forgot to breathe

what did you do to
make it so hard on yourself, kid
it doesn't need to be so hard
so why are there tears in seven-p.m. droplets
rainy evening songs?
come on, kid, tell me where
did you go wrong

dylan-voiced, ragged edges
to bring you back to earth
i tell ya, it doesn't really work because
you were never really here,
were you

i love your dry eyes and your
mind, it's good for adventures
there is lots of you i like
but you can't keep the beat

and some part of me won't stop saying
you can't take the heat.

magic 22 (part 2)

in seventeen years, i sit unmarked
pilate, me
i killed you in five different locations
but i killed myself more
and it's not my fault
i keep saying, i keep rowing
it's hard because there is no shore

and this big stupid river, road, whatever
it doesn't matter
faker than fake, cornmeal and flakes
better in words than in song or
reality, give me up to someone, something
but do it before i forget to dream

ten thousand goodbyes, and
this is the hardest.

i dream of the city, the ocean
i dream of arms on mine
i dream of your smiles, words, memories
unsolicited
nothing else

there are only pages and headstones
where we lived, charred smiles
like candlelight lashes
i want to believe, i do
i want to believe in mending a broken connection
love, too. i want to know it all

sometimes. when life hits me square in the jaw
when i accidentally run you over.
only then, but it happens.
i keep on looking at this passenger seat
and i keep on wondering

"who used to sit here?"

and of course, the answer's air
shouldn't i be used to it by now?

flickering freak (part 1)

sometimes. when black and blue sit
in the lipids
(down in the depths)
when i can't bear to smile through you.
only then, but it's enough.

with strangers, it's easy
line 'em up and knock 'em down
knock one back. it's
on me, today
empty bottles and balancing bar stools
i wore my cut-offs
because i am.

so i guess someday we'll meet again
back at the start of this
same dead end
(oh, and thanks again)
and i'll be driving, diving
that's all i am

(i'm a)

heart person

hey missile, straw man
where were you going
on saturday last?
because fire is fire, no
matter why
sometimes we're just soft

endings are hard, you know
i can watch the start
the finish line grows until
four years down
where did we go?

it's world war three down here
this vast, metal life
like boxes, fish bowls, thin film
i could never dream of dreaming big
but i did
i did

they all laughed

i dreamed i was a sunset
in or on your tongue
these sanguine spires calling
from above and
oh, i went to find my future
in the needle of an eye, i let
the voices follow me from grave to grave to

sighs upon the last green valley
smokers traveling in a row
i couldn't find my body in the
cold september snow, oh child
child, give me the benefit of

everything was raining when last i
returned from home, believe you me, child
i can never go
no matter where i wander
these hills all point that way
they catch me, i'm falling

in case you didn't know
from zenith to horizon
but i will never go.

setting

sometimes there is glass between me
splintered off in every grain of hair
and doubt, it's like the world
in your nails, this sun
it hits you just right
because you write it
about as good as it can be

shell-shocked, sea wind
the salt in my bones, it feels all wrong
frenetic, frantic i'm a max i'm a
seaside lunatic these days
i want to feel
do you know how that feels?

it doesn't matter how much salt i see
this part of me wants to love
how many dishes i break
and this part wants to be loved
how many times i try
sometimes it's all glass, all windows
all screens and glares

corn king

strange dyslexia, suffering
mucus mouth
that will bring us back to doe
in the headlights scatter horizon
throat culture of capitalism
sinking through my eyes, my
scratched-cd, dead light dance
telling me, "hey. come back"
but i can't.

something in me shouts
every car alarm awakens
these clouds, they are me and i
i pay you back in guilt

undeserving tulips, undeserving
just write me already
do it once and get it right this time
i am no
baby loan, babbling on
not anymore, not this time, not now
i'd rather not be wrong ten
years in a row
like planted corn, corn king, baby
sinusoidal happy ending
i wonder if he'll be happy at eighty

i've got bugs on my hand
cover all and cover nothing
i'd feel more at home with a bloody rag
dramatizing delirious dilemmas
knowing what's what, what's when
international affairs
but of course, you know
there is no then

it's true. sometimes you are my favorite.
(and other times it's you, or you
or you or you again. multiple sclerosis
brainchild, brainseed grow grow grow
things would be easier if you would just glow)
and then sometimes this all feels
obligatory, purgatory
you are all my judge.