what if the wars we wage are on ourselves
and the distance between you and I never melts
because it never can;

if the most obvious truth is that
the distance between you and me
never is
never was
and never can be;

and in it's stead
we spend entire lives
trying to know
the fleeting feeling
of just being?

Colors slowly sewn together

Gently peeled off stains 

Left from brief and faint reflections 

Of other people's faces in my window

But there are clues out in the garden

And notes written in pictures 

That remind me of some other young light

When your ears are in the water

All you can hear is your breathing 

And legs kicking lightly

And you realize you're all that is around you

Only Child
What else can you do
But wake up when your friends are making noise
Outside your bedroom

When noise outside your door
Is something that's so new to you

Today I made a list of importants
it had food and water and habits and
the next time I walk away from myself
I'll make sure I find a mirror
climb in behind me
today I made a list of importants
it had dreams
and nothing
and everything
the second thing my father ever told my mother
was to never teach him a lesson
today I made a list of importants
it was nothing like this

I realized

I’m happy shaking as wildly

As I can

 

I need to.

It feels so good

 

A star exploding

Disrupts a vacuum

All the holes you used to dig

In your mother and father's backyard

To see the perfect balance of the dirt you just removed

Right next to the hole it fits right into

Your parents never yelled

But they looked into your eyes

Like the dirt you dug was a shadow

You don't have to be so anxious anymore

Nobody's looking at you

Right now you're thinking to yourself,

"I hope this is even half as cathartic for Norm McDonald as it is for me,"

him watching with his arms crossed,
you crushing a fluorescent lightbulb onto a series of colorful rugs you pulled across the alter
their shards illuminating the air between yourself and just pew
after pew
after pew
of the most confused and confusing.

Somewhere within there, two men decide this was a bad idea, and you run, literally grasping at that same air in front of you; pulling at it with each step feeling a little slower, and a lot more silly. But if you could just get a grip- if you could get even so much as a handful, you would tug it like a rope, pull yourself forward - but instead you will swim toward nothing - instead, you are stuck, spinning slightly.

i could be the most american
and smell the fireworks from across town
and see you on the blanket
laying over on the lawn
and when the world doesn't need us around
i could be the most american
and feel our home together, breathing
and I could be the most american
silent through every sound

You couldn't figure out how to say it;
it would never come out naturally.
You knew you'd die eventually,
but your friends didn't seem to act like it.

So you went to work.

And it would bug you, from time to time..
Crawling out of your own skin, in the middle of the night.

Something other than being everyone else;
still incredibly confused as to why anyone would try.

Spinning slightly, between hyperbole north, and hyperbole south,
spitting things out:

One was the pharmacy
you promised the daughter of a daughter you could fashion a briefcase out of plastic bags
if she promised to help you;
then you explained,
this was pretty much it as far as you were concerned.

Not a whole lot more to look forward to, but at least you two could look professional in each other's ending eyes.


Work is incredibly important to me.
It's going to change me significantly.
For the better:
teach me to grow.
selling bullshit to bullshit people
is a good thing; you'll figure it out.
And you'll never know any better.
Know anything about them or them about you.

Because you are entirely full of shit, constantly.
You are entirely full of shit constantly.

You are entirely full of shit, constantly.

I hear a lot of people talking about the way people are tracked into certain positions, tracked into certain professions, tracked into certain blue collar kinds of skills and things like that. I guess you can be tracked into those kinds of positions if you ask somebody what they think you can do. But if you just decide for yourself what you want to do and just go do it, you don't have to ask anybody.

And you can't be stopped.

old friend's sold home
old friend's sold home
kept me awake last night.

to be fair, I was there
they left their water running
they left their daughter running

no one ever told you
you could change everyone
but you knew.

Thanks to James. 

I knew with an announcement drawing near
left at the footsteps of salt tracks toward your bed
brought closer by the heat index of parents everywhere that left us, or you:

I've tried this.
I knew what it was like, four or five seconds in.
Spun like a catacomb.
Wrapped like an aunt's christmas tree remnants,
aim for the bottom.

Yesterday afternoon somebody in a serious tone turned seriously to ask me if I'd be born.
Be, not been, as if I hadn't already;
maybe wanted to, but needed help.

the creatures around here leave themselves almost daily
and from another town over your landlord holds up a sign with marker that says you'll get used to "pay'n".

Would you still wake a sleeping child to give them medication?
In so much as everything is only ever, a collection of other things?
The most important way, you can make someone feel is:

Act curious, for questions you know the answers to.

you are so thrown away
yesterday I found a cliff with two names on him
a pyramid scheme, if you knew better
a set of rectangle clouds, otherwise
so that every morning you'd promise, subconsciously
to do the same thing
so that we can draw you in circles time and time again

sometime after I dropped them off skydishes told my pocket vibration was considerable
my children left at some private school
my thigh turning colors in my mind
voices on a similiar or other line told me
my chest was bleeding now or eventually
tempted me to fall off, pull over after a red
drive forever
incredibly overwhelmed at the notion of ending or ends
trends in today's nuclear family climate showing
the opposite of positive outcomes
curveballs thrown by liberal pacifists frustrating
strangling
leaving little to no doubt we'd all miss
we'd all mess
leave little and forget the rest
dressed down
inside out
around temples built for halfwits
there really is little left now
you pay your debts to yourself
your dreams have you between a lock and a tight space and
the last time you wake up there's still no key underneath your pillow

though

the first time you go to sleep you won't remember much
the first time you fall asleep and come back with an idea
well, now you know, it's safe to say
nostalgia or hope or poloroids
you'll carry those heavily
roll over in bed
choose a memory to take with you
keeper for the sun's time

and just maybe

very noble
being part of something the point of which you can not fathom
nor bother to try to understand your motivation
in exchange for instant gratification
and the illusion of a righteous purpose

sometime within there scattershot time holders remind me
private school ends eventually
shortly before three
which leaves me late and makes plenty waiting unexplained
unexplained waiting

there are probably still a few good reasons nobody knows me
my trees are misshapen
and when I lie down I start to grow
from the very, very bottom

From the very, very bottom.

if I knew which dreams caused this
or could rectify them from below
I would dig deeper than you could follow

and somewhere within there you'd plug your ears
from the dark
and the worms
squirming beside your temples
pushing along your spine
quietly counting the seconds
silently finding the time

Pile of Rocks

Perpetually almost-too-late
You realize
It must be my time to die
Or be reborn a colorful sign

My boyhood father
Naked in the 1960s
All poetry, no noise, no headaches

The yellows of memory, see,
Are easily sold:

PAST "No present! No future! Bare and Free!"

Squeezed into a thing
Yesterday's songbirds
Life support and
Murdering memory

inside the moon there are four people
three of them remember you
one of them is your daughter
before she was your runner
underneath her restless weight
you find your mistakes
somewhere within there, you remember you love her

your god's eyes are in her mouth
as the snow falls behind you
one of them presses pavement
another is caught in the stars

the one who couldn't care less mostly always bugged you
his arm was your water
your sink, his fodder
underneath his restless weight
you'd find his mistakes

in so much as everything is only ever a collection of other things

but now you are sort of clear headed
messy head
does that surprise you?
where Are you headed?

the attic is far too stuck for this mess
as if our house would stop shaking in any cases.
can you already tell this is what a door sounds like?
would you still wake a sleeping child to give them medication?

the most important way you can make someone feel is: