faces

I wish I had a face for every day. 
I could keep them in a jar like 
  Eleanor Rigby
trade in my old face and
    mold a new one into place
when I wanted a change.

Then no one would know what I was thinking, and I could hide behind expressionlessness and I could say anything without pretending to believe the bullshit coming out of my mouth. (You're a jackass and you know I know it.)

life is easier on drugs

i fold down into myself,
   the secret to eternal life--

so vague, the results come up
in pieces, like the puzzle of your heart
scattered in hidden places; i'd never guess
the password. you locked down
locked away
everything i grasped for

i hate you
pacing every night looking for exactly
the right thing--
you must know every thing's wrong.

ghosts shadow the walls:
the ghosts of elephants
and strangled infants.

you know

 i pretend to be sane
because madness would break
me

[to be refined]

heartbreak november
you pull me in
    one side falls into
the redemption of a meltingman, the
other back to the glowing eyes of
saints, where i will not be saved even--
avemaria
      -- then 
will i return, or tumble forward

amnesia heartbreak

someone told me,
      we are alive because we forget the moments when we died.

... so why do i remember you so well?

Shameless

  Stamp your feet on
the dirty floor, bare feet, bare mind (simple)
flung back--bare--
at least you’ve gotten your diamonds
 (completely naked)
lying on the floor, lying
to me saying Never had it this good before--
now where’s the money haven’t had a smoke in
Ages ten twenty where, save me
two-edged sword double sexy
 (twice as achey-breaky)--
Choking on your artificial bones, where
Does the silicon end where
do you begin?

disproven

unedit this 
un        
                         poetic thing, try to 
make it worse, unpolished--
      unpretentious tihsllub on the page--

unintentionally naked, soul-baring, honest. 
   you cannot be something you intended, for
once you start out, you'll never get
to the end. 

I wonder why things
have to be so difficult, so stiff, so guarded; 
all 
              I asked was for an unassuming  prayer to you--
don't know who I'm talking to. 

I'll try again tomorrow, when
     everything is new and the dry strands of grass push up
 into the sky again, determined
to prove they are alive. 

suddenly

you look at the ground, and
drown in

(except you're really thinking about poetry, aren't you-- looking from the outside in, revelling in the way you cannot see the coffin, words pouring like old coffee from your pen. your hand twitches, but you make a motion to lift your Kleenex to deadened eyes again, every second too poetic, too tragic. bask in it. you're a fool, a poet, but then what poet isn't a fool trading food for ink, crawling on the ground to post graffiti on it-- no wonder writers get jackshit when the money is inconsequential, and all that matters are the)

words
unspoken, no matter how hard you stu-
tter, like an old car, trying to jump start and 
falling
into 
graceless darkness
(it served you well before).

overheard: 
none of this makes sense.