Saturday, June 26, 2010

what the teachers see

too nice
reads
boring,
classmates
kiss behind
(the)
portables
and in
(the) corners of (the) soccer field(s)
whispering
like roots to
the soil
planting
seeds of lust,

digging themselves
deeper
and deeper
waiting
to
grow
alone in the morning


the stray cat we found
looks at me as if to say
'why are you still here?'


being at the right place at the
right time,
can make magic happen


and the wrong places,
about the same

but when the cat
gives you that look,

like he's done it-

you wonder how
he has it so easy.

and
maybe it's because
he
found suckers
like
us
from an ally on richmond st.

3 drunk men stumble out
the richmond st tavern

their shadows
attack the pavement like
a pack of
starving wolves,

as the rain falls through them

invisible
hollow
willing to do
anything
bands


anxious
with inconvenience
they
invade the stage,
something close
to a
coupe
while audience
members
drool

like soft dug holes
souls made from mud
ready to collapse in on themselves
at any moment

jumping around
as if
grasshoppers
trapped inside
an aquarium

fat faced singers
stroll sluggish around the floor

pitiful
and washed up like
pollution on a beach

jealous enemies we find,
stealing what they cant have

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

on the couch, before the show


i'm going to sing in this
apartment
with my
band behind me
with incredible back pain
shooting up my spine

every time i take a
step
it feels like
landing on a
jelly fish
and i
bet
that's
how it's going
to feel
like
watching
me
once friends,
now in
friendly fire,
cats scratched
the couch
between
insults,
fine china
flew
threw the room
like lost
birds
blowing up
like grenades
at contact
the whiskey
soaked fog
spews
from his mouth like
fire,
pathetic answers
arranged like smoke signals,
timed out and paced
dissipate through
the room,
and out the windows

the smell soaks into the carpet

another wedensday
another war
another casualty
due to friendly fire

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

tired prayers bending for the clouds

like bones breaking
in a lifeless
body
without
piercing the
skin,
the
last secret
movements (of a man)
ache like
whispers to god,
a little
like the sound
of
floor boards creaking
outside
your bedroom,
when you're
all alone,
where
I rest
like ghosts skin,
laying in
the sheets
that he
slept
in

while 3 blocks
away
they carry him
into the ground
two black cats
meow at the door
one inside
and one outside
looking
through the screen window
into eachothers faces
making eye contact
then looking away
2 male black cats
one a stray and one
a loved part
of the family
they fight and
wont come near each other
and come
back to apologize,
lovers quarrels
come in many
shapes and sizes
as he
purrs his apology
and i let him
back
into the house
where the money goes

it tops the glass
up
and helps to forget the
day-
more so
on weds nights;
(the mid week
needs as much
strength as
can be
mustered)

on weds
cats scratch at
your eye lids
and piss in your mouth,
and your boss
fucks
your girlfriend,
your mother,
you,
while better days
flash like race cars
through the mind
and you find bullets
or hose
or rope
or pills
and think

where
did
this life go?

same place
as
the
money.
possessions

downtown
the dogs
on leashes
are
connected to collars
connected to necks
and
connected to hands
and sometimes
to trees...
while their owners walk
inside
coffee shops to get coffee,
or beer, magazines, movies,
and their one sided conversations
sit
tangled in rope,
gifts to the scenery-
laying on the ground
like a stained shirt,

but sometimes
passing by
it feels like
my parachute broke
and they are all watching me
from the ground
up

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

listening to the radio,
changing stations on the car radio
it's broken but she doesn't
even notice,
thinks its just part of the recording,
says i never really listen when i'm sober
but sometimes for good tracks
i have to pull over
when i'm hungover,
it's just part of the lifestyle i'm trying ta maintain
i'm always half here and half running away