standing up near windows
looking down below
the street
sits like it’s always been
time presses forward
the days are like the nights
the story i’ve been telling is not true
i don’t care.

possibly, with some patience, this will all come to pass;
i crack another beer,
listen to the noises outside,
and drown the noises in my head.
in a season of pain,
like before.


the arrogance of man, hypostrophe;
anticipating all the backwards inventions
manifest this:
in vain disregard
the crowd
plastic avenues and sirens blaring
cold, self-centered, despair
i’m wearing


I can’t sleep all night in bed
no matter how long it’s been
no matter how many nights
i’ve been awake

in the park, in the grass,
I sleep
sun overhead, children, dogs making noises
i can finally sleep


Big window
right outside, a few feet from me
in space; through time
aluminum baseball bat
smashed a skull
bartender jumped up and locked the door
i finished my beer
and ordered another
drank that and went home


incoherent yelling
full moon tonight, dreamt again
already forgot

about what


in times of darkness
the only thing left
is to create

we swallow ourselves, regressing infinitely
trapped in cages
we erupt
we disintegrate
mindless tactics against the ego
in search of solitude
we’ve lost touch
bound by unknowable things
weighed down by the impending collapse of our identities
suffocated by the immensity
of all there is, was and ever will be


Saw ten broken
lying on the corner
near my apartment

the air was carrying a feeling of implacability
as the cars
careened forth through
this universe of emptiness
they say all matter
started out
as just a point
of what?
I recoil in horror when I think about this shit.

I’m staring at a picture
in my mind
I can not make out what I see
I feel a certain ambivalence about everything
I’m lost, found, no difference
nothing can be framed in a manner that will change the basic fact, that.


a man was singing
had a cup collecting change
it was cold
he was in a long white t-shirt
jeans too big
he sang
people walked by
lost in their lives


look at outlines buildings first one i see goes up then over then slanted down
another building
between the clouds
trapped in time
within without
patterns emerge
collapsible entities manipulate the trajectory
of thoughts, elevated
patterns emerge
thoughts, collected one by one
differentiate the scene
pleasant memories flood the corridor to and from our endless dreams


retreat into wilderness
blank dark canvas
perpetuate the possibility
defeat defining bright
control mechanisms
empty constructs manifested by
collapsing regimes of signs/designs
broken constructs disintegrating swiftly melting down the alleyways and foothills of time…

Ten Untitled Verses (POEM)

Post navigation

Share On Facebook
Share On Twitter
Share On Google Plus
Share On Linkdin
Share On Pinterest
Share On Youtube
Share On Reddit
Share On Stumbleupon
Contact us