the american dream

in a feulsaloudge the gut is made iron
casted steal upon steal

painted barriers
black

gas is made
to divert inward

movements

didactic
but clean

like a stories telling in whisper

the story is not heard in the back
and miss read in the front

causing chain reaction
leaving altitudes

unreachable

signs selling signs
stand unmeasured

in a pirated coterie
of clown and cuff

and the unseen wound festers
in collaborative

mail rooms gaining weight


receptions closed
nervousness

directional indecision

and the stories told
accord are morned

then deified

then sold

for returning the book

i saw the book left on the table. forgetting i let you borrow it a year ago, it was strange to see it. it looked skinny-unread. but maybe that was just the feeling in the room, the corners where cornered, bent, just how fingers like to do it-so it could have been the room. also, the book reminded me of this movie i saw a few months ago. the placement of the book reminded me of how ambiguous the movie was. there was a man. a teacher, of sorts. he taut people how to bake bread in an hour; and in a day, find god. he preached of patience in a robe, thumbing a mini-staff, and talking over heads-and they went there just to not understand. to understand just enough. the current mystery assistant assisting current mysteries for them. under his breath and underneath their robes, when the cameras are turned off. and no one could remember if there was salt in the dough, when i noticed his miser curls. his marine tongue giving over to the forged, nonpareil sickness boiled in his gut; thickened with greed. his scolds, lost in the ears of the half listening daydreamers giving themselves to him. but i liked the book, and the movie too; but separately. and i wanted to say, "thank you," for returning the book.

an emo...fuckhead...poem

to the loathing i feel
towards them

with team building exercises
of lies

the constant freelance stabs
at one another

mouths can't know when to stop
because it's too

complicated

and it doesn't involve them

to the riddled dart boards
hanging on every pub wall-

and every experience is special


and the dirty birds that
flock to window seals

looking for nuts
unable to think past what's new

the light is still on

the light that makes it easier for everyone
is on

and will stay on
until the Sun burns

no more 

The toss up
Solitude. Lying soiled
And serpently,
Like the good old days,
Like the times spent in
Thought
When we had time
And time
Had
nevermind
to busy learning how to walk. 
And the days go buy slow enough to
Remember the colors
But not the verb.
And
We can't stop
And
we can't delay
And
We can't let it happen.

Exit Music

i knew i was early
but i didn't want to be late

walking to the door,
i thought,

i would like a building with a door man
they always filled the necessary gap between

inside and out.
i open the door

passively to the next epithet
tally

tallying sober jests

tallied somber jets
clouding the blue

of plans i'm not ready for.

the vacuumed air greets me
disinfection.

my walls appear,
shouldering mask sustainment

lending no advise
and

Exit Music plays
and i listen

and, because the Sun can not
i will account the light

and touch
be touched by it

for that is the arrangement.

as We walk away

as We walk away

you will walk sanctuary directive
steal tent pitched

and comfortable

I will walk coterie scuffs tailing

dragging heals
walking deliberately silent past the shoes you wear

wearing sand
the lips and strings confidently sinking inward

whispering the time to the souls

you really smiled at me once

but your shoes knew the difference
they would not take you to me

they would not allow it
abide a feathers place

hat torn like it is

hats and shoes are not friends
despite what they may think

and i learn
as we all do

to walk
stepping castaway stones
silverback

deliberately past your shoes
silently

past your souls

and smile
as We walk away

The kids

I don't remember 7 o'clock very much
Getting up for school

shower
Poptarts
No eye contact on the bus

We were the kids your Senators loved

Stupid
Impressionable
Hungry for toys

And why not
It will be the kids that save
Our asses

The kids
Will save their own