sunspots

feather and wax

swerve away from that star

give fragility its due

just avoid the companionship

that kind, anyway

something is out there

radiance unseen

cloaked, but lingering

out of the blackness

into your light

just stay watchful of your wings

The Lingering You

always swimming around in my head

making wave after wave

the anchor has been set

your stay was short

but the reverb crashes on

a slow drift in a bemusing heartache

but that’s ok

lucky to have set sail at all

if only for a moment

never even met you

but I certainly knew you

please keep swimming

makes it easier to wade in the dream

at least I can hold your hand there

Who Invited The Pragmatic Sonofabitch?

You’re back

And I get it

I’m aware of the situation

After all, our business is still half yours

Just didn’t see you coming

I guess I thought you were long lost

Adrift in the impressions of a blurry decade

Sailing away from dispirited reverie

Safe housed and concealed from this other disasterpiece

Yet, here you are

Staring a hole of candor through my muddled head

A fated face off

A dualistic showdown

A brawl for it all

But I’m not gonna come out swinging, no

“No más.”

You don’t have to beat it into me

I know exactly why you’re here

I know exactly where I need to be

All These Onomatopoeias Are Trying To Write Their Own Story

BAM!

Whoa, whoa, whoa…what in the blue hell just happened here? That’s a sharp turn for a short story. Or is this an extended series? How many issues? Do you think they’ll make a movie about it one day?

SPLAT!

Ok, ok, ok…simmer down. There is surely some deflating explanation for such a brilliant catastrophe. Stars don’t just align that way, right? Stellar joke. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t cruel.

ZAP!

But hey, hey, hey…let’s face it, most fun we’ve had in a while. It wouldn’t have to be sensical if not for circumstance. Maybe that’s the point. Play the hand you’re dealt, right? Does everything really happen for a reason? If so, I promise I won’t get angry the next time I stub my toe. 

POW!

Well, well, well…isn’t this just grand? The most divine of comedies. Can’t lie, I’m immersed in this lead role. Who’s to say we don’t have the perfect picture? We could clean up come award season. America’s Sweethearts. Helpless method actors. Too perfect for the part.

BOOM. BANG. CRASH.

Wait, wait, wait…we still need an ending. Too bad we’re not the writers. I bet there’s a plot twist before it’s over.

Self-Made Prisoner

Loose-lipped in a tight spot.
Juggling words through the duress.
An embarrassment comparable to that of pissing yourself during the 4th grade talent show.

You fit like a glove in that coffin you were crafting.
Never thought your own dead weight would put you in it.
I bet you’d smack yourself if there was enough space in there.

But you’re boxed in.
A four-sided cell for your shortsighted brain.
Self-induced solitary confinement.

And to think, you already thought you were alone.

status quo

look at us go
to and fro
diving so low
buried in snow
doubts in tow
no intention to grow
so we bend like a bow
to avoid the glow
and wait for the crow
we reap what we sew
because we don’t know
we’re our own John Doe

The Marvelous Equivocator

There is seemingly no end to your ignominy.
Not a salacious lane you’d think twice about cutting into.
No virtue honest enough for you to uphold.

Because it’s less demanding for you to tread on splintered ground.
There’s such convenience in how you predate on these torpid carcasses.
Because you are fucking swine.

The epitome of perjury in the court of integrity.
The embodiment of all that is lecherous.
The paragon to which all the rotten can adore.

Relish in that spurious esteem.
Let it pervade into your delirium.
Because there is, indeed, an end looming.

And when the final frame fades to black, all you’ll have remaining is a credit roll soiled in the shame left of the murder.

Blah, Blah, Blah

Laughs and sighs
Smiles and cries
And all the filler in between

We dance like fools
Get worked over like tools
All in the hope of being seen

We shun all of this
We praise all of that
And we’d drink our own piss
If it helped trim the fat

Oh, this world, ain’t it mean?

174 Descending

Shedding mass in an all too dramatic frenzy.
These commendations are carrying more weight.

“You look really good!”

Well, at least they don’t think I’m on cocaine.
I’m way too docile for that.
Way too distant.

Just another tree stump on its way to a weathered reality.
Being relieved of its force and beauty.
Sitting quietly in the oh-so-vibrant woodland.
Waiting and withering.

And all I wanted was to shed this skin.

How To Whore Out Your Soul and Lose Your Goddamn Mind Doing It

Plastering my face for all the interwebs to see.
Like a shameless televangelist buying up all the local channels time slots.

“Click! Watch! Share!”
“Check me out in this video!”
“Watch me and laugh!”

Watch me make an ass of myself.
Watch me create and manipulate insecurities for the sake of a few more views.
Watch the decline of my confidence.

I always thought I was made for this type of thing.
I also used to be quite virtuous with it.
But the days of the pre-pubescent superstar are long over.
And the curtain call is mostly forgotten.

Such an arrogant whoring of self.
Forcing my being down each and every one of your throats.
Shit you never asked for.

Spam mail.
An invitation to a wedding of people you don’t like.
Endless pictures of babies on Facebook.
A pile of someone else’s work.

I can’t tell if I ever even wanted the attention to begin with.
But here I am, begging all of you for it.
Begging you to watch me blather.
Begging to be heard.

Yeah, that’s it.
That’s what’s happening.
Just begging to be heard.

And saying all the wrong shit.