Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Funny Bones + Headlight Eyes

projected dreams cast eyelash
drawn storms in the harbour of your
intentions, pop rock rain kills the silence.
a brewing notion of caffeinated affection
keeps your dancing shoes on while you sleep.
the pitter patter of love drawn moments 

duel each other for a piece of peace.
curse words written in cursive so they don't hurt as much,
nothing like a bold font to icing the cherries on top.
new words froth and beg to be poured 

into the space you were afraid to tread;
a swimming pool of funny bones and headlight eyes 

and tan lines and skyscrapers you intend to climb. 
buckle up or buckle down, you won't know until it's too late.
calculations upon calculations and nothing will add up, 
when it feels this good the arguments are weak.
and stronger coffee creates stronger ties,
we are on the brink,
of jabbering thoughts and something called love which is rare, 
the way we like our stakes.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

City Current Man

He wears the grit of his life on the surface. His brow has become a private, yet very exposed cityscape. Two eyes set on fire, embers of smoldering cigarettes casting smoke signals into the night. Streetlights reflect his thoughts and his whiskey breath is punctuated by wine stained lips. His mouth, a gated community to rows of houses, when opened you see the pull of tiny teeth gnaw on its plumpness. Below you see the ridge of his chin, an upside down mountain. Shoulders sturdy, his veins pulse through his two arms like telephone wires begging you to call. The trunk of his body, home to his core and I suppose an inner mayor self indulges in the dance of his heart beat. If you listen closely you can hear the car horns beep. His legs support a current that drips into his feet and carries him throughout the world. 
A city inside a man, a man inside a city. Feel the hum of their electricity. 

Unsaid Blotted Wine Sentences

I see you trying to make out my unsaid sentences in the blotted wine on my cocktail napkin, but the drumming of my fingers on the bar top has got you distracted. The fullness of your lips matches the contents of my glass but your glass is a reflection of why we're here. The empty pauses between sips is making you one sour grape. The pours become our clock, closer to the bottom signaling goodbye o'clock. I toss the cork, no evidence of this. Our final image of one another, two court jesters with stained lips and lopsided smiles. Retiring this place and time to the rack in exchange for a bottle. Your future encounters jaded by your own memories. Sluggish slips to torment me, a quick drain to fill the self and suppress the things you've never tried to say. 

Monday, November 17, 2014

You're Easier to Make Up Than Experience

they're thinking on you under the moonlight on a frigid night. their thoughts of you bloom into a wine stain on their lips that they rush to speak of. you are their best shared secret, they admire and dispise you all at the same time. they watch you from across the body of water that separates you, for their eyes cannot trace the roads that lead to your front door. the vision of those who you once knew falls directly on the tower across the way in your vacinitity. they evny it's height, they envy your proxy. the words of you are tossed against a backdrop of other words and all these things form sentences that don't quite make sense, but they do. they boom and shout and ripple out of their minds. they are going out of their minds for you. they're thinking of you, in the silent sun and they are not only warmed by their want, but their need and they are warmed by their absolute reasoning for only speaking of you, keeping things at bay, and never concreting actualities, because the fleeting possibilities of whomever you're becoming is easier to make up then experience, but they are thinking of you.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

A Bruise Percolates

the crossword hint points to the word, SIGH. there is a heavy flickering on the roads of my heart that are signaling thoughts that my mind can't quite churn. they have taken to the avenues of my arteries to express their weight within me. the moment when your heart and mind cannot respectively connect the dots appropriately. the inside of me must look like a child's colouring book, skewed outside the lines, yet still a lovely picture. everything in it's proper place pulsating keeping the person that i am alive, but the person i am becoming is to be determined to destroy that. Personal contradictions. I am my own worst friend, my best enemy. A bruise percolates colour to the surface and exposes a galaxy that was harvested long before I had decided anything. A trove of treasures of exactly what I should be is revealing itself on the shrunken shore of futuristic moves and in this game called life I ought to take a spin, with you. 

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Jocks For Our Hearts

you demand the drama, the sexiest quality of every television show out there; we should all be supporting jocks for our hearts. when did the heart become this other thing that doesnt need protecting, a condom to ward off an infestation of hatred and lust that seems to percolate endlessly. the drip of dreams and wants and desires brewing a steaming cup of contemplations. to weigh the options heavily on the cutting board before slicing into each tiny detail later down the line, when you've made up your mind and things suddenly start to bother you it won't matter then, you won't suit up and make a move you'll adjust the jock and shut up and move on and let your heart twist with the bitterness of stale candy. you demand the drama, boys and girls of this weirdo lifestyle.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Strange Times & Odd Disguises

I continuously lean onto people on public transit, their eyes constantly racing; dragging across trees and cement and billboards and empty bottles. I catch fragments in their pupils. They lick their lips at the thought of the last wine drop drying in the bottom of a dislocated bottle, lodged between a bus stop and an abandon parking lot, silently self-hating themselves for never being able to obtain the crispness of the billboard people. A deep dissatisfaction flutters with their eyelashes and if I could see things through their eyes I think I would be unhappier than I already am. Strange times and odd disguises for what we all call worth. An assumed tragedy to one is nothing but a paper cut to another. Swallowing empty feelings and waiting to approach your stop you can't help but find home in their eyes. The images of their futures happening in milliseconds in swift paintbrush strokes, you can't help but want to tell them their fortune. That they will get off this bus and something will happen. Something always happens. 

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Thoughts Unravel Like Her Ponytail

His thoughts unravel like her ponytail, cascading down his spine. His eyes blink sleep away and as his lids hiccup his brain reflects on the stains of her image that smile murkily back at him. This tugs on the corner of his mouth and he puckers his lips, little pulsating movements as if he is searching for her mouth or collarbone or heart to leave an impression of himself on her. He licks his lips and let's them air dry, they crack and he smiles out loud remembering a time she shared her freshly chapsticked lips with his to punctuate his remedy. He taps his toe to swooshing sound of blood that zips up and down and over and across his body. He pulls a chunk of something out of his pocket, rubs it between his fingers as if it's a crisp one hundred dollar bill, he covers his eyes with it— willing to see its treasures. Slowly he opens it and there she is, diving into her azure eyes he is immediately transported to a time and place that could've would've should've happened if she had just decided to really see him. 

Monday, September 29, 2014

Summer, a Hot Dandy Lioness

has the summer season perhaps just toyed with our emotions, pretending to be all hot and interesting like the sleazy eyed girl at the bar, furthest from the crowd downing whiskey sours like no one is watching only to scold us with a cold gust of dissatisfaction to fall suddenly and crisply into a tundra faced bitch. luring you in with that break of dawn mouth, a hot breath laced with sweet nothings hits your neck making you sweat, she notices you're enjoying her company or perhaps her attributes and closes off. sitting perched on her bar stool you watch the hot dandy lioness transform to the ice queen. Better get your parka, the ice cube she is about to lob at you isn't going to make mouth to mouth contact, she's aiming for your core and you best beware of the hurricane storm.. 
Call it a night, better take flight for Hibernation Nation has come early this year and Miss Summer Thang is taking flight.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Infringement Life

the devilish relaxation that comes with the dividing of things, the neatly tucking away all the sorrows in each corner of the room to preserve its disappearance.. we will never use these corners again. stay close to the middle of things and do not touch the edges, like an old child's game of lava. hearts will sink as they beat and ebb and flow and things will not make sense, and not everything will add up correctly. the game of subtraction can be quite light depending on your reasons for suffering. do not be sad, for anger is easier to handle. keep eyes dry while passing the time and do not mind the infringement that is taking its toll on your life. justice, im not sure there is a thing, but do not pray to mock gods in frocked costumes looking for a savior, sink your teeth in for support, its going to be quite the adventure through your newly tinted 
(or have they been cleaned) glasses.

Monday, September 8, 2014

Horde Your Emotions, Start The Poaching

the rhetorical expressions, the damned feeling damned in a world of damnation. funny how things don't matter until they've seemed to pick someone else's brain matter. there is no temperamental idealistics when the pot is calling the kettle black. harvest season is approaching, horde your emotions and start the poaching. two wrongs don't make a right but it makes the wrongs rightly wrong. hushed dislike fueled by the explosion of opinions that have seemed to burst through the already cracking egg shell. you're hardly as innocent as you're ventriloquist face perceives and i haven't been given the opportunity to deceive you, try me.. i dare you. the wishy washy tone of your whole existence is trying to paint a satire picture for your dwindling audience. rise to the occasion, welcome to the freak show, we're different types of monsters but i'm sure we can handle this like mere foes.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Isolation Nation. Population: ?

it is odd, watching you try to cram 
yourself into the weak frame of another person. 
taking all their insecurities and wearing them as your own, 
but not in a protective or slightly loving way, 
in an obsessive and crazed kind. 
isolation nation, population two
or possibly only one. 
two faced, and not in a catty way 
this isn't high school musical 
cause you're just a mean girl 
but, you, you look just the same 
with a tomboy slant on a pair of rubber bands. 
gross. and ill watch you two bounce 
and crash hard into one another, 
a pair of moths with no flame, 
but everyone around you definitely enraged.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Highlighted Like a Fact

sitting on the floor, 
throwing cigarette butts 
up towards the disco ball. 
their red tips look like 
lipsticked fish kissing 
the shards of mirrored glass that fit 
so clumsily amidst it's sphere. 
i watch the smoke catch the light 
and i allow the beauty to explode into me. 
i feel the airy ways flick at me like tentacles 
on a radioactive jellyfish 
and i am certain that if anything makes sense, 
it is this right now. 
the scratch of the lighter signifies light, 
and as if a horny teenager 
desperate for alone time, 
i am highlighted like a fact in a textbook.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Enemies, Welcome

empty bird cages 
house my thoughts
all my enemies welcome 
to the boiling pot
systematic lane changes
i don't give a what?  
think you're being puny, 
of course you're not.. 
word game, world game, 
scrabblin' your brain
..and the lack of imagination 
is no gain all loss
 weak sauce, your toss. 
careful of the edge, 
i heard the last guy that fell over ended up dead.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Puppy Love Drowned in the Punch

to charm motorways and allow you to go away,
far away, and drown in all this profoundness 
that you think you have obtained 
while you've kept body and mind detained
build the walls of your 
welfare castle and tuck all your tiny 
belongings into perfect 
boxes and there i see in a 
coffin of misshapen rust is a soul 
you might have once 
owned but now sold for 
a cash cow of lust
puppy love drowned in the punch
drunk is the trust that has been ill-invested,
bankrupt of oneself if was bound to happen, 
if there was even an original you from the start, 
puppet fornication playing house in borrowed dress up

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Lego Love Lockdown

He moves his arm in an upward motion, like a movie scene karate chop in reverse. A faint hint of bubble gum comes off his cuff and embraces my senses and I am immediately drawn to this stranger. He isn't shaking my hand but I feel like I want to reach out and try, just in case he might want too. He is speaking very quickly and quietly to my colleague, I am trying to read his lips but I don't know how to read lips. Before I know it, their conversation is over, queue the reverse karate chop and whiff of bubble gum. He turns to go. I plead with everything inside me that he will look at me and like to chunks of Lego our eyes lock.
Overtime the Lego pieces add up and continue to build this structure. Each date almost creates a snapping sound of colourful plastic chunks interlocking; a dinner and a movie, a walk in the park, an exhibit at the gallery... snap, snap, snap. It isn't solid, but the weight of my words can't seem to knock away any of the pieces. The structure looses it's bubble gum scent quicker than expected. The Lego becomes dull and eventually I am searching for one of those window inserts so I can see beyond the structure and maybe even see myself, through Lego eyes, in the tiny plastic reflection.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Swoon Over Young Thugs

Sometimes I just want to swoon over young thugs. They're so tough yet so kind. They have a way with loyalty that is so cut and dry that you almost wish you could apply it to everything in your life. The essence of living in a young thug thrives off the times and embeds reason and passion with an intensity as sharp as knives. Their toughness doesn't even diminish their character, it highlights their beliefs and displays them on the cuff of a pair of jeans that seem too big but might just be housing all the personality, conflict in denim.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Personal Waves

The patterns I trace along your knee caps while we wait for the bus are all the secrets I will eventually form into words and share with you. But I like knowing that you're carrying them around for the world to see without even knowing it and still feeling triumphant before you have to decide if the weight of the words will break up our shoreline. But if I am lucky, like I think I will be, you'll allow our personal waves to rush real close and drag those words out into our ocean and our bodies will collide like all the water drops in the world do when they fall from the heaven and descend towards earth.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Cigarette People of Absolute Sadness

The constant static cling that keeps bashing them together is causing these tremors within our pool of -~ships and there is a certain amount of distaste that stains my eyes, my lips, and my mind when I am surrounded by its force. There is a serious amount of strangeness that keeps the odd ball rolling around like a game of pinball. Everything lights up because you think you're in love but the lusty labors of your effects are only dissolving the reality that you've disconnected from. Be mindful that not everything is sunshine and your sun  could disappear, the way it does at night, and you'll have nothing but a sense of loneliness, the same feeling you continuously try to stop with the overuse of people. People are not the answer. They are not the drug. They'll get you high and you'll end up dry because the shell of your self will still be nothing but a shell. Quit while your ahead, you cigarette people of absolute sadness. You don't have to over extend to appreciate things in love at a steady hand instead of crashing head first into stupidity. Enveloping your surroundings in goodbye and casting away on an island we won't want to visit when the shipwrecks. We'll be here, like always, but consider us before you allow yourself to forget us.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Acronyms, Scary Time To Be Alive

unprepared for the generation and the generation ain't prepared. starving television sets send you off to bed and get inside your head. looming curiosity killed the cat with the snap back and the tough phase has ended with bitter romance. the streets open up, open house for youth, the streets close up, open house for youth. shooting soda pop to skip time, writing rhymes and committing crimes, the grime of the generation is popping corn for our lives. we've tuned in to the mass generation of 'i don't knows' and acronyms and its a scary time to be alive.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Thigh High Vibes

i want the words to slip out 

from under your teeth 

telling me breathlessly that

you are as hot as the sun

and feeling album vibes

right there, 

between your thighs

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Design In Your Froth

their voice was as smooth as an exhale on a desired cigarette, it spilled out in a straight line, a dart searching for it's bulls eye, and it doused your entire senses with this intoxicated cleanse that you could swear you were a little high. their voice followed you around long after the words had evaporated from your surroundings, they'd follow you home and even the simplest of sentences suddenly seemed sexy. the first sip of a cappuccino, a voice with a design in it's froth, in a perfect cup and saucer. the kind where the heat warms your hands and that sip warms your entire being. a voice that could arouse you and put you to sleep, could calm you and get you excited, a voice with a ribbon of confidence, care and certainty. a voice that reasons with reason and pushes you and encourages you to do something. a voice you go to sleep sometimes thinking about, and you don't know why, and you aren't sure but you try to still hear it.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

We Create Condensation

We've created condensation.
I trace our heavy breathing in the windows of the back seat of your brother's mustang.
We've crumpled ourselves into a spit ball, all limbs and soggy skin.
Our hair mashes into one another, forming constellations on our foreheads.
We aren't that young and not that in love, but we find solace here within each other.
You're much wiser than I remember.
You wear combat like a pair of gloves, I can feel your battles in your hands.
Your eyes beg me to spill about my troubles, but you mouth doesn't dare speak.
You lap at my skin like a thirsty kitten, I can't help but feel at home.
You've got to get back..
You have to get back…
I have to go…
We've created condensation. 

Thursday, May 8, 2014

After Party Clouds

severe after party clouds leave melted steeze across a celebratory sky and in the mesh of life there is a diluted pride that heaves with a vomitty smell of insecurity that has been pooling under dancing shoes for hours of drinking and smoking and laughing at things that aren't even that funny. ashtrays hiding the ashes of love and lust and sit in little mountains that demand you step slowly around them so they don't budge and don't shift and stay there tall, mocking you from the coffee table. empty bottles chime home time with a burpy breeze of filth that hangs in the air like a stink bomb just went off. music whispering too loudly all of your last nights activities and sleepy eyes filled with powdered poisons flicker up and down from their slumped positions on the pee coloured carpet as if taking tiny snapshots of your humiliation.

Sunday, May 4, 2014

The Shade of Moonlight

Ultraviolet love orbs catapult and shatter glitter the shade of moonlight all over your day. Do something absolutely lovely and wear your sunnies like the cigarette smoke is too bright and the weather understands you best. Write it all down. Everything. Keep the fragments. Trace your name in the stardust and allow the ocean to pool within your eyes and live along your coastline with the etching mountains reflecting the truths that are housed within your collarbones. 

Monday, April 21, 2014

Welcome to the Land of Indifference

they walk about like flamingos 
lookin' for a fix
suckin' on bent 
cigarettes and shoppin' netflixs
everything being obtained electronically
instant insanity - automatic lust
no more pining, no more introductions
Welcome to the Land of Indifference
hot pocket manicures 
and mickey mouse hiests
has become the soundtrack
to our life and we're all about the speed,
insta-needs being met with hella steeze
buyers market, human target, alien world
and we've created the scare
the internet breeding pop culture and
exposing you exposing me while
we're all being exposed by someone out there.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

No Favor Party Favors

feelings sinking behind shrugged shoulders as they part ways into a party of absolution. there is no favor in these party favors that are begging them to pledge allegiance to any disservice about to happen to you and you and them and me. lights zig and zag about, probably, sending mixed signals and causing a random encounter under the black light of some fight and you'll try to kiss an apology into my face. i've been checking under the lamp shades for a sliver of honesty but i continue to come up dusty. i tried to keep the dust in my pockets, hoping tiny dust bunnies would form, and i could ask them a favor with a twist of a party favor to devour you and push you right out of the door. your shoulders still shrugging, a constant loop, i cant tell if you're undecided about me, undecided about them, or undecided about this song that has been on repeat for about twenty two minutes.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Words Frothed

Words frothed, a pint of the most imperfect pour floods the mind and overwhelms the senses causing unattainable punctuation to fleet onward toward better pages. Lip prints rim glasses and I so long to taste their truths that in return will reflect my fears. Snatching the last drops of amber shelter and indulging in the snippets of a refreshing discomfort you cannot help but salute with the head the head of all the words that are quickly being gulped and just as quickly being unsaid. 

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Dreamy Electric Chalk

Little sound waves crash against the coastline that is made up entirely of myself. Tiny water sound spiders illuminate outside of the speakers and crawl at the walls. This sound has created images outside the mind and outside the body, but apart of some lost soul that is craving a musical fix. Pulsating against the drumming beat these water sound spiders search for a home and take up house inside our feet. Electric chalk stains our hands and as the music bashes against our bodies it's quickly shaping the sands into sea glass and everything is suddenly a lot more beautiful than you could ever dream. But it is in these nightmarish sound spiders where beauty flows like a storm made of such melodies you hadn't dared to fear them in their dreamy, made up element. 

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Everything's a URL

The cyber trail demanding the pupils to rest on the pupils of such affairs that has spiraled out of hand and cannot be fixed with an insta-filter. A terrible disease breaks through the firewall and casts wicked shadows on actuality outside the realm of a cyber world. An existence being documented and all the happy moments cling to screens and the same static cling reflects back and stains unhappy eyes and wheels turn in both the machine and mind and everything is a URL to a capsule where all the people that have ever crossed your path on a busy street can hide and check up on your 
blooming happiness and always 'Like' the good times but never 'Dislike'
the times that frayed from good to bad. 

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Constellations of Consolation Prizes

He dripped with this after-hours glow that held my attention but made me so ambivalent, that I couldn't decide weather I'd stay or weather I'd go. There was an acid ease to his character and it was a slow erosion on my instabilities and installations of constellations made up of consolation prizes for a night of laser beams and confessions. I felt his heart beat from beneath my feet and I wasn't sure if I had fallen into the grip of grime or time but all seemed to be the same thing anyway. Institutionalized bottles of nectar that decides to intoxicate the soul and bring memories down to a slow simmer. Eventually you realize that it's closer to lunchtime than anytime and nothing is as sunny side up as you thought it would be. 

Friday, March 28, 2014

Cityscape Face

I see myself best in the whipping reflection on the train.
I am not fully there, blurred by some of the light inside
the cart and some of the outside light that is quickly
tickling the contours of my structure with its fleeting
motion. The speed of the train alone matching the
speed of my thoughts. My hair is a tye-dyed scene of
sunsetting sky and the blueish hue makes it seem
like a majestic sort of place to live if I were tiny and cold.
My forehead smudged with the buildings I am passing,
those buildings with their people inside of them working
and creating and there for quick seconds I wear them across
my face like their viking, hoping to take them my direction.
My nose almost becomes apart of the infrastructure; snug
right between the grocery store and gas station. Its own
steeple in the vision of a vast and empty field. My lips
look like life rafts for the pulsating cities we pass. My
lips want to call out to whomever will listen, but I keep
the thoughts inside my head, out of the atmosphere.
The train chugs along, keeping its pace and direction.
And I cannot fathom where I would look anywhere else
more like myself, than in the reflection of the train's glass..

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Their Constant Science Puts Me to Sleep

the carbonation inside my soda can reminds me of tiny hyperactive fireflies bumpin' along the sides, looking for the suction of the straw to put them out of their misery within the black pit of my stomach. i want to catch them, bottle them up, let their constant science put me to sleep. but i don't ingest them, they'll become flat.. and worthless, and someone will come along and dumb the leftover parts of them down the drain or worst just leave them in the shallowness of a shallow waste bin.. the carbonation inside my soda can is kind of lusty.

Stakes to Steaks

The love moon rose in the eerie night
and made love sick fools of all of us.
Everyone looked so good in the hue of the love moonlight
that no one noticed how strange we had all
become by love's gushing sense of certainty.
The love moon grew fuller over time and
then shrunk back away into itself,
it didn't know any better,
for that was the love moon's way.
And the path of light it did gush in sight,
was only the love moon's way of drawing you away,
but like Medusa's dangerous snakes
you were only tempted to
draw much closer and make
mistakes and give it all up
for the love moon's way.
Because what's stakes to
steaks when you're in the love moon's way.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

The Golden Beer Coloured Lagoon

It happened like that.
This moment in time, where all I could hear was the slow chew of dry cereal from the mouth of a kitten who had just realized they were suppose to be a puppy, but born with the wrong set of paws and into the wrong suit. They've had to make whatever they could with the nine lives that was dealt their way. Within this moment in time, I also heard alligators contemplating their differences with crocodiles, but they could all agree on the crocodile rock because, truthfully so, who couldn't. It rocks. I envisioned this coastline, within this moment, and I think it might've been me sitting on it admiring what looked like Swiss cheese clouds and in the golden beer coloured lagoon that this coastline hugged seem to be actual gravy boats passing me by. I think of that kitten, dreaming to be a puppy, all the time.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Someone Else's Hand, Your Pants: A Nap

Meditations in an emergency. An wearing the wristwatch upside down doesn't make cents out of sense but reason out of doubt and doubt can be reasoned with. Adding quicksand pressure to that which covers the chocolate coin, yet just desserts has yet to be described as strawberry or vanilla. All we really want is a pint of ice cream. We're all dying for a nap, but someone else's hand....... Your pants. 

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

You're Your Best With Dorito Breath

He smelt like Doritos 
and it was nine in the morning.
I wanted to leave just as 
much as I wanted a hot cup of coffee.
There were lip prints on the mouths of the people in the painting.
I still wonder who was that 
lonely to kiss them.
Did they feel like the acrylic texture was puckering back at them?
He was a junky for anything colourful.
His cat hid in the 
contours of the drab darkness, that
spotted his kaleidoscope room, probably looking for something still.
The motion in the patterns was enough to make me sick.
Just thinking about it now gets me sick.
His ears were shaped like mismatched potato chips,
And he wasn't the most enthused guy I'd ever met.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Between the Ceiling and the Floor

and if he could've thrown himself into the arms of the floor he would've.. and there would have been no thud and no scratches because the floor would've accepted him... and there would be this lightness and openness where suddenly the floor was really a ceiling to an exceptionally better party, and there, in that party, with the rushing music he would land on the floor, with such vigorous dance moves that it wouldn't matter if he was up or down when it all started, because it was happening right there.
whatever needed to happen to him, happened there between the ceiling and the floor. 

Sunday, March 9, 2014

You're Beginning To Look A Lot Like Breakfast

Her passion sizzled like bacon 
on the frying pan of her heart. 
It snapped and crackled with each lick 
of heat that sparked within her as she tried to play 
it cool as iced coffee and not become scrambled 
over little acts of kindness 
that were presented to her 
from a beautiful creature whom carried themselves like brunch. 
She longed for orange juice sunrises and cereal boxes to house her thoughts. 
Everyone knows breakfast is the most important, 
and she was starting to believe the same about you. 

Wednesday, March 5, 2014


Money is everything.
Dishing out Crayola to
buy cases of heavy soda.

And we're all about the
fizz, the carbonation is
the motive for the kids.

There is a value to our
lives that don't make sense,
with everyone piling
up the cents,
what’s senses to cents.

To ‘Like’ is a different combination.
Electronic affection infiltrating
mass production of organic copulation.

Anti-viruses have become
the condom of our lives.
Protecting all the information
we're trying to disguise.

And we all see the world
through a different shade of
Internet Explorer blue, while
we nurse our blues from the
over use of bytes and gigs.

And when was the last time you
got a bite and scored tickets to
a gig and rocked out from behind
the desk that shields your body from
the jive and keeps you shackled from
nine to five and in reality isn't
helping you survive.

Money is everything.
Making bad investments in
created lands that create
you fans and make you feel
apart of something like a fam.

But these faceless writers
are in a jam, looking for
stimulation from your
hand, hands, nothing sexual,
nothing on land, everything
a figment of your imagination.

Everything is money,
how much can you stand?