at 1:41 a.m.
the car moaned.
it took me
away to where
my soul would
ignite.

if only i
could do
something
with this
restlessness.
this immobility
and inability
to tend
to my
responsibilities
constricts around
my panicking
mind.
this purgatory
manifests from
myriad and
banal moments.

these woes
can come from
nowhere. it's
ofttimes there
in the light
when sunday
sets the sun.
in the heat
or the
treacherous
and insidious
night,
in these
paltry words.

consumed and
weepy i feel
its iced grip.
it beckons me
and i feel
the thief
pushing hard
for it
but it only
abates if
i can
muster the
resolve to
look away.

the bottom
has corroded
out of my
tiny tin
heart.
and as with
all broken
rusty things,
they have
their momentary
appeal, like
how could
this thing be
allowed to
get to such
a state.
then they
are regarded
as what
it is that
they are,
junk.

the infection
is spreading
it has been
for millennia
this just
might be
the cusp
the pinnacle
the miniscule
almost
imperceptible
moment
where a living
world is
now a dead
one

death
the fickle
bitch,
i no longer
fear.
it is the
road
toward it,
littered
with human
iniquities
that terrifies
me
the most.

the athanors
burn high
and bright
incandescent
is their glow
shafting through
the dead
forests.
nothing grows
anywhere,
anymore.
it has all
become fuel.
and they flash
so hot
and bright,
enough to
etch our
shadows
into stone
long after
we are
gone.

the morning glares
and i feel shame
choke me as
i open my eyes
from restless
slumber.
i have no hope
i have no food
and my soul is dying.

i have failed to
witness my mistakes
and transgressions.
now i fear it is
too late.
rectification of this
will be a long,
expansive endeavor.
one which the
circumstances of
these days
do not allow.

i fear these,
the days of our
extinction. inescapable,
inevitable, destined.
what can deliver us
from such a
foreshortened fate
but nothing.
not even our
so called genius.

acrid are the nights
in the days of this
extinction

bitter are the ropes
hanging from the
gallows

burdened with the
innocent

toward the end
gazing onto their
steel, dead eyes
with aversion
and finality
in unremitting
seconds

with a whispering
flutter of
a finger
those eyes
blaze up
with hellfire
to strip the
measly flesh
from my
chalky bones.

on these days
overawed blankness
digs itself in
there is
not much
but consternation
and memories

running
a river
overwhelmed by
rain and tears
all things have you
and all things
hurt.

grope through
darkness, unending
the needles
of every
minute
bury themselves
in every
square inch
tissue turns
black
sliding in
deeper, further
no thing
stands still
all of it
goes beneath
the skin and muscle
churning, igniting
every nerve
every capillary
swelling
aching with
infinite exhaustion
feet made
of brick
and the thoughts
of running away
dissipate, vaporize
teeth grit
another hour
just died and
i measured
up to
nothing
not even a
whisper

docile
is the day
and my
heart beats
slow but loud

with each
thunderous clap
it promises
to abscond from

my chest,
past the ribs
into the
salted air

i feel this
thick sadness
it turns my
blood to tar

i dream
of rooftops
and the space
beyond them

fever of panic
incinerating what
is left of my brain

the bewildering
cruelty is not so
easily understood

to stand in the
storm is foolishness
to try and avoid it
is imbecility

on sundays, in early
spring, death is beauty
magnificent

this is the return
i longed for, the
survival of your iniquity

our broken
hearts cannot
soar beneath the
weight of the red moon
because the
nights are now
so long and brutal
and we are our
only true enemy

it comes,
it comes down
with leaves,
it comes down
with rain
the blood we spill
comes down
it colors everything
it colors the moon,
forever these stains
have altered what
we are

this pain is as
illusive as the sunlight
we shunned
oscillating through
the scattered remains
of these ruinous hours.

the ropes cut
my hands to
the quick and
the flesh of
my arms to
ribbons.
the precarious stilts
of my legs
wobble, split and
snap beneath my
own weight.
i collapse into
a wheezing, glistening
heap.
and so the
day has only
just begun.

tour the lumbering
hulks of what used
to be and what
might have been.
notice the chill emanating
into the drizzling ether
of your spine from the
mammoth skeletal towers.
and you, supine and
recumbent in the thin
air of night in that
cheap and tiny coffin
made of wood and razor
wire and flesh and bones.
in each passing minute
it all shakes and shudders
and the concrete and mortar
loosens and it rains
bricks and stones.
impenetrable tombs
clutter the now open
and vast horizon.

out there
the wind
turns the rain
into razors
cold and slick
and unrelenting
it will freeze
car doors
and turn
the asphalt
to glass
no punches
are pulled
so take your hint
from here
but
don't ask
how or why
you have brave
thoughts and
words teetering
around in
your skull
but that
is just bullshit
and its
obvious
the world is
a cold dying
place.

it has
been
clutching
at the
heart
for days
now.
the temperatures
of the day
and the
clouded
shuddering sky
bring everything
back.
there is no
story to
tell,
if we
try too hard,
we ruin
beauty.
if we
do not try
hard enough,
beauty dies
of neglect.

feel its
claws,
feel them grip
and reduce
you.
it is lost.
feel that in
the pit of
your stomach.
in that fetid
belly of
the beast.
a thousand
disappointments,
a thousand
worms turning,
twisting.

there is
noting to say,
there is
no one to
listen.

the days grow
more insane
as i cannot
control what
it is that
i am
turning into.

another day ends
up in
frustrated procrastination
no hope and
i am
not set free.

there is a
rift where
i used to
stand, looking
toward all the
gallant heros
but now my
head hangs
low and heavy
with shame.

i know this
ineptness drains
my thin veins
my heart
pumps putrid dust
i've lost
the flow of
life, buried
beneath the throbbing
wretchedness and
all the things
pushed over
the edge.

it all began
with the
exquisite
extinction
of great and
plodding beasts.

ebbing through
years immemorial
the sands
shifted and
grasses
grew, in
time, rendering
all things
unrecognizable.

masterful tomes
have been
crafted,
devoted to
the fallacies
of those
last days.

but those
last days truly
were a
spectacular end
a finish
scintillating
in a scope
cinematic.

today's hope,
just as
yesterday's,
was smothered in
dislocated failures
debauched filth
and disgust.

fog thick
with ash
swallowing trees
suffocating the
day as its
hours slump
into tiny coffins

one at a time
you can stand
there in the
small church
at the end of
your street
weeping
quavering into
the last moments
of this,
the final
minute put to
rest.

the grinders
rip through
and away
his
thoughts.
pining for ten
minutes
of rest
from relentless
fears of
forgetting
something,
anything,
everything.

its easy,
he can lose
himself
in coffee
stains,
the fractured
lights of all
the dead
stars and
the melancholy
realization that
perfection is
nowhere,
nothing.

fleeting
like time,
the sirens
wailing, the
horns blowing.
its totality
fading.
the grinders
start once
more but
they never
really
stopped.
now did they?

he's searching
burnt out
burned down
memories
for courage,
he's looking
all wrong.

oh yeah!
the satisfaction
of taking
someone's teeth.

the glistening
pap of
what used
to be a face,
brings forth
such uncontrollable
jubilation.

rejoice in
the cantos
of their
choking
gurgling
bloodied pleas.

and the
insanity of
this and
other actions
is that you
do not protest.

that you
stand in
the shadows
a thin smile
slit across
your tight face.

appeasement
shimmering in
the holes
of your
eyes.

these are my
gnarled and
knotted fists.
useless but
for pounding.

today inside
everything melted
caved in
on itself
we tried
to dig
into it,
beneath it.
the more we
dug, the more
it fell in.

empty, tired, fragile
it sits raw
and heavy.
every word
they uttered
was a stone.

at one a.m.
i just want
to eat,
read, listen
to the sorrows
of nightly
songs and
dream some more.

a time
when i'll
be strong
and certain,
shaking the
hand of
a friend.

the oil in his bones has turned black
the smell of burning diesel
permeating from the pores
and through his clothes into the
blankness of the night.
declarations of dreamt fulfillments
a routine so restless
fills him to the brim.
unspeakable anguish


sitting at the kitchen table, dreaming
all of this has been said before
has been promised before.
the formulations of plans
knotted, twisted and fallen down
like punctured heros in distant forests
twigs snapping beneath his feet.

silence,
snarls
sinks its fangs in
injecting hissing
emptiness

an end has
been reached
hollow and clean
devoid of
catharsis

nothing else
to do but
to fill this shell
nowhere else
to go but
upward, onward.

there were
seemingly indelible
things that he
was certain of

betting it
all,
the whole world
and then some.

to no one's
surprise
the deal fell
through
and so
now his payments
include:

the endurance
of being
bitten by solitude,
deafening silence,
the punishing
embrace of
trifling emptiness
and a
host of other
horrors.

which, by the
way, are not
horrors at all
if you look
at them
in the thin
light of
the endless
night.

a group of yellow flames
with a thick scent of vanilla

dance and mingle
waiting for an occurrence
waiting for something to break
to give in

taunting and laughing
rejoicing with spastic flickering
all the failures they've witnessed

he awoke
twice
last night.

he fell
apart
both times
and broke
a promise
or two.

it was
enough to
scare him
enough to
leave him
gasping
with that
cement
in his lungs.

enormous gods
with gigantic infections.
searching for the antibiotic
of my confused
suffering.

i'm high on thinner fumes
and am dying for not much
at all.

an inexpensive death

clench your fists around
my throat,
my heart,
my dick.

not much left but the
hollowed carcasses
of words.
overused and spent
shallow and
devoid
of their intentions.

you've broken me down
crushed me into a powder
i just could not stretch any longer
and i held on just a bit too long
dehydrated and asthmatic.

his eyes were
heavy,
dull
like a blizzard

in his veins
there were
train wrecks,
wars
and other
atrocities

his veins
were full of
victims,
a caffeinated
nightmare.

the sweat
on his back
glistened
like mosques
in ancient
deserts.

he knew
what to do
but couldn't
do it
couldn't
save it
couldn't
live
couldn't
die.

i'm not going to make it!
i can't sleep and
reality is falling short.
all the sounds are muffled
laughter, derision.
the medicine keeps me up
it crushes my spine
and pulverizes my soul.
to even bring this up,
to mention this is
the ultimate sign
of infirmity.
i wait for the
world to implode.
the dense epicenter
of the darkest finality
is the lump in
my throat.

i see beauty
as it comes
from everything.

this is no gift,
there is nothing
special or extraordinary
to it.

watching the leaves'
descent, their smell
after a short rain.

it fills the lead
box in my chest.

i can see it
clearly
and the act
of observation is
a silent comfort.

the cellos slowly saw
the night in half.
i watch the clock
beat out verdicts
against me.

i have everything and
nothing at all.

here are
the accumulations
of all things

killers, healers

the clouds break
and the sun
pours down like
molten lead

the air is
thick with death
even over these
plains and open
fields.

my head is full of cement
it is difficult to focus on
the simplest of tasks
like breathing or speaking.

i fall silent, rude
and incomprehensible.
my thoughts struggle
for survival.

a low dull ache
at the base of the skull,
this coup de gras is
too slow.

the administration of it
is a disappointment.
its final moment is now
stretching into infinity.

what horrors,
witness them all.
vivid in the splendors of
their terrors.

clenching down
the venom that palpitates
hatred through the
veins.

the vipers' spit
elongates the expiration
of the protracted
night.

salvage from the storms
the damp chalk
of our
bones.

take their heads
swift and merciless
the waters boil with
blood.

spilling, unending
this is the eternal
hanging of the damned at
dawn.

a gap
leaking gasoline
through the shirt
through the heart

please don't
strike your match
i just need more time
just a bit more
it is what i have always said

and it never gets filled
and i've burned it
i've buried it too
beneath willows and birches

i cannot fill it
and it never gets done
i can't tie it together

moving purposeless, wishing
for unawareness.