Thursday, December 5, 2013


It is this desiccation of self that wears us into these thin places.
This constant battle with ever-resurgent enemies that never tire.
 And we’re out here like some bumps on a log waiting for the next onslaught-
Bring the noise
Our voices will be suffocated in the smog and scattered to the wind
even the train has no respect for the dead
we will not be remembered, we will not mean shit in the years that follow us
we would be lying to ourselves to think otherwise
we would be betraying ourselves to think that we’ll ever reach absolution
but I wonder often, why you teach it
proliferating the idea while despising it, while harping on the invalidity giving it cause for celebration
vindicating through advertisement
at the same time; I am jaded
I am corrupted through my hate
in this contempt
I am addicted, in a way that rings true beyond myself
Like so many fiends, seeking the blood of the innocent in the night
I cannot be satiated in this way
It would be like a vampire to a robot
our souls are the butts of jokes
We will never see heaven.   

Thursday, November 14, 2013

the godless invisceral

some articulate helix
words crumble in this plane
will of men wanes in the darkness
Where they are faced to confront
All of the realities that lies beyond this single sheet world
my reality, willing to extinguish others
My reality willing to triumph into the night
Willing to conquer and conquest over, and within, and under…
What exactly?
My reality; unable to conquer itself
Unable to find the batteries after the flood
After the combat that led our ship so far astray into this vaguely charted sea
when I say the words
The response is cheap, and honest
the truth is the truth
violence is real in a way that this invisceral sphere is not
this life is not even sustainable-
written in arcane language that becomes obsolete by the time its printed
 There are places that your god cannot reach
there are depths to this world that are reaching for you
in light and in darkness
it is unfair and unlikely that things will change
it is unfair and unlikely that things will remain as they are
all the unraveling of this world will be trite and forgotten
in the instant all present realities are extinguished  

Monday, October 28, 2013


As if unraveling mistakes in ambition
 ambitiously unraveling mistakes
pulling from within, by pulling externally
the term for which penetrates this reality
as I invest myself into external things
investing upon investment
and penetrate through time
like a worm boring through thick earth
as those before me experienced
a transmutation of those feelings that we once held dear
a transformation of belief that once mattered in a past life
learning to live forever by learning that life is meaningless
becoming immortal by dying
but within this reality
there are doors to the others
and some of them lead nowhere
and some of them lead to strange and forgotten places
and all of them lead to places external to this reality
as external as my reality must be to you
in the way that the mind can be manipulated and feelings can betray us
realities open and close all around you
if we could only open our eyes to see them.

Friday, September 6, 2013

September Harvest

It’s come to this.
more peace. More peace of mind
jutting suddenly to the left 
as if being struck by an invisible object
obsessed with carnage
violence and impunity
like oil seeping into tiny fissures  
and all I have to say
The thing about power is: it’s not even

Where radiation pours down on my terrain incessantly;
With a match this would be a firestorm
and I bleed water here
at a great expense that cannot be fully understood
in the way that I love to vandalize things
is not so apparent to the layman
it takes a lot to lift oneself
and it’s always proportional 
It’s not what you want it’s what you need.
And you Fucking Need to understand this

As if each foreign noise is cause for suspicion
There is nowhere to run, that matters
As I am constantly overwhelmed by the thought that I cannot articulate how I feel in this reality
It drives me fucking crazy
In a world of piety and righteousness, (I am the Golgari)
We defeat things by making a mockery of them
And seek to entrench ourselves; so that others will not make a mockery of us
the answer is apparent : : take the initiative
in any direction
that leads you where you need to be 
along this road, I have learned to exhume some kind of strength
because a twitching hand sequesters a shaking one,
in a way like chasing a phoenix through the dark places of your mind
becomes an insatiable search for perfection
like crushing a snowball into ice

the problem that presents itself then is a systemic one:
practice pursues perfection forever
you can never do anything too right
a fatal blow can never be too clean, a tree can never grow too  well
(a love can never be too perfect)
  like all nerves, they must make connections
and in this fractalated universe
the dimensions that must be traversed
are difficult to express with words
in a frivolous attempt to conceptualize

a thing that must be experienced  

Monday, August 26, 2013


It all comes out as the same note.
The same space where everything seems to be of one color
Where the most adventurous dreams end in a time-consumptive lesson
And all that was and is are the same
Passing some thoughtless nexus
traveling through entrophy
As time destroys us all
Each to our own design
The madness blooms under feral sun
Suspicions boil where affirmation once held sway
Under the reign of the sun
Everything becomes a competition

As the proliferation of self is all-consuming

Tuesday, August 20, 2013


This constant ballet of resources
Money there, funding here, gas, food, weed, blow
It’s a life of constant allocation
When I want to understand more than I already do
In this void from which all things come
That needs to expressed: like an infection
Where everyone’s right. I’m just being lazy.
But I too know. That this is all nothing.
When the thunder breaks the sky
Breaking through everyone’s
sense of self-importance.
I have not learned anything if not to save.
 subsist on little in this desert of violence and meth
control is a farce. Like human constructs built on constructs
dreams within realities. We are the forgotten. We are the underclassed. We are the expendables in a time of excess.
And yet we persist indulgently.
some fevered corruption of reality that sustains itself
in the way that self-actualization
becomes the last kind of orgasm you need
but don’t want to have

Sunday, August 11, 2013

In the dark

Behind the coyote lines
The hinnies if the young burros fall silent
The as I stand there
In the darkness overwhelmed by an emotion
Akin to terrified. Akin to fear.
in a large drain some doppelganger
unnervingly emulates what I do.
what brought me here:
It was the cinderblock courtyard in the middle of the night
Lit by one single halogen bulb that hummed into the encircling darkness
Generators underneath steel plates
Guarded a quarter mile to the west by novice security
What brought me here:
curiosity greater than anxiety that dominates
every space in my mind
behind me headlights don’t even realize they are perusing
and I sweat to get away,
to upper ground that they never seem to see  

Friday, July 19, 2013

Unable to express their own demise
As innocent as children that reach out yearningly
Their hearts are so haplessly underdeveloped
And I am not a good player in this
recognizing your own shortcomings
is the worst.
But it’s true.
Its honest and it’s self-actualizing
And it’s uncomfortable

we prevail. In such a way
on heavy tracks
they saunter
into the unknown
unable to perceive the forest for the trees

I ask myself
What my role in this matter should be.


Monday, July 15, 2013


The blue hour
beginning so suddenly
that it could hardly be said that it happened at all
the fireflies  with their persistent
hallucintationesque sex ritual
parodying something that I have been so shy to say
the kodama came out
as children looking for players in a kickball game.
it made me smile through my being
I had to graciously decline
“I am too heavy to play in your dimension”
But I will be coursing through the green for the rest of the night
I will proliferate with you.
In you.
As you.

In the very least; I can see you.
I can feel you.
And while I would desperately love to play.
The mosquitos drink my human flesh.
The ticks transmit diseases to me in this reality.
But I will join you soon enough
Share in this night with me
As we wander through the dark

into other dimensions
slipping from this one  

Sunday, June 23, 2013


Under the raincross
The tears that fail to fall
we share a cough
in the pollution that never ceases
the roaring freight breaking up an otherwise still night
with horns that fracture the loyalties of this
forgotten realm

how have I come here?
What am I fighting- in this tragedy
Am I another player
Some bounding knight, some marching pawn
As we are all plainswalkers in this desert of queens
none are as useful as the hoof and talon
nothing is easy in the hot desert wind
chapping your face and hands into a submissive blue-collar slave.

Under the raincross
Oranges are crushed by vacant warehouses
Tweakers grift lawnmowers, bicycles and stereos
traffic asphyxiates all the dreams
nonexistent money strangles children of their futures
as if they had some other option to enlightenment
beyond the sale of their flesh
but I am not one to talk
 I cannot afford to shed water in this way

And we worship it,
Here; the bell and the glyph,
That never make any rain
Though we pray to them as if they could
As if all the deference in the world would save us
Begging for water in the name of some misplaced loyalty
The sound and the symbol cast their shadow
Fetishizing everything the burning heat touches
We don’t pray for water as much as we pray for cathartic tears

Remove us from the hurt that we bring upon each other.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013


Such survivors, troopers
“bro, I’m glad you’re here.”
In this small sandbox
With all these posers
I needed someone that knew how to separate the
Men from the boys
In this realm
Where coyotes reign and wolves starve
Deer explode on the freeways under trucks
That ship plastic

Tattooed and lazy
You fuckers sleep for days at a time
Hibernate right through summer
through fall and most of winter
constantly sleeping
…but sleeping less than those around here
rising early in this perverse spectacle
like a twelve-year-old with morning wood
in the way that infants fondle themselves  
you sick fucks.
With the trapping of the scarabs
In that big satellite-dish pussy
With its adjoining semen ball-pit
Because your intersexed
Interspecies debacle,
With that 23” gigantic-ass genital… thing.
that smells like, Ass.

  No matter what the cause or the case
we will all do what it takes for release
not all of us will know it
and to those, I am sorry
to seek it
on our own terms
to win our own battles
to live and die by the terms we see as necessary
and to love in the way that we choose
I have no valid judgments in this world
only the will to contribute.         

Monday, April 29, 2013

the dream

Under the black flag
We listen.
 In the thunder of the early morning
The verses unfold
Deeply through the various layers of this
Psychic universe
I heard them
In a tongue so foreign
Beyond this realm, beyond these vanities
Striking a chord that
reverberated within
driving all this cheap thoughtless crap
retroactively into itself
as a mirror that cannot withhold
the deluge that inhabits  
all the spaces between us
the rising tide, the waxing and waning crescent
dictating all that this world was ever meant to be
slipping away into the minutia
that would later define an existence  


Saturday, April 27, 2013

i don't think you know

 between our two lives
there is also the life of
the cherry blossom

Where the mushrooms grow
on the thought of your voice
in the yearning hours of the morning
where I want nothing more than a taste
of your heart
in my ancient, dank parts where the rafters collapsed eons ago
I offer you the same freely
with no presupposition
in the way that I say “tiger”
I mean…
There was only ever you.

With every minute of life that slips away
The only thing killing me
Is the way our two lives unfold
Between us, dividing us,
this world quartering and refracting you from me
I cannot deny it; that lasting ache,
My yearning heart through so many dimensions
So many words -text messages –photos

of your life that I am not a part of
of my life that you are not a part of

sakura fade and rise and fall
upon an ocean of what I feel for you
in the depth of my water
there is a voice that cannot be heard
shrieking out into a world
asphyxiating under its own smog
the samara flutter into the darkness
in such an uncertain future
nothing astonishes
save for
how amazing I think you are

Friday, April 12, 2013

where angels shed their wings

Behind this screen
Beyond this imposing appeal
Something that makes its point
Something that is real

maybe making sense is overrated
Maybe alotta things
Where the red skies burn
Where angels shed their wings

Proliferate this play  
like any of it mattered
this world where scars come easy
hearts get shattered

like knots that are binding
like a voice that never sings
sustaining a sphere of nothing
in a land of toppled kings

withheld as the treasure
to make the rich feel flattered
in this land without voice
as if any of it mattered

Where angels shed their wings
Hearts get shattered
in a land of toppled kings
as if any of it mattered

more than the words
more than the verse
beyond this realm
it feels less like a curse 

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

ballet of the ghetto

They dance like paper dolls
each locked in a waltz that cannot be undone
shouting comments about heroin, jail, and the various profanities that rule their lives
of powerful ego they have been made
forged in violence, made strong through the decades
by any number of needles and lines
or smoke and chemicals that have framed their existence
pit bulls that wander the streets in search of idealized freedom
seeking some kind of solace in their self-reliance
as they sleep on the street just outside of their fence
strays that have nowhere else to go
find refuge behind the tarpaulin-coated gate
street dogs find refuge here
when their owners vanish into the back of a squad car, never to be heard from again
as that same gestapo crawls down the street religiously
worshiping their paper god with an assault rifle at the ready, as if superior
in this twisted joke where the trains never stop for an instant
where sirens and helicopters rule the land and air
out at the edge the burros call out
crying in the darkness to a land that was once barren but filled with definite life
as the memories of what once was vanish
into the sound of a helicopter   
under the light-polluted sky    

Thursday, February 14, 2013


(i understand this number)

I like to imagine that
In the beginning
There was a choice
They we all lined up
And asked, what direction that they would like to go
And they all drew lots
And some said they wanted connection before all else
Some said that they wanted closeness
Some wanted power
Some wanted understanding

And it was true, they too could have any measure of anything that they sought
Like any number of innumerable things
And so the lots were decided
And they had to roll with it
 And those that sought connection were connected,
but they were weak.
they were distant and detached
and those with power lost understanding
and those with understanding lost closeness
and so forth; a million times over
(not that I understand this number)

I understand being Human.
When a vitamin hits the bottom of your stomach
Nausea, bringing me to my heels on the back porch  
and it’s trying to come back up
those little huffing breaths right before the deluge
and then it passes. Strangely.
I understand being human.
I didn’t give a shit
about the nettles that were
to get vomited all over
the little seedlings
comfortably nestled in the winter soil
and I cannot care for the cattle
that were butchered a thousand miles away.
For which I have eaten.
It was already decided
like the ladder that was already in position
Long before we even realized there was one
And somehow evaded entropy
Long enough
For this to be considered
A state of lower energy   


Tuesday, February 5, 2013


 Come play in my dungeon
Come hide away with me
Down here in the darkness
Is the place you need to be.

Come play in my dungeon
Where I will take you in
And hold you like a virgin
While bathing you in sin

we shall strip you of your clothes
we shall tie you up in chains
remove you from the monotonous
absolve you of your pains

Does that hurt a little?
Does it make you want to scream?
Are you feeling frightened?
Relax its just a dream

It’s a dream that you've been having,
since you were a little girl
That some black knight would carry you,
Out and away of this plain world.

As you have dreamt of me before
I can see it in your eyes
That undeserving gaze you have
Fails to mask your lies

But you my dear can earn it
You can take something here from me
An experience not so forgettable
An experience in which you’ll see

I will clothe you in a black banner
I will nestle you in trust
As if a beautiful jewel
Polished in wet lust

I will break you like a branch
I will draw you like the sea
To this ache you yearn for
That will bring you back to me

There is more to it than the trivial
Do you think I’ll break your soul?
As you feign to realize
Your flesh is only a fraction of the whole

Experience it quite deeply
mind the noises that you've heard
should you need your freedom
now you know the word 

Sunday, January 13, 2013


Where the ailanthus grow large
Larger than I have ever seen
In this place I inhabit
Like some poverty dream

Datura are running
as fast as they can
their anthem is stunning
in this forgotten land

we buy our food
nonexistent in fund
lying about ailments
and things we’ve never done

conditioned in this place
its common in this land
to cry out like a child
and then claim to be a man

the roads are hopelessly broken
where dreams do not take flight
playing this serenade
with the people of the night

in the night Datura open,
louder than the train
silent in the darkness
relinquishing us again

the tears for the fallen
that haunt this place so deft
for a world that wastes nothing
for a realm with nothing left

within these cold nights
all that slips away
coyotes carrying on
for the coming of a new day

Friday, January 4, 2013

Under the hunter/still in the hood

Underneath the great hunter
The trains roll by, their horns cutting through the night, like the powerfully-dull whack of a machete
Across the street drug dealers …do their thing.
I hear dogs
whimpering in high pitched squeaks

like nettles stinging my ears
and seem so much like a scarecrow
standing in the yard
Leaning on my shovel, in awe of how many people will buy a pint of hard liquor before noon.
Dumbfounded by the regally blind, that constantly mob past
Unable to see the desert tobacco, for more than anything than a passing glance
The ephedra grows unruly as the nights and days merge
Conflicted within extremes that they will shed integrity
As their skin, leaving a crumpled mass in the skipping sand
Willing to do whatever is necessary
Surviving in this world for another day 

and I am among them
i am afflicted
landing like some windblown seed
from a jungle
exactly like this one
I am glad we have shared in this experience
because I have seen how orchids are as cactus
with innocence obliterated
on those balmy nights
where our flowers bloom
to the sounds of human chaos
offspring are of secondary importance
provided there's enough water
as we travel by night to conserve energy
our skin becoming leathery and worn
as we rub it upon the fabric of this realm
the smell of colitas
the distant crack of gunfire
somewhere in the distance the burros
run around under the stars and the coyotes try to eat them
occasionally you can hear of their victory
like whoop-whoop of some neighbor going to jail
under the flashing lights
the air pollution that lingers
like the ringing of the trains brakes splitting the air.
the hills rise like dark islands out of a never ending sea of lights
somewhere, it is all as it should be

Creeping Shadows

the shadows creep slowly
The road home is long
the bass has all but faded
we loiter to carry on

the letters still wet
plastered upon plastic walls
feeling nothing but prowess
echo a helicopter’s call

this is war
for the art we defend
the consequence of all-
in a life we never lend

it is the song of an alpha
the verse of king
in the shadows of a voice
with words that none ever sing

never backing down
but knowing when to run
in the blue hour of memory
snapping as the recoil of a gun

like the pawns in some game
hidden within this façade
as ants are to men
as men are to god

like some twisted folk hero
some cheap marionette
hiding in plain sight
where we check and then bet

make no mistake in this game
the stakes will run high
the end is always the same
across the river where they lie

the song carries on
silently in the night
with the words of my hands
sitting just out of sight