they make maps a’plentyfilled with trails ‘n routesthat’re supposed to lead homeso it’s saidor, leastwise, so I been told. been told, too,home, home is where the heart is,you carry thatwherever you go. meI took a trowel to the dirtsomewhere in Kansas‘n carried thatthen I started followin’ politics‘n dropped it backtwice as quick. maybe,maybe,with the way …
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Untitled #171 (2015)
the storm is callingi grew it inside my chestbut now the billowing skygives voice to what i could not. there is nothing i wouldn’t to not feel thisbut until then i’ll worship the lightningchant with the wind.
Untitled #172 (2015)
For all my love of words, i can’t seem to say the rightto shake the shake from your bonesto hold you close despite the distanceand whisper those wordless comforts For all my love of words, i could never show you around myselfa guided tour of my childhood and to the left you’ll see the man …
Untitled #173 (2015)
writing poetryis a little likeloving a godthat doesn’t believe in you. writing anythingis a lot likechanting ata bookof psalms. silence has no ears,but god does it listen.
Untitled #169 (2015)
here i amwriting another shitty poeminstead of sleeping and who could blame mewhen all the bathrooms in my dreamsare irregular mazeswhen the pounding at the doorare the undead children i’ve lostwhen there’s never the right pathwhen even the sex is terrifying. the best dreamwas the sound ofyour breathyour heartbeatin my earas isweat drenchedpanickedheld you closeand …
Untitled #17 (2014)
There are times when I look at you and the words just… I mean it’s not you …
Untitled #170 (2015)
I’m sitting in a reststop bathroomwaiting for the American Dream to wash its goddamn hands.toe-tappin’arms crossedtired.Long drive.It’s been a long fucking drive,andyoucanhurryitupjustalittle, don’t ya think? suds ‘n scrubs ‘n suds some more. every agonizing second crawlsskin-deep{beautiful} i’m tired of bein’ so gruff found i need it ‘specially with Dream likes to beat me to …
Untitled #167 (2015)
it would be far from the only bordersthat divide me from you. calloused fingers,rounding edges,you speak of me like some craftsman when the only craft i knowis the mad chase of ideasthe making of little pointless thingsthat still mean so much to mefor all the confidence and swaggeri’ve carried through work latelyas i’m sucked into …
Untitled #168 (2015)
when I stopped believing in God,there was no crisisno long protracted conflict. I suppose I was madsaid some things I {did} meanand we went our separate ways. I still spoke to them on the bad nightsthe nights when no one else could listenbut they never said anything. Suppose I could have hurt them.Doubt it,but anything’s …
Untitled #165 (2015)
pluck the truths thensky-blue petals that flutter to barren ground somewhere i learned to hate my anxieties to be ashamed let them sit caught underfootslide into pavement crackswhere black ants …
