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this is all old. i might put up some of the older shit if i feel like it. or if you guys want it.


a bug wanders across my screen
as i write my thoughts,
and i swat, flick,
trying to knock it out and away,
but it comes back, and
i don't have the heart to kill it.


at night in dallas
the skies are manilla brown
and through the clouds,
you can interpret the sky

some of the trees are bare,
others have leaves.
because spring comes early,
and winter never came.

i smoke her clove cigarrettes,
and think i can find
the meaning of life hidden in one.


the poetry is absent
only my thoughts
clouded by alcohol
pure nonetheless

i always thought
was beautiful
but what if you say nothing
nothing at all
what then? beauty?
beauty of nothing, no.

simplicity is beauty
but simplicity has something
and it's not under the influence.


a midnight dj break
a djarum
if only because the name is cool

to spend hours in a treehouse
to miss later

to think back on,
when "inserted in thel labor pool"
when bored by a moronic poem

to muse upon
to think of
to miss, to love


four poems a day
five poems an hour
they suck, oh well
they're good,
delte them anyway
after all
the could have been better
should have been better

why fuck why, why not better
oh well, keep writing
keep toiling
it all comes with practice
fuck practice

practice was when i wanted to be good
i don't want to be good

i just want to be me
and i want people to see me
and feel me
be me, when they read

read who i am
in words, feel who i am
in my thoughts.

that's all
maybe with practice.


the alcohol and the prozac mix
the poem was just for me
just for my self
but what, what if it's brilliant
what if for this
i conquer the world
and i just deleted it
what did i gain
without the prestige of knowning
i don't believe in my self enough
to think
"that was teh best poem ever"
and believe it
even if it was.


torn, like the bullshit song
between two
two beautiful girls
one smells of hard liquor
i like it
one is blunt, true
i love it

i love the bluntness
i love the unbridled spirit


rhyme and meter
documentable expression
organize, realize
feel it, breathe it
in time.

flow, cubic feet per second
enough so the fishing is good


this girl i know
i love her
she loves me
i don't know
if it's the same kind of love
i think

we talk, i like it alot.
talking to her
it's beautiful.


today she left
tonight i feel lonely
i hope she does

but if not
no if nots

i dream of kissing
her small soft lips
all the time
i never do
always "not yet"

i may be waiting
for the perfect time
the perfect moment
it'll come soon
i'll make it


i was in love,
childish love, but love.

i kind of miss it,
the childish joy, the childish promises, the childish kisses.


the anger is hidden
inside me, somewhere.

i share it, that helps.
it comes out,
once in a while.

i hate that.

i think that maybe,
i'm depressed.
it's hard to tell with the prozac.

it'll fade,
i know it.

that's my consolation.


the ex is in town.
we find a common ground in smoking.

we'll sneak out and have a cig.
catch up on our lives,
talk about things.

i want to be metaphorical but i can't,
it's to hard.

just straigh up truth,
prose from the heart
that's all i can do.

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