Ba Bum Da

When those ba bum das >>
Are eating through my brain
And nothing feels right
And nothing looks the same

Where to
Do I go
Across this city
And straight back home
For the radio is calling,
My life equates stalling
And I just want
Somewhere to
Go.

To Obtain A Television

He bolted my weaknesses to the ground

While he played that vexing sound

I hadn’t remembered since November

I haven’t heard since October

And we took off our halos

And tore down all of our woes

And spent the hours

Trying to get us out

Of the raptors

Of our own sympathies

And denial 

My Car

My car

Takes me far

When my feet

Are black

And blue

Homes still change

Faces and names

But Sonja

Still loves

Me

The Diner

As I sit alone at this sticky table

The coffee sits behind my lips
And I wonder who sat here before me
Who made my bare elbows stick
These are the days
We spend our hours
In these caves
For self detection
Doesn’t stop
This latest urge
That we give up
A businessman lurks in some back corner
Boozed down and out of luck
Dropping quarters from his pockets
For every call girl that he fucked
Two policemen take a break
From the toils they lack in grit
They conversate about crime prevention
And not to waste their time on it
A woman leaves her house at nine
For her husband pulls in at ten
And he’ll crawl into their bed
And smell like every bar he has been
We build and break our hells
In the back of this coffee shop
Whilst the waitress licks the tables
For the tips she’s all about

A Coney Island of the Mind

All of these poets,

Struggling to be poets

My mind, they say

This one,

Its gonna be trouble

All of these pens

Live and die in my hand

Live and die as pens

And as translators

For electric waves.

Only the young know where its at

But they don’t live young long

Wrote Me. Mistook Me. Wrote Me Down Wrong.

She cuts her lips on her own language talk, that’s all she hoped it was. But the electricity in her brain. Nothing really matters now. Restitution. Her words curved so sharp it caught his eyes as well. Dug so deep into his skin like a knife wound. So he lost his words along with his eyes. Could not look away. But the shocks in her brain were enough for her not to notice. No bliss. Closed fist around a note so it hurts her palm until she took the boy’s words and rewrote them to fit a song. Rewrote them until they fit. But the deal was that she would give it back. He asked three times but no luck had.

It said

You’re a selfish curse with a face that hurts my eyes and you love me but I don’t care why. I can’t know. You look quite sad and you walk so blind. Hands home in your pockets, your selfish heartaches quench your mind. Wont you slow down for me, life can’t be that wrong. With your head so low, looks like a bird’s hope drowned. I’ll call your ways three times, no response.
I said, “what’s your name, state your game, Choose your God.”

Care Less

He says he feels just fine, shifts the cigarette lightly between his thin fingers and avoids eye contact for a solid two minutes. It’s whatever.
He says he just hates October.

Sorry

Can I just… bury my head; lay it deep in cold sand. The roughness will fill my ears; the darkness will veil my fears. The ground will soak up my tears and all of the little things will just go away. Those voices from across the room will stop murmuring and I wont have to hear anymore, I wont have to think about it. With the flick of a switch I can just change what I am and how I respond to all of these different plays. Instead of meeting them behind walls, having to guess which side I am on, or whether I am even in the game. I’d rather not say. Let the mask stay on my face. Let me be buried in sand. I’m sorry.

Satan in Sarcasm

The image in the back of my brain

Told me everyone is insane

But I’d rather be here
Than floating somewhere out where

These places

Worn out faces

Look the same

With scars over their mistakes and woe

My feet hide
Scars beneath

My brain is never quite the same

As stone

We should never come back down.