the old ghosts ask me “what have you done?” to which i say “i have played guitars, and even b… i have walked endless miles throug…

this shirt screams “i’m not still fucked up from last…

i dream of a world ruled by art where the letters that come in the mail are written in fingerpaints and tornado sirens sound off to th…

Deep in The Milky Way they will meet again. Reflections, and shadows. Never-ending satellites crashing into never-ending stars.

clear skies are the feathers with which the lesser gods tickle their twats and dicks sunshine is the gleam of a puckered asshole

the broom disdains fate sweeping destinies away our futures of dust

it’s there when nothing else is but the radio and a near crippling… it climbs around on the walls and… hissing like a poisonous lizard th… you cut the tips of your fingers a…

i search each second find words under rocks and rugs looking for poems

it is not just missing the good times slamdancing in a circle pit with your best buds at a rock show blacklit basement parties

our savings accounts cry out for m… but we only have so much to give coins jingling away in the pocket a few dirty fives in the wallet the shelves are in need of grocery

i walk as a storm two bolts of lightning in socks shoes laced with thunder

when the neighbors would bang on t… screaming through them telling him to stop for the love of god it is three in the morning

THE ARTIST constantly trying to get somewhere he

when the piano notes are dancing rhythms of candle light it’s hard to hear the fire go out the room cools its quiet wakes your fear

tired of her obsessions insatiable outbursts of self dragging her around angst smothered mornings culminating into nightly carnivals…