First Completed Poem Since Returning From Kenya (i tend to not write poems on my accord. honda accord)

Who are we
is what the wolves cried in the dark.
whats the desert like to the blind,
the vultures fly and beat their wings
theres no water but im thirsty,
my voice gets tired
and the wolves ask who are we,
i dont think theres an answer
neither do the others
but we try harder,
they say we're in this together
but they always grow apart,
and so we yell louder
asking who are we?

At The Compound

The sun comes out in the afternoon. The streetlights were on and I yawned a lot. They say my brains bad, the consistency of a bruised banana, or flan (without the caramel). Maybe that’s why I like giraffes so much, they are mechanized, and I am not. I don’t know what exists anymore, I heard she died, but there she is, what time is it? I lift my tongue and swallow, everything stops, am I breathing? My chest hurts, when did I start bleeding? I swallow again and everything is moving again, am I breathing? Everything is yellow with black spots and I can’t control what I say, it all comes out, the whole enchilada, and then I am served nachos. Thanks ugly woman. I can’t go on dates because I speak my mind with tenacity, and it comes out very loud. Don’t let me stop breathing. When the sun came out the clouds stuck around, someone needed to flush twice, how long has it been now? You lose count from all the sedation, I used to drive, I used to go outside, I want to sing but I can never find my voice when the desire comes.
They say my brains bad but how do they know what’s good, they spend all that time looking at Hitler’s brain and imagining Morgan Freeman’s. I dream of becoming a centaur with a giraffes body, I join a herd and when their long necks swoop toward me I can’t resist the urge, but the suns out and it’s afternoon so everyone can see. They all laugh and I can’t get my tongue to move, its become whipped cream and I can’t control it, it can’t form any words because it’s too busy sloshing, I should have left it in the can. Tony Danza punched me in the throat in spit at me while I laid down recovering, he showed me who was the boss, but his regional manager came and now he is on the streets again, also, Angela is dead and has requested to be buried on the moon (can I make such a request). I have no money, I have no gears, all I have is nachos but they have become cold I don’t want to eat them anymore.
I can hear but my eyes are closed, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a condition, but there is yelling, that might have something to do with it. They say there was an accident and my lungs are burning through me. I hope amputation isn’t an option though if it is I would a kitten leg. I am Lemmy, and I will become a Megazord at last! The voices carry and I go to cover my eyes but they are closed and I still hear them. I want to close them tighter but they are as closed as possible. Is this what love feels like? My brother never told me and now it’s too late, I’m in love and I don’t even know it, am I breathing? I thought I told you to make sure I kept breathing.
Tell my landlord the walls were supposed to look that way, I am sure will keep asking anyway. Sometimes I press really hard on my eyes and see tiny little dots, like static on TV, my eyes are TV but the reception is horrible and no one will spring for cable, instead they autumn and winter with rabbit ears. I want to yell without making a scene so I hold my breath and count, 10 seconds, a new personal best. Tell me what you think of the savannah, I think it’s nice this time of the year, I think it’s a little dry. Drum roll, laughter, thank you, thank you. Your too kind! And then it all comes back to me.
Lemmy? You in there?
Yessum. My back hurts, I’m laying on the ground, on a rock, its imbedded in my back and now my back hurts. I look around and fight the urge to ask why everyone is dressed the same. The world is back to normal but my lungs hurt, I cough, and then my nose is filled with fire ants. They tell me to sit up and I stand, their hands are all around me and I feel like synchronized swimming.
Everything’s going to be alright. It took a couple minutes for her to spit it all out, of course everything is going to be alright, no one would tell someone that everything was going to be awful, well not here, probably back in New York they would. I look and her eyes are all black, she is tanned a nice golden yellow and her black dots are alluring, I’d never noticed before. She leans her long neck in and I can’t resist the urge and it is the afternoon so everyone can see. No one laughs, but I don’t think I’m in the herd anymore. I really need to learn to bat.

The world has ended, the world has ended and I am Macy’s. What do people buy for their funeral? Should I be buried or should I become lost at sea, I could be found either way. I don’t want a tuxedo, I don’t think I should dress nicer in death than in my short life. I should have known, I should have realized that I too could be affected. No one is immune to death. When I was a child I wanted to be a firefighter, like most boys my age, and then my father read me an article about three firefighters who died in a fire. It’s impossible, no one dies fighting, do they?
The one exception was Apollo Creed of course, he died so that Rocky could finally do what needed to be done. Tear down the iron curtain. There is a nice blue suit, but I think I will be die in khaki, or maybe a denim suit. One time I wore a blazer over a black turtle neck with jeans. The car, what would happen to the car, I was just put on rotation. Should I tell anyone, should i do something, I am not a man of action, I am Lemmy, I am Honey I Shrunk the Kids, I am an accident.
I envy women, when they get bad news they can eat a whole tub of ice cream, when a man gets bad news they drink, and I can’t drink anymore. I can’t drink anymore because it makes me think there are fire ants in my throat, it gets them under my skin, digging through the muscles. I hate insects, almost as much the Chad’s of the world. My dogs eat spiders, so there is no problem. I found a big beastie one in my shower before they moved in, I could see every eye, it was black. I left my apartment and stayed at a Best Western. That was when the pyramid was thriving, I had to rake my money into my wallet, I drank whole milk back then, now I’ve been reduced to skim. Off brand skim.
I should never have taken the bus, I always hear about people being mugged on the bus, I never should have taken the bus. It’s like when your mother tells you not to touch the stove because it’s hot, but you touch it anyway, and now your tongue is black. I’m a limp noodle trying on packages, and at best, I’m thinking a box is more appropriate than the plastic wrap. It’s less noisy, more comfy, maybe with one of those ceiling windows and a corduroy interior. I will have lines on my skin forever, and then I will become an ant farm, but the queen will live in a kidney, and reserve the other as a guest house. Long live the monarchy.
I am dying, the world is ending, and I never should have taken the bus. My hands are sweaty and my stomach hurts, I pull the pink bottle from my jacket pocket, take a quick sip and put it back in. My cheeks are wet, I’m crying, this time I know why.

the rest is a little bit of dialogue that doesnt really make sense without the part before this.

2 in 2 days eh?

            They said their eyes light up, at the carnival.  They said they drank a lot and went on the rides and it made their eyes light up.  I didn’t listen to them because they liked to ride around town in a pink Mazda Miata that I always thought was a little too ironic.  Artists.  I’ve only been taking public transportation for a little while, but I see them all the time, they drive around like vultures, I’ve actually timed their flight plan.  Every thirty-seven minutes, sometimes from the north, sometimes from the East.  I tried painting my apartment, this will all make sense, but I didn’t tape anything down and everything splattered over the furniture.  The fumes filled the apartment and I started to laugh, laugh at the failure, at balding, I saw a commercial of abused dogs and I laughed.  I now have three dogs, the guilt ate me and then licked it’s lips.

            She breathed heavy, paced her words and said she’d never done anything like this before.  She held onto my arms and I wanted her to love me.  I let my fingers fall down her waist to her belt and unclipped her harness.  I wanted her to continue holding on, but the blood went back into her head and she kissed my cheek and ran to the van.  I got out of my harness and started folding the parachute, it would need to be refolded (I messed up).  I frequently get asked how I got into the instructing business, I always reply that I went to catholic school.

            Every time I bring someone home they ask if the room was painted with a wet parasol.  That would have been a good idea, but I just regret bringing them home.  I’ve been looking for a good parasol online with no luck, just umbrellas.  Where’s the line?  What makes one something and the other something else?   I want a hamster, but I have gerbil hands, so it just wouldn’t work out.  I took a sip from their bottle and decided I felt a tingle.  So much burned, me being a protestant, I wondered if Moses would come to my lungs, take off his shoes, and hear God.  You Shmuck!  I started to pray that someone would plug me in, a new line of light brights.  Kid friendly, flammable: Don’t put near curtains.  I see the earth growing smaller and smaller, dangling from a string on the plane.  Every window is a screen, it’s all fake like the moon landing.  I joined a pyramid scheme for comradery, I work for you and you and you and you but they work for me, and my cousin twice removed still wants me to take him skydiving but only if he buys from me and my associates from now on.

            BUZZ ME IN! I FORGOT MY KEYS AGAIN!  The landlady is upset, but I pay her not to be.  She doesn’t remember that I live in a Jackson Pollack so she tries to call the police.  I haven’t been robbed, I just need professional help.  They let me keep the bottle and I keep drinking, I haven’t stopped since they gave it to me.  It is endless, like a dark pit or the food at OCB.  I wrote it in my journal but when I read it later it had been replaced by a picture of two stick figures sword fighting, the peeing way, not the knight’s way.  I’m gallant I scream at the top of the ferris wheel but by the end I’m clear headed and all business.  All hail King Tut!

            I go to the pet stores every Thursday morning and look around.  I made two tiny parachutes, but I don’t think I could ever throw them out of the plane, besides, gerbil hands.  I want to invite them over, let them see my apartment and hope that they will think it was intentional.  I want the girl to keep holding on and my landlady to brush her teeth.  The backs of my hands are wet, I’ve been crying, I don’t know about what.  My eyes are dim and lackluster, theirs are tie dye. I don’t have any more money so I wait for twenty-six minutes when they will come back, I will ask them for a ride and what was in the bottle.  I will ask them if they want to go skydiving and what they do for a living.  I will ask them for help painting my apartment and to check my pockets for my keys.  I make a promise that when they come by I won’t laugh at their pink Miata, but I do and they don’t care, were all apart of the pyramid.

I’ve seen them try, they sit cowardly turning blue while the fabric seeps into their skin. They are pitiful. They wallow quietly for months concerned with only their pain, too focused to live. They have forgotten, their minds have become applesauce that their bodies devour from idleness. I don’t know what to do! The weight is unbearable, I feel like I’m drowning. Remember! Long ago we bargained off our right to mourn, we talk and talk and talk and talk about progress or what it means to be civilized, while at the same time demanding so little of ourselves that we’ve gone into atrophy. We’ve forgotten how to grieve.

There was a woman, I don’t know her name, it wasn’t worth learning. She lost her husband and daughter in a car accident. I read about it in the obituary, I looked up the address and took a stroll on over, I needed to see that someone remembered. She hid her face, ashamed that her loss would cause a public outburst. How long had she cradled her daughter for, 12 months, 18 months, two years, or had she ever stopped? Her freckles mapped out like stars across her face, each one in the midst of a solar flare. The black dress held loosely around her shoulders and waist though her make up was applied with a delicate touch that made her look, other than the freckles, like a natural beauty. Now she is like a dog trying to see color.

The bees all left for no one knows why, but millions of dollars were lost, causing us for the first time to wonder what was happening and why we couldn’t control it. I like the way hyenas laugh, without reason or remorse. We should teach kids to laugh like that, buy them hyenas instead of dogs, hyenas instead of cats, clowns instead of teachers. In retrospect, I think all the bees went to Africa where they weren’t being pumped full of glucose syrup and preservatives. They became farmers, tilling red soil till it sifted cleanly through their fast beating wings. Praise God for rain! They buzz in unison, from miles around you’d swear a train was stuck in New York traffic. Ominous, starts low with just a few, maybe even a cricket Crick-Eting, and then its like a wave pool, buzzes coming in slow rising flashes, then they synchronize BUZZ BUZZ! [Expletive] BUZZ BUZZ!

Must have been in the 60’s or 70’s that candles became so popular, I think I know why, but I’ve been labeled a conservative and I like to keep opinions to myself. Before then they were used for very few things, light (quite awhile before that, unless you lived on the set of Little House on the Prairie, though you too may have gone blind), churches, birthdays. Those are my favorites, though they are not in any particular order (Little House would still be first). We’ve taken them over, given them into a part of everyday decoration. People used to seek solace in the little flame they held and now its just a regular part of monotony.

The woman began to quietly cough, trying to play off her sadness as the cold. She couldn’t see the color, she could only tell it smelled wrong; death that is. Maybe if the bees were still around she’d still have a bit of the mystery, she’d need to know why the candle doesn’t all melt at once, how the flame seems to hold everything in it’s grasp. Now she only wonders how long it will take to regain her normal life, her normal life she hasn’t had in the 16 years of her marriage. What everyone else has figured out is that it hurts less over time, you get used to it, like having your feet bundled to stay small. She’s chopped off her legs and now has nowhere left to go.

She’s forgotten how to grieve though her body no longer knows how to relearn it. She is like the rest of them, only caring about the scent the candle brings and the honey they eat instead of the impending noise. It all just continues to run together, meeting at a focal point/an intersection, where the lights green but no ones moving. BUZZ BUZZ! [Expletive] BUZZ BUZZ!

No lies, i havent written anything since graduation. not one thing. this may change, but i am packing for the summer, so this is now on hiatus until at least september (after summer i probably wont write at all either) Enjoy your rabbit!

No shame

Be Thou My Tree

The noise makes everything bright,
it can't be helped.
I'm perfectly flawed
words on the spine,
But its just color anyway.
That was when all the trees were tall
and the fall down was love.
My blood pumped it through me.
My legs hurt and the noise was blinding,
of all the colors in the world
you had to be purple.
Can it be helped?
With the sound of red in the air
my throat closes
and my eye's wont open
but my lips keep mumbling
to keep me falling.

this is in my manuscript

Be Satisfied

An acrylic painted dream I had,
One all saturated in blue,
To the point my mouth watered.
I saw myself the other day,
But I just kept walking the other way.
Maybe if it was yellow.
If I keep falling out of trees
The sky will keep getting farther
and all the colors will run together
and Holi won’t seem so holy anymore.

“The glass separates us”
is the common excuse
“but you no longer care I suppose”,
that one is all mine.
The hacksaw helps me play the blues,
And the rotting peaches keep me awake,
So the blue dreams won’t turn green anytime soon.

When everything dries I’ll walk across the water
with absolute faith that I won’t drown.

this is probably going in my manuscript. also, been thinking a lot about why the weather sucks, i think i have actually settled on the excuse that im too picky. yep.

A Step Forward is a Step Sideways

If our green eyes were stones cast

like a gypsies trail across the united states

or a red hot humanitarian summer.

The beach of entrailed needles

a porcupine in brail for the romantics,

whoever they may be nowadays

If you even think it’s possible.

Cliffs like unleavened bread

scraping their teeth against the water

with a sharks hunger at the sight of blood.

The maps of green pastures decoupaged

To the inner workings of a new life on mars.

Reach out to the red sky for the first time

our hands were braided.

im not sure about the ending yet, seems awkward. i may end up doing something with it. may not.

Es Muss Sein

Theres too much movement
and the wetness goes to my knees
there will be no rainbows
so the floods aren't as beautiful.
All the talk goes unnoticed,
your teeth are unique.
The blur in my eye
means I'm surrounded by ghosts,
at least its not lonely.
There's a voice that says we'll catch fire
but you'll never be ready
and time is only infinite.
Muss es sein?

ive been trying to write, but ive also been sleeping a lot. which is a good thing. i sort of have a lot of work to do within the next week, seeing as how i need to do a writing conference next week, so i need about 9 more poems so i dont know how all of that is going to work. i fell asleep in a class today, but i think i got away with it. right before i fell asleep i wrote 3 lines.

I remember when the world was small
the sun was a mediocre chandalier
and we covered ourselves in blankets of grass.

wishful thinking i suppose. im going to try to develope this more thoroughly. also, i dont think i can wear a seat belt right now, problematic? yes.

p.s. girls have cooties, big time.

ive got a lot on my plate right now-Tracy Jordan srsly. i have comps this week, im trying to send some stuff out, ive got some other stuff too. so many papers and whatnot. that is my excuse for why this is not very long and probably not very good. but i think it has a sort of charm to it.

While Consonants Whistle

Her teeth breathed heavy on her tongue
and her eyes fogged like glass
while the blue flowers wilted in a book.
It’s to keep the pages alive,
they need to be fed, C’est La Vie.
The words were all pasty before,
but now the vowels dance.
Everything drips like sour words
from a snaggle toothed scowl
onto stained glass windows
because God is everywhere
and time is just a method of acting
devised by the musically declined.