some 'slpainin

i can't believe i'm here again.

my angled eyes and smoke breath, beating heart.

but it's different this time,

see, my hearts not good,

but it's not bad either.

it's just that my mind is fucked

by ideas of romance and shaded dreams of writers and smokey sidewalks.

alleys and caves and late night drives to the airport

and the perfect views from apartment windows.

i can't believe my back's not broke

bear this burden

and burn the ashes.

throw it into the fire and bend it.

mold it and shape it and send me on my way.

find a breath in the morning air

and wake up to the morning ashes.

in other news: it's been awhile.

find a comfortable routine and throw a wrench in it.

change your life.

keep your heart beating and your mind racing.

slow it. freeze it. leave it behind.

here's what i'm leaving:

here are some memories:

I

don't want to take your heart,
and i don't want to be history.
i don't want to be the west coast,
and i don't want to be the northern lights.
i just want resolution.
i just want understanding.
i just want a wrist watch that doesn't work.
i want a minute hand that ticks back and forth
between 3 and 5.
i want a breath of morning air off of rainy cement
and i don't want anything anymore.

For Oliver,

so happy birthday
the poets cry themselves to sleep
knowing that one more hit
and one more drink
will bring their next line
but the pennies stack
on the coffee table
and add up to a dollar and 27 cents.
only enough for coffee
and maybe a puff of cigarette smoke
maybe a headache
and a single out of tune piano key.
believe me.
every day the seer wakes up
and wishes he didn't
and everyday the listener wakes up
and is glad he does.
but the lonely man,
who raps his fingers
thrice on each side of his pant-legs
and rubs his upper gums
with the tip of his tongue,
lights a square in the shoddy lit alley
like a character in a movie he's seen
or will see.
his hands tired and mind wandering
shakes the dust from jeans
and sucks venom from wounds
to walk three blocks home
to a sleeping wife and cat
and he feels like a man
standing still in a piss puddle
dissapating, draining,
feigning free thought.
only wanting straight talk
from friends and family
and finding nothing but bones
and dust under his feet
but he can stand to be damaged
but damn it.
he can't help but hurt sometimes
when he slips his shoes off
at the end of the day.
he takes another slow drag
and figures, "fuck it,
i want beauty in every word,
and love in every dead star,
i need grace in pen,
and a place to lay my head
when i can't lift it."

Jesus Christ, it's

been quite a while,

my bare knees touching 

the smooth cedar of the kneeling pew.

Jesus Christ, it's

almost like i/you/we 

are dying all over again

because this pit in my stomach keeps growing larger

but maybe its the pabst 

or the swift kick in the ass 

i got

when i realized that everything 

will be okay.

everything will be okay.

breathe.

twice.

slower.

Jesus Christ it's

like my hair's on fire

and the only water to put it out

is the holy water on the altar 

but how can i live without it's burning purge

of sins against my scalp.

but breathe.

twice.

slower.

i lived twice already and still nothing moves me.

i can't believe i just used ass in a poem.

right now,

i want to scream from a second floor window,

scratch that.

i just screamed from a second floor window.

silly things,

like watching you fall asleep

and kissing you goodbye in the morning.

and i'm sorry but this is going to be harder than i thought.

and goddamnit i miss you so much.

and i wish you would have showed me that one.

i promise i'd like it.

and if what we're left with is computer screens with words 

that only each other really read,

then i'm sorry i can't say these things to you.

i wish you could have just taken the picture then,

i would have been smiling,

but i,

i don't do too much smiling these days.

this feeling is like a disease ravening the carcass of a deer on the side of the road,

it's not like you can see it

but even from a distance you can tell it hurts like hell.

i guess,

i could've seen this coming

if i'd looked harder

if i'd upturned every rock

but i've seen what happens to the 

damned and the dying when

they try to take on the world with a 

thorn in paw.

and i've seen what happens to a 

house when the roof

comes crashing down

and the walls still stand

there's just a new view of the sky 

and a new view of the ceiling.

and really i'm just sick of being sad.

it was so good for what seemed like so long.

maybe it'll make me write more.

maybe it'll make me cross three fingers

behind my back and pray

to wake up.

maybe i'll take the fucking hint.

maybe i'll be fine soon enough.

maybe it will freeze these fingers to the bone

and they'll just sto