced buffet

a misty October rain

footprints left in grass

where I walked alone

stuffed animal slumped over

sea foam green couch 

and me without a seat

Typecast on location typewritter kitten

I'm saving it all up.

For the revolution.

I'm dissolving the mark.

I'll fight in heaven.

I'm a phantom.

A spook, glooky in the missive.

I'm a sentence already written.

Watch the end descend from the stars.

It's meaningless to me.

I'm saving it all up.

For empty cans and beans. 

revenge revenge revenge

Break this down

bring this to the void

a street corner taco vendor

not outside

somewhere outside

away,

is all this uneventful life

a true blessing, or

sadness and suffering--?

a couple with heads down

shoving tapas into pearly mouths

at 10 dollars a piece

with money and no thought,

trimmed violet dress, pretty shoes,

designer button down shirt

spilling gravy, the masses covered,

their children glooming in heaven

which is the handkerchief abyss of existence-- and

in emptiness, 

the waiter mouths a meatball

fuck

is a lie,

the only truth

in a line, drawn in line, typed in bold face

but truth and nothingness

are--

a whim.

Far

far off far off far off
editing this hulking mass
I'm a poet pretending to write novels
about what I have to say

the sun an old man creaking between
high rise apartment buildings
for the unemployed

I've a copy of a book
a bridge unto the afternoon
soon I'll be running miles
soon I'll be dying by the minute

I'm dying now
with everyone else
alone,
I'm happy

untitled

I don't hear much but the church bell
it's 10 o' clock, my eyes are adjusting
to the light, does the void consume us
in lonely hours when sitting alone I think
maybe there are countless parallel universes
where each time we die one linear thread is
created, and each of us lives one life until
old age and thousands of deaths, until
the final death we can't escape and in trying
waste our life on worry and regret, never
understanding that only to others do we ever die
horrible deaths, early deaths, unfair deaths, we exist in the
greater dimension, the suffering, the sadness,
we are one cog in the universal machinery of death
and rebirth, I fear the moment of realization
when I'm dying, I've lived it a thousand lifetimes,
I've seen all my threads, I've broken the wall, I've
been an old man on a porch watching the sun fall, a dying car
crash victim holding his chest thinking "no", a young father
clutching his heart thinking of his abandoned family, the years
he's left behind, In those dreams the church bells never rung,
in those dreams without blue sky, it's 10 o' clock I hear the
echo of silence, and the clanging, ringing, life
outside.

More Western Haiku

Felix the cat
smiles with no teeth
silently on walls

Day old iced coffee
draws rings on my desk
in the shade

There's no expiration
on an old blue moon
when it's empty and washed

black rusted pipe
on white reflective roof
a lonely arrow to heaven

In one hundred years
we'll graze like cattle
behind barbed-wire fences

Maybe when you go
to Paris in the winter
there's nothing to do but look

under my sleepy cat
a sheet of cardboard
an empty box crumbled

when you wake up at noon
no clouds and faded blue
sky has that afternoon look

I think of your body
in the cool breeze
tanned and warm to touch

above your smile is lovely
orbs of the void truth
crystal depths and black ocean

Step Ladder

I have seen the laugh lines,
the bitter tries, all cuddled up
upon your bedside, it's something
somehow I'll never regret, it's
little kids and anarchy when they
haven't discovered the concept yet,
I broke a window throwing a baseball
bat, it was my neighbors and I was 8
years old; he murdered stray cats
I found them on dry pavement in the summer,
I broke his window and he deserved it
little cats done nothing and only a few
months old, down the street a wolf
eyed my legs hungrily, he was a beautiful dog,
a happy dog, he was 8 feet tall from hind legs to
nose, now someway I'm very old, 27 years old
and what was I like as a little boy? Why can't I remember
what I thought, who I was, because I'm ethereally
nothingness, going to die, growing to die, learning to die
will I remember how I am now dying an old man
alone on his bed? What voices will I hear?
Probably nothing, but that's okay in the void, same void I
pull this thought out of, the same nothing and suffering
the same lost love, the same last dime in my pocket

Preparation

I figured getting a
few flannel shirts and
maybe some old boots for the trip
would be a good idea,
but it was already cold out
so I had to get to the
thrift store bundled
up, I've got a month left
to prepare to run around
america looking like a logger