butchered vines

foolish he was
he let her follow
didn't let her go
their innocence
and blemishes
were cutthroat.

dreams collapse
lightweight
breaks
things are made
to be waste
they are meant
many deaths
daily breaths serve
cheap cigarettes
bright nights
turn into afternoons
typos
last night's
last light.

43

it was 43 minutes ago
when i reached for the vitamins
for curing my ill wills
like the doctor with his
fancy degree worth
more money than i'll ever see
described to me
he writes only
for the chemist's eyes
and so i am
simply a circuit on a circuit board
snapping from the tinkering
and swallowing what
they are prescribing
dodging every stray bullet
thought and  escaping from
freight train emotion lanes
with these many numbered days
i am half sleeping
i'm eavesdropping
on my own conversations
strange soft dreams
there is no waking up from
ordinary delusions.

further than we'll ever be

you make me thirsty

like cheap wine

i'm not satisfied

with stationary

we are further than we'll ever be

you make me weak

like i'm permanently ill

i'm not into this type

of analogy

we are further than we'll ever be 

i'm losing time

writing lines

i'm fading into

the shades of an unknown territory

we are further than we can see

This language of emotion
absently reminds me
of situation stanzas that
cause minor deflections
in my intonations
for which I'm not sorry.

her mind is available for hire
like bicycles,
though not as inexpensive.

am i getting younger, i hope so

crawl back into mother's womb
remembering while forgetting
reverse engineering. 

same old shit i tend to write about, now you can read it again, don't act surprised.

The lull in the L of love
gets to me.
I searched
for the reverie,
stupid dream, a silly thing
i wrote many songs
i read many books
i imagined clues
finally
those feelings combined,
those emotions summarized
performed
poorly,
strung together.