lashed out
in poetic
rage
at the world
he lived in
because no one
else
would,
so he did
what only
he could,
and lashed out
in
poetic rage
at the sad
world
losing itself to
the same beast that
always brings
empires
down.

i
abadoned
the flowers
long ago
wandering around
observing love…

this is
all i can do
(give
you
poetry),

is
there anyone else out there
who has a heart like mine
they have to dump all over a blank page
like blood pigment paint?

i
give praise
to
life
on
a planet
that
spent it’s entire
evolution
to get to us now.

direct the pain of the world onto me.
i think anyone would
take one for the team like Jesus
if it meant the end
of world suffering.

I am a
tree in the
forest of consciousness
constantly growing
branches and leaves
gathering as
much light
as i can
illuminating
emptiness
and
darkness
with
knowledge
and
experience.

Carbonated
colored water.
Sweet sugar diabetes inducing
factory juice.
Syrupy nectar of
industrialization.
Let a body make it’s blood
out of that.
Hemoglobin
made of
high fructose
corn syrup.

Here’s an anecdote:
I was drunk at
a party once
and overheard someone say,
“The mass consumption
of corn based products
is altering our DNA.”
And remember feeling horror for a moment at the thought
of it:
soon
we’ll be growing ears of corn out of all slightly damp
body cavities.

it’s all happening according
to my masterplan;
of my completely introverted
18-19 year old mind.

better things are happening too.
“unforseen fortunes
await you”
i read on a fortune
i found in the street
after work in chinatown–
seems to be revealing itself.

chinatown
might be an interesting place
to get a loft in.
i like the old city.
i like seeing
people not like me.

but i think i like
living beside the ocean better.

i don’t want
pretentious mother fuckers around me,
so i don’t hang out with poets
(that was a punch at myself,
sitting here gloating in my raw poet form)
or in
raw syllables
filling
this blankness
with something
so uhhhhhh!!!!

I COULD RIP MY FUCKING HEART OUT OF MY CHEST AND GIVE IT TO YOU
dripping blood
just to hear
you whisper
a word
of love to me
before i die.

tell them
i said
it
was worth the while
to have
had

look at this
tragic
world
this place makes me sad

people i love
will die away
and i talk this crazy talk now
of living healthy forever
of living to 120.

though
i’ll probably have some kind
of tragic freak death.

That would suit me.

i pay the price
for my introversion
from shying away from you

all i can do
dive into me
because
i dont mean shit to anyone

i was more something to me
when i was doing my thing
completeley and utterly unknown
to the rest of the world

i’m growing restless with my life
and i know what that means
and i
don’t know what’s
going to happen next
or what word
i’m going to finish
this poem with
until i decide to stop moving
my fingers to the rhythm
of my consciousness.

let the fire inside
settle for a little,
these poems
only
fan the flames.

got patience
to wait
for something
greater than myself
got all the time
ever invented
to wait..
i have no urgency
to be
because i’m all the love
i’ll ever need.

but yours feels so much better…

I met
an Irish nun today
named sister Fran
who told me
“We must pray
for the
little
ones.”

And i said,
“Absolutely.”