a multitude
of tasks

perhaps it
would have

been worthwhile
to pay

attention to
the flow.

there is
courage

in the
morning sun

yet it
is still

not enough
to remove

the numbing
void.

there it is,
the television,

what little
peace was

mustered, now
is gone.

the lighters
click

the percolator
hisses and

gurgles and
drips.

i try
not to

vomit.

a hell of
a morning.

... and when
it happened
all that
was left
were bits
of bone

scattered

pure and
sterile
cleaned of
meat
like the
first snows
of winter

he collected
all of
them and
somehow
felt redeemed

i guess you just
had to be there

where the music
made you want to
just drive

glancing into blurred
reflections on other cars

never wanting to go home
dreaming of all those
other distant roads

never thinking of
going home

only pining to
be lost in the asphalt
and doubled yellow lines

she knelt
and understood
that she
has yet
to own
a thought
deeper than
she is.

she'll have
to fight
or go
numb.
she read
the first
one and
wished
herself numb.

but she
wrote this
other one
and stayed
to fight.

to forget
everything
in her
vicinity would
only serve
to release
the soul.

watching distant
memories hold
on to
the air,
she feels
the marrow
rot and
the fungus
spread.

go ahead
and set
something
free.
she thought.

as it all, was put together
with dirt and rust
and all of the other
things that would hurt

it bled from the sky
to wash away
the burdens
of him and her.

his father grasped
the book firmly
and declared, i'll read it
and put it to memory.

so he only stared and
felt his heart sink
knowing that
what was written

would not nor could
not compare
because the words
on pages previous to this

are blemishes
ugly and trite
and if it did any good
he still had no will

to fight.

i know
that one day

my heart
will stop

exhausted and
hollowed out.

i will welcome
the peace and rest

i will shed
my regrets

like a worn
leathered skin

no longer
worry about

unjust things
and wrong things.

these days
are for
the dead
and dying.

a slow
descent
onto our
crumbled spirits

below an
exhausted sky
amidst the wet,
pungent leaves.

this is
how october
began and
this is

how it ends.
used up
but still
undone

with a dull
aching in the
bones scraped
of flesh

and a falsified
notion that
how this ends
is just.

with the rains
the desires to
and images
of war
washed out

great floods
swept away
what little we
have allowed
to remain

in those last
torrents
our reckoning
our breathing
now belabored

took on an
enormity as
of mammoth
beasts doggedly
bleating

beneath the
crude cairn
to the cruel
and sorrowful
sun

in a
darkened
parking lot

sitting under
a street
lamp

with aloneness
on top of
everything

waiting for
someone
or death

and i think
of those i
haven't seen

in a long time
"you still
into bukowski?"

they'd ask
and i'd tell
them, "yes."

feeling
unchanged,
unmoved, stale.

clanking souls
walk by
with their

heads full of
living, getting
on with it.

and i'm sitting,
watching. it all
slides past

and loneliness
bears down.
and my tiny

heart clacks
and clicks
out little dreams.

days bear down.
a tiny thin hope

snaps in the wind,
its end is silent
and deafening.

how can i tell
you it won't change,
not a thing?

this has since
become of no
importance,

now an everyday,
mundane occurrence
and i'd love to help you.

but i know i can't
and you know i can't,
the vapor of this thin

night knows it too.
it is my lack
of will and skill.

too many voids,
where is beauty tonight?
when is it?

as the wheels pull
away from the curb
grand attempts

will be made
to forget it,
to let it slip away.

driving into and
through the mountains

for weeks meandering
on this road or that.

you crest the hill in the
dusted, distant sunlight

ahead the road looks like a
piece of string laid out in the dirt

in the bottom of that valley a storm
cutting a mountain at the base.

the day feels as empty as the world
no one and nothing else around

you descend into it
the storm, that string and you

knowing that down there
it's going to get bad.

my chest heaves
i awake and
can't move
can't see
i feel almost
nothing, just
the tug of
the anchor
holding me
under.

gently swaying
my guts churn
my head lolls
i can feel
my eyes swell
with fatigue.

the walls grin
bare their teeth.
each sound is
thunderous,
maddening.

these pills,
they scrape
the inside
of my head
they boil
the blood
around my brain
they fill my
eyelids with

molten lead

and sand.

the ennui
of this
exhaustion
stretches over
the vastness
in these
hours that
even the
hissing of
insects
and the
clicking of
incandescent
bulbs
cannot span.
everything
here and now
is made only
to strip you
of your
senses.

that waitress will not
give you the time
don't even ask
do not even think it

she'll only break
your yellow little heart
the tiny eggshell
of whatever it is
that you are.

all right than
this place is saved
for someone,
not you

with each analysis
there will be a part
that dies, got rut
shot straight through
into hell.

it turns words
to poison arrows
shooting sparrows
flying through you

covers you with
death and sparrow shit.

and you, too stupid
to move, drowning
drowning in that
poison sparrow shit.

the night
has grown
tired with
you and
your sorrow.

could you
please shut
up?
could you
peel back
your face?

can't you
won't you
give us
something
more?

is this not
how you
measure
success?

filling little
buckets as
fast as
you can.

the night
will defecate
into each
and every one.

tomorrow
you'll have
to start over.

you'll have to
give way to
tomorrow's sun.

waking from
beneath the
filth of this
abhorrent night.

our turgid
souls

plodding
through the

disquiet
ruins of our

filthily livid
yellow days.

i feel you
walk through
my heart

do you see
what i see?

the exhausted
trajectory of
my evolution

do you see
these absurdities
of my untempered
heart

the un-melodic
clank of my pulse,
the wheezing swell
of my chest

as you stand now
you have seen more
than i cared
to show you.

there is a
war coming

and you stand
unbroken, still
and there is that
war, coming.

the bells won't
stop tolling
for this is
the apex of all
my accomplishments.

there is no use
in telling me
you hunger,
for i hunger too.

all that is left
for us to
consume,
the rabid blindness
of the wicked and
the dead.

the din
of this
place,
impossible

but it's
good to
get away

and onto
the streets
and into
the cafes

where you
know
others are
alive

because
tonight you'll
have to
face them

the four
walls,
the horsemen.

you'll have
to stand
brave,
that means

with courage
and without
rage.
still,

like the
equable light
that falls
softly,

slowly
setting all
those little
thoughts aflame.

the moonlight matches
the sound
the music floods
your eyes
you know the pain
will burn
and sting
sweet
like the richest honey
you know what
you know
but it's not enough
someone else
will always have
the upper
hand
the right words

your refusal
will be your downfall
the sound of
protests breaking
like leaves
letting go into
the wind
it will blister your ears
and the world
will remain full
of things
you'll never have
but always want

this space
i occupied
no longer
goes soft
and comfortable

the walls
wept when
the songs played

my blood
boiled as
i slept

i shrank
to nothing
i was glad
to do it
glad to

be rid
of that
anxiety

sometimes
horrors pass
through
my brain
and i feel
every capillary
contract

when i wake
i swear
i can sweat
blood.