Oh here I am, old friend.
On a shared computer, in the basement of a cold Wisconsin house.
Listening to outtakes of Aretha Franklin.
Drinking the last beer of the night,
letting crankiness wear off.
S l o w l y.

I had a better way to put it, but at least I have something to put.
I have become a street preacher that promises nothing and in doing so attempts everything.

It is not easy to try dating now, after all this time...fuck dating, right?

Am I reverse Benjamin Buttoning it?
It's a thing.

*why you being so sarcastic*Sharquise says I'm not so filled ( Read more... )

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tears for animals

I am sick of the sound of people yelling at one another. What brings on such a feeling? It's not envy, exactly (envy of what? "Saturdays"?) ... and it's not exactly distaste. I'm thinking now it's probably fatigue. A sickness that feels much like dizziness. Too many times the same thing.

In the good moments it does not feel like waiting for ( Read more... )

Anyone who thinks gulls are ugly, doesn't know what elegant turns they can make in the air.

Criss-crossing each other diagonally in a very high part of the sky.

Catching air above the vultures, who are constantly hungry.

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In my dreams I skip school with Rael Howes and we find our way out to her mother's new house.

There is frost on the sand when I open my eyes and Jack is not in the bed.

Jack is in his box and when I look closer I see that he has scratched his face open again.

The scab that once was is no longer there anymore.

Go inside a stone
That would be my way.
Let somebody else become a dove
Or gnash with a tiger's tooth.
I am happy to be a stone.

From the outside the stone is a riddle:
No one knows how to answer it.
Yet within, it must be cool and quiet
Even though a cow steps on it full weight,
Even though a child throws it in a river;
The stone sinks, slow, ( Read more... )

Alright, okay, I am appreciating this interview again after watching that damned movie with James Franco.  Do not fail to notice how significant again is to the previous sentence, how I cannot resist defending my writerly street cred.

I was fifteen once.  I still recall how tentatively I dipped into the City Lights Anthology my father had brought ( Read more... )

It only has claws.

Wrong!  He's too shellfish.

Har har har.