sun shines black every night

i
i left this land three years before,
i took my clothes
and
i
i dreamed up a pet to love me
unconditionally,
i
i walked for miles alone in your arms,
i thought of crying,
but it seemed too hard.
i
i always wonder why i can't remember
what it's like to feel.
i
i stutter in my sleep, but only because
my bones are so cold.

i'm starting to see

bad poetry is like
the wrong note in the right song,
full of expression
(maybe a bit too long),
crying way too much like the
best friend who's always drunk.
everywhere.

i could sit alone all day and wait
just to live,
alone and unsure.

wait.
just live. i'm sure.

off the tip of montauk point

i never saw the lights
until they all went out.
i never lived until the water filled my lungs.
i'll take my risks,
wring my shallow wrists
until they're blue
and i can smile again at you.

they call 'em rogues

in the somewhere
between my eyes,
lie lots of lies,
wrapped in the mystery of
where did i go?

sandy shores
left to the martyrs to
bury themselves,
parapets flooding with
cigarettes and booze and the like.
i'd drown if i set foot
on that land.

or
broken lands,
a burning strip of sunset
below the confederations lines,
where movie stars walk
with their eyes behind their minds.
i live in bombed-out huts,
stuck in ruts
'til the bureau forces me alive.

where did i go?
among stars and the moon
i've lost me too soon for goodnight.

i wouldn't

it's cold among the sludge.
i can practically touch my
self loathing, inspiration, desperation.
get me out.
it's been so long since you've let me out.

life between bites

you don't even hover
when this happens.
you fall slowly, like sludge.
you grab at the oil on my skin,
you ridicule me from within.

on these nights,
i find myself lying
just to catch some sleep -
escapism in a capsule,
morsel, syringe,
the remnant of brevity
(exclusivity)
and the bitter part of the start
of something new
(i still haven't seen that with you).

i would die for you,
if i needed to.
(and not in some petty way. i would weigh
your mind on a scale and protect you all).

a thousand barrels of waste
(add that to your waist)
and now shower will rid me of it
(except this acid rain)
only you
(but not really)
can pull the sun up again.

inhibitions

the same old song
ringing through the same old flame,
rhyming with words that stick
to the roof of my mouth
like your name, your games
the fun wears away
when i realize how much
i don't know,
like the smell of your breath
in the morning-
roses,
rancor,
whose book is this,
anyways?