secondhand heartbreak

i look into my reflection,

staring back through shiny leaks,

where bleak, inked lines reflect my outward stature's deep

nature of my inner eyes,

the lowest lows, the highest highs,

the kites we flew, were in disguise,

and patterned from our hearts demise,

what i could say i cannot make,

because you've taken what's at stake,

but what it is, i can not show,

i did not set it out to blow

away, like trash, upon the ground,

a picture-pocket, which no one found...

"then what's the point?" i ask myself-

if you were here, upon my shelf,

to give me words which held, and felt,

my meanings to which i've sought help,

then maybe this would turn around,

this lonely crowd, and smiling frown,

but my intentions, muddied brown,

somehow brought my hopes to ground;

you cut the ropes, they sunk like ships,

lost, hanging from the gypsies' hips...

shaken through, from head to toe,

i turn to you, my perfect foe,

and ask you, do you feel the same?

or do you, too, play life's last stroke, those lover games?

These Are Stressful Times.

what the hell

is stopping us from

lighting the iron bowl, tipping

the burning cuts of guts of

musts

of musty drug cuts

down my waist, down my thighs

i try to lie, but I can't

hold it in.

Which band, which hand,

the oldness of the countless denials,

of each other and of

COUNTRY MUSIC,

the putrid stench of each other

and our violence and

hatred and judgeMENTS

well I say we let all the judged be

judged, and the wretched BE SAVED

and everything thinks this is so great

but it's NOT.

I'm not great, I wish i WAS great

or a genius or something

my crazy traits only bleed every so-often

Amis my imbred outlet mall,

falls in a world where no one

buys ANYTHING and

i'm just glad I have some way of escaping this

madness,

this blabber,

this stupid sonnet and

this really big duck.

one thing at a time.

impersonal chance immerses realities

like a prayer, whispered, across the still lakes

and useless computers commend our amenities,

machines decide our dislikes, appetites, and our tastes

and ourselves, we abide-

where common ground can be found,

but our minds, where we hide,

tasteless thoughts giving ground

to insane, inhumane, acts unseen and profane,

lonely statues of thought causing strain on our veins

all these pain prickling senses

are like fences,

preventing entrance,

bound and bottled and listless,

only knowledge prevents this,

hear the waves, of your sound,

all around, it surrounds,

all the walls you put up only you can knock down

and the hate you create dissipates

into fate and we think that we act

when we can only relate.