positively

its like when youre reading something and the musician youre listening to sings the word youre reading.
god damn.
and it feels good.

and at least time doesnt go any faster.
o man.
doesnt that feel good.

because if you didnt than they would.
and you know it really doesnt matter

and o man.
doesnt that feel good.

god damn.

current events

politics. world weary. bailout package middle class stimulus ponzi scheme american dream. honeymoon over. the first one hundred days. comparison. seventy five years ago. depression stocks unemployment campaign wall street main protagonist number one leader charismatic. messiah status. venezuela axis equator evil oil gasoline fumes rag huff sulfur been here large dark skin look at a map. you are going to change the world. elections over three seas or however far away a country you will never see may be. congress senate state house. take a seat. a long road struggle burst bubble up ahead future hopeful doubtful photographs of the dead now allowed tasteful and unsanitized. iran rocket launch or is that a satellite. go the distance who can reach who first and what flame can be extinguished with which bucket of water. dumped. who can be rubbed out why do we fight you are helpless we are all together we want to kill everything we want to ruin the ruins. we want to build new ones.

the bear the baby the angel the beast

a big ugly genius. no ambition. casting accusations of the sun's rays being fake. the moon is just a jewel and the stars a necklace. some sort of embrace...and coming to terms with getting a grip on time lost is time gone and time not necessarily well spent. he is a big fat man. a real big fat man. a personality minus a person. bowling ball eyes and a boomerang spine. fingerless god. his parents the last human element familiar. he spins like a rotisserie earth. eating small farm animals screaming and screeching and scratching the whole trip down the throat. bones crush like candy cigarettes. he exhales fur and feathers. exhausted. fury quieted and absolved of any and all responsibility. he moans with uncertainty. lust. fire. grinding a horn against ribs unbroken. one day i will get out of here he says.

she left her baby down by the river. she left her baby in the paws of a grizzly emaciated. she wore a beautiful dress. green and see through. the dirt never touched her bare feet. her smile was quiet beneath eyes watching. nobody was there. the river exclaimed awful absurdities. moral uppercuts and rabid judgments. oh but she knew better. she knew where she was headed. she said nothing. she walked through the woods. trees. animals unseen. some asleep and others hiding. she could hear the sky and felt the whispered hush of years never lived. good god be decent. good god do not be there. good god do not answer. good god go away. she said. finally. and she continued to walk above the dirt and under the leaves and through the sun never blinding. only a warm steady beat beneath her ribs.

she left her baby down by the river. a big ugly genius. some sort of embrace... a warm steady beat beneath her ribs. one day i will get out of here he says.

the bone architect

crossing the street you miss your mother. the wind taken out of the sails. the sails then burnt on the open water. the boat tied to the dock loose and drifting. weathered by the weather, the waves make you nauseous and smile. people stop by and take pictures. some of them sit in the boat. some stay longer than others. holes poked, cracks and scars turn into a map. the boat alone. distance. you enter a convenient store unacknowledged. a security camera rests next to a television monitor revealing what is filmed and recorded by the camera. there you are. a shady character anonymous. nobody would ever love or care about you. under a bus. a court of law. a church. a job. you think of robbing the store. taking the money from the register. tipping shit over. everything. destroying it. you turn around and head for the liquor store. wine and bottles of booze. red. red. red. price tags. happiness. white. white. whiskey. the counter and behind it. chinese owners. miserable. lottery tickets. lottery players. lottery losers. music you are unfamiliar with and dont care about is playing on some awful radio up there in the ceiling. a wavelength that you dont understand. a signal from a station somewhere right? satellites and aliens. micro-waves and tv dinners. green pork and a disappointed child. plastic forks and a failed attempt to squeeze more out of life. so just stare. your face dries out and an oasis disappears. there is more desert. sand. sand that leads to a beach. to a dock. to a boat alone. you leave the liquor store with two bottles of red and give a homeless drunk your change. something would surely be effected by that mans death you think. his life cant be completely useless. something somewhere would live or die and change somehow if he were to leave this earth. even somebodys sorrow would make his life worthwhile. if just one person cared. it would be easier. you open the door of your apartment building. mailbox. a letter for somebody else. a past tenant. you throw it on the ground and begin up the stairs. dirty bright light. nobody cares. residents of an abandoned planet. a society ruthless. in the small rooms love and hate share a bed. innocence and cynicism strangled. the family alive. you make it to your door. it opens. it melts. the light turns on. the walls and the floor boards crawl all over one another. the door closes behind you. there are wings without feathers on your shoulders. the bone architect. the evening. forever grateful. the day is not mourned. you are not alone. the bottles of wine are opened and drank. you will wake up tomorrow but not right now.